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in the Government Center, Lechat had pointed out. There had to be service
elevators, laundry chutes, garbage ducts- something that connected through
from the rear of the Françoise.
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The party arrived at the little-used connecting passage running behind the
Françoise and its neighboring establishments, and the soldiers waited among
the shadows of the surrounding entrances and stairways while Lechat tapped
lightly on the rear door of the restaurant. After a few seconds the door
opened and Lechat disappeared inside. Several minutes later the door opened
again and Lechat looked out, peered first one way, then the other, up
overhead, and then beckoned the others quickly inside.
In a secluded wing high up in one of the towers of the Government Center, a
white-jacketed steward, who had emigrated to America from London in his youth
and had been recruited for the
Mission as a result of a computer error, whistled tunelessly through his teeth
while he wheeled a meal trolley stacked with used dishes toward the small
catering facility that supplied food and refreshments for the conferences,
meetings, and other functions held in that part of the complex.
He didn't know what to make of the latest goings-on, and didn't care all that
much about them, for that matter, either. It was all the same to him. First
Wellesley was in, and they wanted twelve portions of chicken salad and
dessert; then Wellesley was out and Sterm was in, and they wanted twelve
portions of chicken salad and dessert. It didn't make any difference to him
who-
A hand slid across his mouth from behind, and he was quickly whisked into the
still-room next to the pantry. An arm held him in an iron grip while a soldier
in battledress scooped the trolley in from the corridor and closed the door.
There were more of them in there, with a civilian. They looked mean and in no
mood for fooling around.
The hand over his mouth loosened a fraction after the door was closed. "Gawd!
Wot's goin'
on? Who-?' Somebody jabbed him in the ribs. He shut up.
"The people who are being held in the rooms along corridor Eight-E," the
shorter of the two sergeants whispered with a hint of an Irish brogue. "You
take their food in?' The steward gulped and nodded vigorously. "When is the
evening meal due?"
"Abaht ten minutes," the steward said. "I'm supposed ter collect it next door
any time
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teryear.txt nah." In the background, one of the soldiers was stripping off his
blouse and unbuckling his belt
"Start taking off the jacket and the vest," the Irish sergeant ordered. "And
while you're doing it, you can tell us the routine."
Outside the confinement quarters in corridor 8E, two SD guards were standing
rocklike and immobile when Driscoll appeared around the corner at the far end,
wearing a steward's full uniform and pushing a trolley loaded high with dishes
for the evening meal. Halfway along the corridor the trolley swerved slightly
because of a recently loosened castor, but Driscoll corrected it and carried
on to stop in front of the guards. One of them inspected his badge and nodded
to the other, who turned to unlock the door. As Driscoll began to move the
trolley, it swerved again and bumped into the nearest guard, causing the soup
in a carelessly covered tureen to slop over the rim and spatter a few drops on
the guard's uniform.
"Oh, Christ!" Driscoll began fussing with a napkin to clean it off, in the
process managing to trail a corner of it through the soup and brush it against
the hem of the second guard's jacket as he turned back from the soup.
Driscoll moaned miserably and started dabbing it off, but was shoved away
roughly. "Get off, you clumsy asshole," the guard growled. Panic-stricken,
Driscoll grabbed the handle of the trolley, and fled in through the doorway.
Soldiers were already coming round the corner and bearing down on them fast,
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two sergeants in the lead, when the guards turned back again. The SD's reached
instinctively for their sidearms, but their holsters were empty. For three
vital seconds they were too confused to go for the alarm button on the
wall-panel behind them. Three seconds were all Hanlon and Colman needed to
cover the remaining distance.
Inside the room, the captives looked around in surprise as muffled thuds
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