Coonts, Stephen - Jake Grafton 7 - Cuba
Page 25
to decide if there was anything else he should be doing.
"Uh, Admiral..."...Toad began, his voice
low. "I want to thank you for saving my assets
last night. I about had a heart attack after we
jumped over that rail, everything behind us blowing up,
wondering if we were going to go into the water or
splatter ourselves on a rock pile. That was truly
a religious experience."
A wry grin crossed Jake Grafton's face.
"Wish I had paid more attention to where those rocks were
before crunch time arrived. Talk about jumping
out of the frying pan into the fire! For a few seconds
mere I thought we had had the stroke."
"You didn't know"..."...Toad was aghast.
"What say we don't mention this to Rita or
Callie"..."...Jake said, and walked away. He had
another meeting to attend.
William Henry Chance grabbed the rope, which
extended over the side on the science building roof
into the darkness. The rope was still taut. Tommy
Carmellini must be hanging on the end of it!
Chance braced himself and began pulling, hand over hand,
and almost ruptured himself.
He got no more than six feet of rope up when
he realized he wasn't in the right position. Moving
carefully, he braced himself against the vent pipe and
got the rope over his shoulders. Now he used his
whole body to help raise it.
Two more feet. , Four.
A dark spot, a head, coining above the eave,
struggling to climb.
Chance held the rope steady as Carmellini heaved
himself over the edge of the roof and began crawling up the
slope, still holding onto the rope.
"Man, I thought I had bit the big
oneea"...Carmellini said between gasps. Leaning
against the chimney, Chance blew equally hard.
"I'm getting too old for this shitea"...Carmellini
muttered.
"Next time get a desk job."
"Why in hell do you think I went to law school?"
Chance coiled the rope and inspected it. It had
frayed through where it was wrapped around the dormer on the
other building. He showed the place to Carmellini,
then put the rope in his knapsack.
"Let's go."
Carmellini used a glass cutter on a pane of a
dormer window, then they went in.
Chance took a chance and used the flashlight. This
attic was stacked with laboratory equipment:
dishes, warmers, mixing units, microscopes, a
spectrometer, a bunch of equipment large and
small that he couldn't identify.
"Let's put on our masksea"...Chance said, "just
in
case."
They donned the gas masks, made sure the filter
elements were on tight. The mask could provide
only filtered air: it had an inhalation and
exhalation valve and a black faceplate with two
large clear lens to see through. The mask was
attached to a hood that went over the head and shoulders
of the user. Pull strings sealed the hood so air could
not get in around the user's neck. When they had the
mask on, both men removed the leather gloves they
had been wearing and donned a pair of latex
gloves. They stuffed their trousers inside their
socks.
With Carmellini in the lead, the two men stealthily
descended the stairs.
STEPHEN COONTS
The laboratory was in the basement, so Chance and
Carmellini had to pass through the main floor to get
there.
The elevator would be the best way from the top of the
building to the bottom, but it might be monitored from
the guards" station at the main entrance. Certainly it
should be: nothing could be simpler than to have a warning
light come on when the electric motor that ran the
elevator engaged. Chance and Carmellini took the
stairs.
Carmellini was leading the way now. Using'the
flashlight, he examined the door to the staircase for
alarms, then opened the door a crack and examined the
stairwell. Fortunately the stairwell was lit.
If this building were hi the States it would be
festooned with infrared sensors, motion detectors,
microphones, and remote cameras controlled from a
central station. However, this was Cubit
At each landing, Carmellini extended a small
periscope and looked around the corner.
On the second floor his inspection of the stairs
leading down revealed a camera mounted on a wall
above the landing, focused on the door in from the main
floor. There was probably a camera mounted above the
door to the main floor, a camera that looked back
toward this camera.
Carmellini studied the camera through the periscope,
twisted the magnification to the maximum and
refocused. He kept the instrument steady by bracing
himself against the wall.
The security camera was fifteen or twenty years
old if it was a day. No doubt there were ten or
twelve cameras on a sequential switch, so the
video from each one was shown in turn on a monitor
at the guard's station. The guard was probably reading
something, eating, talking to another guard, if he was
paying any attention at all.
