Blowout (38 page)

Someone fired two shorts bursts from inside the building, somewhere upstairs, maybe in the corridor.

“Move your ass, soldier,” Ashley said in his ear. “We've got incoming.”

With her help Osborne managed to get to his feet, where he swayed unsteadily for several seconds before he took a step forward, nearly pitching to the ground. His leg was bent, or at least the socket and the tip of his stump had been damaged in the awkward landing.

“Can you make it?” Ashley asked. She was deeply concerned, worry all over her face.

“Piece of cake now that I've got my balance,” Osborne said, taking the carbine, and hobbling straight west into the darkness, Ashley right beside him.

“Do you want to try for your car and get the hell out of here?” she asked.

“Nope,” Osborne said through the pain. “We're going down to Donna Marie.”

“What?”

“Egan's people mean to destroy the place, so we're going to stop them.”

Ashley had to laugh, but the sound was without much humor. “Oh, I thought maybe you had something difficult in mind.”

 

59

AT THE BAR,
his back to the hostages sitting on the dance floor, Egan keyed the portable radio tuned to the Air Force Rapid Response Team's tactical frequency. “Ellsworth Rapid Response, this is the Initiative. Copy?”

No one responded. The six-foot fiberglass whip antenna was fully extended, nothing in the building would interfere with the signal and the radio was powerful enough to reach anyone in the air out to a range of at least fifty miles. If they were incoming, which he expected they were, they were hearing him.

“Ellsworth Rapid Response, this is Barry Egan at the South Dakota Initiative. I've taken over here, and unless you want me to start killing personnel, respond.”

“Copy,” the radio blared. They were close. “What is your situation?”

“I expect you already know what our situation is. Who am I speaking to?”

“I repeat, what is your situation?”

Besides a couple of little hiccups in the plan, Egan was enjoying himself. This was the big score he'd been looking for all of his life; not just in terms of money, though he'd been promised twenty-five million in cash, but in terms of status, prestige. No matter the outcome here, he would forever be known as a player, a serious contender.

“Identify yourself,” Egan said.

The radio remained silent.

“As you wish,” Egan muttered. He turned and motioned for one of the contractors to bring over a hostage. This one a young, frightened woman. Egan keyed the microphone and held it out to her. “Tell them your name, sweetheart,” he said.

“Watts,” the girl said. “I'm Susan Watts. Please help us.”

Keeping the mike keyed, Egan pulled out his pistol and shot the girl in the head, driving her backwards off her feet. He held the mike up so that whoever was listening could hear the hostages' screams and shouts.

“Dump her body outside,” Egan told a contractor, and he turned back to the mike. “That's one,” he said. “Who am I talking to?”

“Captain Glenn Nettles, United States Air Force Rapid Response Team Alpha. There was no need to kill that girl.”

“Unfortunately I knew of no other way to motivate you into cooperating with me, Nettles. And believe me, cooperate this night you will. What is your present position and strength?”

The radio was silent.

“I have plenty of hostages here, other than Dr. Lipton and Ashley Borden, who I'm ready to kill.”

“We're forty klicks out directly to your south. Two MH-60 Blackhawks in the lead with six operators plus crew including two gunners in each.”

“That it?”

“We have two squads of ground troops en route,” Nettles radioed, obviously pissed off. “Means you walk out of there now, or we'll take you out in body bags.”

Egan keyed the mike. “Bring me another fucking hostage,” he said, and he released the push-to-talk button. All high drama, he thought. Theater. And he loved it.

“No, wait!” Nettles shouted.

One of the contractors was starting to pull a hostage to his feet, but Egan waved him off. He keyed the mike. “That's better.”

“What do you want?”

“I think that you or the people who cut your orders know. But this is what you're going to do for us, Captain. And there will be no arguments, no bargaining, no delays. As I said I have plenty of hostages here. Are you ready to copy?”

“Roger.”

“Good man. I do not want you or your people in the air or on the ground closer than ten miles from the south gate. So when you reach that point you will touch down. Failure to do so will result in more deaths. Copy?”

