wasn't standard?
Grabbing minimac and starhelm, he ran from the room and up the stairs toward the heliport, fourteen levels above. Elevators could be stopped, riders gassed.
"We have a situation, sir," said zur Linde, unknowingly parroting Blackstone's remark of a few minutes ago. "Let's have it."
Despite the hour, the colonel was alert. He prided himself on his Napoleonic courage, that ability to respond agilely to a crisis at any hour.
"Harrison bypassed BOSCO's authentication system." Phone to his ear, the German watched as two of his specials led a trembling Blackstone from Operations. The warrant officer's only familiarity with Napoleonic courage was a cognac of like name.
"He outprinted the entire Site Y file onto microfiche, then cleverly left his authenticator in the computer." Zur Linde thoughtfully hefted the thin device. "It would help to know who made it."
Yesterday was a hole in zur Linde's life. Found unconscious on the red line, his last memory was of a winking blue light in the Bell's cockpit as he'd kept a delicate distance between himself and Harrison's recon chopper. Then nothing till he'd opened his eyes in Dispensary.
"Impotent, treasonous old men," said Aldridge. "Only with competent agents are they dangerous. From your condition yesterday, Erich, I suspect Major Harrison is such a prosthesis. Where is he now?"
Something cold in Aldridge's voice made zur Linde hesitate.
"Well?"
"We don't know, sir," he said carefully. "He hasn't used his ID to access any level since returning to the BOQ from Operations. And he's no longer on the BOQ level."
"Then he's using the stairs. Security condition red—full alert."
"Yes, sir."
"Take him alive if possible—I'd like him drained by Interrogation. But stop him. That file mustn't leave here."
Slipping his ID to open the stairtop door to the heliport, John knew he signaled his presence to BOSCO.
The nearest sentries saluted him as he quick-trotted to the first chopper, a deadly Bushmaster-Fokker gunship. "Emergency!" he shouted. "Colonel's orders!"
The alert klaxon only moved the guards out of his way faster, until its purpose sounded over their radios. They came for him as he slid into the chopper.
Starting the engine was no problem, but it took him a long moment to puzzle out the ordnance control. The first sentries were less than ten yards away when he swiveled the port gatling guns, firing high.
Scattering, the troopers fired back, slugs pinging off the duraplast armor as reinforcements charged off the elevators. Firing low and continuously, John revved the engine, pulling the Bushmaster up at a sharp right angle, then swept back, rocketing the heliport with a full rack of red-tipped incendiaries.
"Impressive," said Aldridge, watching on an Operations monitor: choppers exploding, fuel from each triggering the next, their tracers and rockets tearing through the troopers trying to fight the flames.
The floor rumbled as shock waves ripped through the building. The monitors flickered and died.
"Can't we take that renegade's chopper out?" Zur Linde turned to the AirDef tech.
"Negative." The sergeant nodded at a small screen, dancing with green fuzz. "Fire's knocked out all the radar. Arm those SAMs and they'll blow—they're heat seekers."
"Jettison those Hauzahns, Erich," ordered Aldridge, "before they chew our top off."
"Do it," said zur Linde. The great building shook as missile after unarmed missile tore away, roaring blindly into the sky.
The watch officer turned to zur Linde. "Fire's out of control, sir. Captain Grady reports the napalm's about to go. He's ordered fireguard down two levels. And all radio communication's out."
"Why is there napalm in the heliport, Erich?" Aldridge fixed the German with his iciest glare. More explosions shook the room.
"We were going to use it this afternoon, sir. I wanted to try a technique perfected against the Bantu. It . . ."
Aldridge turned to the watch officer. "Evacuation, Bravo Plan. Alert all
Grabbing minimac and starhelm, he ran from the room and up the stairs toward the heliport, fourteen levels above. Elevators could be stopped, riders gassed.
"We have a situation, sir," said zur Linde, unknowingly parroting Blackstone's remark of a few minutes ago. "Let's have it."
Despite the hour, the colonel was alert. He prided himself on his Napoleonic courage, that ability to respond agilely to a crisis at any hour.
"Harrison bypassed BOSCO's authentication system." Phone to his ear, the German watched as two of his specials led a trembling Blackstone from Operations. The warrant officer's only familiarity with Napoleonic courage was a cognac of like name.
"He outprinted the entire Site Y file onto microfiche, then cleverly left his authenticator in the computer." Zur Linde thoughtfully hefted the thin device. "It would help to know who made it."
Yesterday was a hole in zur Linde's life. Found unconscious on the red line, his last memory was of a winking blue light in the Bell's cockpit as he'd kept a delicate distance between himself and Harrison's recon chopper. Then nothing till he'd opened his eyes in Dispensary.
"Impotent, treasonous old men," said Aldridge. "Only with competent agents are they dangerous. From your condition yesterday, Erich, I suspect Major Harrison is such a prosthesis. Where is he now?"
Something cold in Aldridge's voice made zur Linde hesitate.
"Well?"
"We don't know, sir," he said carefully. "He hasn't used his ID to access any level since returning to the BOQ from Operations. And he's no longer on the BOQ level."
"Then he's using the stairs. Security condition red—full alert."
"Yes, sir."
"Take him alive if possible—I'd like him drained by Interrogation. But stop him. That file mustn't leave here."
Slipping his ID to open the stairtop door to the heliport, John knew he signaled his presence to BOSCO.
The nearest sentries saluted him as he quick-trotted to the first chopper, a deadly Bushmaster-Fokker gunship. "Emergency!" he shouted. "Colonel's orders!"
The alert klaxon only moved the guards out of his way faster, until its purpose sounded over their radios. They came for him as he slid into the chopper.
Starting the engine was no problem, but it took him a long moment to puzzle out the ordnance control. The first sentries were less than ten yards away when he swiveled the port gatling guns, firing high.
Scattering, the troopers fired back, slugs pinging off the duraplast armor as reinforcements charged off the elevators. Firing low and continuously, John revved the engine, pulling the Bushmaster up at a sharp right angle, then swept back, rocketing the heliport with a full rack of red-tipped incendiaries.
"Impressive," said Aldridge, watching on an Operations monitor: choppers exploding, fuel from each triggering the next, their tracers and rockets tearing through the troopers trying to fight the flames.
The floor rumbled as shock waves ripped through the building. The monitors flickered and died.
"Can't we take that renegade's chopper out?" Zur Linde turned to the AirDef tech.
"Negative." The sergeant nodded at a small screen, dancing with green fuzz. "Fire's knocked out all the radar. Arm those SAMs and they'll blow—they're heat seekers."
"Jettison those Hauzahns, Erich," ordered Aldridge, "before they chew our top off."
"Do it," said zur Linde. The great building shook as missile after unarmed missile tore away, roaring blindly into the sky.
The watch officer turned to zur Linde. "Fire's out of control, sir. Captain Grady reports the napalm's about to go. He's ordered fireguard down two levels. And all radio communication's out."
"Why is there napalm in the heliport, Erich?" Aldridge fixed the German with his iciest glare. More explosions shook the room.
"We were going to use it this afternoon, sir. I wanted to try a technique perfected against the Bantu. It . . ."
Aldridge turned to the watch officer. "Evacuation, Bravo Plan. Alert all
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