"Why? What are they trying to do?"
"I don't know. And I don't want to guess. The more important question is what are they going to do with us?"
"They'll let us go, won't they?"
Another hostage joined the discussion. "I mean, once they get what they came for, there'll be no reason to keep us here."
"Don't count on it. As near as I can figure, they want this to look like an accident. They can't very well leave us around to say it wasn't, can they? I figure they plan to kill us all and leave this place so hot nobody will get in to learn the truth for years."
"Are you crazy?"
"I'm not, no. But I'm not so sure about him."
"Who the hell is he? Where did he come from?"
"I can only guess. But I'll tell you one thing. The next time that door opens, if I get the chance, I'm going to try to get a gun. If we can do that, we can hold them off in here."
"For how long?"
"How long do we have without it?" Robbins asked.
The others said nothing.
Glinkov watched the temperature gauge for the Unit 1 reactor. It was slowly rising, the needle quivering in place and jumping upward from time to time. In the distance an alarm bell rang continually. It had started as soon as the ventilation valve had opened. The red bulb high up on the control board blinked hypnotically.
Glinkov stared at it. Things were proceeding smoothly. More smoothly than he had hoped. In a little more than an hour, he would be on the helicopter Achison was bringing in. The others had served him well but, of course, they would remain behind.
Permanently. There was still one thing needed for an unqualified success, however. Mack Bolan had to be eliminated. Where was he? As long as the Peres woman remained alive, he was certain to make an attempt to free her. He should have been here already.
Well, there was still time. For Malcolm Parsons, however, time had run out. He was excess baggage at this point. Glinkov waved to the guard behind him.
"I have something I would like you to take care of."
"Sir?"
"Mr. Parsons is no longer essential to our plans here. Dispose of him, won't you?"
"Yes, sir," the guard said without questioning his leader's order. "Where is he?"
"He's on Level 4. In an office at the end of the corridor. One of the men down there can show you to him."
The guard hefted his Kalashnikov and grinned.
"I'll be right back." He crossed the wide floor to the control room exit and walked quickly toward the elevator bank. It was going to be a pleasure. Parsons was an egotistical windbag.
The elevator came slowly, opened with a sigh and closed behind him. When it reached the bowels of the plant, it opened on a dim corridor. The guard moved swiftly, his step almost jaunty. As he neared the end of the long passage, he saw two team members standing guard, one outside of each door.
"Where's Parsons?"
The guard gestured with his head. "In here."
He pushed through the door. Parsons was seated behind a desk, writing busily. He didn't look up when the man entered. The newcomer crossed the office floor and plopped down in a chair alongside the desk. "You writing another one of your bullshit speeches?"
"That's right, I am," Parsons said.
"Don't bother."
"Oh, but I must. Nuclear energy is one of the greatest social issues of our time. I have a duty to speak out."
"Finish it when we come back then."
"Oh, are we going somewhere?"
"Yup, we are. Let's go."
The guard stood up impatiently. Parsons continued to scribble. "I'll be with you in a moment. I never like to leave a thought in the middle. Sometimes you can't pick it up again."
"I never had that problem," the guard said.
Parsons finished with a flourish and placed his pen down on the paper. He smiled up at the guard.
"I shouldn't wonder," he said. "Now, where are we going in such a hurry?"
"Andrey has something he wants you to look at."
The two men left the office and stepped out into the corridor. "Just a minute," Parsons said. "I forgot to turn off the light." He stepped back into the office. At the desk he reached over and pressed the Off button on the fluorescent desk lamp. The room was coal black.
"Hurry up, Parsons, Andrey's in a hurry."
A moment later, Parsons stepped back into the hallway. He closed the door tightly and nodded to the guard. "Be back in a half hour, Thomas. Please don't let anyone in while I'm gone."
The guard smiled at Thomas behind Parsons's back. "You heard what the man said. Take care of those valuable papers."
If Parsons noticed the sarcasm, he gave no sign. The guard moved on to the end of the corridor and turned right. It was the only direction he could take. The corner was at the outside edge of the largest rectangle on which the plant was built.
Ahead of the two men, another corridor, lit even more dimly, stretched as far as they could see.
"What exactly does Andrey wish me to see?" Parsons asked.
"Be patient, old man."
"Old man, is it? I'm not as old as you think."
Maybe not, the guard thought, but you're as old as you're gonna get. He walked behind Parsons and slightly to one side of the older man's left shoulder. All that remained was to find a suitable place to knock off the old windbag, and he could get back upstairs where the action was. Steel doors, identical to those on the previous corridor, were set into the right-hand wall of the passage. They were spaced farther apart. That meant the rooms were larger.
Probably for storage, the guard thought. A good place to take care of business.
"Is it much farther?" Parsons asked.
"The next door," the guard answered. Why in hell not, he thought. He had a master key. He could open any goddamn door in the place.
Parsons stopped in front of the door. He turned the knob. The door was open. He stepped on through into the darkness.
"Get the light, would you, Malcolm?" the guard asked as he followed the antinuke leader into the room.
Parsons did nothing. Cursing under his breath, the guard reached for the wall switch. He flipped it on, and the fluorescent lights overhead flickered once and then bathed the room with sickly white light. The room was filled, ceiling to floor, with cartons and old office furniture. But where the hell was Parsons?
"Malcolm? Come on, quit playing games. We have work to do."
The old man was nowhere to be seen.
"Malcolm, I'm getting pissed off. Come on, where are you?" The guard stepped forward, working his way into the passage between two tall stacks of cartons. This was a pain in the ass. "Malcolm?"
Shoes scraped on the concrete floor behind him. The guard turned to see Malcolm Parsons standing at the mouth of the cardboard canyon.
"What the hell are you doing?" The guard stepped toward Parsons.
The antinuke leader raised the Walther automatic Glinkov had given him at the farmhouse and shot him in the face. Twice. One bullet smashed into the guard's left eye, then bored its way on through the back of the skull, scattering sticky gray tissue the length of the short passage. The second bullet pierced the forehead, struck the occipital bone and rattled uncertainly around the interior of the cranium, scattering bone fragments before coming to rest not far from its point of entry. Malcolm Parsons had been pushed too far. The guard, of course, was dead.
25
Bolan trained his Ingram on Louis and Edmunds while Cohen unlocked the bathroom and freed the hostages. Eli noticed the body of the dead guard in the corner, but said nothing. One by one, the five captives emerged, rubbing their wrists to restore circulation. As each man came out, Bolan waved him to one side. The men were too stunned to ask what was happening. When the fifth man had been freed, Cohen returned to the front office.
Finally, angry and puzzled, Matt Stevens, the chief of the guardhouse detachment, spoke. "Who are you guys? Are you with them? Or with us?"