The basement was dark except for the battery flashlights that threw their beams on the wall. Ryan continued to bang away at the ice-cold power lever handles. Lucinda had been right, the cold had hardened the viscosity of the metal and the first handle snapped off with the third or fourth blow from the sledgehammer. It flew across the room and clattered against the far wall.
Ryan closed his eyes to increase the effort as he swung the heavy sledgehammer, occasionally missing his target in the dim light. Lucinda stood to his right, aiming the nozzle of the fire extinguisher at the base of the steel levers while he swung.
"What's going on down here?" a man's voice called.
They turned around but couldn't see him. "Engineering," Ryan said. "Trying to get these damn levers back on.
"Stay where you are. I'm Security. Drop that."
Ryan and Lucinda were dimly lit by the flashlights and they couldn't see the security man standing in the blackened doorway. "I got a gun. Drop it."
Ryan wasn't about to stop. The guard could reverse everything by just putting the remaining three circuit breakers back up. They'd gone too far. He wasn't convinced the man had a gun, or would use it, so he kept swinging the sledgehammer. The second handle broke off, snapping halfway up the arm, and flew across the room. When the security man fired, the noise was deafening in the enclosed concrete space. The bullet hit near Ryan's head, chipping out a piece of the wall and blowing concrete dust into his eyes. For a moment, he couldn't see. Then Lucinda turned the nozzle of the fire extinguisher toward the sound of the gunshot and filled the doorway with cold, white carbon dioxide gas.
In the truck, Cole was waiting. The network was off the air, but the local stations didn't know it because they still had ten more seconds of local airtime before the network was scheduled to take the signal back and come out of black. John had already done a cross-check on the polarity to guarantee they were solidly on both the East and West coast transponder.
"Okay," John said. "Uplink… in ten we're coming out of black."
Cole started the tape and John hit the Transmit button, shooting the signal up onto the bird. "We're on in five… four… three… two… one…" he said, as the network news break bulletin music led the tape. John had found the Special Report music in the sound caddy in the truck. John opened the "announcer's pot," and Cole leaned in toward the mike: "This is a UBC Special Report," he said sternly.
The tape they had made at Madison Junior High came onto the screen, but without the Special Report bulletin card which would normally precede a break-in. Then Cole's image filled the screen.
"This is Cole Harris with a late-breaking story," he said into the camera with professional reporter ease. He was sitting at the desk in the small video lab in his tie and paisley suspenders. They had pulled a school bookcase in behind him to create an office set. To both Cole and John, it looked cheesy, but they hoped it would get past the local station directors. John knew that they would become suspicious shortly, so he was going to send them a "network alert." Normally, when a special bulletin hit the airwaves, it was preceded by a network alert, warning the local stations it was coming. For obvious reasons, they had not been able to do that, but in emergencies, the network alert could come a few minutes into the news break. John could type the special-frequency message onto the transmission and it would appear at the bottom of the screen so that only the local program director and his staff could see it. He decided to send it a minute or two into the broadcast, just as the news directors were becoming concerned and reaching for their phones. It would be part of a familia r p attern and should calm them. Meanwhile, Cole was doing his preamble on the line monitor. The story was raining out from Galaxy Four all across the United States: "Governments are fragile," Cole started, importantly. "They exist by virtue of the whims and passions of their populations. Power is, indeed, a heady perfume, so it is not surprising that in this decade, we have seen governments fall to political insurrection and intrigue."
Naomi had pushed the small Trinitron camera in the Madison Junior High School video lab in slowly, tightening the shot to give Cole's words more impact.
"Normally, these coups d'etat take place in third world countries. So it is doubly surprising when one is attempted here, at home in the United States of America." He stood and walked around and sat on the corner of the desk. "We will show proof that the Democratic nominee Haze Richards entered into a contract with Mafia kingpin Michael Alo in New Jersey. The goal of the alliance between these men was to put Haze Richards into the White House. Before this broadcast is complete, we will show you tapes and film connecting these two men with the late underworld financial boss Meyer Lansky. More importantly, we will prove that the New Jersey Alo crime family, working through Meyer Lansky, financed C. Wallace Litman's purchase and control of the United Broadcasting Company. These men used this powerful electronic communications network to influence, control, and script the events of the primary campaign… To influence public opinion for the purpose of hijacking next week's national election for the presidency of the United States."
John started to type his "network alert" into the transmission.
"Attention Stations… This Special Report will conclude at 6:14." He signed it: "Air Control, New York."
On the roof of the Lincoln Plaza, the printout flashed on Red Decker's GPS Sony hand unit. He scribbled the latitude and longitude on a piece of paper.
"Get the helicopter going," Mickey yelled.
The pilot, who was already in the Bell Jet Ranger, started to turn the blades.
Red Decker looked at the map in front of him and found the latitude and longitude: 4(047'1" north, 73deg48'8" west. He tracked his fingers on the map until he found the exact location. "Gotta be a mistake," Red said.
"Why? What's wrong?" Mickey yelled over the noise of the helicopter.
"This is our own dish. It's right here." He pointed on the map to the block where the UBC parking structure was located. "That's where we have our main C-band uplink. This is our own signal."
Mickey looked at him, trying to understand. "Whatta you talking about?"
"That's our uplink," Red said, trying to get Mickey to understand.
Babbling John Baily had hoped to create confusion by broadcasting right next to the UBC ten-meter C-band dish. He hoped it would buy valuable time. It did. It bought fifty-three seconds.
Red Decker moved away from the helicopter and reactivated his GPS unit, waited for it to get the bounce-back ATIS signal, then shook his head. 'This is nuts," he said as he got the same reading.
"What!" Mickey was losing patience.
"Our big dish is a C-band and this GPS receiver is only for K-U band transmission, so it can't be our signal… But it's coming from the same place. How can that be?"
"They're on the fucking roof with that stolen dish, asshole!" Mickey turned and ran to the helicopter and jumped in
Red watched as some of the men in the helicopter grabbed up automatic weapons and began pulling the slides, chambering rounds. He saw the chopper take off and lean to starboard. Then the rotor changed pitch as they streaked off toward UBC and the final confrontation.
Chapter 71.
C. WALLACE LITMAN AND HIS WIFE SALLY HAD INVITED Karen and Max Jergenson over for a game of bridge. Litman always kept the UBC broadcast on low in the living r oom. He had one eye on the TV as he looked at his hand.
Diamonds were trump. C. Wallace pondered his opening lead. Then he saw a picture of Joseph Alo on the TV. He reached for the remote control and turned up the volume.