"One more problem," Vance observed with a sigh. "First Ramirez, and then this one. Guess we'll have to neutralize him, too. If that's the only way to stop the launch. This is getting dirtier all the time."
"There's no way to do it except get into Command," Cally went on. "But even then shutting it down's not that simple. Once it goes into auto mode, you can't just flip a switch. But still, that's the only place—"
"You're talking about a frontal assault that could get bloody," Vance said. "They might kill more of your technicians. No, the assault will have to wait for ARM. We're going to need to work a different way." He paused. "Maybe it's time we blew up something."
"You mean—?"
"What's the definition of a terrorist? It's somebody who uses well-placed acts of violence to disrupt society's normal functions, right? Murder one and frighten a thousand. A terrorist is somebody who takes on a more powerful organization by hit-and-run tactics. Scaring them."
"So?" She looked at him quizzically, her dark eyes puzzled.
"Well, they've taken over the facility now, which means they're the establishment, and we're the outsiders. The tables are turned, which means we have to become terrorists against them."
"But—"
"We don't have much to work with, so we're going to have to do some improvising." He turned thoughtful, scratching at his chin. "How about some 'mollys'—throw together some gasoline, sulfuric acid, sugar . . . and maybe a little potassium chlorate for ignition?"
"Mollys? You mean—"