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She laughed. "How often are you able to leave the island?"
"Every thirty days. Then five days leave in Honolulu, before returning to Lanai."
"When was the last time an outsider visited the facility?"
If the sergeant realized he was being interrogated, he didn't show it. "Some guy with National Security Agency credentials came and poked around about four months ago. Hung around less than twenty minutes. You're the first to visit since him."
"We should have the antenna down and out of here sometime late tonight," said Gunn.
"May I inquire, sir, where it's going to be reassembled?"
"What if I told you it was going to be scrapped?"
"Wouldn't surprise me in the least," said the sergeant. "With no repair or maintenance in the last few years, the old dish is beginning to look like it's been worked over by the elements."
Gunn was amused at seeing the marine stalling while enjoying the opportunity to talk to a stranger.
"May we pass through and get to work, Sergeant?"
The sergeant snapped a salute and quickly pressed a button that electronically swung open the gate.
After the staff car passed out of sight into the tunnel, he watched and waved to the drivers of the trucks and crane. When the last vehicle disappeared inside the volcano, he closed the gate, entered the guard compound and changed back into his shorts and aloha shirt before releasing the pause button on his VCR. He adjusted his virtual-reality headset and reversed the cassette tape until he rejoined John Wayne in blasting away at the Indians.
"So far so good," Gunn said to Molly.
"Shame on you for telling that nice young boy you were junking the antenna," she chided him.
"I merely said, `what if?' "
"We get caught forging official documents, painting a used car to look like an official Navy vehicle and stealing government property . . ." Molly paused and shook her head in wonder. "They'll hang us from the Washington Monument."
"I'll gladly pay the price if we save nearly two million people from a horrible death," said Gunn without regret. I
"What happens after we deflect the acoustic wave?" she asked. "Do we return the antenna and reassemble it?"
"I wouldn't have it any other way." He stared at her, as if surprised she asked the question, before smiling devilishly. "Unless, of course, there's an accident and we drop it on the bottom of the sea."
Sandecker's end of the project was not going one-tenth as well. Despite relying heavily on the Navy's old admiral buddy system, he could not convince anyone with command authority to temporarily loan him the aircraft carrier Roosevelt and her crew. Somewhere along the chain of command between the President and the Admiral in Command of Pacific Fleet Operations someone had spiked his request.
The admiral was pacing the office of Admiral John Overmeyer at Pearl Harbor with the ferocity of a bear who'd lost its cub to a zoo. "Damn it, John!" snapped Sandecker. "When I left Admiral Baxter of the Joint Chiefs, he assured me that approval to use the Roosevelt for the deployment of an acoustic reflector was a done deal. Now you sit there and tell me I can't have her."
Overmeyer, looking as sturdy and vigorous as an Indiana farmer, threw up his hands in exasperation.
"Don't blame me, Jim. I can show you the orders."
"Who signed them?"
"Admiral George Cassidy, Commanding Officer of the San Francisco Naval District."
"What in hell does some desk jockey who operates ferryboats have to do with anything?"
"Cassidy does not operate ferryboats," Overmeyer said wearily. "He's in command of the entire Pacific Logistics Command."
"He's not over you," stated Sandecker sharply.
"Not directly, but if he decided to get nasty, every transport carrying supplies for all my ships between here and Singapore might be inexplicably delayed."
"Don't stroke me, John. Cassidy wouldn't dare drag his feet, and you damn well know it. His career would go down the drain if he allowed petulance to stand in the way of supplying your fleet."
