"Well, get on with it. They're setting up to fire. I'd guess you've got about thirty seconds to pull off this miracle of yours."
"I think a hundred and sixty degrees will do it," she said, her voice now deceptively mechanical, all business. Suddenly he could envision her running this facility and barking orders right and left. "We're at one-twenty now. I just don't know if I can focus it in time. Georges always handled this."
She was tapping on the keyboard, some message to LeFarge. A cryptic reply appeared on the screen, next to what appeared to Vance to be computer garbage. Then the motion of the giant servomechanisms seemed to pick up speed. The radar antennas were swiveling around, and down.
"We're almost ready. Let me get Georges to transfer the power controls to full manual."
"Christ!" He cocked his Uzi.
"Look," she exploded. "I'm doing my part. How about you doing yours? Slow them down."
"I don't want to waste any rounds until it's absolutely necessary."
But it looked like that time had come. He opened the door again and stepped through. Down below, the moon glistened on the rocks, and one of the gunmen was aiming a grenade launcher. "How long—?"
"Just a couple more seconds now. . . ."
"It's now or never." He took careful aim on the man holding the launcher. "I'm going to count to five."