Furiously wishing to G.o.d that he knew where he'd dropped his rifle, Thibodeau turned his head downward and saw to his amazement that was it still in his right hand, his fingers clutched around the grip, its barrel jacket pressed almost vertically against his side.

He dropped his cheek to the floor again, dropped it into a pool of his own blood, no longer able to keep it up. He was funneling all his willpower into getting the hand to move. He told it to move, begged it to move, and when it failed to respond silently began cursing it, demanding that it quit giving him bulls.h.i.t, insisting angrily that it could f.u.c.k with him later on, could fall right off his shoulder if that was how it had to be, but that right now it was going to obey him and raise the G.o.dd.a.m.ned rifle.

Thibodeau heard himself take a racking breath. He could see the invaders in their black helmets and uniforms, getting closer, pounding up the stairs.

Come on, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d, he thought. Come on. Come on.

And then suddenly his arm was coming up, dragging the gun with it, dragging it through his spilled blood, getting its barrel under the railing and pointed down at the stairs.

He triggered the rifle and felt it rattle against his body, spraying the stairs with rounds. The invaders almost collided with each other as they halted in their tracks and shot back with their own weapons. Bullets whizzed over Thibodeau's head, tocking like hailstones against the projecting edge of the catwalk and the wall behind him. Recovered from their surprise at being fired upon, seeing that Thibodeau was badly wounded, the two invaders were coming at him once again, crouching, their guns stuttering as they began climbing the stairs. A third man, meanwhile, had opened fire from the aisle below.

Thibodeau pumped out another burst, but knew he was weakening, knew his clip would be empty soon, knew he was nearly finished.

Laissez les bons temps rouler--wasn't that what he'd told Cody earlier? Let the good times roll, roll on to the very last, take me rolling down nice and easy, amen, G.o.d, amen, he thought half deliriously.

And fired again at the invaders with the remainder of his strength and ammunition, braced for what he was certain would be the final moments of his life.

"Thibodeau's down," Delure said. "Christ, we've got to do something."

"Give me the 'hog's position," Cody replied. He was staring at pictures being sent by ceiling-mounted surveillance cameras in the payload storage bay. Now under the remote control of the monitoring room, their feeds normally appeared on a television screen every ten minutes in a rotational sequence that included feeds from other medium- and high-security buildings, and that should have been automatically overridden in the event of a trespa.s.s, with the system tripping an alarm and locking its visuals upon the area that had been breached. But the cameras' regular transmissions had been neglected as the attack at the compound's periphery gathered momentum, and the invaders had apparently gained entry to the warehouse through authorized means, defeating the override.

It was a lapse whose consequences had become terribly clear to Cody's team in the past several minutes.

Jezoirski was looking closely at the hedgehog's video transmissions. "Felix is at the warehouse... about thirty feet down the corridor it'll bear left, take another elevator down to the storage bay...."

"You said that means, what, another minute until it's actually on that catwalk?"

Jezoirski nodded. "That's my estimate, yeah."

"Thibodeau might not last that long," Delure said. "I'm telling you, Cody, he needs our help right now."

"Our orders are to sit tight."

"But we can't just sit here and watch them kill him." kill him."

"Listen to me, G.o.dd.a.m.n it!" Cody snapped. He was sweating profusely now, the moisture dripping down over his lips. "We'd never make it to the warehouse before the 'hog and the backup team. You want to help Thibodeau, keep your eyes on those screens, and be ready to tell that robot what to do when it reaches him!" Cody snapped. He was sweating profusely now, the moisture dripping down over his lips. "We'd never make it to the warehouse before the 'hog and the backup team. You want to help Thibodeau, keep your eyes on those screens, and be ready to tell that robot what to do when it reaches him!"

Kuhl crouched behind his vehicle, the sounds of gunfire surrounding him, helicopters whirring overhead. His expression was rigid with thought, almost brooding, as if he were oblivious to it all.

In fact he was keenly attuned to his situation, his mind distilling and evaluating its every aspect. Up until now the mission had been a success. His men had met almost every objective set out for them, and in some cases done better than expected. But the stage at which events could be orchestrated was past, and sustaining further losses was unacceptable. It was necessary to recognize that the balance had shifted toward his opposition. If he continued, his force might be so badly weakened it would be unable to retreat. And he was not one to bait chance.

He turned to his driver, who was huddled beside him. "We're pulling out," he said, and motioned toward the jeep. "Radio the others to let them know."

Manuel was sitting on the ground nearby, leaning back against the door of the vehicle. His untreated wound had sapped him and he was breathing in short, labored gasps.

"We can't." He nodded toward the interior of the compound. "Yellow Team is still in there."

"They knew the risks," Kuhl said. "We've waited as long as we can."

