"Faith, lad, we called in friends,” Father Donaher said, adjusting the sizzling pre-burner on his weapon. “Apparently, so did they."
"But why?"
Grimacing sourly, George tapped his rifle. “What kind of ammo we carrying?"
"Silver,” I answered and the light bulb clicked on. “Which will do nothing special to a vampire, ogre or medusa!” Our other ammo was miles away at the Sears Tower. Bloody marvelous.
Levering in a fresh round, I then shouldered the massive Barret. “That was just a guard. Come on, I'm on point. Raul on rear. One meter spread. Let's go!"
Hurriedly, we started down the central hallway when a siren outside began to wail. Loud enough to rattle the broken window, the steam whistle keen did not need Jessica, our universal translator, to decode its dire message.
"Meltdown,” Mindy breathed.
In relief, we smiled.
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CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"Yes!” I cried, raising a clenched fist in victory.
Jessica and Mike shook hands. George and Raul did a high five. Mindy hugged Katrina to the evident surprise of the big Russian actress. Even her butterfly did a little jig.
"Let's go get ‘em!” George shouted brandishing his M60/banjo.
Scrambling more than running, we hurried along the central hallway. This was our big chance. Destroying the nuclear powerplant was such an obvious ploy that precautions had been taken. Every city which possessed a nuke, also had a full-scale working model of the plant in which to train new personnel. It was an exact duplicate, with the proper pipes hot or cold, live steam in the turbines and the floor vibrated. Completely draining the magic from a fully charged mage, the Bureau switched the two buildings. The real powerplant had been rendered invisible and was a hundred feet to the west. This was the model. Perfect bait to finally capture a werewolf.
But if the Scion deduced the truth and managed to find the operating plant, Chicago could very quickly get blowtorched off the face of the Earth. A sobering thought. The fake alarms never stopped or slowed.
Turning a corner, we faced a set of double-doors with a gaping hole in their middle, closing off the hallway. The team paused when Mindy spotted a tripwire and George deactivated the Claymore mine attached. Just a gift from the Scion.
Beyond those doors was another set, and then more. Finally, we reached a more formidable portal. The door was a seamless slab of highly polished alloy. There was no lock, handle, window, keypad, keyhole, card slot, sensor pad or dial. Lying on the floor was a very dead technician. Jessica faced a corner and vomited.
In the wrong place at the wrong time, the poor man had been brutally killed. I took off my FBI jacket and draped it over as much of him as possible.
"Damn beasties must be on the other side of this wee door,” Father Donaher reasoned, radiating Irish anger hotter than his flamethrower.
"Okay, how do we get past this?” George demanded, panting slightly from our brisk run.
"Nobody does,” I said, shifting the cushioned strap of the Barret rifle. “Obviously, the whole plant has undergone primary lock down!"
"Which means?” Mindy demanded, poised on her toes with her sword in both hands, ready for action.
Annoyed, I thumped the armored portal. “Meaning that nobody gets in until the President personally commands the Atomic Energy Commission to send the step down code."
"But this is only the model."
"Which functions exactly as the original!"
Donaher whipped out his pocket cellular phone.
Reaching out a pale hand, Jessica closed the phone. “We'd never reach the White House quickly enough."
Separated from capturing our enemies by only a meter of reactive metal alloy. It was infuriating!
In an unprecedented move, George spit the gum out of his mouth. “Okay, the front door is locked. How about a side window? Or we could do the old Santa Claus bit with a chimney flue."
"Nyet,” Katrina said in a ghostly voice, her eyes glazed. A wizard's inner sight is often a wonderful thing at times. This was one of them. “Scion did not pass door."
"Eh?"
"What?"
Impulsively, I glanced around. “Then where are they?"
"Ohmigod,” Jessica breathed, staring at the floor.
Although most of the dead man was covered with my darkening suit jacket, the mangled remains of his arms and legs were horribly apparent. I did a double take when I saw what my wife had noticed. Wholly intact, his undamaged left arm was fully outstretched, with a single finger pointing to the west, towards the real plant. Yikes! Not murdered, but tortured!
