The Assault - By Brian Falkner Page 0,42

to be intact. The main way in and out of the building—in and out of Uluru—was by monorail. The track of the monorail, thrust into the air on pillars two stories high, curved in front of them over a parking lot before disappearing into the building through big metal doors. There was no monorail car in sight. On top of the structure, a row of fierce alien gargoyles scowled down at the land around it.

A tall, solid-looking security fence blocked access to the building. Inside the fence was a lot of activity—soldiers running in seemingly random directions. An ambulance was just pulling away through a gate in the fence as they approached. The heavy gate slid quickly shut behind it.

Price gunned the Land Rover forward, past a series of smaller buildings, toward the scene. As they got closer, the reason for the trouble suddenly became clear. The big metal doors where the monorail track entered the building were damaged. There was a gaping hole where the edges of the metal had been bent backward like paper. The doors were warped open, leaving a man-sized gap between the edges.

The Land Rover slowed and stopped at a low outer fence about two hundred meters from the building, where a group of soldiers were manning a barrier arm.

Chisnall leaned out of the window and asked a soldier, “Where’s your commanding officer?”

The soldier waved and a tall female came running over.

“What have you got for us?” Chisnall asked.

“Unexploded missile inside the building. It’s in the monorail bay, right by the tunnel entrance.” She looked nervous.

“Any idea what type?”

“My sergeant thinks it’s the one they call ‘Tomahawk.’ ” She struggled with the pronunciation.

Chisnall made himself appear shocked. “A Tomahawk! Why hasn’t the area been evacuated?”

“We’re doing that as fast as we can. There were some injuries when the missile hit.”

Chisnall nodded. “Okay. We’ll see what we can do.”

The barrier arm lifted and then closed behind them.

“Dude, I don’t know squat about disarming a Tomahawk,” Wilton said as they accelerated toward the beckoning mouth of Uluru.

“That makes two of us,” Brogan said.

“Three,” Chisnall said.

The security gate slid open as they approached and then closed smoothly behind them. They pulled to a halt at the front entrance of the building and were greeted by a large, square-faced soldier. He looked capable and tough. His uniform markings showed him to be the head of a security detail.

“What the hell was the delay?” he yelled.

“There are unexploded missiles all over the base,” Chisnall said. He stepped down from the vehicle and saluted calmly. “I’m Chizna.”

“The only missile that matters is this one. It’s right by the tunnel entrance,” the security officer said. He examined Chisnall for a moment, then returned the salute. “I’m Conna.”

“Has the building been cleared?” Chisnall asked.

Conna nodded. “The last of the wounded have just been evacuated.”

“Then show us the way,” Chisnall said.

Conna led them in through the single door into the building. As they passed into a large entrance room, Chisnall glanced at the door. It was a massive metal contraption with interlocking bars that slotted into the door frame when it was closed.

The entrance room was a blank-walled space, with no exits on the ground level. Conna led them up a flight of stairs against the left wall to a mezzanine level. The balcony of the mezzanine was stone and crenellated like the turret of a castle to provide cover for any defenders while giving them a perfect field of fire down onto the first level.

A single point of entry, Chisnall noted automatically. A single flight of stairs up to an easily defended position. This building was impregnable. The aliens had gone to a lot of trouble to protect what was inside Uluru. Now the tables were going to turn.

From the mezzanine level, a long corridor led deep into the building. A few twists and turns took them past a control room to the monorail bay. A flight of stairs led down from an observation level to the monorail platform. Another flight of stairs led up.

The bay was a mess. One and a half tons of Tomahawk was a lot of energy to disperse, regardless of whether it exploded or not. The missile had smashed through the huge metal outer doors and struck a troop transport car that had been stopped at the monorail platform.

The car had been shunted down and forward by the impact, and the mangled wreckage was now jammed up against a second set of metal doors, behind which lay the