Manuel slid himself up along the side of the door, wincing with the effort.

"They haven't had enough time," he croaked.

"I've given my order. You can stay behind, if you wish." There was anger in Kuhl's eyes. "Decide quickly."

Manuel looked at him for a long moment, bent his head to stare at the ground, then slowly looked back at him with resignation.

"I'll need some help getting into the jeep," he said at last.

Outside the warehouse complex, a group of ten Sword ops raced on foot toward the service door through which Thibodeau had pursued the invaders. The team was composed of men who had been pulled from dispositions around the compound's residential and office buildings.

They came to where the murdered guard lay on the ground, stopped, gazed down at him. The knife wound in his back was still bleeding out.

One of them mouthed an oath, his right hand making the sign of the cross on his forehead and chest.

"Bryce," he said. "Ah, s.h.i.t, poor guy."

Another member of the ad hoc team grabbed his arm.

"No use standing here," he said.

The two of them looked at each other. The first man started to say something in response, but then simply cleared his throat and nodded.

Turning from the body, they ran into the open service door, the rest of the team pouring into the warehouse behind them.

Thibodeau could feel the world slipping away. He was trying to hold onto it, trying desperately, but it was loose and runny around the edges, made of soft taffy, and out beyond where it waned off into formlessness, he could sense a black ma.s.s waiting to swallow it all up. He knew what was happening to him, no brain flash needed on that score. It was blood loss, it was traumatic shock, it was how it felt to be dying from a large-caliber bullet hole in your gut. The world was slipping away, and though he would have preferred it didn't, the choice didn't seem to be within his making.

Thibodeau breathed hard through his mouth, coughed. It was a thick, liquidy sound that admittedly frightened him a little, and the air felt cold entering his lungs, but there wasn't much pain, and things seemed to get more distinct afterward. He saw the two invaders who'd been shooting at him emerge from the blurred comers of his vision, one behind the other, hurrying up the stairs to the catwalk. He had held them off as long as he could, firing his gun until its magazine was exhausted. Now he wasn't even sure whether or not the weapon was still in his hand.

The invader who had led the way up was standing over him, pointing his rifle straight down at his head.

Thibodeau took another breath, managed to lift his cheek off the catwalk's b.l.o.o.d.y runner. Its grooves had marked his cheek with smears of his own blood.

"Get it done," he said weakly.

The invader stood over him. If he had any expression beneath his face mask, Thibodeau had no way of knowing what it might be.

"Come on," Thibodeau said. "Get it done."

And still standing there looking down at him, the invader lowered the rifle's bore to his temple.

Felix rolled out onto the catwalk from the same elevator Thibodeau had taken minutes earlier.

High above the payload storage bay, the 'hog went swiftly toward him, its navigational sonar mapping its surroundings in layered echo patterns.

This was a built-in redundancy to prevent accidental collision, for Jezoirski now wielded full command of its operation from the monitoring room. Having donned virtual-reality gla.s.ses, he could see three-dimensional graphic representations of everything the 'hog "saw" with its optical array. At the same time, the joystick controls on his console were now directing its robotic mobility systems, allowing him to guide and determine its every turn and action.

Biting his lips, Jezoirski rushed the 'hog over the catwalk. Like a sorcerer possessing an ent.i.ty from afar--using technology instead of talismans, and algorithms instead of incantations--he had extended himself into the hedgehog's physical s.p.a.ce and was, in effect, in two locations at once.

Felix glided around a curve, its wheels whispering softly, the immense room's recessed fluorescents reflecting twinkles of pale blue light off the poker-chip sensors on its turret.

Then, all at once, it came to a halt.

Was brought brought to a halt. to a halt.

Panic sweeping through him like a whiteout blizzard, wiping all his training from his mind, Jezoirski had frozen at the remote controls. A hundred feet above him in another building, yet right in front of his eyes, Rollie Thibodeau was about to die.

And Jezoirski suddenly didn't know what to do about it.

"What's wrong?" Cody asked.

Jezoirski's heart b.u.mped in his chest. His eyes were wide under the VR wraparounds.

He gripped Felix's controls, blinded by indecision, knowing his slightest error or miscalculation would mean Thibodeau's end.

"I asked what the h.e.l.l's wrong with you!" wrong with you!" Cody repeated beside him. His voice trembled with stress. Cody repeated beside him. His voice trembled with stress.

Jezoirski inhaled, felt his muscles unclamp. Cody's demanding, excited tone had jolted him from his momentary paralysis.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," he muttered quickly, as much to himself as his superior.

Taking another breath through gritted teeth, he resumed working the controls.

Thibodeau's glazed eyes widened with surprise as Felix came speeding toward him from the right, its wheels swishing over the catwalk's runner, its gripper arm extending straight out in front of it.

