He took them through it, sparing nothing, occasionally throwing it to Maria or the Bishop or Frawley for confirmation and elaboration. He was impressed that none of the three newcomers seemed particularly shocked or dubious about it all. They did, of course, ask questions, but they tended to be of the practical sort and involved, in the main, understanding the powers that they were facing.
The model and the photographs were a great help, too, in seeing just what they were up against.
The Sikh mountaineer did not seem fazed by the sheer cliff; in fact, he seemed somewhat relieved at the scale and noted that he’d thought it would be a far taller and more difficult climb.
Once on top, they would bring up the supplies and equipment and then lower and drop the rope and ladder assembly that was now being made for them. The small sailboat would take everything out and leave no trace that anyone had been there.
“We need darkness, and we need some time to set up and reconnoiter,” MacDonald told them. “As a result, going in on the thirty-first would be cutting it too fine even though it would minimize detection. We can assume that protection, too, of the island perimeter would be at its height during the key night. As a result, we have to go in on the thirtieth. The first objective will be to neutralize the single camera near the cabin and in particular the sound monitoring devices. We have equipment to do just that, thanks to the fact that we know the makes and models and thus all the characteristics of that equipment. We then have to move Lord Frawley’s equipment very near this cave mouth. The equipment will cause a massive explosion going up the tube and with any luck will fry that computer and blow the Institute from the bottom up.”
They all liked that idea, and not a single one seemed to suspect the true nature and power of the weapon in question. It was better they didn’t know, at least for now.
“The next day,” MacDonald continued, “will be the most difficult, since we can expect something of a human security sweep. They won’t be as thorough with our staging area as with others simply because it’s considered inaccessible and well covered, and they will be mostly concerned with their back door, the cave, which I’m certain is riddled with monitors and detection devices. The main task during the day will be to get some rest and avoid any detection.
“That night,” he continued, “Lord Frawley will arm his weapon, which will then be put in place and he will become, in effect, a human bomb. The device has both a timer and a dead man’s switch, so it will go off at exactly twenty-three thirty hours that night, while their ceremonies are in full swing but before they climax. By that time, the combat team must circle up and if possible in back of the Institute, so there is no clear indication of our entry point. At twenty-two hundred hours, the team will enter the Lodge, which is the key building housing the important people and containing direct access to the library and computer complex below. The primary objective is to reach and, if possible, blow the computer and/or its power plant. To give you an edge, we’re going to first lower a time bomb to the pipe at the rear and blow it. That explosion might ignite the oil tanks. In any case it will cut the general power and cause a hell of a bang, drawing security and everyone else to that point, outside and in.
“With any luck, the most dangerous players will already be at the meadow area or in the cave leading to it. We feel they will send a few people back, but mostly try and continue down there, figuring that their security people can handle it. There may well still be innocents in the Lodge, but you can’t tell who’s who and it’s certain death to try. Anyone who comes upon you must be killed, as quickly and as silently as possible, with no hesitation. Man, woman, child, dog—I don’t care what. If you’re discovered, do what damage you can and blow what you can. If you’re fatally down, there will be a way to blow whatever you’re carrying all at once.”
The understood the plan.
“Bishop, your main job, if you think you can handle it. is to carry and place as many charges as possible at the antennas in the common. You’ll be exposed there, but you should wait until all hell breaks loose in the Lodge, as it inevitably will, and everyone rushes there. There are seven small enclosed boxes that simply have to be placed on the concrete pads and a trigger switch thrown on each. Their combined weight is about fifty pounds. Not much, but forty five seconds after each switch is thrown they will go with enough force to wreck or possibly topple those antennas, putting SAINT off the air.”
“I think I can manage that,” the Bishop said. “I’ve carried heavier packs than this. But what of the eighth outlet at the meadow? If they can’t put it out for good, it will still have at least a local outlet.”
“We’ll have to forget it and hope that Lord Frawley’s blast does the trick,” MacDonald replied. “It’ll be well defended and will have those of greatest power there, making it next to impossible to get near. If you somehow can, then all the better—take out whoever you can. After the dishes are blown, you’re on your own.”
“Don’t fret about me, old boy. I can think of quite a lot of mischief to do in the—what?—half hour or so until Pip’s thing blows. Don’t fret.”
“What about me? What am I supposed to do?” Maria asked him. “I can’t carry much weight, and one of those automatic popguns would probably knock me over.”
“Your first objective will be in getting them in and settled at the first assembly point,” MacDonald told her. “Then you’ll have to do some reconnoitering. You’re small and light and you know the place well. That night, you’ll get the team up to the Lodge. After that—you’re on your own.”
“Why don’t Maria and I blow the oil line first?” the Bishop suggested. “She can come with me and assist on the common, and, after that, she might be able to get me down to that meadow.” Unspoken, of course, was that she would be under someone’s watchful eye after things broke loose who would see that she didn’t then try and renew old friendships.
“Maria?”
She nodded.
