Davey looked into his mind and through it. He called upon memories of the wires strapped to his balls, of stinking in his own urine, and of the horrible agony he’d felt when the colonel pushed the button, to fuel a hate which rose from deep within him, awakening The Chill. He felt it coming strong and sure, felt it first as a dull throb in his temples and then as a racking in his whole head.
Bane felt it too, as if the air in the room had been split into a billion separate fibers standing on edge, heating up, charging with electricity. Something forced him to move away from Chilgers.
The colonel’s fingers started to tremble, soon his arms too. His teeth clamped together, separated, clamped again. His mouth dropped finally, his eyes bulging open, unblinking. The trembling in his fingers worsened, and now Bane could see the veins near his temples pulsating wildly.
“Is there a way to stop the missiles?” Bane asked him, knowing he had just over ten minutes left to do so.
Bane could see Chilgers straining to resist. Davey pushed harder. He was master of The Chill this time, finding it surprisingly simple to control its level with so narrow a field of focus. The feeling pleased him.
Chilgers succumbed. “Yes.”
“How?” Bane demanded. “How can we stop the missiles?”
Chilgers resisted again. Bane glanced at Davey, saw the boy’s eyes had narrowed into tiny focused slits blazing at their target. He felt that if he passed his palm before them, a pair of holes would be burned in his skin.
Chilgers’ teeth ground together, every pore of his facial flesh vibrating enough to blur his features. A trickle of blood started from one of his nostrils. His mouth pulsed open, wider with each beat.
“Whole plan,” he muttered toward no one, unable to hold the words back any longer. They came reluctantly, as if his own voice had turned on him. “Whole plan was to have missiles and later warheads travel within individual folds in space long enough to get them to their detonation points. Space would then fold back to normal to allow them access back to our side where they would become visible”—Chilgers mounted another attempt at resistance; blood trickled from his other nostril—“and tangible again. Detonating missiles on reverse side of space would serve no purpose, would—”
“But how can they be stopped?” Bane cut in, knowing the nine-minute mark was fast approaching.
No resistance this time. “Each warhead is equipped with its own gravity-demagnetizing device, but all are controlled from the main computer. The computer can be reprogramed to … reprogramed to … Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! …”
Chilgers started to collapse. Davey pushed harder. Sitting half bent over, the colonel resumed.
“Computer can be reprogramed to reduce the fold openings to an infinitely small degree so that the warheads would be unable to pass back through them, effectively trapping them on the other side for infinity.”
Chilgers slumped. Bane jerked him back up by the hair.
“Loop would continue forever on other side of fold. Warheads for all intents and purposes would cease to exist in our dimension.”
“That’s it!” Bane screamed. “Where is this computer?”
“Upstairs. Control console in private room in main terminal area.”
“How can we get there?”
“Main terminal area accessible by private elevator.”
“Take us there,” Bane told him and Chilgers fidgeted in his chair only briefly before rising dazedly.
Davey’s eyes stayed locked on him, maintaining their intensity. Bane looked at him and saw the hate, felt it, was afraid to move any closer to the boy. Something occurred to him suddenly.
“Do you keep any guns in your office. Colonel?”
Chilgers’ face twitched horribly. Bane realized he’d have to wipe away the blood dribbling from his nose before they reached the computer area.
“Cabinet in closet,” the colonel told him.
Bane opened it and chose an Uzi from a wide assortment of automatic weapons. Time was the only concern now; only eight minutes remained before the 360 MX warheads would reenter through the folds in space and detonate over their targets. He led Chilgers to the elevator, careful not to come between him and Davey. The computer terminal room was located on the floor directly above them. Bane pushed number 4 and slid back the Uzi’s bolt as the compartment began its agonizingly slow climb. Davey positioned himself behind Chilgers, focusing on the colonel’s neck. Its thin flesh began pulsing. Bane couldn’t believe what he was seeing, what he was feeling. The boy had actually taken over the bastard’s mind. But for how long could he maintain control? Bane saw the strain was telling on him already; his breath was coming in rapid heaves and his eyes were squinting in what might have been pain.
Just seven more minutes, Davey. Hold on for just seven more minutes….
Davey wasn’t sure if Josh spoke the words or just thought them. Either way, they came in loud and clear and he wanted to tell him he could control Chilgers forever. He had never been able to hold onto The Chill this long before without pain splitting his head, but never before had he been able to concern himself with the single target of a man he truly hated. His escapes in New York, the experiments, the destruction of the operating room — all had required infinitely greater expenditures of energy on his part. Oh, the pain was there all right, but it was holding at a dull throb and that much he could take.
The elevator doors began to slide open.
“You go first, Colonel,” Bane said. “Walk directly to the console room that controls Vortex.” Bane stepped closer, hid the Uzi between his and Chilgers’ sides. Davey was still directly behind the colonel.
The doors finished their slide. Chilgers stepped out first.
The Vortex console was located in the far right-hand corner of a mammoth room filled with computer banks, consoles, and terminals. It was contained by a newly built structure that looked like a bank vault. The eyes of the on-duty COBRA personnel followed them as they approached the Vortex center. Since Chilgers was apparently in the lead, though, none took any steps to intervene. A dozen guards stood poised outside the main entrance to the computer center, committed to denying access from that point as ordered. The only other means of entry was through Chilgers’ private elevator and that did not pose a security risk. The men maintained their vigil.
“Open the door, Colonel,” Bane instructed when they had reached the Vortex vault. “Open it now.”
Again Chilgers resisted. Again Davey pushed harder. Chilgers dug his shoes into the tile floor. The blood started from his nostrils again. His face grew ghastly purple, as if he were holding his breath. Finally, he swung violently toward the vault door, moving his fingers toward it as though invisible hands were controlling his actions.
A number of the on-duty personnel who had been observing began to approach, sensing something was wrong, a few noticing the blood on Bane’s and Davey’s clothes and moving in for a closer look.
Chilgers extended a key toward a slot with a trembling hand that balked at the motion. Finally the key slid home, turned, allowing a plate to rise revealing a block of numbers three in each row.
Two COBRA computer operators caught a glimpse of the Uzi hidden against Chilgers’ side and sprinted for the door to alert security.
Chilgers punched in the proper nine-number sequence, his index finger trembling briefly over the code’s final digit.
A troop of security guards rushed through the main entrance. Bane sent a volley of bullets toward the door, felling the first ones through.
The vault door swung electronically open.