Scheisse.
He plunged after her, puffing and seething. It was one thing not to have found her; it was another to have had her within his grasp and then let her escape. He would be a laughingstock, again. Wolf Helling, who had given him this job, would be humiliated once more. It was unacceptable, unthinkable.
The rocks along the fenceline were jagged, cutting into his boots as he half ran, half stumbled through the dim light. She was up there, somewhere. She had said something about the loading bay, so she probably was headed there. In any case, there weren't that many places to hide. It was just a matter of time. Just a matter of time. . . .
Ramirez was talking to Peretz again on his walkie-talkie. "I've been monitoring the scrambled radio traffic, and I've begun to have a sixth sense about the situation. I think we're about to have some uninvited guests from the U.S. Special Forces; ten to one it's Delta. Are you ready?"
"Jean-Paul just came in, and he says we're totally secure, baby. SatCom thoughtfully lined this place with steel. Ain't nobody gonna waltz into this little enclave of ours without a press pass. Rest easy, man. Keep cool."
"Well, I'm thinking I should send you some more backup, just in case." What I really should do is shoot you and just use the backup. "By the way, how does the schedule look?"
"The countdown's now being handled entirely by the computer. So far there are no holds. Lift-off is coming up exactly as scheduled."
"Good," Ramirez spoke back, "keep me updated on a ten- minute framework." He paused, thinking. "Incidentally, is there any way we possibly could speed it up?"