38
There were twenty-eight cases ranging in size from footlocker to armoire. All were secured by the same Sargent & Greenleaf 833 padlock they’d found on the door to the hut.
“This isn’t all of it, is it?” Gillespie asked.
“No. Unless Zahm’s inventory was wrong, I’d say this is about a third.”
“They’re pretty well sealed,” Valentina remarked, running her hand over one of the cases. “Sure the Ajax bots can get inside?”
“We’re talking about a fraction of a hair’s width,” Fisher replied. “They’ll get in. Everybody get behind me and back up.” Once they were a safe distance from the cases, Fisher pulled Noboru’s makeshift Ajax pistol from his pack and loaded a dart. He took aim on the ceiling above the Anvil cases and fired. The pistol emitted a barely audible pfft. The dart bounced off the ceiling, bounced off one of the cases, and rolled until the case’s steel edge stopped it.
They stood in silence for a full minute. While Fisher hadn’t expected fireworks, the dispersal of the Ajax bots was nonetheless anticlimactic.
Standing behind Fisher, Noboru stared at his OPSAT screen. “Nothing yet.”
“Wait for it.” Grim had said it could take up to five minutes for the Ajax bots to fully disperse and infiltrate.
“What if there’s no power for them to gravitate to?” Hansen asked.
“Just about every weapon or system on the inventory list is equipped with some form of EPROM — erasable programmable read-only memory — a low-power battery for housekeeping functions like date, time, and user settings. And if it doesn’t have an EPROM, it’s not one of the higher-end items. If we lose it, no disaster.”
Noboru said, “I’ve got action. Something’s pinging in there. Another one… three more…” He looked up. “I’d say our first live-fire exercise is a success.”
They gave the area one last quick search, then headed for the door. From inside one of the blast funnels Gillespie called, “Check this out.” They walked through the funnel to where she was standing. “Watch your step,” she said. “It’s gotta be extra venting for the engines.”
Fisher stepped forward and looked down. In the darkness they’d failed to see the gap between the funnels and the wall. It was hard to judge depth through the night-vision goggles, but he suspected the vent extended to the lowermost level.
Back at the ramp, Fisher pulled Noboru and Valentina aside and whispered, “The guards are yours. Knives if you can manage it; PSS pistols as backup.”
The both nodded.
Again Fisher led the staggered column down the ramp. At the halfway point he called a halt, gestured for Hansen and Gillespie to take up overwatch positions, and then gave Noboru and Valentina the nod. Grozas slung and secured, they continued down the ramp. Fisher crept to the railing to watch their progress. He slung his own Groza and drew his PSS and extended the barrel through the railing, making sure he had a clear line of fire on each guard.
As trained, Noboru and Valentina moved with exaggerated slowness, pausing between each heel-to-toe step until they were within ten feet of the guards. In unison, they stopped. Stepped forward. Stopped. When they were each within an arm’s reach of their targets, they stood up, took a fluid step forward…
Hands clamped over mouths and knives came up. The guards slumped down, dead. Noboru and Valentina dragged the bodies back up the ramp to where Fisher was crouched. He nodded to Hansen and Gillespie, who came forward and took the bodies the rest of the way up the ramp. They were back five minutes later.
“Stashed them in medical,” Hansen whispered to Fisher.
“Apt,” Fisher replied.
They kept going, pausing only briefly at the next ramp’s railing so Fisher could check the next level. He pointed to his eyes and his ears and shook his head, then gave the split-up signal. Over the next ten minutes Gillespie, Noboru, and Valentina checked in. Fisher ordered them back.
Noboru crouched down and said, “Found another stack of Anvil cases. They’re tagged.”
“How big?” Fisher asked.
“About the size of the first one.”
“Two down. One to go.” Fisher radioed Hansen: “Status report.”
“Stand by.” Two minutes passed, then: “Coming back.”
When he rejoined the group, his face was red and flushed. “We’ve got company. Medical’s been turned into a barracks. I counted a couple of dozen beds, all occupied.”
“The attendees?” Noboru guessed.
Fisher nodded. “The hosts wouldn’t be bunked with the guests.”
“Maybe he’s not here yet,” Valentina offered.
“Maybe. We’ve got one more level to check. With any luck, we’ll tag the last batch of cases and be back to Severobaikalsk for breakfast.”
Behind them, a familiar voice broke the silence: “Not gonna happen, dickheads.”
Even before Fisher turned around, the expressions on Valentina’s and Gillespie’s faces confirmed what his ears had told him: Ames.
Valentina muttered, “He’s got a grenade.”
“Armed?”
“Can’t tell.”
Fisher whispered, “Distance?”
“Sixty feet,” replied Gillespie. “He’s right on your six o’clock.”
It was a long shot, especially off a quick heel turn, but not impossible. Still, having never used the Groza before, Fisher put his chances at only 70 percent.
Ames said, “Don’t even think it. Don’t even turn around. I go down, so does the grenade. No way you’ll cover the distance in time.”
Fisher noted that Ames’s voice was still relatively soft. He wants something.
Gillespie said, “He’s moving. Coming ahead… six o’clock… seven… eight. Forty feet. He’s at the ramp railing. Damn!”
“What?”
“I can hear you whispering,” Ames replied. “Turn around and you’ll see what.”
Slowly Fisher rotated on the ball of his foot, simultaneously raising the butt of the Groza closer to his shoulder. Hansen mirrored his movements. The entire group was now facing Ames. Gillespie and Valentina tried to crab-walk sideways to expand their fields of fire, but Ames stopped them. “Nope. Not another step.”
Ames stood at the railing with his grenade hand extended over the ramp. He took a few steps closer, but his arm never wavered. If Fisher took the shot now, he wouldn’t miss, but there would be no stopping the grenade. The explosion would bring everyone inside the complex down onto them.
“What do you want?” Fisher asked evenly.
“Just wanted to let you know you were right about me. I am a survivor. You figured your little gasoline trick sent me over the edge, didn’t you?”
“How long did it take you to get out?” Fisher asked.
“An hour. Good thing I’m skinny. Some of those tunnels were tight. While you were hiding from the helicopter, I was flagging it down. It took a little talking, but I finally convinced them of who I was.”
“And you waited for us.”
“Right.”
“Do they know we’re here?”
“No. I wanted to make sure I saw it all happen. I told him you were still in Irkutsk.”
“Him?” Fisher repeated. “Who?”
Ames smiled. “You’ve met him. In fact, he told me you had him in your hands and you let him go.”
Fisher’s mind flashed to the guards Noboru and Valentina had killed. The faces had looked familiar, but he’d dismissed it. He shouldn’t have. He had seen them before.
In Portinho da Arrábida, at Charles “Chucky Zee” Zahm’s villa.