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Shea poked his head out the side window. “You men need some help?” he asked in a Texas twang.
Cabrillo trotted over to the MG. “You an American?”
“Born and raised,” Shea said proudly.
“We are working directly for the president on a matter of national security,” Cabrillo said quickly. “I’m going to need your car.”
“Man,” Shea said, “I just bought it like three days ago.”
Cabrillo reached in and opened the door. “I’m sorry, it’s a life-or-death matter.”
Shea pulled on the emergency brake and climbed out.
Cabrillo motioned to Adams with his satellite telephone as he started to climb into the MG. “I’ll call the Oregon,” he said, “and have them get ahold of somebody and have fuel delivered.”
“Yes, sir,” Adams said.
Cabrillo pushed the starter button and pushed in the clutch and popped the old MG into gear. Then he turned the wheel and started a U-turn.
“Hey,” Shea said, “what am I supposed to do?”
“Stay with the helicopter,” Cabrillo shouted out the side window. “We’ll take care of everything later.”
With the MG now straight, he punched the throttle and sped away. In a few seconds he was over the hill and out of sight. Shea walked over to Adams, who was checking the helicopter’s skids.
“I’m Billy Joe Shea,” he said, extending his hand. “You mind telling me who that was that took my car?”
“That man?” Adams asked. “I’ve never seen him before in my life.”
30
RICHARD “DICK” TRUITT scrolled through Hickman’s computer files. There was so much information that the going was slow. Finally he decided to just link onto the Oregon’s computer and send the entire contents of Hickman’s machine. Establishing a link, he began to transmit the data to a satellite that relayed the data stream down to the ship.
Then he rose from the desk chair and began to search the office.
Truitt removed several sheets of paper and a few photographs from a desk drawer, folded them and placed them in his jacket. He was scanning the bookshelf along the wall when he heard the front door open and the sound of a voice fill the hall.
“Just now?” the voice said.
There was no answer—the man was speaking into a portable telephone.
“Five minutes ago?” the voice said, now growing louder. “Why the hell didn’t you send up security immediately?”
The sound of footsteps in the hallway grew louder. Truitt slipped into the bathroom attached to the office and then ran through to a spare bedroom on the other side. Another hallway led through to the living room. He crept along slowly.
“We know you’re in here,” the voice said. “My security people are on their way up here now. They have the elevator blocked, so you might as well just surrender.”
THE KEY TO a good plan is imagining the contingencies. The key to a great plan is imagining them all. The data from Hickman’s computer was flying through the air and down to the Oregon. Three-quarters of the information had transferred when Hickman walked into the room. Truitt had missed one small point—he’d forgotten to turn off the screen. As soon as Hickman entered, he realized that the screensaver was not on and someone had been accessing the computer.
Racing to the machine, he turned it off. Then he checked and found the vial
from Vanderwald undisturbed in his desk drawer.
TRUITT SLIPPED DOWN the hall and into the living room. The sliding glass door was still cracked open. He quickly made his way through the living room. He was almost at the door when he bumped a sculpture and it fell and cracked.
Hickman heard the noise and raced down the hall.
Truitt was through the sliding glass door and on the rear patio when Hickman entered the living room and saw him outside. The intruder was dressed in black and moved with a certain purpose. Still, he was trapped on the patio and the guards were on their way up the elevator.