From his backpack Carmellini removed a strobe
unit and battery. He plugged the thing together,
switched on the battery, and waited for the
capacitor to charge. The bulb had a set of
silver metal feathers around it so that the light could be
focused. Carmellini tightened the feathers around the
bulb as much as they would go. When the capacitor's
green light came on, he eased the light around the
comer, exposing his head for the first time. One quick squint
to line up the light, then holding the thing tightly against
the wall to steady it, he retracted his head, closed
his eyes and buried his head in the crook of his arm.
William Henry Chance did likewise. The
short, intense burst of light should burn out the
camera's light-level sensor, rendering it
inoperative.
The flash was so bright Carmellini saw it through his
closed eyelids.
The two men slipped down the stairs. Standing just under
the camera that had just been disabled, Carmellini used the
periscope again. Yes. Another camera, just over the
door to the main floor.
He waited ten more seconds for the capacitor
to fully charge, then stuck it around the corner and
flashed the light.
"Let's
go!"
With Chance behind him, Tommy Carmellini
went down the stairs to the main floor and used his
periscope to examine the landing on the stairs leading
down. Nothing.
On down to the landing, peeking around the corner.
"Motion detectorea"...he whispered to Chance.
Chance was breathing heavily inside the mask. It
wasn't the exertion, he decided, but the tension. He
must be audible at fifty paces. He tried
/> to ignore the sound of his own rasping and listen.
were the guards coming? Two cameras were down had they
noticed? Would they come to inspect the things?
Or were the guards congregating right now, calling in
troops?
"Microwave or infrared"..."...Chance asked, referring
to the motion detector.
"One of each."
"Beautiful."
"Probably two independent systems."
"Oh, Christ!"
"That's a poor way to install them, actually. This
is old
technology,
Mission Impossible
stuff. We'll just walk by the infrared
detectorsall this clothing will help shield
our body heat. If we move right along we should be
okay."
"And the microwave system?"
Carmellini had already removed a device the size
of a portable CD player from his backpack.
"Jammerea"...he said, and examined the controls.
He turned it on and, holding it in front of him,
walked down to the motion detectors. The one on the
left was the microwave one, with a coaxial cable
leading away from it. Carmellini pulled the cable an
inch or so away from the wall and wedged the jammer into that
space.
"Come onea"...he whispered, and opened the door into the
basement.
The two men found themselves in a hallway.
Directly over-their head was a camera that pointed the
length of the hall, covering the door halfway down that
must lead into the lab.
Carmellini took a small battery-powered
camcorder from Chance's backpack. He held it
under the security camera for about a minute, filming the
view down the hallway, then pushed the play
button. The device now replayed the same scene
on a continuous loop, and would do so until the
batteries were exhausted. He slid a
collar around the coaxial cable leading from the camera,
tightened it, then used a pair of wire cutters
to slice the coax away from the security camera.
The door into the lab had an alarm on it, one mounted
high.
"The alarm rings if the circuit is
brokenea"...Carmellini whispered. "It's designed
to prevent unauthorized exit from the lab, not entry.
Won't take a minute."
He worked swiftly with a penknife and length of
wire. By wiring around the contact on the door and
jamb, he made the contact impossible to break.
Sixty seconds later he gingerly tried the
door. Reached for the handle and
Locked!
Now to work with the picks.
"They locked an emergency exit"..."...Chance demanded.
"Yeah. Real bastards, huh?"
Tommy Carmellini knew his business. When the
lock clicked, he put his picks back in his
knapsack, pulled the knapsack into position, and
palmed his pistol.
"You ready?"
"Yeah."
Carmellini eased the door open, looked
quickly each way with just one eye around the jamb.
The door opened into a well-lit foyer. The entire
opposite wall of the room was made of thick
glass, which formed a wall of a large,
well-equipped laboratory. No people in sight.
And no security cameras or motion detectors.
Both men came in, pistols in their hands and pointed
at the floor. Chance pulled the ddor shut behind them.
They knelt by the long window and with just their heads sticking
up, surveyed the scene.
Row after row of culture trays, units for mixing
chemicals, deep sinks, storage cabinets, big
sterilizing units, stainless steel containers by the
dozen, analysis equipment, retorts,
microscopes ...
"Holy damnea"...Carmellini said softly. "They are
sure as hell growing something in there."
"Somethingea"...Chance agreed.
On the end of the room to their left was a large air
lock.
"That's the way in."
"Do we have to go in?"
"We need samples from those culture trays."
Chance led the way. He walked, holding the pistol
down by his right thigh.