Startled by the sound of its advance, the invader standing over Thibodeau whirled toward the 'hog, bringing his rifle up from Thibodeau's head. But the 'hog's side-mounted shotgun discharged with a belch of smoke and flame while he was still bringing the rifle around to fire at it.

The invader spun back against rail of the catwalk, his rifle flying from his hands. The advancing robot tracked his movement, angled its gun, and fired another shot at nearly point-blank range, hitting him hard enough to lift him off his feet. Shrieking and clutching at the air, the invader went sailing over the guardrail and plummeted to the floor of the storage bay, his body landing with a heavy crash.

The roar of its shotgun still echoing in the air, Felix hurtled toward the second invader, who triggered his own weapon, spraying the 'hog with a short burst of automatic fire. But he'd been unable to recover from his surprise in time to position himself for his shots, and only one or two nicked Felix's carrier, the rest going completely astray, ricocheting off the wall and catwalk.

He did not get a chance to unleash another volley. The hog's gripper claw shot out just as he was taking aim, s.n.a.t.c.hed his leg below the knee, and clamped down with several hundred pounds of force.

His trouser leg suddenly wet with blood, the invader screamed and tried to twist away, but Felix's hold was unyielding. Screaming in pain, his rifle clattering from his hands, he bent and wrapped his fingers around the robotic arm, struggling in vain to tear it loose.

Watching blearily from inches away, Thibodeau saw him sink onto one knee, then heard the bones of his opposite leg splinter with a sickening crunch under the relentless pressure of the gripper claw. His screams growing in shrillness, the invader continued to pull at the arm as the robot resumed its advance, shoving him implacably backward, out of reach of his fallen weapon.

Sonsab.i.t.c.hin' contraption's good for somethin' after all, Thibodeau thought, then let his head slump to the floor again, no longer able to keep it up. Thibodeau thought, then let his head slump to the floor again, no longer able to keep it up.

His field of vision contracting to a small, fuzzy circle, he lay there motionless, the side of his face against the floor. He was vaguely aware of footsteps far below him, a lot of them. Someone shouted--first in Spanish, then English. He heard a fusillade of gunfire.

Before he even had time to wonder what any of it meant, Thibodeau's eyes rolled back under their lids, and he ceased to be aware of anything at all.

As the Sword ops bolted into the payload storage bay, they heard two reverberating shotgun blasts over their heads, and then saw a man in a black cammo suit fall from one of the catwalks, screaming and flailing as he dropped to the floor to their left, slamming down with a hard thud, then neither screaming nor moving anymore. An instant later there was a chop of automatic fire in the air high above them. Looking up, they spotted another dark form on the catwalk, this one suddenly folding to his knees as a hedgehog launched at him across the catwalk, its gripper arm rapidly whipping out to s.n.a.t.c.h him like the foreleg of a preying mantis. Several of the ops saw a third man sprawled on the catwalk behind the 'hog, and noticing his Sword uniform, realized instantly it must be Thibodeau.

But before they could react to this sight, a third figure in black sprang from a crouch below a towering work platform up ahead, leaving an object behind on the floor near one of its supports. All of them were experienced enough to know it was a satchel charge--and they could see two more in plain view below other platforms.

"Stay right where you are!" one of the ops shouted, raising his weapon.

The man wasn't inclined to listen to his warning, regardless of the language. He raised his gun and swung it toward the group of Sword ops.

The response from the Sword op who had called out to him was immediate and conclusive. Bullets spurted from his gun, cutting the invader down before he could fire a single round.

Lowering his barrel, the op sprinted past the invader to the platform support, knelt over the satchel charge, and rapidly a.s.sessed its threat. He was no demolitions expert, but it looked like it was on a simple timer pencil and fuze configuration... although looks could be deceptive. There could, he knew, be internal wiring that would detonate the explosives if he tried yanking out the fuze, or other types of b.o.o.by traps totally unfamiliar to him. Yet the timer's pin was nowhere in sight, and it only had a couple of minutes left on it, leaving him with no chance to move the bomb or call for help-- He hesitated briefly, feeling his body tighten. Then, gritting his teeth, he pinched the fuze between his thumb and forefinger and gave it a hard pull.

A moment later he took a deep breath, and then another, thanking G.o.d that the bomb hadn't gone off in his hands, that he and everyone around him were still there, still there and not blown to bits.

Which did not yet mean they were in the clear, he quickly reminded himself.

"This one's out of commission, we better get on to the others!" he shouted. "Let's hurry!"

Back in the driver's seat of his chase car, Carlysle looked out his windshield at the fleeing group of invaders and swore aloud. Less than a minute ago, their jeep had sped through the gap in the perimeter fence and he had followed on their tail.