Under their black clothing, each wore a cross on a chain that had been blessed by the Bishop at a private mass he conducted just for them. Even the Sikh, the Moslem, and Frawley wore them, because, while they weren’t Christian, the enemy was following a Christian script. They might not mean anything at all against the Dark Man or any other, but there was a slight psychological advantage they didn’t want to miss.
The moon was a mere crescent sliver, hardly giving any light at all, and as they sailed they ran into choppier seas and heavier clouds, and the night grew black as pitch.
“Perhaps this is our first sign of divine help,” the Bishop noted, looking at the darkness.
“If, of course, we make it into the lagoon without cracking up and make it up that cliff wall by braille,” Frawley muttered.
“We’ll make it in, sir,” one of the crew whispered to him. “We’ve snuck in and out of there three times already without once being detected, and two nights ago it was just about this bad.”
MacDonald was confident, too, at least of that much. “I kind of expected a cloud cover for tomorrow night, but it looks like they’re starting early to make it look more natural. I think that tomorrow there’s going to be a hell of a rainstorm everywhere around here for twenty or thirty miles except right on the island itself. They don’t want anybody seeing what they’re doing up there.”
The Bishop shrugged. “Whether by heaven or hell, it helps us and hinders them. I glanced at their little radar in there. There are so many false blips from wind and thermals and waves that it looks like a riot of light green. I doubt if anyone could pick us out of it from the surface, and the cover makes it unlikely that we could be picked out by infra-red satellite for a day or two at least, if then.”
“You act pretty confident of success,” Frawley grumbled.
“I am confident only of what God wills, and I don’t know His will in this matter. I am confident only that we are the anointed ones to do this job, and that if we did not at least try He would allow the end to come. I am confident that, starting tomorrow, we will at least know some of the answers.”
MacDonald worked his way back to Maria, who was just sitting there, staring out at the blackness. “Butterflies?” he asked her.
“That and a lot of soreness. I feel like somebody ran a broom handle straight through me and out the ass end.”
He felt embarrassed. “Sorry.”
“No, no! Don’t ever be sorry! I must have done it ten thousand times and that was the first time it ever really counted, ever really meant something.”
He was touched. “That doesn’t sound like an animal talking.”
“No, not an animal. You know, it’s crazy, but after forty five years I think I finally just grew up.”
He took her tiny hand and squeezed it.
“That thing Frawley’s got,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “It’s an A-bomb or something like it, isn’t it? You’re gonna blow the whole island tomorrow.”
“Yes,” he replied, deciding it wasn’t worth hiding any more. “Something like it.”
“All those people. …”
“No, it’s not as bad as we thought. It turns out they’ve evacuated the whole town except for a staff. Took them off in small groups over the past several weeks. Where, we don’t know, but definitely incommunicado until November, when I guess they’ll be brought back. They’re using the town to put up a bunch of visitors. The choppers have been coming in and out for days now. It’s a good bet that there will be nobody on that island we don’t know about who’s an innocent party, anyway.”
She sighed. “That makes me feel a little better. You know, it’s funny. I’m not really scared of them any more. No matter what, I’m not really scared of the Dark Man or any of them. I’m just scared of that cliff and that rope ladder. I don’t know if I can make it.”
“You’ll make it,” he told her. “Still, you can back out now. I have to go up and help haul up the stuff and get it in place.”
“I’ll make it,” she told him flatly. “Somehow, I’ll make it.”
There was mostly silence for the rest of the trip.
They didn’t realize they were there until suddenly large rocks loomed on either side. Nobody but the crew had seen the marker and warning lights both at sea level and up above.
The man who was code-named Shadrach had studied the photographs and geological reports of this area for nine days, but this was still the first time he’d seen and felt it. The rock was heavy, black, and basalt-like; rich, dark lava from ancient flows atop compacted ash, then more basalt, and so forth. He liked the feel of it.
