“Thor, I think we got it. Give it a try.”
Gimbel clenched his fist before pushing the button. The arm started to slowly extend. The astronaut on the end of the panel helped guide it along until it was fully extended. It immediately rotated to face the sun.
“Way to go. Nice job,” the general said.
“Nice work,” Gimbel added.
“Piece of cake. We do this stuff all the time.”
“Right. You did good boys. Now you can bring the Fastmover on home at the scheduled time. We will be waiting for you,” the general told them.
“See you on the ground,” he said as they started back toward the cargo bay to dock the MMUs and change out of the EVA suits.
The general was indeed going to welcome them back. He had a special gift for each of them. A .45 bullet to the head and a final resting place in the desert. They knew way too much for him to let them live and spill their guts about how they saved a clandestine satellite mission. With Gimbel and the two astronauts gone, no one would know for sure if the BlackStar was ever placed in orbit.
“Here, put these coordinates in the BlackStar,” the general said.
Dr. Gimbel looked at the piece of paper and asked, “What area are they for?”
“Let me worry about that. You just put them in and we will know soon enough if it works,” the general said.
“I would like to know,” Gimbel said, not making a move to enter them.
“Dr. Gimbel. I have put up with a lot of crap from you, often bordering on insubordination, but I have let you get away with it. The BlackStar is in orbit and I really don’t want to have to explain my intentions any longer. Enter the coordinates just the way they are listed.”
“Devin, I don’t follow orders. I take suggestions, listen to ideas and even agree with one of them every once in a while, but I do not take orders from you. I built this weapon. I designed it, built it and programmed it. All you did was supply the funding and a convenient place to hide it in until it was ready to be used. You can’t operate it; only I can. I know the codes to control it and no one else but me does. Now, what are these coordinates for?”
“You arrogant prick. You are biting the hand that feeds you and that is never very smart,” the general snarled.
“I’m sorry, did you say something?”
“The goddamn coordinates are for the Pentagon. The sons-of-bitches need to know I mean business and will not tolerate any interference from that bunch of pencil pushing pansies,” he said.
Gimbel was just getting ready to protest when they heard muffled explosions and a second later, gunfire erupting. The crescendo was rising. It was obviously coming toward them.
“What’s going on?” Gimbel asked.
Devin ignored him and flipped on the monitor to the tower.
“What the hell is going on?” he said to himself.
Someone was throwing a hell of a lot of lead down there. He could see several guards down. Someone was attacking the base.
More rapid gunfire could be heard and it was coming toward the tower even quicker now. The guard who was stationed outside the door to the control room, rushed in.
“Someone is attacking us,” he shouted.
His face was pasty white.
“Don’t panic son. Our people will handle it. You get back out there and stay at your post,” the general said.
“Sir, people are dying out there. I could see men falling all over the place,” he said, his voice rising.
“Go on back out and do your job. That is an order,” the general said.
“Screw that. I’m not going to get my butt shot off for nothing,” he said, looking through the cracked door.
“I’m only going to tell you once more. Get out there and protect this base.”
“No way in hell, general. I’m not getting killed for you or anyone else. Not today.”
The general drew his .45 and shot the guard in the knee. The sound was deafening in the small structure as it reverberated off the walls. Gimbel jumped and look at Devin in disbelief.
“I don’t like cowards. I pay you to do a job and by God you are going to do it. You go out there and do your job or I’ll kill you myself. The man lay on the floor, writhing in pain, holding his knee.
“No. You shot me. You’re crazy. I can’t walk,” he said.
Devin fired a second shot, hitting the man in the foot. He screamed in pain again.
“You chicken shit,” the general said, starting across the room, “I’ll blow your damn head off.”
“Stop it,” Gimbel yelled.
Devin turned the gun on him, “Shut your damn mouth, I’m sick of you butting in.”
His eyes were wide open and he had a crazed look on his face. Gimbel didn’t say a word. He knew the general was around the bend at this point. Bullets struck the side of the building; Devin looked up for a second and then lowered the gun.
“Dr. Gimbel, would you please enter the coordinates.”
Gimbel looked at the paper and then decided he would enter them but he damn sure wasn’t going to give the code to activate the photon beam. He punched in the numbers on the key pad.
“They are in.”
“Thank you doctor,” Devin said.
He seemed calmer now. He didn’t even look at the guard lying on the floor holding his knee.
“Would you please get the BlackStar ready to fire? It will be coming up within range in less than five minutes.”
Gimbel started the sequence but it would still need his code to actually activate. Nothing Devin could do would make it emit the deadly stream of photons unless he entered the password. Devin was sitting down in the chair again, almost as if he were sedated. Gimbel shuddered at the thought of his crazy bastard in control of such a deadly weapon.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
Miller said a quick prayer and closed the eyes of his team member.
“Are you ready, Ray? I don’t know how many we are going to find in there, but when we go in, you stay low and I’ll be high. Shoot anything that looks like a threat no matter how small. We can always say we’re sorry later.”
They both reloaded their weapons. Miller had switched back the H & K machine gun; the Desert Eagle wouldn’t do them any good in close quarters.
“I’m ready,” Raymond said.
“Now,” Miller shouted and yanked the door open.
Raymond squatted down and leaned forward on his knees with Miller directly above him. It was dark and the first thing either of them saw was the flash from Devin’s .45. It caught Miller in the right shoulder, ripping the machinegun from his hand and sending him spinning out the door on his back.
Raymond fired off three quick rounds and Devin returned the fire. Raymond realized that he was a perfect target silhouetted in the doorway with the light behind him. He lurched forward on his stomach. He started to crawl out of the doorway when a bullet tore into his bicep. The gun went sailing out of his hand and skittered across the floor.
Damn it, he thought. They had come so close. He couldn’t let that bastard win. He crawled forward and tried to reach for the gun but Devin was standing over him and shoved the gun out of his reach with the toe of his boot.
“Is that you Mr. Eller? You look like shit,” he said, stooping down, the gun pointed directly at the middle of Raymond’s face.
“You could stand a shave and you really should get your hair cut. You look very unprofessional,” he said, raking the barrel of the 1911 Colt .45 across Eller’s forehead.
Raymond didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to provoke him at this point.
“What’s the matter did they cut your tongue out too?”
“No general. The fingers were enough,” he said in a calm voice.