George took Raul by the shoulder, “Horta, get us out of here!"
With a furious expression, the mage stomped his staff upon the floor. Nothing happened, except that the body was gone and the meltdown alarm was strangely quiet.
"This is the real power plant!” Father Donaher gasped in understanding.
Proudly, Raul kissed his wand. “Wizard's got to see where they teleport and what could be better than a full scale model?"
"How nice,” I acknowledged hastily. “Mindy, carve that door to pieces!"
"No need,” she said pointing upward. “Look."
We craned our necks. There was a gaping hole in the ceiling above us, continuing for several levels. Beyond that, even with maximum augmentation from my sunglasses I saw nothing.
"They did a bypass,” Katrina breathed in admiration.
Brushing back his wild crop of red-hair, Father Mike raised an eyebrow. “The defenses of the main control center were too great?"
Pulling the bolt on her Uzi machine pistol, Jessica scoffed. “No way. But if anybody tries to force entry, the whole plant shuts off with overrides. Then the Scion could never get the meltdown they want."
"But out here?” Katrina asked confused. “What can werewolves do outside reactor?"
Yeah, what could the Scion do out here? Any computer commands from the office building had to be routed through the main control booth and would be easily deleted by the technicians. No important equipment was external of the containment shell. And without computer guidance, the only place a meltdown could be forced was the main reactor. No, in the main reactor.
"Merciful heaven, they're headed straight for the core!” Father Donaher cried almost dropping his shotgun. “Going in from above!"
"Brilliant!” I reluctantly agreed.
Craning his neck, George was croggled. “Through the containment shell? Its ten meters thick!"
But the ploy made sense. They would encounter no real security devices, or defenses on the outside of the building. There was only thirty meters plus meters of ferro-concrete to pierce and they were home free.
Faintly in the distance, I heard another explosion from the perimeter. Just another rabbit, or the Scion trying to escape after finishing the sabotage? Suddenly, a soft horn began bleating. The actual meltdown alert? Hoo boy.
Crouching low, Mindy jumped and pulled herself onto the next level. “Come on!” her voice cried. “It's an easy climb!"
Yeah, right.
Gesturing and chanting, Katrina tapped our miscellaneous footwear with her wand and we each raised a leg and carefully placed a shoe on the wall. With a lurch, the team lifted the other foot and now stood on the curving dome, our bodies perpendicular to the ground. In standard attack formation we raced the three stories to the roof. Flying would have been faster, but this was a magic minimum mission. How many additional battles would we have to fight tonight?
Stretching endlessly above us was the containment vessel. A quarter million tons of formed, pre-stressed concrete reinforced with every artifice available to modern science. Spiraling around the dome was a series of dots, bare bolts indicating where the access ramp leading to the top had originally been, but removed for this emergency.
But high off to the side was a dark unidentifiable splotch. Sky to my left, rooftop to my right, we scampered forward. If the military was watching us
through binoculars, somebody was asking for aspirins right about now.
The splotch was a hole. Keeping well clear of the opening, we gathered around the breach in the concrete. The passage was roughly six feet in diameter, neat and round as if done by a shoemaker's awl. It was a disquieting, if picturesque, visual.
Keeping close to the concrete, I turned my head slowly so as not to experience vertigo. “Raul, stay here on rear guard."
Raul nodded. “Natch."
"And if the worst happens, can you do a prismatic shield over the whole plant?"
"To hold in a nuclear steam cloud?” The wizard made a face as if digesting a brick. “Ah ... yeah. Maybe. If I paint runes."
Always ready, Jessica handed him a crayon. “Then start drawing. If we fail, you erect a shield."
"With you guys trapped inside?” he blinked, pocketing the marker.
Snapping the huge clip loose, I checked the load on the Barret. “Please do as requested, Marnix."
The use of his real name shocked the Belgium mage. After a moment, he glumly nodded. Real aristocracy always knew when to shut up.
As we started inside, I saw Raul using the crayon to hastily write mystic symbols on the smooth concrete, take a sidestep, do another, and step again. Smoke poured from his shoes and the crew was rowing frantically. However, if the wizard had a whole plant to surround with those things he'd better hurry. But then, we had better, too.