“Roger,” Nettles said. “Let me talk to Dr. Lipton.”

“Later.”

“Now!” Nettles shouted.

Egan was about to key his mike, but Nettles beat him to it.

“Wait. We'll be setting down in about twelve minutes.”

Egan waited to answer. In the opening moves it was always a good idea to let the other bastard sweat a little.

“You copy that?” Nettles came back.

“Roger. Are you recording my voice?”

“Yes.”

“Good, then there's no need for you to write anything down. More accurate that way. Soon as you land, call again and I'll tell you what will come next.”

“I need to talk to Dr. Lipton.”

“Indeed you will, in due time,” Egan said. He laid the mike on the bar counter and got off the stool. “Nobody touches the radio, no matter what the bastard has to say.”

The contractors all nodded, and Egan went outside where he keyed his lapel mike.

“Post one, team lead, are you in your fallback position?”

“We're on our way,” the squad leader said. The four of them would wait just inside the generating hall, where they had a good firing angle on the rear gate, and yet could protect the explosive charges until the choppers that would take them to the Dickinson airport arrived.

“Post two, team lead.”

“We're on our way to you, but there's been a fair amount of gunfire from the R and D building,” the squad leader said. “Do you want us to reinforce?”

“Stand by,” Egan said. “Rodriguez, copy?”

“Yes,” Rodriguez came back immediately.

“Switch to two,” Egan said and switched. “Copy?”

“Sí,”
Rodriguez replied and switched to the secondary channel.

“I'm talking to the Air Force. They've agreed to stand off for now, as we knew they would.”

“How many hostages did it take to convince them?”

“Only one, just as you predicted would happen. But they want to talk to Lipton.”

“Let them.”

“She and the lieutenant commander managed to get out and head up to the R and D center. You need to take charge and get her and the Borden woman back here ASAP. I've got my hands full.”

“I'm not going to ask how you allowed that to happen,” Rodriguez came back sharply. “But I'm on it.”

Egan was going to call the man on his tone, but he thought better of it. “Thanks,” he said, and he switched back to channel one. “Post two, team lead. Rodriquez will be taking charge for the moment. Copy?”

“Copy,” the squad leader said, and Egan was sure that he heard the son of a bitch snicker. His time would come, too.

Egan stalked back into the club, where he went behind the bar, grabbed a bottle of whisky, took a deep draft, and tossed it away. The contractors watched him but said nothing.

Nettles came back. “Egan, this is Nettles, we're down.”

Egan grabbed the mike. “No screwing around now, Captain. You're going to have a Gulfstream or some other business jet capable of carrying twenty people to Colombia brought to the airport at Dickinson. Only the flight crew will be aboard. No weapons. Is that understood?”

“Yes.”

“Also aboard will be five million dollars in gold at the current rate of—let's call it two thousand dollars per ounce.”

“That may take some time,” Nettles said.

“You have ten hours, nonnegotiable,” Egan said. “Dr. Lipton and General Forester's daughter, Ms. Borden, will be coming with us aboard a Chinook CH-47 or some variant, which will set down in front of Donna Marie within that time period. No one but the unarmed crew will be aboard. Noncompliance will result first in Ms. Borden's death, and then if we find ourselves cornered, Dr. Lipton will die.”

“Why?” Nettles asked, his tone a little more respectful.

By then Egan figured the captain finally understood that he was dealing with a professional. “Money, of course. And, one more thing for you to consider. We have planted explosives inside the power plant, in the control room, at the turbine, at the wellhead and furnace. All of them remotely controlled. Believe me, if I'm forced into it, I will not hesitate to push the button.”

“I'll relay your demands,” Nettles said.

Egan laid down the mike. “I'm hungry,” he said. “Are you all hungry?” he asked everyone, including the hostages.

No one answered.

“Well good, then,” he said. “Cooks, let's beat feet and rustle up some grub.”

