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"Cueball, go up there and get him! I'll come around the other side as soon as I check in. I want to twist
that bastard's head off myself." He brushed at his damp pants.
Silently, Cueball hustled off to the metal stairs. Just as the elevator doors ground open, Iceberg heard
Weasel grab his walkie-talkie. "Mr. Phillips, this is Mory. We've got him cornered in the VAB." He paused
as the muffled voice crackled back. Iceberg couldn't understand the words. "Yes, he's being annoying but
we'll take care of it. Mory out."
Leaning back into the elevator, Iceberg punched the button for the top level of the high bay. He could
think of no way to outrun them, but if he could lure them to follow to the highest levels, Iceberg could
double back and get down, escape the VAB on the all-terrain buggy.
Iceberg emerged from the top level of the catwalk, and now the floor was very, very far down. It
seemed as if he had already reached halfway to orbit by taking an elevator instead of a space shuttle.
Unlike a normal building with floors and offices each step of the way, the Vehicle Assembly Building was a
giant boxed-in open space, like a hangar.
Iceberg had gained breathing room for the moment, but he didn't know what to do next. The bad guys
must have seen him get into the elevator, and they knew he wasn't on floor 3 anymore. Should he try to get
their attention somehow, trick them? He crept along the catwalk delicately, trying not to drag his cast.
Suddenly, on the opposite wall of the high bay four floors below him, he saw the muscular bald man,
Cueball, stalking down another narrow walkway, his high-powered rifle in hand. The bald man glanced up
at the movement and noticed Iceberg above. Their eyes met from across the gulf of open air. Cueball's
mouth opened but no sound came out. Iceberg had suspected the man was mute, and now he could not call
attention to Mory.
But Cueball aimed with his rifle and quickly popped off two shots. Iceberg dove backward against the
wall, ducking down. The bullets missed him by yards, leaving white starflowers where they had ricocheted.
But the sound of the gunfire and the spang of impact was enough to tell Mory where Iceberg had
hidden.
Iceberg scuttled along. The solid rocket boosters stood like white pillars in the open space. One of the
yellow-painted 250-ton lifting cranes stretched out in the open while other chains, block and tackle, and
pulleys dangled from the high ceiling overhead.
He moved back to the elevator. He should take the stairs, but the thought of descending all the way
back down to ground level with a broken foot seemed almost worse than being shot outright by the
terrorists.
As he reached the elevator, though, he saw the indicator lights moving. The hum of machinery brought
the lift up to the top floor. Someone was coming to get him. Mory.
Just as the elevator chimed with the car's arrival, Iceberg flattened himself against the wall beside the
red-painted doors. His heart pounded. His vision focused to crystal clarity. He saw the open space, the long
drop, and the thin dangling chains in front of the safety rail by the elevator. The metal doors creaked open,
and weasel-faced Mory strode out in a crouch, fanning his assault rifle in front of him, ready to take out his
target.
Iceberg didn't give him a chance.
With his good foot he shoved off from the wall and launched forward like a torpedo. Iceberg struck
Mory's side just as he was turning, and smashed into the lumpy pack and Iceberg kept going.
Mory let out a cry, and a burst of rifle fire sprayed into the open air but Iceberg shoved the weaselly
man forward into the safety rail with enough impact that the thug's breath exploded out of him. Without
pausing to think, Iceberg grabbed one of the dangling chains and whipped it in several loops around Mory's
ankle. Iceberg put his shoulder into the shove and knocked the bearded man over the railing.
Mory shrieked in terror as he sailed out into empty space, falling several feet until the thin chain caught.
Iceberg heard the crunch of the ankle snapping, as if the chain were a noose around a condemned man's
neck.
Mory dangled upside down over the high bay, flailing with his hands to reach the rail, to find some
stability. The automatic assault rifle dropped, tumbling in the air. It struck the floor with a loud clatter
several seconds later.
"Help!" Mory cried. "You bastard." His face was a bright beet color as he hung suspended. The wet
spot at his crotch had darkened.
Iceberg grabbed the chain and hauled Mory closer. The chain tore into Iceberg's hand. The thug
reached out, flailing for the safety rail, but Iceberg kept the weaselly man from reaching it. "Who are you?
What are you after?"
"Fuck you," Mory said.
Iceberg swung the chain, making the man dangle farther out in the open bay. He grunted from Mory's
weight. The weasel wailed in terror from the height and from the pain of the chain wrapped around his
snapped ankle.
"How many times are we going to have to do this?" Iceberg panted. "Who are you?"
"Get me down! I'm not telling you anything."
Iceberg leaned over the rail and looked down. He gained purchase against the railing and hauled Mory
up another foot, then released the chain.
Mory fell two feet and stopped with a sudden jerk. He screamed.
It took Iceberg a moment to catch his breath before he said, "From this level the Vehicle Assembly
Building is five hundred and twenty-five feet high. Imagine the splash pattern you'd make. I can keep
quoting you statistics . . . or you can start telling me some answers."
"All right, all right!" Mory cried. "Just get me closer to the rail."
Iceberg pulled the chain, hand over hand. Slowly he brought his captive near, swinging Mory
around but just then the weaselly man's eyes widened with surprise and relief. Iceberg turned, yanking the
man on the chain just as Cueball appeared on the stairwell, firing his high-powered rifle.
Iceberg swung Mory as a shield. Two bullets tore long bloody channels through the weaselly man's side
and exited through his rib cage.
Iceberg didn't have any choice but to grab one of the other chains. With his hands wrapped around the
links, he swung out over space.
The chain spun in his hands, rattling and vibrating as the block-and-tackle ratcheted. He dropped,
swinging toward another level, yelling in his own terror. The chain dropped him, slowly catching with trip
mechanisms in the pulley as Iceberg swung to a catwalk three floors down. Smashing into the railing, he let
go of the chain.
He fell and rolled onto the catwalk, striking it with his shoulder. His palms were bloody. He winced as
he opened and closed his hands.
He squeezed his eyes shut as he exhaled a great painful breath. "Man, I never want to do that again."
Iceberg lay trembling, dreading the prospect of getting back to his feet and running but he knew he had to.
Cueball wouldn't give him a chance to recuperate.
Up on the top level of the high bay, the big bald man reached out to grab the chain and pulled Mory back
toward the rail.
The other man bled profusely from the two gunshot wounds, moaning pitifully. He coughed blood and
looked with bleary relief into Cueball's face but the black man remained expressionless as he struggled to
pull the backpack and the Stinger missiles from Mory's shoulders. He tugged, and Mory's ankle gave
another sharp snap, evoking a wail of increased pain.
Cueball set his high-powered rifle behind him. He carefully held the launcher, then fit a missile inside.
He smiled, showing square white teeth as he admired the new weapon.
Mory groaned once more. Distractedly, Cueball unwrapped the chain from his broken ankle and let his
partner drop 525 feet to the floor below.
25
LAUNCH CONTROL CENTER
URING THE TENSE MOMENTS
D in the VIP viewing deck, Nicole watched Senator Boorman's [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]