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"No sense in waiting any longer, Ray. I'm satisfied we have the necessary data to make the switch."
"I hate to rush in before I'm certain we can fool Aleksei."
"Do it," Greenberg urged. "Stop screwing around and go for it."
Edgely looked around at his ten-member team of psychologists.
They stared back at him expectantly. Then he nodded. "Okay, everybody stand by to transfer thought communication from the President's implant to our central computer."
Greenberg walked around the room, briefly talking to everyone, double-checking the procedures. Three sat at the computer console, their hands poised over the buttons. The rest studied the display screens and monitored the data.
palms on a handkerchief. GreenberL, stood sliahtly off to one side and behind him.
"We don't want to break in during a thought pattern or in the middle of Lugovoy's instructions," Greenberg cautioned.
"I'm aware of that," Edgely said without taking his eyes from the brainwave translator display. "Our computer transmission also has to match his heart rate and other life functions exactly" The programmer punched in the command and waited. They all waited, watching the empty screen that would
reveal success or failure. The minutes ticked by, nobody speaking, the only sounds coming from the soft hum of the electronic hardware as the computer poised for the precise millisecond to take command.
Then suddenly the display screen read: "COMMUNICATIONS TRANSFER ACCOMPLISHED."
They all expelled a collective sigh of relief and began talking again, and shaking hands with the enthusiasm of a NASA flight control center after a successful rocket launch.
"Think Aleksei will fall for it?" Edgely asked.
"Don't worry. No suspicion will ever cross his mind. Aleksei Lugovoy's ego will never allow him to believe somebody pulled the wool over his eyes." Greenberg paused to expel a smoke ring.
"He'll swallow everything we hand him and send it off to Moscow as if he was God's gift to espionage."
"I hope so," said Edgely, dabbing at his sweating forehead.
"The next step is to get the President over to Walter Reed Hospital and remove the implant."
"First things first," said Greenberg, producing a bottle of champagne as a staff member passed out glasses. The cork was popped and the wine poured. Greenberg held up his glass.
"To Doc Edgely," he said, grinning, "who just set the KGB back ten years.
August 13, 1989
New Orleans, Louisiana Pitt DOZED MOST OF THE day while Giordino manned the controls. The afternoon sun blazed from a clear sky as they dropped down over the blue-green waters of Lake Pontchartrain and lined up on the small airport that poked out from the New Orleans shore. The aquamarine-colored NUMA jet touched down on the asphalt landing strip and rolled to a stop near a helicopter with DELTA OIL LTD. painted on the side.
Nearby, a man in a seersucker suit stepped from a parked car and walked over. He removed his sunglasses and held out his hand as Pitt climbed from the Lear jet's cabin.
"Mr. Pitt?" he inquired, white teeth gleaming in a tanned face.
"I'm Pitt."
"Clyde Griffin, FBI, special agent in charge of the Louisiana field office."
Giordino stepped to the ground and Pitt made the introductions.
"What can we do for you, Mr. Griffin?"
"Director Emmett asked me to state officially that the Bureau cannot provide official assistance on your hunt."
"I don't recall asking for any," said Pitt.
"I said no 'official assistance,' Mr. Pitt." The white teeth locked in a broad smile. "Unofficially, this is Sunday. The Director suggested that what field agents do on their day off is their business.