The inside of the tubular hole was silky smooth and dotted with the ends of flexible black iron bars, gray lead plates and bright white cadmium sheeting. Our watches were still silent. Or maybe the thumping of my heart covered its telltale warning.
Stepping free, we were a meter above a metal lattice catwalk that encircled the dome at several levels. Probably for inspections. There was a low humming noise that permeated the air and vibrated softly in the walls and floor.
Below, was an impossible maze of pipes, conduits, ducts, T-joins, condensers and just assorted stuff. Occasionally a hiss sounded, or a dull cluck of an automatic value closing. The place resembled a car engine from an ant's perspective.
Marring the angular perfection of the technological jungle gym was a pattern of pipes bent or crushed aside to accommodate something much greater than human. Yep that was our boys. If it ain't ours, break it.
"Katrina, stay here and try to repair the hole in the concrete,” I ordered brusquely.
She nodded and went to work. Good woman.
Sword in hand, Mindy took the point and dropped silent to the catwalk. The rest of the team followed as best we could. Our first indication that we were getting close was a dead technician, impaled on a manual release wheel. Not the shaft, but the wheel itself. Mindy scrutinized the disgusting corpse for a whole second.
"Ogre,” she declared and we moved on.
Soon, a grinding sound started to make itself heard above the balanced hum of the reactor and turbines. In the distance, partially obscured by pipes and mist, was a bullet-shaped metal construct with thick conduits connected to every side. The pressure chamber of the nuclear reactor. The grinding noise was coming from a shuddering machine held in the hairy paws of a gang of creatures. Supported by a sling, a roaring diesel engine was pouring out black smoke as it powered a whirling cone covered with concentric teeth.
The ancient DeTalion drill bucked and shuddered as the monsters forcibly held the reluctant tool against the heat-slick covering of the core. Already, the outer wall of the chamber had been segmented and pried out of the way. Chunks of thermal insulation and interlocking slabs of graphite lay discarded on the lattice flooring. And like a chainsaw doing wood, this mining machine was chewing a path into the final wall. Beyond which was only superheated steam, hard radiation and certain death.
"Can't risk using the flamethrower in here,” Donaher said, tucking the steaming hot, vented barrel into his insulated belt, and stroking the pump action on a Remington shotgun. “Might finish the job for the Scion."
"No time for finesse,” George said grimly, checking the feeder mechanism of the Masterson. “Let's just kill them."
Sheathing her sword, Mindy pulled out her bow and notched an arrow. “At last, a battle plan I like."
"Routine one,” I agreed, leveling the mighty Barret on a frosty horizontal pipe. “On my mark."
In the Starlite scope, I got a clear view of a werewolf directing the drill; then I relocated the crosshairs onto the drill itself and squeezed the trigger. Torn from its grip, the ruptured diesel spun away, spewing oil as it clanged off the reactor and plummeted downward.
With slack jaws, the Scion turned and we cut loose. The deer slugs from Father Donaher's shotgun punched a hole in one monster big enough for Mindy to feather the ogre behind him with a silver-tipped arrow. Both monsters seemed incredibly surprised. Jessica hosed them with a stream of 9mm Parabellums from her Uzi, and I blew a fourth to pieces. Body armor didn't mean crap to the Barret and our new plasma rounds. Why hadn't I gotten one of these sooner? Would have made a splendid birthday gift.
To difficult to wrap. Shaddup.
Although rattled by our appearance, the remaining fur-faces rallied to the fight. Two flank wolves trained their MAC-10 machine pistols at us, sending a hail of .22 bullets zipping our way. Meanwhile, the rest of the beasts insanely started stuffing blocks of a sticky clay-like material into the nearly finished breach. It was C4, a high explosive plastique.
I held my breath to facilitate aiming. Thunder sounded. A headless werewolf jerked backwards, the fistful of detonators in her paw falling among the complex piping.
"Here!” Jessica ordered, handing a copper bracelet to Mindy.
