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"You've done your homework," said Jordan.
"I have to know what to look for."
"Like an elusive, yet-to-be-discovered factory for nuclear weapons production," Jordan said acidly.
Meeker looked at him unwaveringly, then smiled. "Your ground intelligence hasn't got a clue where they're making them either.
"True," Jordan admitted. "The Japs have accomplished an incredible cover-up. I've a hunch their government leaders are in the dark as well."
"If their production facility was aboveground, our new satellite detection array would have nailed it."
"Odd there are no areas of unusual radioactivity.'
"We've detected nothing outside their electrical power reactors and a nuclear waste dump near a coastal town called Rokota."
"I've seen the reports," said Jordan. "They sank a four-thousand-meter shaft to throw their waste.
Could it be we've overlooked something?"
Meeker gave a negative shake of his head. "We've yet to detect indications of extensive construction or the right type of traffic in and out of the area."
"Damn!" Jordan snapped. "Japan freely sails the oceans with nuclear bombs destined for United States ports while we sit on our thumbs without knowing the site where they're manufactured, their final destinations, or the plan behind the whole operation."
"You did say `bombs,' plural?" asked Meeker.
"The readings from the seismographic center in Colorado show there was a second detonation a millisecond after the first."
"Too bad you couldn't have launched a major operation to find the answers ten years ago."
"With what funding?" Jordan grunted. "The last administration gutted intelligence-gathering budgets. All that politicians are interested in are Russia and the Middle East. The last people the State Department will allow us to probe are our good buddies in Japan. Two retired agents we've had to keep under contract are all we're allowed there. Israel is another nation that's off limits. You wouldn't believe the times we were ordered to look the other way while the Mossad pulled off deceptions the Arabs took the blame for."
"The President will have to give you full discretionary power when you show him the seriousness of the situation."
"I'll know first thing in the morning after I brief him." Jordan's smooth, polished mask was showing a tiny crack, and his voice turned ice cold. "No matter how we attack this thing, we'll be playing catch-up.
What scares me, really puts the fear of God in me, is that we're already too late to cut off the plot in midstream."
The sounds of voices came through the door. The play was over and the audience was flowing into the lobby.
Jordan came to his feet. "I'll have to break off and make an appearance or my wife will play iceberg on the ride home. Thanks for alerting me to your bird's discovery."
"There is one more thing," said Meeker. He slipped another photograph out of the file folder and held it up to the light.
Jordan peered at an object in the center of the photo. "Looks like some kind of big farm tractor.
What's the significance?"
"What you see is an unknown deepsea vehicle driving over the sea bottom five thousand meters below the surface, not more than twenty kilometers from the explosion area. You know who owns it or what it's doing there?"
"Yes. . ." Jordan said slowly. "I didn't, but I do now. Thank you, Curtis."
Jordan turned from a totally mystified Meeker, opened the door, and melted into the throng leaving the theater.
True to his word, Pitt drove the mauled DSMV free of its buried prison. The metal tracks shrieked as they ground their way through the lava rock, a centimeter at a time. With tortured sluggishness the great vehicle clawed its way to the surface of the sea bottom, shook off the stone and ooze that trailed in a huge cloudy river from its rear end, and rolled onto the barren terrain.
"We're clear," Plunkett cried in delight. "Jolly well done."
