They waited nervously, and it seemed like they were going to be trapped in the blackness forever. Shadrach had asked for an hour and it took him exactly fifty-seven minutes. They knew this because suddenly the long rope that was attached to him and which lay coiled in a free-spinning roller on the deck suddenly began to move much faster, and soon the first part of the rope ladder was going up. They watched, and waited, until finally the whole of the ladder was unfurled and the bottom of it stood there, waiting.
MacDonald hadn’t wanted any part of that night ascent, but he’d climbed a lot of mountains in his time and so he was first up the new entrance to Allenby Island, stopping every so often to drive two hooks into the mountain, one on each side of the ladder, and so loosely secure it in a dozen or so places. It would not do to have it nailed to the wall, but these few connections, even though they might provide some problems for those coming after, gave the thing some stability.
Climbing it, he decided, was pretty easy if you were in any condition at all and took it easy. He did find, near the top, that they’d slightly underestimated the height and that the last twenty feet or so were accomplished by walking up the rope and through some irritating brush, but at the top he felt a strong hand take his and Sadrach pulled him over the top.
“Nothing to it,” the Sikh whispered.
“If you say so,” he responded, and sat for a few moments.
Next up, to their surprise, was the Bishop, puffing a little but not seeming to have much of a problem. Then came the Lebanese woman, code named Meshach, and the Nigerian.
To their great surprise, the Nigerian was actually carrying Maria on his back as if she were nothing at all.
“Had to do it,” he whispered. “She’d never had made it any other way.”
It was several minutes more until Frawley made it, sounding horrible and looking almost too ill to move. The man was nasty, ill-tempered, and callous towards everyone and everything not exactly his way, but there was no denying his will power or his guts.
“I’ll be all right,” he gasped, lying on his back and sounding as if he were going to die. “I’ll last another twenty-four hours.”
Now the Sikh was back down the ladder in a flash, unsecuring it except at top and bottom, then risking a single tiny signal with his flashlight.
The two at the top and MacDonald busily undid the packs they’d come up with, and the Canadian and the Bishop quickly assembled a basic military ranger winch as the Lebanese and the Nigerian picked up sub-machine guns and established a guard post.
It took almost four hours to winch and haul all the equipment up; an hour longer than the plan called for, but barely within tolerable limits.
The winch was now disassembled and repacked into one large backpack, and it was time to separate. MacDonald looked at the pack, which he was to carry back down, and then the company, just shadows in the near blackness.
They strapped the pack onto his back and he looked at them and he had a strange feeling of unreality about the moment. Somehow he could clearly see the Bishop, Frawley, and Maria standing there, looking back at him. He wanted to say something, anything, but no words would come.
He went over to the rope and grabbed hold, and for some reason he just couldn’t move. He just stood there, frozen, in a very stupid position.
Shadrach came over to him. “You go now! We need the dark and we must be away!”
He tried again, and his muscles just wouldn’t obey, almost like it was back in the motel with the Dark Man. For a moment he wondered if they’d been spotted after all, if some spell now held him, but he knew that it was not the case. Finally, realizing that the clock was ticking and that all their lives depended on keeping as much of a schedule as possible, he got back up and sighed and look off the backpack. “This may be the stupidest thing any North American has done since he stepped across the line at the Alamo, but I’m staying, too.”
Maria gave a little gasp and whispered, “No. You don’t have to.” The Bishop, however, gave a soft, wry smile.
“Yeah. I know I’m going to regret this, but I have to. Shad, can you get this pack back down?”
The Sikh picked it up and put it on expertly. “Don’t leave without me,” he said lightly. “I’ll be back.”
And, with that, he vanished down the mountainside.
It cost another twenty-seven minutes for the round trip, but he was soon back. “They think you are crazy, but they want to leave,” he told MacDonald.
