"You'll kill him."
Before Colt could reply, Kinsman said, "Everybody dies." The two former astronauts grinned at each other.
"Frank," said Kinsman, "see if you can re-establish contact with Alpha. Perry's no fool. He's probably trying to make direct contact with this building's microwave receivers right now."
"Yeah, right." Colt went back to the phone.
Breathing very carefully so that he would not disturb the beast that was drowsing inside him. Kinsman told Landau, "Do whatever you have to, Alex, but don't put me under. Frank's right. I've got to be awake through this. I'm the only one they'll listen to. Maybe when Hugh comes back . . ." If he gets back. Kinsman thought. If he had to go outside the building they might have grabbed him,
"I could try electrical blockage for the pain," Landau muttered, and went back to his medical equipment.
Colt was grumbling and swearing into the phone. "Don't any of those fuckers on the switchboard speak English? Holy shit!"
Kinsman smiled to himself. Frank's made his choice. He came through.
The wall screen showed a huge clock built into the facade of one of the Times Square towers. It said 9:48. The crowd was like a single mass of people now, swaying, chanting, self-hypnotized.
"Yeah . . . whozzat? Perry! This is Colt."
Kinsman swung his head. Too fast. The pain lanced through him. Christ, I can't even move'
Colt dashed over to him. "Perry's on the horn. No visual, just voice."
He wheeled Kinsman to the desk.
"Chris, this is Kinsman." Can he hear me? My voice sounds so damned weak.
"Yessir. We've been trying to reach you."
"What . . . happened?"
"The shuttle refused to turn back. They even fired a missile at us."
Missile! "Where? How much damage?"
"No damage. We intercepted the missile with a laser beam and then got the shuttle itself with another laser."
"Got the shuttle?"