The rock wall was not sheer, although it looked it and they talked as if it was. Actually there was a slight slope and a great many irregularities in it, and there was even random vegetation growing out of cracks and crevices all along, thicker at the top and bottom.
The Punjabi mountain man basically used pitons, counting on the constant noise from the nearby waterfall to mask any strong hammer sounds. He was quick, and expert, and seemed to go up the wall without them in places like a human fly, although it was clear that he was using unseen footholds here and there in the rock.
He was soon out of sight, going rapidly upwards beyond their field of view. Only once, though, did he seem to slip, and a piton came down, bounced off the rock wall once, and splashed into the water very near the boat, making everyone jump and go for their guns.
They waited nervously, and it seemed like they were going to be trapped in the blackness forever. Shadrach had asked for an hour and it took him exactly fifty-seven minutes. They knew this because suddenly the long rope that was attached to him and which lay coiled in a free-spinning roller on the deck suddenly began to move much faster, and soon the first part of the rope ladder was going up. They watched, and waited, until finally the whole of the ladder was unfurled and the bottom of it stood there, waiting.
MacDonald hadn’t wanted any part of that night ascent, but he’d climbed a lot of mountains in his time and so he was first up the new entrance to Allenby Island, stopping every so often to drive two hooks into the mountain, one on each side of the ladder, and so loosely secure it in a dozen or so places. It would not do to have it nailed to the wall, but these few connections, even though they might provide some problems for those coming after, gave the thing some stability.
Climbing it, he decided, was pretty easy if you were in any condition at all and took it easy. He did find, near the top, that they’d slightly underestimated the height and that the last twenty feet or so were accomplished by walking up the rope and through some irritating brush, but at the top he felt a strong hand take his and Sadrach pulled him over the top.
“Nothing to it,” the Sikh whispered.
“If you say so,” he responded, and sat for a few moments.
Next up, to their surprise, was the Bishop, puffing a little but not seeming to have much of a problem. Then came the Lebanese woman, code named Meshach, and the Nigerian.
To their great surprise, the Nigerian was actually carrying Maria on his back as if she were nothing at all.
“Had to do it,” he whispered. “She’d never had made it any other way.”
It was several minutes more until Frawley made it, sounding horrible and looking almost too ill to move. The man was nasty, ill-tempered, and callous towards everyone and everything not exactly his way, but there was no denying his will power or his guts.
“I’ll be all right,” he gasped, lying on his back and sounding as if he were going to die. “I’ll last another twenty-four hours.”
Now the Sikh was back down the ladder in a flash, unsecuring it except at top and bottom, then risking a single tiny signal with his flashlight.
The two at the top and MacDonald busily undid the packs they’d come up with, and the Canadian and the Bishop quickly assembled a basic military ranger winch as the Lebanese and the Nigerian picked up sub-machine guns and established a guard post.
It took almost four hours to winch and haul all the equipment up; an hour longer than the plan called for, but barely within tolerable limits.
The winch was now disassembled and repacked into one large backpack, and it was time to separate. MacDonald looked at the pack, which he was to carry back down, and then the company, just shadows in the near blackness.
They strapped the pack onto his back and he looked at them and he had a strange feeling of unreality about the moment. Somehow he could clearly see the Bishop, Frawley, and Maria standing there, looking back at him. He wanted to say something, anything, but no words would come.
He went over to the rope and grabbed hold, and for some reason he just couldn’t move. He just stood there, frozen, in a very stupid position.
Shadrach came over to him. “You go now! We need the dark and we must be away!”
He tried again, and his muscles just wouldn’t obey, almost like it was back in the motel with the Dark Man. For a moment he wondered if they’d been spotted after all, if some spell now held him, but he knew that it was not the case. Finally, realizing that the clock was ticking and that all their lives depended on keeping as much of a schedule as possible, he got back up and sighed and look off the backpack. “This may be the stupidest thing any North American has done since he stepped across the line at the Alamo, but I’m staying, too.”
