"I'm aware of that," Armont snapped back. "But first we've got to get these people out of here and somewhere safe." Then he had a thought. "Maybe you should take them with you. Over to the Bates Motel. We could make that our collection point for friendlies."
"All right," Hans agreed, partially, "but this is no time to split up. You'd better come with us. If we run across any more of these assholes, we'll need backup."
Armont nodded, realizing it made some sense. "Okay, then get the people."
Hans looked down and checked over Jean-Paul Moreau. The Frenchman was bleeding, too, but nothing about his wound appeared to be serious. A tourniquet should hold him. "Some of them can carry out our friend here." For a moment he considered telling Armont who their captive was, but then he decided to do it later. Moreau might be more useful if he didn't realize he had been recognized.
Then, with Armont on point and leading the way, they headed through the tunnel that connected Bill Bates’ office to the living quarters. Minutes later Command sat as empty as a tomb, impotent and useless as the countdown continued to scroll, the Fujitsu working the will of Dore Peretz.
[Chapter Eighteen]
"Hansen lied," Ramirez was saying as he took one last glance at the snowy TV monitor, which moments earlier had shown the chaos in Command. "The son of a bitch lied. He didn't call off the assault after all. It was just a stalling tactic." He turned to Peretz, anger deep in his eyes. "We've been double-crossed."