Well, he would just have to make it up to him later. Explain that even the most upbeat person in the world could have his disposition ruined by two years of eating lunch at eight o'clock at night, and a repulsive approximation of dinner between midnight and three in the morning. Breakfast alone provided a modicum of satisfaction, and only because the prep cooks would arrive for work around six o'clock, giving him an opportunity to send for some fresh eggs or waffles before the end of his shift, and thus eat at least one relatively decent meal at a relatively sane hour.

"Lord, thank you for our fuckin' daily slop," Thibodeau muttered in his thick Cajun accent.

His features glum, he was about to reach for his knife and fork when the phone at his elbow shrilled. He glanced over at it, saw the redline light blinking, and promptly snatched up the handset.

Other than for training drills, the extension had never been used during his term at the facility.

"Yes?" he said.

The man on the line was Cody from the monitoring station.

"Sir, there's been a penetration."

"Where?" Thibodeau sat up straight, his culinary woes forgotten.

"The western quadrant." Cody's voice was edged with tension. "Wally detected several intruders. Thing I don't understand, we aren't seeing any damage along the fence. No sign perimeter integrity's been violated."

"You sic the li'l bastard on 'em?"

"Affirmative. We actuated its VSI banks and acoustic cannon, but ..." A hesitant pause. "Sir, Wally's gone off-line. It doesn't look good."

Thibodeau breathed. He'd insisted a thousand times that the 'hogs couldn't be trusted. The hell of it was, he'd never once wanted to be proven right.

"You hear from Henderson and Travers at the gate?"

"We've been trying to radio them and there's been no response."

"Christ," Thibodeau said. "Send some men out right away. I also want a full detail around the plant and warehouse buildings. Seal 'em up tight, hear me?"

"Yes, sir."

Thibodeau paused to collect his thoughts, gripping the receiver in his fist. He was anxious to get into the monitoring room and see what was happening for himself. But first he wanted to be sure he was covering all his bases.

"We better have us some air support ready," he said after a moment. "Laissez les bons temps rouler."

"What was that, sir?"

Thibodeau rose from his seat. "Tell the chopper pilots to fasten their goddamn seat belts, out."

Manuel crouched behind the gate, his arm throbbing, the sleeve of his jumpsuit warm and moist where he'd been injured. His rapid movement had worsened the bleeding, but the sentry robot's destruction was certain to draw security personnel to the area, and any holdup would increase the risk of capture. He'd have to attend to the wound later.

Making an effort to ignore his pain, he took a triangular slice of C4 explosive from his gear bag, peeled off its outer foil, and molded it carefully around the bottom of the gatepost. Next he extracted a twelve-inch segment of Primadet cord, one end of which was connected to an aluminum blasting cap, the other to a battery-powered timer about the size and shape of a marker pen. He inserted the end with the blasting cap into the saddle charge and set the timer's simple dial mechanism for a five-minute delay. When he pulled the safety pin holding it in place, the arrow on the dial would start to turn, initiating the detonation sequence--but he couldn't do that until his teammates finished wiring together the charges they had already planted on supports along the fence. The thin orange detonating cord would set off the linked charges almost instantaneously, and he intended to be well away from the area before that happened.