“I guess I am,” he sighed, then helped untie the rope from its tree base. They winched in the ladder, then cut the rope and backed out. Three short flashes on a light, and those up top let the rope itself go. It fell all the way, coiling and snaking, and crashed into the water below. Expert eyes, aided by infra-red viewers, checked and moved back in, untangling the rope from a few places where it had hung itself up on vegetation, then let it sink to the bottom of the small inlet. With that, they moved out and made ready to get as far away as possible from Allenby Island.
Only when the rope went over the side did MacDonald feel the crushing implications of what he’d done, and the finality of it. Frawley had managed a sitting position and seemed to be recovering, although he had never looked so frail. He stared at MacDonald in disgust. “Why?” he croaked.
“I really don’t know,” he responded. “That’s a fact. I really don’t know…”
MacDonald made their first priority locating and disabling the basic electronic monitoring gear in the area. Using the rushing water of the creek to mask sounds, he located two microphones and one camera pretty much where he thought they’d be. As long as Ross was in charge of security, he felt confident that he could almost exactly predict placement and type of equipment and so far he was justified.
Locating the wires, they patched in a small extra loop with alligator clips and then removed a section of wire well away from the microphones themselves. A tiny tape recorder with a continuous loop tape and a battery life of at least thirty-six hours was used to record just what the mikes should have been hearing. Then it was patched into the line and the mike was disconnected. This was done with both, which allowed them to move about fairly freely within the heavily overgrown area. The two cameras they would simply have to avoid; although some thought was given to doing the same thing with videotape, the inability of such a tape to reflect changing shadows, weather conditions, and night and day pretty much ruled that out.
Because of her experience with Angelique in the same area, Maria was able to guide them around in the undergrowth and around the cabin area, which they all avoided. There were both sound and visual monitors inside and out on the cabin and they had no wish to get near the place. The stream had provided them with full canteens of water, and that and dried foods would have to do.
MacDonald had always identified this area as one of the most vulnerable on the island, and so far he’d seen nothing to indicate that they had made any real changes.
Still, it was daylight before they had everything in place. The lava tube entrance was easily identified, but they elected to set up a small camp above it, giving them first look and helping them to avoid any messy complications, should anyone come out. MacDonald used the monitoring gear to check for any electronic listeners or motion sensors, and found none in the immediate area although every time he pointed it towards the cave the needle went off the scale. He’d known from the beginning that a nice direct way in was impossible, but he still felt some disappointment.
Frawley seemed newly energized by the mere fact that he had made it up the cliff and that they were finally on the island. He spent some time working with his heavy equipment, which took three of them to lift and carry. The object inside was imposing, but looked more like a piece of very bad plumbing than a bomb. MacDonald was certain that there would be a security sweep with human agents down the tube after dark, and it was decided that until those agents arrived and had done their work the bomb wouldn’t be moved down and in front of the cave where it would do the most
blast damage. Still, Frawley had the thing armed and activated by mid-morning, but not with the dead man’s switch. It was agreed that if they were discovered at any time before their own deadline, he would blow it where it was.
Setting up a guard schedule, they settled back for the long wait and tried to get some rest. It wasn’t easy, though. MacDonald settled back and tried to keep his mind on the job, telling himself it was just another security test, but he couldn’t really do it.
Maria came over to him. “Well, I hope you’re satisfied,” she said, keeping her voice to a whisper as they all did.
“Don’t start in on me,” he responded wearily. “I’m here and that’s that. I know it’s stupid and idiotic and all that, but there was just no way I could go back when everything I’ve spent the last six months on is here. I can’t make myself believe it’s a last stand, anyway, but if you all came in and then nothing happened, I’d always wonder what happened and whether I could have made a difference. I guess maybe dying here beat the idea of living with that. Maybe I just want to see, for once, what’s under that Dark Man disguise if I can. Or maybe I just flipped out. Crazy, eh?”
“Crazy, yeah, but—I’m glad you’re here even if it is a dead end. Oh, I don’t want to die, and I don’t want you dead, either, but I’m still glad. I’m not gonna screw this one up, I swear it.”
