The main control room of Thunder Mountain's Unit 1 reactor was crowded. The chaos was getting to Malcolm Parsons. He wasn't used to such a commotion unless he was at its center. He felt like a bystander, and knew that, in fact, that was all he was. Glinkov's men had just returned with the last group of hostages. The Russian was huddled with one of the raiders, stopping occasionally to issue orders. Parsons had had enough. He charged over to Glinkov with his arms waving. "Do you mind telling me what the hell is going on here?" Parsons demanded.
"Hold your water, pal," the man with Glinkov snarled.
The Russian placed a hand on his companion's arm. "Give me a moment with Malcolm, would you, Steven?"
Grudgingly the man withdrew a few steps, turning his back to watch the disposition of the hostages.
"Malcolm," Glinkov said, trying to soothe the older man's irritation. "I'm very busy. Why don't you wait in that office over there. I'll be with you as soon as I can."
"What's happening here? Who are all these people?"
"In a minute, Mr. Parsons. Kindly wait in the office."
Parsons wasn't happy, but he did as he was told.
Glinkov watched him go, a thoughtful expression dulling the forced smile. When Parsons had closed the office door, Glinkov returned to his lieutenant. "Do you have them all now?"
"Yeah. We checked the time cards. Everybody's here. Thirty-two of 'em."
"Not as many as I would have thought," Glinkov said.
"Well, only one reactor's operating, and these damn things practically run themselves. So much automation, computers and all that shit. All that power, and hardly anybody watching it."
"A good thing, too. Our task would have been much more difficult otherwise. It's time for the next phase, Steven. Get all the hostages into one location. Use that backup control room. It will be easy to secure."
"Right."
"All except Ms Peres. I want her separated from the rest. Keep her someplace downstairs that's more difficult to get to. And I want her watched by two men at all times. If Bolan shows up, which I fervently hope, I want some warning. He'll be after the woman first. Put two men on her — expendable men. And let me know where you're keeping her."
"Okay. Anything else?"
"No. Have you seen Eli?"
"He left a half hour ago. Said he wanted to check on the security patrols. You want him?"
"No hurry. Tell him to see me when he returns. I have to see our Mr. Parsons. He's upset, it seems."
Steven orchestrated the confinement of the hostages.
The terrified workers were milling about, anxiously watching their captors. Prodded with weapons, they moved quickly into a concrete room with a heavy steel door. When they had all been herded into the bunkerlike holding pen, Steven stood in the doorway.
Grabbing two men, he pointed to Rachel Peres.
Glinkov watched as Rachel left with the three men.
When they had gone, Glinkov walked toward the office where Parsons could be seen pacing nervously.
Glinkov entered, and Parsons charged forward.
"When are we going to get the media in on this?" he demanded. "This can get us some major coverage. It proves how poorly defended these nuclear plants are. I mean, hell, we just charged right in. If a bunch of amateurs like us can do it, just think what trained guerrillas could do. Washington will be made to look the fool over this."
"Slow down, Malcolm. Everything in due course. You must be very careful about what you say, don't you think? It won't do to meet the press unprepared. I think you ought to prepare a few carefully chosen remarks for the morning press conference. I'll make arrangements for that in a while."
"But you don't have to. I have all the contacts we need. There are several journalists sympathetic to our cause. They'll be here as soon as I call them."
"That won't be necessary."
"But..."
"Never mind, Malcolm. Just do what you do best. Get your statement ready. Let me handle the rest of it. I'll call you when it's time."
Glinkov didn't wait for a reply. He closed the door, leaving Parsons staring at a blank sheet of stainless steel. Out in the main control room, the crowd had diminished. A few armed men sat in small groups, smoking and talking quietly. Two guards stood at the door to the backup control room.
Glinkov had no intention of using Parsons any further. There would be no communique. He had different plans for Thunder Mountain. And for everyone here. But he wanted Parsons out of his hair for a while. When more important matters were out of the way, Mr. Parsons could be dealt with. The Russian looked up at the massive banks of dials and gauges on the control boards that were arranged in an oblique U, all visible from the two swivel-based control chairs. A distant hum was the only evidence of the massive power that could be unleashed from the room. A console swept away from the chairs in an arc on either side. The most important work of the power station could be directed, or misdirected, by walking no more than twenty feet to either side of the swivel chairs.
Glinkov sat in one of the two chairs, scanning the wall of gauges and dials, instinctively reaching out for the controls. He didn't even realize that Steven had returned to the room.
"Kind of like Star Rek, isn't it?" Steven laughed.
"Star Trek?"
"Yeah, you know, the TV show. Starship Enterprise, and all that. This place gives me the creeps."
"I think we better begin the next step, Steven."
"Okay, you're the boss."
"Yes," Glinkov whispered, "I am."
"What do you want me to do?"
"We'll need two men who understand this, what it does." He gestured broadly, sweeping his hands across the range of equipment arrayed before them.
"Why two?"
"We can hardly afford to make a mistake now, can we? And a second man will be able to confirm, or contradict, whatever the first man tells us."
"Be right back."
Steven crossed the wide white floor to the steel door. He paused a moment to open it, then stepped inside. The hostages, who were seated on the floor, stopped their whispering.
"All right, folks, listen up," he snapped. "We need some help out there, and I'm going to have to ask you to cooperate. That way, nobody gets hurt."
One of the captives rose to his feet. "Do you mind telling us what's going on here? Who are you people?"
"You don't need to know anything about it, pal," Steven said. "Like I said, we don't want anybody to get hurt. Now, are you going to cooperate or not? It doesn't make any difference to me."
