"Here's a good one," Dennis answered. "The virtual reality building. Not anywhere near as high, but direct line of sight to the castle."
"I'll put Houston there," Covington said. "His leg's still bothering him."
"Okay, two sniper-observers plus the TV cameras give us pretty good visual coverage of the castle," Clark said.
"I need to take a leader's recon to figure the rest out," Chavez said. "I need a diagram with the camera positions marked on it. So does Peter."
"When's Malloy get here?" Covington asked.
"Another hour or so. He'll have to gas up when he lands. After that, endurance on the chopper is about four hours, figure thirty minutes cycle time when he touches down."
"How far can the cameras see, Mr. Dennis?"
"They cover the parking lot this way pretty good, but not the other side. They could do better with people on top of the castle."
"What do we know about their equipment?"
"Just the guns. We have that on tape."
"I want to see those," Noonan put in. "Right now, if possible."
Things started moving then. Chavez and Covington got their park maps-they used the same ones sold to park guests, with the camera positions hand-marked with black sticky-dots stolen from a secretary. An electric cart-actually a golf cart-met them out in the corridor and whisked them outside, then back into the park on a surface road. Covington navigated from the map, avoiding camera positions as they made their way along the back-lot areas of Worldpark.Noonan ran the three videotapes that showed the terrorists own takedown operation. "Ten of 'em, all right, all male, most of them are bearded, all wearing white hats when they executed their attack. Two look like park employees. We have any information on them?"
"Working on it," Dennis replied.
"You fingerprint them?" Noonan asked, getting a negative headshake as an answer. "How about photographs?"
"Yes, we all have photo-ID passes to get in." Dennis held up his.
"That's something. Let's get that off to the French police PDQ."
"Mark!" Dennis waved to his personnel boss.
"We should have gotten uniforms," Covington said topside.
"Yeah, haste makes waste, doesn't it, Peter?" Chavez was peering around a corner, smelling the food from the concession stand. It made him a little hungry. "Getting in there's going to be fun, man."
"Quite," Covington agreed.
The castle certainly looked real enough, over fifty meters square and about the same in height. Mainly it was empty space, the blueprints had told them, but there were both a staircase and elevator to the flat roof, and sooner or later the bad guys would put someone there, if they had half a brain amongst them. Well, that. was the job for the snipers. Homer Johnston and Sam Houston would have fairly easy direct shots, four hundred meters from one side,gad a mere one-sixty or so from the other.
"How big do those windows look to you?"
"Big enough, Ding."
"Yeah, I think so, too." And already a plan was coming together in the two minds. "I hope Malloy is well rested."
Sergeant Homer Johnston, now wearing park coveralls over his ninja suit, popped out of the ground fifty meters from the Dive Bomber. The ride was even more intimidating this close. He walked toward it, escorted by a park employee who was also a ride operator for this attraction.
"I can take you to the top and stop the car there."
"Great." It sure looked like a long way to climb, even though there were regular steps heading up. They walked under the canopied entrance, past the crowd-control bars, and Johnston sat in the lead seat on the right side, his gun case on the seat next to his. "Go," he told the operator. The rideup the first hill was slow-deliberately so, designed that way to scare the bejeebers out of the riders, and that gave Johnston another insight into the mind of a terrorist, he thought with a wry smile. The gang of ten three seat cars stopped just at the crest. Johnston wriggled out, taking his gun case with him. This he set in an equipment bay, opening it to extract a rubber mat, and a ghillie blanket to drape over himself. Last came his rifle and binoculars. He took his time, setting the mat down-the decking here was perforated steel, and lying there would soon become uncomfortable. He deployed the blanket atop his prone frame. It was essentially a light fishing net covered with green plastic leaves, whose purpose was to break up his outline. Then he set up his rifle on its bipod, and took out his green-plastic-coated binoculars. His personal radio microphone dangled in front of his lips.
"Rifle Two-One to command."
"This is Six," Clark responded.
"Rifle Two-One in place, Six. I have a good perch here. I can see the whole roof of the castle and the doors to the elevator and stairwell. Good line of sight to the back, too. Not a bad spot, sir."
"Good. Keep us posted."