“O.K., then. We’ll start now with a cross-section of the Lodge itself…”
Over the next week, they practiced and rehearsed over and over again. Shadrach, the Sikh, was unhappy that the rope and ladder assembly, which arrived on the fourth day, couldn’t really be tested, but it was understood that they were probably being watched and, even if they were undiscovered, finding a suitable cliff in the region and climbing it would be sure to attract unwanted attention. They were, however, able to rig up a forty-foot rope off an inland cliff area and try climbing it at night. It was only a fraction of the distance they would have to go, but it helped.
The three professionals had no trouble with it, nor did MacDonald or the Bishop. Frawley had considerable problems, but he made it, and swore he’d make it no matter how long it was. Maria, too, had extremely sore arms after it, but since both would have a rope ladder affair they felt certain they could get up there if they had to—which they did.
Treating Maria as one of the team helped her ego enormously, and MacDonald continued to pay real attention to her in the evenings, giving her rubdowns and being gentle with her. He still didn’t agree with her actions back in California, but he understood them, he thought, and that made her betrayal a little easier to take.
They had gradually adjusted their schedules forward, sleeping much of the day and up all night, and the time passed all too quickly. They weren’t ready, it was clear. They needed more time, more information, more practical exercises—but they weren’t going to get any of them. The thirtieth came, and MacDonald and Maria sat on the beach and watched the dawn. For the first time, all of them, including him and her, felt the finality that was approaching quickly.
“Greg?” she asked nervously. “Do you think there’s a God? A real heaven and hell?”
He sighed. “I don’t know, and that’s honest enough. Frawley’s a brilliant man, and he’s convinced there’s nothing but the laws of science. The Bishop’s every bit his equal, I think, and he’s just as convinced that God, heaven, hell, and the rest of it exist
s. Me, I’ve always just sort of felt there was a God I guess, but I can’t tell you who or what God is. Take that trio in there. They all are believers and all believe in one God. The woman’s a Catholic and her view is pretty close to the Bishop’s, although I think she doubts and has doubted since they blew her kids away in a random shooting spree. The Nigerian is a firm believer in his God as the only one, and in some ways his god’s the same as the Christian one. The Sikh has a lot of Hindu stuff in his religion, even some reincarnation I think, but he’s still convinced that his god’s the same one the others have. The Hindus and the Buddhists and the like have different ideas and many gods, but they may have a little of the truth. There’s no way to know without being there.”
“I know. I never thought of it much until I went into the convent, even though I was forced to be a good church goer all the time I was growing up. For all its complicated rituals and beliefs, Catholicism is an easy religion, really. It doesn’t demand a whole hell of a lot. Go to church every Sunday and on certain other days, take communion, confess your sins, say some prayers or do other penance, then go out and sin all over again. It’s an easy thing to fall into, particularly when the Church makes sure you get all the basics, but deep down I never was able to swallow it whole.”
“Do you believe in heaven and hell?” he asked her.
“I don’t know. I think that there’s got to be a hell, just so people like the Dark Man and Sir Reginald and folks like that will get it. When you see some good people corrupted, when you see a kid who just happened to be in the way lying there beside his bike bleeding to death… There’s got to be a hell someplace. I’m not so sure about heaven, though. In a way, you have to go along with the Dark Man. If this isn’t hell, then the blood of all those innocents, the babies who die blameless, all the horror with no purpose—it just isn’t any kind of place a good and merciful and just god would allow to happen. Oh, I heard all the arguments—all the priests with their high-sounding long-winded explanations of just about everything—but I can’t buy it. Even the Bishop can go on for hours, but the Dark Man makes more sense. Either God is crazy, or He isn’t what we think at all.”
“Yeah, well, maybe it’s just one of those things our brains can’t solve, even with these super computers.”
“I like to think maybe Frawley’s right,” she said, “but I can’t. I’ve seen babies being born, and I look around and see how complicated it all is and I just can’t believe that it came from nothing. I just kind of think sometime that we’re just higher animals in His playground, though, that He never really listens or cares about us except maybe the way a farmer cares about his cows or sheep or pigs. I look back on my life and I’m just going to pretend we’re just animals, anyway. No inhibitions, no thinking, no caring. Think you could pretend, just for a little bit?”
He held her close. “What do you mean?” he asked her softly.
“I want you to pretend that you love me, for just this morning. I want you to pretend that I look like I did back on that oil rig. Just this one last time I want to be kissed all over and do the kissing like we meant it. I want to be naked and feel somebody inside me, going off, exploding there. I want to be loved real hard one last time.”
He felt a tear in his eyes, and he’d seldom felt that before. He would come back, but to an empty house… What the hell could he do but what she wanted and what he wanted to give her?
It looked like a small recreational sailing vessel of the kind seen by the hundreds in the Caribbean. They had not reached it directly, but had left in twos and threes by various means throughout the afternoon and rendezvoused shortly before midnight at a staging point off the Venezuelan coast about thirty miles from the island.
