“Put it on here, if you can,” Moosic instructed her. “I’ll talk to him.”

It was Sandoval, his handsome face and large, dark eyes telling the world how he got so many women to commit treason for him.

Somebody came over and showed Moosic how to work the intercom. “Ron Moosic here, Sandoval. Let’s hear it.”

The revolutionary could not repress a snicker. “Moosic?” He turned to Cline, the traitor within. “Who’s he?”

She shrugged. “Never heard of him.”

“All right. Who are you, Moo-sic?”

A little edge. Not much, but something. “I’m the Security Director for this station.”

“That’s Riggs.”

“I’m his boss. I’m the man who decides if we can evacuate this place and I’m the man who can push the button that will make it a big blob of bubbling goo.”

“You wouldn’t do it. Not with all these hostages here. Not with the brains you’d melt with us, and the money.”

“Riggs wouldn’t do it, maybe. I would. And I already have the presidential authority. I don’t know those people down there, so it’s not as hard for me. Sort of like a bomber pilot who never sees who his bombs land on. I do know we were closing down this place and moving to a better one with more power, so we don’t lose there. Nobody down there is irreplaceable, either.” He checked the monitors and saw the drawn faces and nervous glances among the others there. He had drained them of their self-confidence, and that was a victory. Now it was time to drop a little sugar in the vinegar.

“Still, there’s no reason for any more people to get killed than already have been,” he went on. “I can wait a while. And while I wait, maybe you can explain to me why you went to all this trouble to seal yourself in with no exit.”

“There’s an exit,” Sandoval came back, sounding a little more confident now. “You know it and I know it.