at the foot of the steps. “I heard it too. Which direction?”
It had come from the south. It was hard to gauge the distance, but they guessed five miles.
“Well,” Eustace said, nodding to himself, “I guess we’ll know more in the morning.”
Shortly after dawn, a messenger arrived, sent by Nina. The explosives at their hideout had done their work; their ruse had been successful. Minister Suresh, whom Guilder had sent to personally oversee their capture, was rumored to be among the dead. A taste, everyone hoped, of things to come.
But it was the second part of the message that offered the most promise. A semitruck had been parked outside the Project since the prior evening. It was guarded by a large security detachment, twenty men at least. The last piece had fallen into place; the virals were on the move. Guilder had tipped his hand.
Everybody knew the implications of what they were attempting. The plan seemed sound, but the odds were long. Guilder’s orders to move the population to the stadium implied that the rest of the city would be only lightly protected, and if everything proceeded according to design, the insurgency would accomplish in one stroke a beheading of virtually every aspect of the regime. But timing would be critical; with so many elements of the resistance acting independently, and lacking the ability to communicate with one another once the siege was under way, it wouldn’t take much for things to fall apart. Any variable could throw the operation into chaos.
The greatest variable was Sara. Assuming she was in the basement of the Dome, staging a rescue operation would be strategically cumbersome, and nobody knew where her daughter was. She could be in the Dome, or she could be someplace else entirely. Once they stormed the building and the shooting started, distinguishing between friend and foe would be nearly impossible. The decision they came to was that Hollis and Michael would lead an advance team to the basement. Five minutes would be all they’d have. After that, the building and all its inhabitants would be fair game.
Eustace would head up the operation against the stadium itself. The contents of the explosives package, a form of nitroglycerin, had been stolen from the Project site during construction and subsequently modified to their purpose, making it more potent but also highly unstable. It was of the same type that had been delivered to Sara in the Dome and was now presumed lost. Despite its power, the only way to guarantee the outcome was to deliver it to the eleven virals, as Eustace said, “in person, a bomb with legs.” Peter failed to understand this at first; then the meaning came. The legs would be Eustace’s.
Their teams would enter the city at four locations, all branched to the main storm pipe. Eustace’s team, which included Peter, Alicia, Tifty, Lore, and Greer, would use the confusion at the stadium to infiltrate the crowd; elements of the insurgency under Nina’s command would already be in position in the bleachers to seize control when the moment came. Weapons had been concealed in the lavatories and under the stairs to the upper bleachers. Eustace’s appearance on the field would be the signal to attack.
At the first touch of darkness, they set out. There was no point in concealing their tracks; one way or the other, they would never be returning. The night was clear, the sky wide and starlit, a vast indifferent presence gazing down. Well, Peter thought, maybe not so indifferent. He certainly hoped that someone up there cared, as Greer had said. It was hard to believe only a few weeks had passed since their conversation in the stockade. They reached the pipe and began to walk. Peter found himself thinking not only of Amy but Sister Lacey, too. Amy was one thing; she was another. The woman had faced Babcock with absolute fearlessness, a pure acceptance of the outcome. Peter hoped he would prove as worthy.
At the base of the manhole closest to the stadium, the group exchanged final words. The other teams, moving to locations throughout the Homeland, would remain concealed belowground until they heard the detonation in the stadium, which would serve as the signal to commence their assaults. Only Hollis and Michael would move sooner. There was no way to predict the moment to act; they would have to follow their instincts.
“Good luck,” Peter said. The three men shook hands, then, when this seemed inadequate, embraced. Lore rose on tiptoes to