The spread among all of them would have fit on a playing card. The flashlight that had been targeting Jak winked out of existence, followed by a bout of cursing that came deep from the soul.
“The bastards took out Eggleton,” someone yelled.
Mildred took a step in the direction of the breeze and locked on to another flashlight. She fired three more rounds, then kept moving, guided by Jak’s hand on her shoulder.
“Door at ten feet to left. Move. They’re closing in.”
Mildred ran, knowing from the firing lines that the group they were facing had already sectioned off the room and had nearly pinned down their location. Jak was a dark wraith ahead of her, barely visible against the sudden rectangle of the doorway they’d entered through.
“Damn it! They’re making for the door! Cease fire! Ceasefire!”
Lungs burning, trying to feed the need for oxygen that her system demanded, Mildred threw herself through the door just as a rifle bullet sailed above her head. She rolled, listening to the rapid beat of approaching footsteps. She pushed herself up, raising the ZKR in front of her.
At the side of the door, Jak hammered a fist into a control panel. “Got power. Shut door. Lock ’em in.”
With a ratcheting grate, the steel door recessed overhead started to drop with a jerk. A plume of rust-colored dust billowed up when it slammed against the flooring hard enough to vibrate through the steel panels.
Mildred paused long enough to pick up a rusted screwdriver from the debris scattered across the floor. She rammed it into the electronic panel Jak had used to seal the door. Wiring flared and soldered itself, shorting out the circuits. Electric current, almost forceful enough to burn her skin, hit her hand before she could jerk it back. The tool held enough metal to burn cherry red from the electricity. She felt confident there’d be no further pursuit from that quarter.
Mildred heard the gunfire then, distant cracks that sounded thin. She knew at once that she and Jak weren’t the only ones who’d been attacked.
Chapter Four
Burroughs returned the one-eyed man’s harsh stare, then arced a small smile. Cawdor had made no overtly threatening move, nothing that would attract the attention of the men the major knew he had backing his play. “I came forward to this truce with the understanding that we could work something out,” he said.
“Guess we didn’t.” Ryan was matter-of-fact in his appraisal of the situation. “Seems a shame somehow, what with all the trouble you went to.”
Burroughs felt the heat of the sun against his neck. He knew Cawdor couldn’t see through the dark lenses of his aviators. He peered past the one-eyed man, trying to see how many people were in the mouth of the installation and where they were positioned. A comm headset nestled in his ear and under his chin. It wasn’t connected to a satellite relay the way it had been in the old days, but it tied him in with the tank crews.
Intel had reported that Ryan Cawdor was a man to be reckoned with. Burroughs knew that. He’d flagged the man’s file himself.
“How far back in the installation have you been?” Burroughs asked.
Ryan shook his head. “The impression I get from you, standing here’s done past the safety mark.”
The man was right and Burroughs knew it. Besides the orders he’d been given all those years ago, there was also the need to keep Project Calypso secret for his own reasons. The major kept perfectly still. He’d been blooded in Grenada, Panama, Desert Storm and the Bosnian conflict. Even while trapped in the installation, awaiting a time when the rad count would drop to a tolerable level, he’d kept himself and his unit flexible and fit.
“How do you want to handle this?” Burroughs asked.
“I’ll step back inside while you stand your ground there,” Ryan replied. “Then you can move off.”
“How do I know you won’t simply shoot me down once you’re inside?”
“I set up a deal, I generally stick to it. Mebbe I’m no man of honor, but I am a man of my word.”