Part 8 (1/2)

While he had been talking, Bennington had also been listening. From Mosby's end of the line came clearly that most rea.s.suring sound, the great bull-speakers thundering out of orders that meant for a few moments rapid running and confusion, then in a few moments more the resolution of the confusion into disciplined movement.

Knowing Mosby, Bennington also knew that the copters would be loaded in twenty minutes.

”Thanks again,” he said.

”Thank you, Jim. I've been moaning for a chance to check our training.

See you in half an hour.”

”You'll see me--”

”Sure. Don't think I'd miss a real shootin' match, do you? Hang on till then.” The line was dead.

_Hang on till then._

Easier said than done.

Well, step number one, survey the situation and the terrain.

A glance at his watch startled him. Though his combat experience had taught him how time could compress and stretch, the fact that only seven minutes ago he had been considering supper in his office came as a shock.

He took no chances but left his house as he had come, by the back door. Then stepping quietly but quickly, he went to the south side of the Processing Building at the corner nearest the Administration Building. All the offices were dark. Only scratches of light--probably matches to cigarette tips--flickered briefly out of the windows of the second-story where the staff was housed.

The mess hall was also dark but as Bennington watched, a short burst of submachine gun fire tracered across the darkness from the kitchen toward the armory.

”Listen, you screws, listen to this!”

The gigantic voice thundered through every corner of the compound. For a second Bennington was startled, then he remembered. The rioters controlled Message Center and the PA system.

”Stop shooting at us. Don't forget that half your staff is in here.

Every time you shoot one of us, we are shooting one of them.”

The words came through on only part of Bennington's attention. They registered, but he was also studying the seventy feet of open ground between him and the nearest door into the mess hall.

The big voice again filled the compound.

”We want to talk to the warden if he's still alive. Or whoever can take his place if he ain't. You got five minutes to call us on the intercom.”

I can talk to them from the kitchen if I can get there, Bennington thought.

He glanced back over his shoulder. The moon, thought full, was only part-way up.

_I'm sixty-five, but maybe I've got one fast run still left._

He did. He made it without a shot being fired.

But he stayed on his belly just outside the door, remembering the submachine gun. From the shadow of the step into the mess hall, he used his command voice to get safe pa.s.sage.