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"Doesn't he trust your judgment?" asked Giordino.
The guard never cracked a smile. "Insurance," he said tersely.
"Aren't they overdoing the security routine?" muttered Giordino. "We could have just as easily reserved a couple booths at Taco Bell to hold a briefing."
"Bureaucrats have a fetish for secrecy," said Pitt.
"At least I could have had a burrito."
They were passed through the door into a vast carpeted room whose walls were covered with drapes to mute the acoustics. A twenty-foot-long kidney-shaped conference table dominated the room. A huge screen covered the entire far wall. The room was comfortably lit, and easy on the eyes. Several men and one woman were already seated around the table. None stood as Pitt and Giordino approached.
"You're late." This from Admiral James Sandecker, the head of NUMA. A small athletic man with flaming red hair and a Vandyke beard, he had commanding cold blue eyes that took in everything.
Sandecker was as canny as a leopard sleeping in a tree with one eye open-- he knew that a meal would come to him sooner or later. He was testy and irascible but ran NUMA like a benevolent dictator. He motioned now to a man sitting on his left.
"I don't believe you two know Ken Helm, special agent with the FBI."
A grayhaired man, dressed in a tailored business suit, with speculative, quiet hazel eyes that peered over reading glasses, half rose out of his chair and extended his hand. "Mr. Pitt, Mr. Giordino, I've heard a great deal about you."
Which means he's perused our personnel files, Pitt thought to himself.
Sandecker turned
to the man on his right. "Ron Little. Ron has a fancy title over at Central Intelligence, but you'd never know it."
Deputy director was the title that ran through Pitt's mind at meeting Little.
He looked through collie-brown eyes set in a deeply lined face-- pious, middle-aged, a face etched with experience. He simply nodded. "Gentlemen."
"The others you know," Sandecker said, nodding down the table.
Rudi Gunn was furiously taking notes and didn't bother to look up.
Pitt stepped over and placed a hand on Pat O'Connell's shoulder and said softly, "Sooner than you thought."
"I adore a man who keeps his promises." She patted his hand, uncaring of the stares from the men around the table. "Come sit by me. I feel intimidated by all these important government officials."
"I assure you, Dr. O'Connell," said Sandecker, "that you'll leave this room with every lovely hair intact."
Pitt pulled out a chair and slid next to Pat, while Giordino took a seat next to Gunn. "Have Al and I missed anything of relevance?" Pitt asked.
"Dr. O'Connell briefed us on the skull and underground chamber," said Sandecker, "and Ken Helm was about to report on the initial results of the forensic examination on the bodies flown in from Telluride."
"Not much to tell." Helm spoke slowly. "Making a positive identification from their teeth has become difficult. Preliminary examinations suggest that their dental work came from South American dentists."
Pitt appeared dubious. "Your people can distinguish the difference in dental techniques of different countries?"
"A good forensic pathologist who specializes in identification through dental records can often name the city where the cavities were filled."
"So they were foreign nationals," Giordino observed.
"I thought their English was a bit odd," said Pitt.
Helm stared over his reading glasses. "You noticed?"
"Too perfect without an American accent, although two of them spoke with a New England twang."
Little scribbled on a yellow legal notepad. "Mr. Pitt, Commander Gunn has informed us that the murderers you apprehended in Telluride referred to themselves as members of the Fourth Empire."