 

60

CAMERON AND WHITNEY
made it to the second-floor corridor in the R&D building just steps in front of whoever had blown the hinges off the front door. Holding up just around the corner, Whitney half propping him up, Cameron held his breath and listened for someone on the stairs.

Two men, he thought. Maybe three, directly below at the foot of the stairs. One of them said something that Cameron couldn't make out, and he eased Whitney silently back a half step and raised the M4 carbine.

Right now a couple of flash-bang grenades would have come in handy, he thought. But so then would a Squad Automatic Weapon, maybe the M249 with a burst firing rate in excess of seven hundred rounds per minute.

Whitney started to whisper something, but Cameron put a finger to his lips and shook his head. He pointed toward the stairs and raised two and then three fingers. She was wide-eyed and out of breath, but she nodded that she understood.

He felt like hell, still light-headed from the blow to his head and the loss of blood from the wound in his back. But he was in no real pain, and Whitney had staunched most of the blood by wadding up her scarf and stuffing it under his shirt. But he no longer had his legs and most of his stamina was gone.

The man in the hall said something else, and cocking his head Cameron was certain he heard them walk in opposite directions down the corridor—
away
from the stairs. They were going to search the entire building room by room, starting with the ground floor.

A few moments later a door crashed open downstairs, and Cameron backed up. “Your office,” he whispered. “The computer connection might still be up.”

They turned and headed down the corridor careful to make absolutely no noise, Cameron in the lead. But he pulled up short at the door to the conference room and again held a finger to his lips.

A lot of cold air was coming from under the door. A window was open. He put his ear to the door but so far as he could tell nothing moved from within. No sounds. Nothing but the intense cold.

He cautiously tried to open the door but it moved less than a quarter of an inch. It wasn't locked, but something heavy was jammed against it.

Osborne, the thought crystallized. He and Ashley had shown up for the party, but something had spooked them and they had taken off. It's what the shooting back at Henry's had been all about. They'd made it this far, and probably cornered, Nate had blocked the conference-room door, probably with a table, broken out a window, and he and Ashley had made their escape.

To Donna Marie to try to disarm the explosives. The magnificent son of a bitch hadn't tried to run, tried to get lost out in the hills until the Rapid Response Team showed up. Instead he and Ashley had taken the fight to Egan and the contractors.

Something crashed downstairs, sounding like a lot of breaking glass. “They're in the control room,” Whitney whispered. “We don't have a lot of time.”

“You're right,” Cameron agreed, and the two of them went next door to Whitney's office where she powered up her computer, while he closed and locked the corridor door, and opened the connecting door to the conference room.

The big table was jammed against the door as he thought it might be, and the arctic cold air came through the window that Osborne had broken out. He went across and looked outside, but so far as he could see nothing moved in the darkness. Egan's people were overconfident, he thought, sloppy.

“I'm in,” Whitney said excitedly.

Cameron came back to her office. “Get the duty officer, tell them what's going on,” he said.

She pulled up the Rapid Response Team's duty officer down at Ellsworth. A second later the camera light came on, and the image of the OD came on screen.

“I'm Dr. Lipton, do you recognize me?” Whitney said, keeping her voice low.

The sergeant was startled. “Holy shit. I mean yes, ma'am. Are you in a secure location?”

“No,” Cameron said over her shoulder. “We're in the R and D building, but we're going to have to get out of here within the next minute or two. Is the team on its way?”

“Yes, sir. Captain Nettles and two Blackhawks were in the air, but they're in contact with the incursion force, and were ordered to land ten miles out. They're on the ground right now.”

“Can you patch us over to them?”

“Yes, sir. Stand by.”

A full half minute later Captain Nettles's image came up on the screen, and when he realized who he was looking at on his monitor he pursed his lips. “What's your situation?” he demanded.

“We're in the R and D Center but we're going to have to get out of here in about two mikes,” Cameron said. “As you can see Dr. Lipton and I are not under the incursion force's control. Neither are Nate Osborne and Ashley Borden.”