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THE OREGON DOCKED at Southend-on-Sea at the mouth of the Thames just past 6 A.M.
The operatives were all awake and showered. One by one they filed into the dining room for breakfast. They were due to meet in the conference room at seven. Hanley had grabbed a few hours’ rest and then had been back at work by 5 A.M., planning the logistics for the coming operation.
Just after 6:00 he telephoned Overholt and woke him.
“Our team is going into London soon,” he said. “We think we have the principals located, but so far we have yet to detect traces of radiation.”
“Are you coordinating with MI5?” Overholt asked.
“Mr. Cabrillo will contact them soon and turn over command of the operation. He just wants to make sure our team is in place as a backup.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Overholt said wearily. “What’s the status on the meteorite?”
“We’re doing things one at a time,” Hanley said. “As soon as the threat of the bomb is gone, we’ll switch our team over to that problem.”
“What’s the current location?”
“Just south of Oxford,” Hanley said, “headed south. If it comes within the outskirts of London, we’ll move on it. If not, we’ll deal with it when the bomb is recovered.”
“The Las Vegas police have been stymied,” Overholt said, “so I issued a national security directive that gives them authority to do whatever we need. They should be entering the penthouse soon. You know that if you’re wrong, and Hickman is not behind this, by the time the fallout settles I’ll be out of a job.”
“Not to worry, Mr. Overholt,” Hanley said, “we are always looking for qualified applicants to join our team.”
“You’re a regular barrel of laughs, Mr. Hanley,” Overholt said as he disconnected.
Hanley replaced the telephone in the cradle on his command chair and turned to Stone.
“How are the arrangements coming?”
“As usual, Mr. Truitt has been Johnny-on-the-spot,” Stone said. “He’s been working since early this morning. He’s purchased sets of British clothing and overcoats for the people we’re sending to London. He’s also arranged for a tour bus to pick them up here. Last I spoke with him, he was on the bus on his way here.”
“Good man,” Hanley said. “What about Nixon?”
“Nixon has the equipment ready and is completing the final checks as we speak.”
“Halpert?” Hanley asked.
“Still hard at work, last I checked. He claims he’s pursuing a different angle and should have the details in another few hours.”
“Go over the roster,” Hanley said.
“We have four in London already,” Stone said, reading from a printed sheet. “Cabrillo, Seng, Meadows and Truitt. The six to be transported are Huxley, Jones, Lincoln, Kasim, Murphy and Ross.”
“That gives us a force of ten inside London,” Hanley noted.
“Correct,” Stone said. “Air support at Heathrow is Adams in the Robinson and Gunderson and Pilston in the Gulfstream. Judy Michaels just flew in from her leave and is taking over the amphibian piloting.”
“Operations on the Oregon?” Hanley asked.
“The vessel will be crewed by Gannon, Barrett, Hornsby, Reinholt and Reyes.”
“Who does that leave?”
“You, me, Nixon in the Magic Shop, Crabtree here on logistics, and King,” Stone finished.
“I forgot about King,” Hanley said. “We need him in there as support.”
“Do you want me to include him in Truitt’s group?”