Around the corner slowly, looking first.
There were actually two air locks. After they went
through the first one, they found themselves in a dressing room
with a variety of white one-piece coveralls hanging
on nails. Each man donned one, pulling it on
over his
STEPHEN COONTS
clothes, then zipping it tightly, fastening the cuffs with
Velcro strips. Gas masks were there too, but they
were already wearing masks.
The second lock was equipped with a large vacuum
machine which suctioned dust and microorganisms from the
white coveralls.
They opened the door to the lab and stepped inside.
"The culture traysea"...Chance said, and led the way.
From his backpack he took syringes, quickly
screwed on needles.
The glass trays sat on mobile racks, three
dozen to a rack. They were readily transparent, so
he could look inside, see the bacteria growing on
the food mix at the bottom of the tray.
He selected a rack of trays, pulled one
tray from the rack and laid it on the marble-topped
counter nearby. He opened it. Used a syringe.
With the syringe about half-full, he
unscrewed the needle, deposited the syringe in a
plastic freezer bag and sealed it.
Meanwhile Carmellini had been exploring. As
Chance sealed up his second sample from this rack of
trays, Carmellini came back, motioning with his
hand. "Better come look. Looks like they are growing
several kinds of cultures."
The second kind looked similar to the first, but the
organisms were of. a slightly different color.
Chance selected a tray, took a sample, then
replaced the tray on the rack, as he had the first
one.
He was finishing his second sample from this batch when,
out of the corner of his eye, he saw Carmellini
motion for him to get down.
He dropped to a sitting position, finished sealing the
syringe bag.
He put the samples into his knapsack, reached
up on the countertop for his pistol.
Carmellini was creeping along below the counter with his
pistol in his hand.
Someone was in the air lock. By looking down the
aisle
between the counters Chance could just see the top of his head as
he pulled on the gas mask in the dressing
room.
Whoever it was was coming in.
Carmellini looked at Chance, lifted his hands in a
query: Now what?
Chance made a downward motion. Maybe this person
would just come in, get something, then leave.
It would be impossible, he decided, to sneak out
while the person was in the lab. Although the lab was
large, at least a hundred feet long, anyone in
the air locks could be seen from anywhere in the lab
unless the viewer was behind a piece of large
equipment.
Shit!
Well, the Cubans were about to discover that their lab was
no longer a secret. That was not a disaster;
unfortunate, perhaps. Perhaps not.
The person coming in wore a complete protection
suit and mask. Not a square inch of skin was
exposed.
Large for a woman. A man, probably. Almost
six feet. Hard to tell body weight under a bag
suit like that, but at least 180 pounds.
He checked the safety on the pistol. On. With his
thumb he moved it to the off position, checked it
visually.
Now the person was coming out of the air lock, walking
purposefully down the aisle between the counters and
trays of cultures.
William Henry Chance stood up, pointed the
pistol straight in the face of the masked person
walking toward him.
The man froze. If it was a man. Stopped dead
and slowly raised his hands.
Out of the corner of his eye Chance saw Tommy
Carmellini moving toward the Cuban.
"Find something to tie him withea"...he said loudly, hoping
Carmellini would understand his muffled voice.
Carmellini seemed to. He held up a roll of
duct tape. He
moved toward the man, who turned his head so that he
could get a good look at Carmellini.
Garmellini had his pistol in his hand. His holster was
under the white coverall, as was Chance's, so both men
had carried their pistols with them in their hands.
Now Carmellini placed the pistol on a counter,
well out of the man's reach. He walked behind him.
The man pushed backward, slamming Carmellini
against a counter.
Damnation! Chance couldn't shoot for fear of hitting
Carmellini. As if the .22-caliber
bullets in the Ruger would drop a big man at this
distance.
Chance walked around the counter, up the aisle, intending
to shoot the Cuban in the head from as close as he could
get.
Carmellini kicked violently and the Cuban went
flying back into a rack of culture trays.
Three or four of the trays fell from the rack and
shattered on the floor.
The man launched himself at Carmellini, who ducked
under a right cross. The man kept right on going,
heading for the pistol lying on the counter.
Carmellini caught him by the back of his coverall and
swung him bodily around. With a mighty punch he
sent the man reeling backward, straight into the rack
of culture trays he had already bit. The man
slipped, fell amid the broken glass.
Without sights, wearing the silencer, the Ruger was hard