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plant, figuring that if the idea was to totally destroy the refinery, then the
best place to start was the storage area for full gas drums.
Ryan made his way down the concourse and entered the long, adjoining shed
without being challenged. Though he passed bosses and sec men, no one seemed
to notice him in the chaos and noise. Inside the metal-walled-and-roofed shed,
the fuel drums were on pallets stacked three high. Because the barrels were so
heavy, the workers used a ceiling crane and pulley system to do the stacking.
Ryan moved around behind the tiers of drums, then reached in and stuck one of
the charges between two barrels at floor level.
He worked his way down the length of the shed, leaving behind five more of the
deadly little packages. He spaced them and placed them so the explosions would
begin at the wall that connected the shed to the plant, and so that the
subsequent blasts from the igniting gas drums would sweep toward the dry
lake, taking out the entire north side of the refinery.
When he was finished, he returned to the factory proper, looking for other
demolition sites. He mined the sides of the crude-oil holding tanks and stuck
his C-4 charges on the beams that held up the three-story walls.
After the fact, as he waited in the shadows for Hun and Poet to return to the
rendezvous point, it seemed like they were using a whole lot of high-ex for
the job. Because he wasn't an expert like J.B. he didn't really know what it
would do. He'd never worked with so much plastique before.
Poet appeared around the side of the tank; Hun returned a moment later. She
went straight to the place where Ryan had hidden the conventional charge and
reached in for it.
"Can't set that yet, Hun," Poet said.
She rose up, empty-handed.
"We can't leave here until the next shift change," Poet explained to her. "Not
without getting hassled, mebbe snatched up by the sec men."
"How long until the change?" Hun asked.
"Four hours."
"Man& " Hun groaned.
"I don't know about you two," Ryan said, stretching his arms, "but I could use
a few winks." He started to scoot his legs in under the massive holding tank,
in the gap between its bottom and the floor. "Figure the shift-change whistle
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ought to wake me up," he told them. "Damned thing's loud enough to wake the
living dead."
Chapter Nineteen
Shabazz nudged Zeal as Trader emerged from his quarters a full five minutes
after a servant's knock had awakened him. The man looked pounded. His face was
deathly pale. There were pain lines deeply etched around his eyes. And he
walked with an agonized, almost bowlegged gait.
"Rough night?" Zeal asked as his guest struggled up.
"I've had worse," Trader replied.
"Yeah," Shabazz said, "look on the bright side."
Trader stared out the window and saw that it was still dark.
"Up kind of early, aren't we?"
"We've got some things to do before we get on the road," Zeal told him. "Do
you want something to eat before we go?"
It seemed to Trader that there was a taunt in the man's voice.
He glared at Zeal for a long moment, wishing he had a blade or blaster close
to hand, then he grimaced and licked his dry lips.
"No, thanks," he said, shaking his head, "I think I'll pass on breakfast, if
it's all the same."
Outside the big house, the armored pink Lincoln awaited them in the courtyard,
as did a fleet of sec wags and crews.
Trader climbed into the back of the Lincoln with Zeal and
Shabazz, then the whole entourage started to roll down the hill.
Looking at the expressions of his fellow passengers, Trader had the feeling
that they both were on the verge of breaking into laughter. Their private joke
wasn't a secret, of course. It was still burning like a red-hot poker deep in
Trader's guts.
The pink Lincoln stopped at the bottom of the hill. Outside, wag doors slammed
shut. Trader couldn't see out the side or rear windows because they were
completely blocked by armor plate, and the driver's ob slit was too narrow and
too far away.
"Don't get your butt all in a twist," Shabazz said to him.
"We're picking up a transport wag to carry your crew to the convoy."
"Now, that's thoughtful," Trader said.
The Lincoln started to move again. At slow speed, they drove another half mile
or so before they stopped again. When Shabazz cracked the rear door and got
out, Trader could see they'd arrived at Virtue Lake's subterranean prison.
"You let the jailers know which crew members you need," Zeal told him. "I want
only one or two to a wag. You just point them out, and the jailers will free
them from the cells. Then tell your people to get into the transport. Tell
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