He switched on the keyboard and again gave a letter a tap. This time it instantly appeared on the screen, highlighted. A glance at the TV monitor told him that the startled analyst at the keyboard had frozen his fingers in mid-tap, bringing everything to a halt.
Quickly he started typing, hoping that none of the terrorists had the brains to be monitoring the computers.
DON'T STOP. JUST ANSWER.
The young analyst, he could tell from the monitor, had a funny look on his face, obvious even through his scraggly beard. But he was cool.
WHO ARE YOU? came back the answer.
A FRIEND. NEED INFORMATION. FAST. HOW MANY TERRORISTS?
TEN. The reply appeared. BUT I THINK ONE WAS KILLED.
Plus those who came in on the Sikorsky this morning, Vance thought. Looked like another three. Then he typed in another question.
WHAT DO THEY WANT?
DON'T KNOW. MAYBE USE VEHICLES. The typing was quick and experienced. THEY SAY FACILITY TO KEEP OPERATING NORMALLY.