"Al, " said the man at the helm.
"Lookee over there!"
"Where?"
"On my side."
"At what, Sam?" asked Al, turning around.
"That round thing floatin' over yonder."
"Yeah, I see it. And there's another, to the left."
"Yep, I see that, too. I'll head over." The boat careened to the right,
approaching both objects.
"I'll be schnozzled!" cried Sam.
"Them's life preservers."
"You get yours, then swing around and I'll pick up the other." Each did so, pulling both objects into the skiff.
"Wowee!" shouted Sam.
"These is real U.S. Air Force issue.
Musta' cost mebbe a hundred or even two hundred dollars apiece!"
"Probably three hundred, Sam. Ten bucks to make and the soldier boys buy 'em for three, mebbe four hundred. You heard about them toilet seats and the wrenches, right?"
"Sure did."
"That's why our taxes is so high, right?"
"Right, so let's get a little of our own back. We'll keep 'em, right?"
"Why not? All these years we never had a life preserver." Al held up his solid white ring in the fading light.
"We never needed one," said Sam.
"This old thing is as safe as a cement whale."
"A cement whale would sink, buddy."
"Then we'll keep 'em. You know, when we was comin' out of the Choptank, I heard one of those helliocopters headin' upstream. You think he lost 'em?"
"Naw," objected Al.
"The soldier boys are trained to get rid of things like this. Then they got to buy more, like the cracked toilet seats and the lousy wrenches. I read somewhere it's part of the system."
"Hell, I'm patriotic, goddamn it. I was at Anzio and you was at that place in the Pacific nobody can pronounce."
"Eniwetok, buddy. A piece of crap."
"So we keep these, right?"
"Why not?"
"Good. Now let's catch some more fish before the beer runs out," said Sam.
No one knew what happened; nobody understood; everything was madness.
The Langley chopper approached touchdown, the ground crew in place, when suddenly the aircraft swung up to the left, automatic weapons blazing from the open supply portal, killing or severely wounding the soldiers gathered below. Then, just as suddenly, the helicopter veered to the right, sweeping over the compound as if looking for another target. It was swiftly apparent: the estate's great house, the mansion that overlooked the enormous lawn and the boathouse. The chopper circled, ascending as it did so, to make its final run of devastation.
Stunned by the thunderous explosions of gunfire, Scofield and Pryce ran to the south windows, the direction from which came the staccato bursts and human screams.
"Good Christ!" shouted Brandon.
"They're coming in after us!"
"It's too concentrated," disagreed Cam rapidly.
"One source look My God, it's Silent Horse! What the hell? ..."
"Wanna bet, kiddo?" countered Scofield.
"It's mocked up to look like Silent Horse! It's heading toward us. We're out of here!" Bray started for the door.
"No!" yelled Pryce.
"The north balconies!"
"What?"
"There are two drainpipes. We don't know what he's carrying. Can you handle it?"
"Try me, sonny boy. I've got to find Toni!" As one, both men raced to the French doors across the room, flung them open, and stepped out on the small balcony with the wrought-iron railing. The helicopter thundered above, the roar ear-shattering as the aircraft headed north, slipping into a turn.
"Bombs!" yelled Pryce.
"It's loaded with bombs!"
"He'll be coming back to blow this place to Jupiter-" "He's got to get more altitude unless he wants to blow with it. Let's go!" Each man climbed over the railing on opposite sides of the balcony. They reached out, half lunging, grabbing on to their respective drainpipes. Like two panicked spiders, hands below descending hands, at moments in sheer slides, they plummeted to the ground as the chopper swung up into its turn to reach a safe altitude for a bombing run.
"Stay down and as close to the foundation as you can," ordered Cameron.
"He'll make at least two or three passes to unload that junk."
"Even in my senility I figured that out," said Scofield.
"When he goes into his first pass, dropping his load, we can get away from here.... I've got to find Toni!"
"Do you know where she went?"
"She said something about the boathouse-" "Why not?" Pryce broke in.
"If worse comes to a lousy worser, we can zigzag across the bay."
"Your grammar's impeccable," mumbled Bray.
"Here comes the son of a bitch!"
What followed was nothing short of complete horror. The entire top floors of the great house were demolished, leaving only fires and smoke and debris where once stood architectural grandeur.
"Let's go."" repeated Cameron.
"Down to the boathouse! We've got at least forty seconds because his second pass will come from the south."
The two figures ran across the descending lawn as the mocked-up Silent Horse continued its reign of terror. Billows of fired smoke curled into the sky as the lethal explosions shook the earth. Breathless, Scofield and Pryce leaned against the wall of the boathouse, watching the devastation.
"Did you hear that?" asked a washed-out Brandon.
"I certainly did and do!" replied Cam.
"And I want that bastard in front of my weapon, preferably at close range in front of his face."
"No, son, the other stuff!"
"What are you talking about?"
"The pops, the automatic fire. Our boys have regrouped and are going after that chopper!"
"Tell that to those who didn't survive."
"Wish I could," said Scofield, his lined features filled with sadness.
"Toni," he abruptly yelled.
"Let's go inside and see if she's here!"
She was, and the scene under the sloping roof of the boathouse astonished both men. For across the slip where the Chris-Craft bobbed in the water, Antonia held an automatic in her hand. It was aimed at Lieutenant Colonel Leslie Montrose, who was holding a portable telephone, but not the sort issued by the Central Intelligence Agency.
"Remembering what you said about our colonel here and her phoning from the boathouse on two separate occasions, Mr. Pryce, I decided to make her my personal surveillance." The explanation was interrupted by a series of deafening explosions from outside.
"There goes the rest of the house, Colonel," said Cameron in quiet, ice-cold fury.
"Were you running the strike from in here? And how many others were killed, you bitch?"
"It will all be explained to you-if necessary," said Montrose calmly, coldly.
"It better be right now!" exploded Scofield, reaching into his belt and pulling out a handgun.
"Otherwise I'll blow your pretty face apart.
You're working for the enemy!"
"If it appears that way," said Montrose, "it's devoutly to be wished."
"You've been calling the White House!" roared Pryce.
"Who's your contact, who's the mole, the traitor at Sixteen Hundred?"
"No one you'd know."
"I'd better learn now, or I'll tell my friend here to put a bullet in your head."
"I think you would-" "You're goddamned right I would! You're garbage. Talk, bitch!"
"Apparently, I have no choice."
"You don't."