Fast as unchained lightning, the martial artist tied the metallic band to an arrow with a strip of cloth, pulled, aimed, released.
Streaking past me, pipes, fifty feet and the Scion, the arrow jammed itself into the thin strip of exposed insulation edging the puncture in the reactor casing. Grabbing her necklace, Jess stared. With a flash, the gash was gone. The outer shell smooth and perfect as the day it was forged.
Gleefully and braced for the recoil, George triggered the Masterson. In short controlled bursts, he sprayed the support legs of the platform the Scion agents stood on. And with a screech of stretching metal, the flooring tore free from its moorings and the werewolves tumbled downward, bouncing and slamming off the maze of pipes like hairy pinballs.
"After them,” I commanded, shouldering the Barret. “We want a captive!"
Angling off to the side, the team headed for the walkway and stairs. There was a convenient airshaft close by, but we ignored that. I'd fought my share of monsters in cramped air vents and didn't care for the experience. They had the advantage that I was trapped, but I had the advantage that they couldn't dodge my bullets. So it equaled out. I hated that. Nothing worse than a fair fight with monsters. Because neither of us really fights fair.
"Didn't know you could trigger a spell from a distance."
If nobody is wearing the bracelet, of course.
Interesting.
Just then, an explosion sounded from below and a siren began howling. Incensed, I smacked my forehead with a palm. Idiot! The Scion, detonators and the C3 had each dropped to the ground floor. Re-united, they were back in business. Chicago wasn't safe yet.
Options came and went like cars on the freeway. Then a beauty screeched to a halt. Frantically, I looked around. Where the hell was it? Ah ha!
Behind an incredibly thick window of bulletproof Luxen plastic was the reactor control room. Terrified technicians stared at us. Every inch of every wall was jammed with meters, dials, knobs and switches. A circular bank of control consoles fronted the Status Board showing every conceivable nuance of condition inside the core. How could anybody learn to operate this thing? It made my DRD seem simple.
"Jess, tell them to do a shutdown!” I ordered.
They can't. The main computer is crashed, and the auxiliary doesn't respond and they aren't leaving the control room to operate the manual overrides
with those monsters running amuck.
"Then tell them to get clear!"
That she relayed, and the men and women dropped out of sight.
Leveling the Barret, I aimed at the distant cluster of control panels and fired. The muzzle blast was deafening reflected by the metal pipes, and my eyes stung from the glare of the yard-long lance of flame stabbing from the barrel. But in response, the shatterproof window shattered into a zillion pieces.
Riding the recoil, I worked the bolt and fired once more. Pieces of electrical console sprayed into the air like technological trash, throwing off showers of sparks while crackling short-circuits crawled everywhere. A third round from the Barrett and in a ragged series of powerful hums, the muted rumble in the floor died away.
Satisfied, we moved on. It was an obscure piece of information I had once read in a scientific journal, that if the control room of a nuclear reactor received significant damage, an independent sub-system seized control of the core and did a priority shut down. In normal talk, shoot it and it breaks. Advanced technology is so primitive.
Scampering down the stairs, I kicked open a locked wire mesh door and ducked as a ricochet went past my head. Shotgun in one hand, flamethrower in the other, Father Donaher gave suppressing cover as the team regrouped on the ground floor. We took cover behind a stack of steel drums used for who-knows-what in this place. Maybe clam dip for the boss.
Ten meters across what resembled a loading bay, the werewolves had established a workable redoubt by ramming a forklift into a pile of pallets. Having found their MAC 10 machine pistols along with the plastique, two wolves were wildly spraying us with small caliber bullets, firing non-stop, without any consideration for ammo reserves. A good tactic that just might work. We were at a serious disadvantage since we still didn't want to hurt the reactor behind them. Melt-down had been made impossible, but if breached, the boiling radioactive water inside the core would kill everybody here. Then again, maybe that was their new plan, to take us with them. Okay, time to get clever.
Getting her attention, I displayed three fingers to my wife and waved them around. Jess nodded and sent the message to the team.
Full Moonster [BUREAU 13 Book Three] Page 16