"Then we won't cooperate. Not until you tell us what's going on here."
A murmur of assent and encouragement greeted the statement. Steven stared at the challenger a moment. Quietly he unslung the Kalashnikov draped over his shoulder.
Holding it casually, almost carelessly, he waved the assault rifle back and forth in front of the captives. No one spoke. No one moved.
The gunfire sounded like an explosion in the concrete room. The Kalashnikov bucked in Steven's hand. Four slugs slammed into the standing hostage, blowing his face in every direction with their impact. Blood sprayed the captives seated behind the dead man's body, and bright crimson flowers bloomed on their white clothing. Shreds of brain tissue clung to the bare concrete wall.
There was silence.
"Well, there you go," Steven smiled. "Somebody got hurt after all." He surveyed the seated audience. "I'll be back in five minutes. When I come back, I want two men who know how to operate this plant ready to come with me. Think about it. Five minutes."
He turned smartly and left the room, closing the door with a dull clang. Leaning against the door, he lit a cigarette. The killer marked time, glancing at his watch as smoke from his cigarette curled silently toward the overhead ventilation fans. When his deadline arrived, he ground the butt underfoot and reopened the door.
"You ready?" he asked.
Two men were standing beside the door; the others were still seated. They stepped forward.
"That's more like it. Come on." He gestured with the Kalashnikov, and the two men preceded him through the door. When it closed again, he said, "I hated to do that, you know. But it's like the old joke about a mule. First you have to get his attention." He led the men toward the office where Glinkov was waiting.
Waving them in, he closed the office door and leaned against it. He nodded to Glinkov, who smiled.
"Gentlemen," the Russian began, "I'm not an engineer, but I have some acquaintance with nuclear energy. I want you clearly to understand that, because we don't have much time. I have much to do and little patience. I want you to cooperate and to answer my questions clearly and quickly. Are you prepared to do that?"
Both men nodded reluctantly. Neither looked at the other.
"Very well then, shall we begin?" He rose and led them back into the control room. Sitting in one of the console chairs, he patted the other. "One of you sit here."
When the hostage was seated, Glinkov continued.
"What I want to do is quite simple really. You can direct me or you can instruct me. Either will suffice."
"What is it you want to do?" the seated man inquired.
"First, I want to override the automatic controls. I want this reactor on manual operation. Then, I want to drain the reactor coolant and make sure the flow of additional coolant is shut down. Finally, I want to withdraw the control rods from the reactor. That's all."
"But you can't do that. It, I mean the reactor will..."
"I know very well what will happen to the reactor. And that is precisely why I am here. Now, shall we get on with it?"
The man was shocked.
"So, how do we override?"
The sight of Steven's Kalashnikov was the man needed to encourage him to talk.
"Push the red button there, next to the computer keyboard."
"That's all?"
The man hesitated.
"I said, is that all?"
"Yes, that's all, but..."
Glinkov interrupted him. "Thank you. Now, which controls open the drainage valves?"
"The blue handles here. Push them up to open, pull them back to close." He looked nervously at his colleague.
"Very well. And which gauges monitor the coolant level and temperature?"
"Up there on the board. That bank in the yellow rectangle marked Number I tells you everything you need to know about the reactor's pressure vessel. The other gauges under Number I are all secondary functions."
"Thank you. So, if I do this," Glinkov asked, drawing the pair of blue handles toward him, "we will begin to drain off the coolant? Is that correct?"
The engineer nodded. Clearing his throat, he said, "Yes, that's correct." His voice was hoarse.
"I'm sorry you feel compelled to lie to me, Mr..." he glanced at the engineer's identification badge "...Anderson. Now, I told you I wanted cooperation. And you are refusing to cooperate." Glinkov stood. "Steven, Mr. Anderson is of no further use to us. Take him back to the others, would you please."
Steven prodded the man in the back with his rifle.
Anderson got to his feet. Steven poked him again with the rifle, more deliberately this time, and the man stumbled back toward the backup control room.
Glinkov read the second engineer's badge and gestured to the empty seat. "Sit down, Mr. Robbins. Would you like a cigarette?"
Robbins nodded, and Glinkov withdrew a pack of Marlboros from his jacket. Taking a cigarette for himself, he extended the pack to Robbins. When each of them had a cigarette, Glinkov replaced the pack and took out his lighter. Lighting his own first, he leaned forward to light Robbins's and said, "We can resume as soon as Steven returns." He smiled, exhaling a narrow plume of smoke.
Robbins steeled himself against what he knew was coming.
Still, at the burst of gunfire, he could feel a trickle of urine run down his leg. A moment later and Steven returned.
"All set?" he asked.
Glinkov nodded. "I think Mr. Robbins understands his responsibilities in this situation. The controls are color coordinated, are they not, Mr. Robbins?"
"Yes."
"A pity your friend Mr. Anderson thought I would overlook something so obvious. I can understand his reluctance to cooperate. But he shouldn't have taken me for a fool. You won't do that, will you, Mr. Robbins?" When Robbins shook his head, Glinkov smiled. "I should certainly hope not. I wouldn't want to have to do this all by myself. So, when I pull the yellow handles back, I begin to drain the coolant from Reactor 1. Correct? Good. Next, I want to shut off the flow of emergency coolant. No point in draining it away just to put more in now, is there?" Glinkov watched the temperature gauge as he followed the engineer's instructions. Soon, he knew, the needle would begin to climb. They were on their way.