He stood stiffly, unmoving, silhouetted by the Andes. As he spoke his voice was calm and his tone reassuring. Now he turned away from them and stared at the sky.
“I have few secrets from any of you. You know we make the best optical armour in the world. Scores of companies want our secrets, secrets that are entrusted to you who stand with me today. We are — we may — find ourselves under attack. If it comes, it will come suddenly and without mercy. You will all be killed.
“That is, unless you resist.”
His eyes scanned his staff.
“I know many of you are wondering why I don’t just call the local police or demand protection from the government.” He laughed. “That would be nice, but it is a fantasy to think they would help us. You know they sell themselves to the highest bidder, and all they have to do is to turn away… and perhaps, later, stack up the bodies.”
He continued to pick out the people behind the eyes that watched him. He tried to reach out to them with all his will.
“I ask you only to defend your own lives, and I provide for you the means to do so. After all, I love you all. You have given me your trust and your precious time. I owe you that at least — the means to defend yourself.”
He reached a hand towards Remo, who quickly passed him a Glock Mark 1 automatic pistol.
“I am giving each of you — along with an AK-47, should you wish it — one of these, with three clips of fifteen rounds of teflon-coated uranium slugs. They will penetrate any body armour.”
He laughed again.
“As a matter of fact, you helped me develop them and they are a part of what our enemy wants.
“My security force will brief you further. Let me add only that my heart and my life are in your hands, my friends. May God be with us all.”
Suarez turned away from the group and faced the window while Remo and his other close associates began distributing weapons to the staff. Slowly the volume of sound rose in the room as the conversation and questions flowed freely. Some seemed to have doubts believing the threat was real, while others stood quietly, apparently stunned by their boss’s words. But, despite some minor protests, when he finally turned to survey his staff again he could see how very persuasive his words had been. Once again he had risen to the occasion. In his mind, this was another lofty deed that verified his princely powers.
When everyone had eventually spilled out of the room to their own quarters or to emergency stations, Remo stood before his employer.
“My guess is still that Trevor will show up — talking about some bitch,” said Remo.
“I have a feeling he isn’t coming,” said Suarez.
“Humour an old friend, will you, Remo? Get us ready for war.”
Gadflies One and Two left the deck of the Big E at midmorning. Their sleek angularity, framed by the sun, drew more than a few comments from the crew. In Gadfly One, Grimes reminded his companions, Hayes and Henry Gibbs, that this was the first time these helicopters had flown in broad daylight.
Shep was still by his master’s side, at Henry’s absolute insistence. He would never have gotten his way in the argument with the SEAL if the general hadn’t still regarded the dog as a bona fide witness and an asset to the mission. But even the general’s support was tested when, during takeoff, the dog farted loudly.
“Wheeeeew, Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” yelled Grimes into his helmet’s microphone. “What are you feeding that mutt?”
“Same as always,” said Henry. “Seal.”
Rob Walters piloted the craft on an indirect route to the Hacienda: first towards the northeast to avoid coastal towns, then a pause to regroup at a hastily constructed depot outside Santiago.
October 1, the big day, was finally upon them. Around the globe, people held their breath as they waited for news. Would the industrialized nations come up with five billion? Was the entire matter a hoax? Now, as the deadline arrived, reality caught up with speculation. Would the piper be paid? After all the media analysis and speculation, the world’s questions remained unanswered. Everyone knew that for the first time in history a terrorist had forced the world to its knees. And nearly everyone agreed that, if it was only money that the terrorists wanted, then it should be given to them. Still, the outcry to the contrary was easy to hear ringing in the halls of government. All the old warhorses of the NATO nations were affirming over and over the danger of capitulation to terrorism.
Having armed his Hacienda with guns and paranoia, Rudolfo Suarez retired to the place he called his doomsday room: a radio/computer room located next to his living-room. He sat in a padded black leather chair fingering a matching console. Behind him a computer waited to be triggered by a signal from Geneva, Switzerland, that the first payment had cleared the Chase Manhattan Bank.
If the world had paid its bill, Suarez would know by noon. Everything was going as he’d planned, except that his British bodyguard, Hodges, had still not arrived. By eleven, Suarez knew he’d never see the man again. As he stared at the colourful numbers sliding on and off the screen of his laptop, he sensed that his orders to his staff had been more than mere precautionary actions warranted by the situation. His feelings of portent grew with each passing second as he waited for the numbers to rol.
A war was raging in his mind. A crescendo of conflicting voices, like spirits of ancient Incan kings, all gathered to give him counsel.
As Remo entered the room, Suarez looked up from the screen. He noted the strain in Remo’s eyes. “It is too early in the day to look so tired,” he said.
“It’s a big day,” said Remo. He looked at the screen of Rudy’s laptop. “I guess it hasn’t rolled over yet, huh?”
Rudolfo didn’t answer.
The condor had taken flight.
Ten
Shep was hanging his head and looking queasy as the Gadflies settled down on the landing strip for refuelling.
Henry held the dog between his legs and patted him reassuringly. By now Henry was used to helicopters, but it seemed Shep would never get acclimatized to them.
And Henry had to admit that his own supposedly iron stomach was having problems with the motion of the Gadfly. The strange flight characteristics of the tiny black choppers had him imagining this must be what it might be like to ride piggyback on a bumblebee. He was glad to feel solid ground under his feet again when he stepped out onto the quickly laid tarmac of the fuel depot.
Several black-suited military types with automatic weapons quickly surrounded the Gadflies and stood with their backs to them, presumably to keep prying eyes away from the secret craft.
The sight made him grin in spite of his airsickness.
“Who do they think they’re guarding against?” he said to Hayes. “This looks like the emptiest piece of real estate in all of Chile.”
“You never know.” Hayes looked down at Henry’s malamute and shook his head. “Your beast has looked better. Is he going to make the second leg of the flight?”
As if on cue, Shep vomited.
“I guess now he will. There goes his breakfast,” said Henry with a forced laugh.
Grimes stared at the dog and shook his head. “You and your mutt, Henry, I swear to God…”
Without finishing his sentence, the SEAL walked to the other Gadfly to talk to his men.
“Well, Henry,” said the general, “don’t feel bad about Shep. He’s doing about as well as the President of Chile did on his maiden flight in a Gadfly. Still, I find it hard to understand why you’re so insistent about the dog going everywhere you do.”