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redhead's ear, "Next time, mess with somebody your own size you might have a better chance."
51
LAUNCH CONTROL CENTER
HROUGH THE BLOWN-OUT WINDOWS
T of the LCC, Nicole could hear the helicopter approach,
a fluttering machine hum that brought a relieved grin to Mr. Phillips's face. "Isn't that a wonderful sound?"
He stood up to his full height of no more than five feet. "Like sleigh bells at Christmas."
Nicole looked up at him. "Or the sound of a cell door slamming and the clink of a key being thrown
away forever."
Mr. Phillips shrugged. "To each his own."
He waved Rusty's pistol around, making eye contact with every one of the hostages. "Unfortunately,"
he said, "my team is now scattered around the space center in positions that make it less convenient for an
easy pickup. Since nothing would be accomplished by spreading the blame around, suffice it to say that
none of it is my fault, and all of it is yours."
Nicole let her anger twist itself into sarcasm, as much as she thought she could get away with, one
small step back from open defiance. "Why don't you just take the money and run? Screw the rest of your
team."
Mr. Phillips considered what Nicole had said. "If I must, I will take the diamonds for myself but I
would rather not leave my colleagues in the lurch. They were willing to work on a percentage basis, and
we've been through a lot together. We're a team."
"You deserve each other," Nicole said.
He narrowed his eyes at her. "You may consider me a bad man, Ms. Hunter but I'm an honorable
bad man."
"I suppose that makes all the difference," Nicole said.
Senator Boorman leaned over to hush her, his usually plodding voice now high-pitched. "We're almost
out of this after all my work negotiating, don't ruin it!"
With a crackle over the open radio channel, the helicopter pilot checked in. "This is Air Force helicopter
Charlie niner-three on approach, bearing ransom briefcase." The pilot's voice was soft and uninflected,
evened out by the muffled chatter of helicopter engines. "I am nearing the Launch Control Center and
awaiting specific instructions for rendezvous."
Senator Boorman stood up from his seat and reached for the radio, as if he were in charge. His
square-jawed face smiled confidently, but Mr. Phillips stopped him. "That won't be necessary, Senator."
Boorman's expression grew stormy. "Let me talk to the pilot. This was my deal."
"Yes," Mr. Phillips replied, "but I trust Ms. Hunter's capabilities more than I trust your own. No
offense," he said, his tone clearly implying a great deal of offense.
Mr. Phillips handed the radio to Nicole, and she grabbed it out of his hand. She could think of no further
effective resistance, no way to fight against him. And this close to the end of the crisis, she didn't dare give
him an excuse to kill anyone else.
"Tell the pilot to land in the LCC parking lot, just outside the main doors," he said crisply. "We'll meet
him momentarily."
Nicole did as Mr. Phillips asked, and the pilot acknowledged without further comment.
The little man sighed, then smiled, raising his eyebrows. "There. See how simple things can be?"
Outside, the throbbing chopper noise grew louder. "Exhilarating!"
Mr. Phillips pointed his pistol straight up and fired one round into the acoustic ceiling tiles. "Since I'm
unassisted, I'm afraid I must do this in a more traditional manner," he said. "Due to logistical difficulties, I'll
be taking only two hostages with me." He swept his gaze across the gathered people in the VIP observation
deck. "I think my choices are obvious. The rest of you, into the side room. Quickly, now! Ms. Hunter and
Senator Boorman, would you accompany me, please?"
Nicole let herself settle more heavily in her chair, resigned. She had known this would happen.
Boorman, though, seethed as if he could stand no more of the indignity. The remaining hostages hurried into
the side room, which Mr. Phillips locked.
Mr. Phillips picked up the radio transmitter himself and broadcast on the open band. "Attention NASA.
My name is Mr. Phillips . . . the man holding your shuttle hostage?" he said, as if they wouldn't remember
who he was. "I'd like to request that you clear the skies for our departure. That includes your chase
helicopters and tracking aircraft. Our helicopter has arrived, and we must be on our way.
"I have Launch Director Nicole Hunter and Senator Charles Boorman as my companions to ensure my
safety. Oh, and don't forget that I have my finger on the detonator button that could make quite a mess of
Atlantis."
He clicked off, then directed the pistol at his two high-profile hostages. "Now then, you two shall we
go meet the helicopter?"
52
ARMORED PERSONNEL CARRIER
ACQUES GROANED, AND HIS
J eyelids fluttered open. The pain in his head wouldn't go away. The
sunlight made him squint, and when he shut his eyes again, he saw the pain as red fingers pressing against
his eyeballs, squeezing his temples, digging into his back. He wanted to kill somebody. Anyone would do.
He started coughing. His throat was dry. The pain overwhelmed him again, and he felt like giving up,
closing his eyes and dying
Images of his sister Yvette swirled around him, his beloved Yvette, with her silky soft thighs, full
breasts, moist and sensuous lips. . .Somehow she was with him.
And then he remembered. Colonel Adam Friese. Iceberg. The astronaut with a broken foot.
Jacques forced his eyes open. He lay outside the Armored Personnel Carrier, carefully situated in the
shade cast by the vehicle. The launchpad complex soared high above him; he must be right at the base of
the gantry. He saw no one around.
Jacques struggled to an elbow. His hands and wrists hurt, as though he had been bound. He spotted
some nylon rope lying twisted on the ground next to him, its ends neatly severed with a sharp knife. He
briefly remembered someone cutting him free Yvette? He shook his head. But how? She was still at the
LCC with Mr. Phillips. He was too groggy to remember details but she had looked like an avenging angel.
It must have been Yvette. He had never seen anything so beautiful, not even in dreams.
Pulling himself upright, he had to grab onto the APC to keep himself steady. Where was his lover, if
she had come here to rescue him? What had happened to that sadistic Iceberg?
Jacques searched the complicated metal labyrinth of the Fixed Service Structure cradling Atlantis. As
far as he could tell from his position, the gantry was deserted.
Jacques staggered around the vehicle, swaying with dizziness, fumbling for his walkie-talkie. He would
give Mr. Phillips a call, warn him about Iceberg's meddling. But the radio was gone, stolen.
He stopped as he heard a scream from above him. High above. He held his hand up to shield his eyes,
squinting then he saw the falling figure plunge from the gantry's topmost access arm, the gaseous vent
hood where he had planted the bomb.
Time seemed to elongate as he focused on the shape of a falling human being a woman. She hit the
side of the external tank and bounced. The screaming stopped, and the body tumbled.
Even from this distance he recognized Yvette. He had spent enough time studying her body, her curves,
her soft skin, her hard muscles. She struck the gantry and continued to fall, a broken doll. It couldn't be!
Yvette was with Mr. Phillips, safe back at the Launch Control Center. Unless Iceberg had somehow
managed to destroy the plan, and Yvette had been sent to stop him. "No!" he screamed.
Yvette's body impacted the concrete pad on the far side of the gantry with a popping sound like a
grapefruit hit with a baseball bat. The noise carried across the silent, shut-down launchpad complex.
Jacques pushed away from the APC and staggered toward the gantry, shaking his head, insisting that it
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