They settled back together and dozed fitfully.
It was still light, though, when they awoke, although the sun was waning now and they knew it would go down rapidly in this latitude. There had been occasional warnings from the sentries, and once or twice somebody had come down the path towards the cabin although they couldn’t see who, but they’d left fairly quickly and apparently without seeing any signs of the invaders. The day had remained cloudy, with a few drizzles, and the weather had just maintained the feeling of impending doom.
All day long, though, helicopters, some heavy, came in and landed at the heliport, and they heard an occasional boat whistle as well. The island, it appeared, was filling up for the occasion.
Maria was itching to go off on her own and see just what was going on, but Frawley would have none of it. The last time they’d let her go off on her own she’d called in the enemy, and he was taking no chances. He didn’t care who was coming. Whoever they were, they wouldn’t matter after eleven-thirty that night.
Finally they heard hollow voices ahead of them, just as the light was beginning to fade, and they froze as the brush moved back from the tunnel entrance and two men emerged. MacDonald stared and recognized both of them. It was Ross, puffing away on a cigarette, with one of his toadies in security. Clearly the big man was doing all the last minute checks personally.
“…Cramming so many people in that meadow it’ll look like a bunch of sardines,” Ross was saying.
“Well, what can you do?” the other man responded. “You see who some of those guys are? Jeez! We already run the god-damned world!”
“A real United Nations,” Ross agreed. “Sort of gives you a lump to see what progress they’re makin’ towards world peace. Some of them are at war with each other right now.”
They laughed at that.
“You go over to the falls and out to the lookout, I’ll check out the cabin,” Ross ordered his aide.
“Uh-oh,” MacDonald whispered. “If anybody’s monitoring those mikes and doesn’t hear footsteps, we could be in trouble.” He knew it was a risk, but one they had to take.
It was getting dark fast, though, and the aide was back quickly, holding a large lantern-type electric flashlight. Far too quickly to have made the whole rounds and done a careful check. MacDonald relaxed. That was Ross, all right.
“Anything?” he heard the security chief call.
“Naw, nothin’ much,” the aide replied. “Ain’t nobody gonna wander around here much anyway.”
“O.K., all secure at this end. Go back up and take a sweep team around both sides of the Institute. I’m going down to the meadow.”
“Suits me,” said the other, as they approached and then re-entered the tube. “I don’t even want to be near that place tonight…”
Their voices faded away into the mountains.
There was a collective letting out of breaths, and they relaxed a little more. “Give them a half hour to be busy elsewhere,” MacDonald whispered, “then we’ll go down and plant my Lord and his big box where it’ll do the most damage.”
Ross hadn’t even bothered replacing the thick brush camouflage over the tube mouth, so they took advantage of that. Getting the bomb down there was far easier than getting it to where it had rested for the day had been, although there was more nervousness because it was now assembled and armed. They dug the old man in as best they could, then watched as he rigged the dead man’s switch and set the timer, then rigged it to himself. They then used the camouflage to mask him and the bomb from view, and it looked pretty good when they were through.
“We have an extra man,” the Nigerian pointed out. “Want to leave someone here as guard?”
“No, he’ll be more good up there,” Frawley rasped. “What could a guard do here? If they find me, I blow. If they shoot me from behind, or strangle me, I blow.”
“And if you get a sneezing fit you blow,” said the Bishop glumly. “Still, I agree that a sentinel here is a waste. Anyone who can get close enough to prevent him from releasing the switch would take out a sentry as well.” He sighed. “Pip, you old rascal, good luck and god speed. I’m almost looking forward to seeing your reaction on the other side when all your lifelong beliefs are shattered.”
Frawley’s right hand was on the dead man, but he put up his left and the two squeezed hands firmly.
“I still believe we’re going to be snuffed out like a candle,” the old man said, “but I’m prepared to be pleasantly surprised. “Besides, even if you are right, I’ll have the last laugh. I’m sure no candidate for heaven, but I’m going out fighting Hell.” He paused a moment, and all humor faded. “Goodbye, Alfie.”
