Lane crouched under the agplane's wing, hurriedly tracing the plumbing and control lines that led to the tank. So far as he could tell, the tank's valve was in the open position. It meant that the spraying system was charged with virus-nitrogen mix. No matter if he closed the valve now; if he tried to disconnect the tank, whatever virus was already in the system would be released.
He stood up and looked at the plane. There were any number of ways to bring it out of the sky, but the simplest to control with a remote detonator would be an explosive device. Possibly Semtex. Easy to use and very powerful.
They were going to overfly Washington, spraying the deadly virus on the city, and then Speyer was going to kill them.
He started at the nose of the airplane, running his hands over and into every nook and cranny. A half-pound of Semtex would be more than enough to take off the prop, or blow the entire engine out of the plane.
He checked under the landing gear, and then back to the wing roots and tail surfaces, conscious that the plane could blow at any moment. But he couldn't simply turn his back and walk away. A lot of people would die if the virus were to be released, even out here in the country.
Lane climbed onto the left wing and started searching the cabin, reaching under the control panel, and under the seats. Ten minutes after he had come down from the loft his fingers brushed across the brick of Semtex under the backseat.
He gingerly eased it out and, holding it carefully in both hands, stepped back down off the wing and turned away from the airplane. There was an electronic fuse stuck into the plastic, but there was no way of telling if it was active, or if by trying to remove or disconnect it the thing would explode.
He nudged the barn door open with a hip, and then hurried around to the back, and down the path to the creek. He laid the
bundle on the ground, backed off a couple of feet and then turned and walked off. Sooner or later it would blow. But back here it would do no harm.
He shook his head. It was time for a vacation, he thought. A very long vacation.
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The Semtex exploded with a flat bang thirty minutes after Speyer had pushed the button, but Lane didn't bother leaving his seat on the front porch. In the distance to the east he'd spotted the pair of Iroquois helicopters coming in just above tree level. Their part of the mission had to have been a success, too; otherwise they wouldn't be coming here now.
He'd gone back upstairs to have a last look at Gloria, to convince himself that she was really dead, and then had found a bottle of Dom Perignon in the kitchen. In a blue funk, he took the bottle and a couple of glasses out to the front porch to wait. Because of the baby, Frannie wouldn't have any wine, but Tommy would probably share a glass or two.
It was pleasant out here, he thought. Maybe something like this would be a relief from the grind of the city. At least for a while, until he got bored again.
The helicopters landed in the field across the driveway. Frannie jumped out of the lead one and headed up to the porch in her long-legged easy run, and Lane's heart swelled. He didn't think he could ever be bored so long as he had moments like this, with her coming across a field toward him.