Dore Peretz’ chest still felt like it was on fire, a burning sensation that seemed to spread across the entire front of his torso; in fact, he felt like shit. And he had almost been blinded by the intense blue laser strobes that had purged the island when the Cyclops kicked on. However, in all the confusion surrounding the lift-off of VX-1, nobody had bothered to wonder where he was. That part suited him fine.
Donning the bulletproof vest around midnight had been the best idea of his life. . . . No, that wasn't true. The best of all was coming up.
Sometimes, he thought, life could have a moment so delicious it made up for all your past disappointments. And you could either seize that moment, or you could forever let it pass, wondering what it would have been like. Not this one, baby.
As he passed through the lobby, he noticed the security door leading into Command had been blown away with some kind of military explosive. Probably C-4. Curious, he paused and assessed the damage. Hey, the television down in Launch hadn't really done the assault justice. Must have been one hell of a show.
Then he stepped inside and checked out the scene.
Jesus! The place was a mess, showed all the signs of a bloody assault. Luckily, however, the emergency lights were working, their harsh beams perfect for what he wanted to do now. There was definitely plenty of evidence of gunfire, flecked plaster from the walls, and over there . . . Christ! It was Jamal, or what was left of Jamal. Little fucker's neck looked like he'd had a close encounter with a chain saw. Not far away was Salim, shot in the face. Then, on the other side of the room, was the body of the last German Stasi, Peter Maier. His demise had come neatly, right between the eyes.
Smooth piece of work, you had to admit. The only asshole unaccounted for was Jean-Paul Moreau. So what happened to that arrogant French prick? Did he escape, get captured? . . . Who gave a shit?
Meditations on fate, the absolute. The truth was, it was
more than a little chilling to see the bodies of three dudes you'd come in with only a day before. . . .
Well, fuck it. These other guys had known the risks. If they didn't, then they were jerks. Down to business.