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Scanned by laser and then transmitted to a laser receiver, the image could be reproduced almost instantly in living color with extraordinary detail.
So it was that within ten minutes of General Dodge's call, the President and Dale Nichols were hunched over the desk in the Oval Office scrutinizing the Seasat image of waters off the tip of South America.
"She may really be on the bottom this time," said Nichols. He felt tired and confused.
"I don't believe it," the President said, his face a mask of repressed fury. "The hijackers had their chance to destroy the ship off Punta del Este and make a clean getaway on the General Bravo. Why sink her now?"
"Escape by submarine is a possibility."
The President seemed not to hear. "Our inability to deal with this crisis is frightening. Our whole response seems mired in inertia."
"We were caught unprepared and unequipped," Nichols offered lamely.
"An event that occurs too frequently around here," the President muttered. He looked up, fire in his eyes. "I refuse to write those people off. I owe George Pitt. Without his support, I wouldn't be sitting in the Oval Office." He paused for effect. "We're not going to snap at a red herring again."
Sid Green was scrutinizing the satellite images too. A photo-intelligence specialist with the National Security Agency at its headquarters in Fort Meyer, he had projected the last two satellite pictures on one screen. Intrigued, he ignored the most recent photo, the one that failed to reveal the ship, and concentrated on the earlier one. He zoomed in on the tiny blip that represented the Lady Flamborough with a computerized lens.
The outline was fuzzy, too indistinct to make out little more than the ship's profile. He turned to the computer at his left and entered a series of instructions. A few details that were hidden to his eye became apparent now. He could discern the funnel and shape of the superstructure and blurred sections of the upper decks.
He played with the computer keyboard, trying to sharpen the cruise ship's features. He spent nearly an hour at it before he finally sat back, put his arms behind his head and rested his eyes.
The door to the darkened room opened and Green's supervisor, Vic Patton, entered. He stood behind Green for a moment looking at the projections.
"It's like trying to read a newspaper on the street from the roof of the World Trade Center," he observed.
Green spoke without turning. "A 70-by-130 kilometer swath doesn't offer us much resolution, even after enlarged enhancement."
"any sign of the ship on the last linage?"
"Not a hint."
"Too bad we can't drop our KH spy birds that low."
"A KH-15 might get a picture."
"The situation in the Middle East is heating up again. I can't pull one out of orbit until the dust settles."
"Then send in a Casper."
"One is on the way," said Patton. "You should be reading the color of the hijackers' eyes by lunch."
Green motioned at the computer lens. "Take a look and tell me if something looks out of place."
Patton pressed his face against the rubber eyepiece and peered at the speck that was the Lady Flamborough. "Too damned blurred to discern incidentals. What am I missing?"
"Check the bow section."
"How can you tell the back from the front?"
"By the wake behind the stern," Green answered patiently.
Okay, I've got it. The deck behind the bow looks obscured, almost as if it was covered."
"You will first prize at the fair," said Green.
"What are they up to?" Patton mused.
"We'll know when the film from the Casper comes in."