All their supplies and equipment had already been placed on board, and the ship was crewed by three silent young men supplied by King’s base. All but the Nigerian blacked their faces and exposed skin; the African chuckled at their efforts and did an unflattering critique. Of the group, only he and the Bishop seemed not the least bit sullen or worried. Everyone else, including Frawley, seemed to be in a state of high nervous tension.
Under their black clothing, each wore a cross on a chain that had been blessed by the Bishop at a private mass he conducted just for them. Even the Sikh, the Moslem, and Frawley wore them, because, while they weren’t Christian, the enemy was following a Christian script. They might not mean anything at all against the Dark Man or any other, but there was a slight psychological advantage they didn’t want to miss.
The moon was a mere crescent sliver, hardly giving any light at all, and as they sailed they ran into choppier seas and heavier clouds, and the night grew black as pitch.
“Perhaps this is our first sign of divine help,” the Bishop noted, looking at the darkness.
“If, of course, we make it into the lagoon without cracking up and make it up that cliff wall by braille,” Frawley muttered.
“We’ll make it in, sir,” one of the crew whispered to him. “We’ve snuck in and out of there three times already without once being detected, and two nights ago it was just about this bad.”
MacDonald was confident, too, at least of that much. “I kind of expected a cloud cover for tomorrow night, but it looks like they’re starting early to make it look more natural. I think that tomorrow there’s going to be a hell of a rainstorm everywhere around here for twenty or thirty miles except right on the island itself. They don’t want anybody seeing what they’re doing up there.”
The Bishop shrugged. “Whether by heaven or hell, it helps us and hinders them. I glanced at their little radar in there. There are so many false blips from wind and thermals and waves that it looks like a riot of light green. I doubt if anyone could pick us out of it from the surface, and the cover makes it unlikely that we could be picked out by infra-red satellite for a day or two at least, if then.”
“You act pretty confident of success,” Frawley grumbled.
“I am confident only of what God wills, and I don’t know His will in this matter. I am confident only that we are the anointed ones to do this job, and that if we did not at least try He would allow the end to come. I am confident that, starting tomorrow, we will at least know some of the answers.”
MacDonald worked his way back to Maria, who was just sitting there, staring out at the blackness. “Butterflies?” he asked her.
“That and a lot of soreness. I feel like somebody ran a broom handle straight through me and out the ass end.”
He felt embarrassed. “Sorry.”
“No, no! Don’t ever be sorry! I must have done it ten thousand times and that was the first time it ever really counted, ever really meant something.”
He was touched. “That doesn’t sound like an animal talking.”
“No, not an animal. You know, it’s crazy, but after forty five years I think I finally just grew up.”
He took her tiny hand and squeezed it.
“That thing Frawley’s got,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “It’s an A-bomb or something like it, isn’t it? You’re gonna blow the whole island tomorrow.”
“Yes,” he replied, deciding it wasn’t worth hiding any more. “Something like it.”
“All those people…”
“No, it’s not as bad as we thought. It turns out they’ve evacuated the whole town except for a staff. Took them off in small groups over the past several weeks. Where, we don’t know, but definitely incommunicado until November, when I guess they’ll be brought back. They’re using the town to put up a bunch of visitors. The choppers have been coming in and out for days now. It’s a good bet that there will be nobody on that island we don’t know about who’s an innocent party, anyway.”
She sighed. “That makes me feel a little better. You know, it’s funny. I’m not really scared of them any more. No matter what, I’m not really scared of the Dark Man or any of them. I’m just scared of that cliff and that rope ladder. I don’t know if I can make it.”
“You’ll make it,” he
told her. “Still, you can back out now. I have to go up and help haul up the stuff and get it in place.”
“I’ll make it,” she told him flatly. “Somehow, I’ll make it.”
There was mostly silence for the rest of the trip.
They didn’t realize they were there until suddenly large rocks loomed on either side. Nobody but the crew had seen the marker and warning lights both at sea level and up above.
The man who was code-named Shadrach had studied the photographs and geological reports of this area for nine days, but this was still the first time he’d seen and felt it. The rock was heavy, black, and basalt-like; rich, dark lava from ancient flows atop compacted ash, then more basalt, and so forth. He liked the feel of it.
The rock wall was not sheer, although it looked it and they talked as if it was. Actually there was a slight slope and a great many irregularities in it, and there was even random vegetation growing out of cracks and crevices all along, thicker at the top and bottom.
The Punjabi mountain man basically used pitons, counting on the constant noise from the nearby waterfall to mask any strong hammer sounds. He was quick, and expert, and seemed to go up the wall without them in places like a human fly, although it was clear that he was using unseen footholds here and there in the rock.
He was soon out of sight, going rapidly upwards beyond their field of view. Only once, though, did he seem to slip, and a piton came down, bounced off the rock wall once, and splashed into the water very near the boat, making everyone jump and go for their guns.
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