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“Start analyzing it,” Hanley said quickly, “and report back to me as soon as you find anything of value.”
Just then Hanley’s communicator beeped and Stone’s voice came over the speaker.
“Sir,” Stone said, “I just received word from the Gulfstream that they are departing Las Vegas.”
“I’ll be right there,” Hanley said into the microphone.
Hanley made his way quickly along the passageway then opened the door to the control room. Stone was sitting in front of the monitors; he turned as Hanley entered, then pointed at the screen. A map of the western United States was displayed with a flashing red light marking the position of the Gulfstream. The jet was just about to cross over Lake Mead heading east. Right then Hanley’s telephone rang, and he walked over to his console and answered it.
“Hanley.”
“Did you receive the computer files?” Truitt asked.
“We got some,” Hanley said. “Halpert’s analyzing them now. It looked like the transmission was stopped midstream—did you run into problems?”
“The target returned when I was doing the download,” Truitt said over the noise from the Gulfstream’s jet engines. “He probably broke the connection.”
“That also means that he knows someone might be on to him.”
“Exactly,” Truitt said.
“What else have you got?”
Truitt reached into his jacket on the seat across the aisle and removed the photographs he had stolen from Hickman’s office. He turned on the fax machine that was attached to the air phone and started to scan them into memory.
“I’m sending you some photographs,” Truitt said.
“Who are they?” Hanley asked.
“That’s what I want you to find out.”
31
“ DAMN RIGHT IT’S a problem,” the president said to Langston Overholt.
An hour earlier the British prime minister had informed the president that they had discovered a Greek ship captain with radiation burns at a location less than fifty miles from downtown London. As the president and Overholt spoke, the secure lines between the two countries were still burning with a flurry of transmissions.
“We’ve been working with the Russians as well as the Corporation to recover the weapon,” Overholt said, “but it got into England anyway.”
“Is that what you’d like me to tell our closest ally?” the president asked. “That we tried, but no cigar?”
“No, sir,” Overholt said.
“Well, if whoever is behind this mates the nuke with the meteorite, London and the surrounding area is going to be turned into a wasteland. And whatever you think you might be able to argue about the nuke, the meteorite is our screwup.”
“I understand, sir,” Overholt said.
The president rose from his chair in the Oval Office. “Listen to me carefully,” he said in a voice tinged with anger, “I want results, and I want them now.”
Overholt stood. “Yes, sir,” he said.
Then he made his way to the door.
“CABRILLO’S STILL TRACKING the meteorite,” Hanley told Overholt over the secure line, “at least according to our helicopter pilot who phoned in a few minutes ago.”
“The president is up in arms,” Overholt said.
“Hey,” Hanley said, “don’t blame us—the British jets were late to the party. If they’d arrived on time, the meteorite would be secure right now.”