Maria gave a little gasp and whispered, “No. You don’t have to.” The Bishop, however, gave a soft, wry smile.
“Yeah. I know I’m going to regret this, but I have to. Shad, can you get this pack back down?”
The Sikh picked it up and put it on expertly. “Don’t leave without me,” he said lightly. “I’ll be back.”
And, with that, he vanished down the mountainside.
It cost another twenty-seven minutes for the round trip, but he was soon back. “They think you are crazy, but they want to leave,” he told MacDonald.
“I guess I am,” he sighed, then helped untie the rope from its tree base. They winched in the ladder, then cut the rope and backed out. Three short flashes on a light, and those up top let the rope itself go. It fell all the way, coiling and snaking, and crashed into the water below. Expert eyes, aided by infra-red viewers, checked and moved back in, untangling the rope from a few places where it had hung itself up on vegetation, then let it sink to the bottom of the small inlet. With that, they moved out and made ready to get as far away as possible from Allenby Island.
Only when the rope went over the side did MacDonald feel the crushing implications of what he’d done, and the finality of it. Frawley had managed a sitting position and seemed to be recovering, although he had never looked so frail. He stared at MacDonald in disgust. “Why?” he croaked.
“I really don’t know,” he responded. “That’s a fact. I really don’t know. . . .”
MacDonald made their first priority locating and disabling the basic electronic monitoring gear in the area. Using the rushing water of the creek to mask sounds, he located two microphones and one camera pretty much where he thought they’d be. As long as Ross was in charge of security, he felt confident that he could almost exactly predict placement and type of equipment and so far he was justified.
Locating the wires, they patched in a small extra loop with alligator clips and then removed a section of wire well away from the microphones themselves. A tiny tape recorder with a continuous loop tape and a battery life of at least thirty-six hours was used to record just what the mikes should have been hearing. Then it was patched into the line and the mike was disconnected. This was done with both, which allowed them to move about fairly freely within the heavily overgrown area. The two cameras they would simply have to avoid; although some thought was given to doing the same thing with videotape, the inability of such a tape to reflect changing shadows, weather conditions, and night and day pretty much ruled that out.
Because of her experience with Angelique in the same area, Maria was able to guide them around in the undergrowth and around the cabin area, which they all avoided. There were both sound and visual monitors inside and out on the cabin and they had no wish to get near the place. The stream had provided them with full canteens of water, and that and dried foods would have to do.
MacDonald had always identified this area as one of the most vulnerable on the island, and so far he’d seen nothing to indicate that they had made any real changes.
Still, it was daylight before they had everything in place. The lava tube entrance was easily identified, but they elected to set up a small camp above it, giving them first look and helping them to avoid any messy complications, should anyone come out. MacDonald used the monitoring gear to check for any electronic listeners or motion sensors, and found none in the immediate area although every time he pointed it towards the cave the needle went off the scale. He’d known from the beginning that a nice direct way in was impossible, but he still felt some disappointment.
Frawley seemed newly energized by the mere fact that he had made it up the cliff and that they were finally on the island. He spent some time working with his heavy equipment, which took three of them to lift and carry. The object inside was imposing, but looked more like a piece of very bad plumbing than a bomb. MacDonald was certain that there would be a security sweep with human agents down the tube after dark, and it was decided that until those agents arrived and had done their work the bomb wouldn’t be moved down and in front of the cave where it would do the most blast damage. Still, Frawley had the thing armed and activated by mid-morning, but not with the dead man’s switch. It was agreed that if they were discovered at any time before their own deadline, he would blow it where it was.
Setting up a guard schedule, they settled back for the long wait and tried to get some rest. It wasn’t easy, though. MacDonald settled back and tried to keep his mind on the job, telling himself it was just another security test, but he couldn’t really do it.
Maria came over to him. “Well, I hope you’re satisfied,” she said, keeping her voice to a whisper as they all did.