“The guests should leave very soon.” Ishmael walked over to the tan-and-pale-green camouflage cover and lifted it from one of the trucks. He got into the back and emerged with two heavy suitcases. He set them down and opened them. Weapons. Weapons he began to distribute to the Fruit of Islam.
“What is this?” Talib asked, following Ishmael to the back of the truck where a crate of ammo sat on the edge.
“You told me there’d be no violence,” Talib whispered harshly.
Ishmael went back to the suitcase and pulled out a small submachine gun which he slung over his shoulder. “Brother Abu,” he said. “We’re getting ready to blow up an entire underground complex, and you set it up. That’s violence in my dictionary.”
“But the guns,” Talib said. “We made a deal that no one would get hurt, that we’d only do this when the place was cleared.”
“Do you hear that, my friends?” Ishmael said loudly. “Our brother wants us to fight a war with no casualties.”
“Me, too!” someone shouted. “At least no casualties for us!”
Everyone laughed as they filled the ditty-bags hanging on their belts with extra clips of ammunition.
“Wait!” Talib said, grabbing Ishmael’s arm. “This wasn’t the deal we made.”
Ishmael jerked his arm out of Talib’s grasp. “You’re a dreamer, Abu, without the guts to see your dreams through. How the hell do you expect us even to get on the grounds, eh? Ask the nice G if they’ll invite us in for tea?”
“I just thought, I … don’t know what I thought.”
“Right,” Ishmael said, donning a bandolier full of shotgun shells to go with the sawed-off weapon he carried in his free hand. “Remember, Brother Talib: Thinkers prepare the revolution; bandits carry it out.”
He addressed his men. “Once we’ve committed, there’s no turning back. We either succeed or die trying. We fight the Great Satan himself tonight and if we have to, we fight to the last man. Shoot to kill anyone or anything that gets in your way. We probably won’t all make it back. If I get to Paradise first, I’ll prepare the way for you by trying out the houris!”
The men cheered, holding their weapons in the air. Confusion paralyzed Talib. The event was suddenly upon him, happening fast. It wasn’t talk anymore.
Ishmael jammed a pistol into his hand. “Here,” he said. “You’ll probably need this.”
Talib looked morosely at the gun, then stuck it into the waistband of his black drawstring trousers.
Crane and Charlie waved good-bye to partygoers as they climbed onto the elevator, calling out their final congratulations. The radiation alert bleated gently in the background. As the doors closed, Lanie walked down the hall from computer control. She took Charlie from Crane. The boy immediately rested his head on his mother’s shoulder and closed his eyes, thumb in his mouth.
“Sure you don’t want to go with them?”
Crane asked. “I may be a couple of hours here.”
She shook her head. “Charlie can sleep in the computer room,” she said. “I’ve got plenty of work there to prepare for tomorrow.”
He nodded. “We’re thinking along the same wavelengths. Burt and I decided to go ahead and rig the detonation now, no reason to wait. I’ll get to it as soon as I check that leak in #63.”
“It’s a good-sized bleed-off,” she returned. “Enough to be dangerous in a few hours time. Did you tell anyone to send the elevator back down once they reached the top?”
“Burt’s up there,” Crane said, shaking his head. “He’ll ride it down.”
“You’re going to trigger it tonight?” she asked, slowly rocking back and forth with Charlie.
He smiled. “Yeah.”
“What made you decide to do it now?”
“Burt’s antsy … I trust that,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re turning claustrophobic. And the thing’s as ready as it’s ever going to be. Why wait?”
They started walking back down the hallway toward the computer room. “It’s fine with me,” she said, “but I’ve got a feeling there’s a ton of inspectors and officials—”
“And demonstrators, and terrorists. If anyone’s unhappy with this, they can sue me.”
Both of them laughed, Lanie giving him a lingering kiss when they reached the computer room door. “You seem happier already,” he said.
“Are you kidding? You can’t imagine how happy I’ll be to get out of this place. I’m going to walk in that room, pack up my personal items, shut down the systems, arm the plastique, and kiss this place’s ass goodbye. Where do you want to trigger it?”
He pressed her up against the door. “At home … while we’re making love. We’ll make the earth move.”
“You already know how to do that, honey,” she said, kissing him again. “Let’s fly back to the Foundation tonight. Do we, uh … have another house somewhere?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Maybe we should think about buying one. Charlie’s going to need to know at some point soon that he’s not the only child in the world.”
“Noted,” he said. “In fact, there’s a lot of things we can do now that we’re finished here. Let’s take a vacation. We can go tomorrow. What’s to stop us? We’ll toss our wristpads and return to nature.”
“How long has it been since you’ve been on a vacation?”
“I’ve never been on one,” he said. “Thought it might be fun to try.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“You will see it. I promise.”
Chapter 19
DANSE MACABRE
Abu Talib’s insides were in knots as he watched the guests emerge from the elevator tunnel and head toward their vehicles. He felt even worse than when he’d learned about Northwest Gemstone, understood it for the ruse it was, and forced himself to go public with scathing attacks on Crane.
Several helos belonging to guests leapt into the night sky, flying northward; cars lined up to move down the strip from the parking lot to the front gates.
“This is it,” Ishmael said. “They’ll hit us with nausea gas and disorienting soundwaves.” Years of rioting had taught him and his Fruit of Islam well. “The rebreathers in your masks will protect you. If any of you have aurals, turn them off. They’ll broadcast the sound right into your head if you don’t. Know your assignments and keep the deafeners in your ears. They’ve got electric water cannons, but we’ll be grinding them under our tires before they have the chance to turn them on. You know your jobs. Get to your vehicles!”
Yelling and cheering, getting themselves up for battle, the men hustled to their trucks. Frozen in place, Talib could only watch.
“If you don’t have the strength of your convictions, stay here.” Ishmael sneered at him.
“Crane’s helo is still sitting in the yard,” Talib said, pointing at the screen.
“Really?” Ishmael looked at the helo on the teev. “Allah blesses us. We can take care of the blasphemy and the blasphemer at the same time. Are you coming?”
His paralysis suddenly broken, he shouted, “Damn right I am.” He hurried after Brother Ishmael to the deuce and a half. “We agreed: no killing.”