“Au revoir, Pip.”
There was no easy way to break off, and that did it.
They huddled together up top and checked their watches. “We have two and a half hours to attack time,” MacDonald told them. “Maria, I want to get up as close to the Institute on this side as possible without exposing ourselves. Remember—don’t let them take you. You’ve all got poison capsules. Use them if you have to. Get ready to move out!”
The Bishop’s pack was particularly heavy, containing the eight small bombs, but he managed it pretty well for a man his age. Clearly he was in top shape. The rest clipped preloaded magazines of ammunition on their belts as well as both gunpowder and concussion grenades. Maria, barefoot by her own choice, wore one of those tight children’s dance outfits in black and a small belt around her waist. She took two grenades and clipped them on the belt, and a small pistol. It wouldn’t do much damage in a fight, but it offered her some means of defense against the conventional opposition expected. The Dark Man and those with his powers, it was hoped, would be far too occupied in the meadow.
The sweep Ross had ordered was almost completed by the time they got up close enough to see. They had been slow, methodical, and thorough, but also talkative and using bright flashlights. Clearly they were not expecting any trouble and were pretty confident of their own security.
The place was brightly floodlit, and there were people and little electric carts going to and fro, but there didn’t seem to be any sentries. The common area was covered by cameras, though, which were linked to security although not directly to SAINT. There were, however, among the people going about, men in uniforms, some with rifles. Their presence was welcomed rather than feared by those watching from the bush.
“You said something about audacity, Bishop,” MacDon-ald recalled. “Well, there’s how we do it. Just walk in the front door from both sides like you own the place. SAINT has some ground to air and ground to ground missiles for staving off an air attack or sea landing, but they de
pend on people and their own gadgets up here. Once inside, act like you own the place until you get as far as you can. Then shoot anything that moves, SAINT does control the lights and air conditioning in there, so expect things to go dark fast.”
They slipped down the infra-red goggles and the scene took on an eerie glow. The lighted areas became difficult to look at, while the dark ones now stood out in bizarre if recognizable relief.
They moved carefully around the Institute until they were almost at the cliffs edge themselves. Here they would be exposed and up against a tall wire fence with barbs on the top. There were not, however, motion sensors on the fence, nor was it electrified. It was merely simply a way of discouraging anyone from getting too close and preventing them from falling off the cliff. MacDonald had recommended both motion sensing and electrification, but they’d had too much trouble with birds on the former and the latter was still on the drawing boards.
They took up guard positions, depending mostly on the darkness to conceal them, as there really wasn’t any cover to speak of back here. There was a road in back leading to a rear entrance where the garbage would be left for cart pickup, but they couldn’t make much use of it. It was covered both by a camera and by an automatic locking push-bar mechanism which sounded an alarm when opened. Also, entry there would put them at the farthest point from access to the lower floors.
They went to the fence, and MacDonald quickly cut a hole in it with wire cutters. He risked a slight noise by hammering a stake into the ground, around which a rope was tied. They removed one of the Bishop’s small square bomb boxes and lowered it over the side, MacDonald hanging out and seeing that it went down next to the big pipe but not touching the ladder or the pipe itself. He could see all the way down, and it appeared that there was a small gunboat docked at the oil storage pier as he’d expected. All the lights down there were on.
“Cart coming!” somebody hissed, and he took the risk, letting go the bomb, and got back in. There really wasn’t much he could do to hide the fence hole or stake, but they’d kept it in the dark and as small as possible. The cart actually rounded the corner before he was completely clear, but the small headlight wasn’t aimed straight ahead but downwards in front and the spotlight was being casually trained back and forth. He made it to the base of the building and lay flat and quiet. The Lebanese woman and the Nigerian had removed forty-five caliber automatics with silencers and waited tensely further up.
The Messiah Choice Page 32