by Tom Clancy
She smiled. He liked making her do that. Even after more than fifteen years, it still made him feel good.
“It’s good for us to get away for a while,” she said. “I’m having a good time.”
“Me, too,” he said. And he was. He hadn’t thought about Net Force for the better part of an hour, easy.
Seattle, Washington
Morrison pushed an electronic card across the table to Ventura. “Here is the retainer. A hundred thousand.” He’d had to drain his savings and take out a second mortgage on his house to get the money. Ventura’s services weren’t cheap — thirty thousand a month for the basic plan, and it went up from there — but he was supposedly the best there was, and Morrison knew he needed the best. He’d be broke by the end of July if the deal didn’t happen, but there wasn’t any real doubt that it would, only with whom and for how much. He needed to stay alive until then, of course.
Ventura took the card with its embedded credit chip, turned it in his fingers, then tucked it into the inside pocket of his sport coat. “Beginning when?”
“Immediately,” Morrison said.
Ventura took a small phone from his pocket, touched a button, and said, “We’re on,” then put the phone away.
Morrison couldn’t help but look around. The restaurant was not all that crowded, but he couldn’t see anybody who looked like a bodyguard lurking about.
Ventura smiled. “You won’t see them.”
“Them?”
“There are two ops in here with us, two more outside. Now, I need some information if I am going to protect you properly. Let’s start with the level of threat and the reason. Who might be wanting to kidnap or kill you, and why?”
Morrison nodded. Here’s where it got tricky. He could offer a good story and probably have the man buy it. Or he could tell the truth. Since his life was going to be on the line, he did not want to make a misstep here.
“I’m not certain of the ‘who’ yet. Probably the Chinese, but it could be the Russians or maybe the Israelis. The ‘why’ is because I am in possession of certain, ah, highly useful information they would like to get their hands on.”
“From HAARP?”
Morrison blinked, taken aback for a moment. Well. Of course, the man would have checked him out. And it really wasn’t all that much of a leap to that assumption. Still, his estimate of Ventura’s abilities did go up a notch.
Morrison considered his response, and while he was doing it, Ventura said, “Doctor, I don’t much care what it is you are doing, but if I am going to keep you alive, I want to know what I am apt to be dealing with. It makes a big difference in how we proceed, you understand? If you boinked somebody’s wife and he wants to beat you to a pulp, that’s one thing. If we are going to be dealing with the secret police of a major foreign country, that’s something else. I’ll take the job either way, but I need to know everything. We’re talking about your life, and the lives of my crew.”
Morrison nodded. Yes. He understood. He took a deep breath. “All right.” And for the next fifteen minutes, he laid it out, answering questions as he did so. Ventura did not take notes. He also did not seem disturbed to hear what Morrison had to say.
When he was done, Ventura said, “All right. I’ll need your itinerary. Anywhere you go, I will make the travel arrangements. In matters of security, I am God. If I think a situation is too risky, I will tell you, and you will follow my recommendations without question — is this a problem?”
“No, no problem.”
“Fine. The situation probably isn’t hot yet, but we have to assume that somebody might be able to figure out who you are, so from this point on, we’re on alert. What are your immediate plans?”
“I have to go up to the project. We’re on hiatus, officially, but I am running some, ah, ‘calibrations.’ Over the next couple of weeks, I need to do at least two more of these. Possibly three.”
“What is the situation with security at the facility? Can I bring my people in?”
“No. I can get you in as an observer from one of the universities — we can fabricate enough background to pass the Navy and Air Force checks — but that’s it. There are armed guards patrolling the perimeter of the project, gates, guards at the door, and so forth. It’s not exactly a worry that somebody is going to drop by and steal the antennas or the generators.”
Ventura nodded.
“There is one complicating factor you should know about. The facility and its computers are being investigated by Net Force.”
“Net Force. The FBI suspects what you’ve done?”
“No. They are being guided down a path I’ve provided for them.”
“Ah, I see. Smart. But they will suspect the messenger, you know, they always do. That’s standard procedure.”
“I expected they would. I’m covered.”
Ventura shrugged. “I hope so. I might be able to keep you from being shot by the Chinese, but I can’t keep you out of jail if you have the feds after you — unless you are willing to go completely underground — and leaving the country would be better.”
“I understand.” Morrison felt a cold hand clutching his bowels. He had started down a dangerous road. He wasn’t some absentminded professor who thought about the universe only in abstract theory; he knew that the world was not always a nice place. He had taken this into account, had made the assumption that the people with whom he would be dealing would be treacherous, as trustworthy as foxes guarding a henhouse. Even at this point, he could scrap the whole deal and walk away without being caught, he was certain of it. But no risk, no gain — and the gain here was enormous. People would buy a lottery ticket when the odds were millions to one against them winning. How many people would buy the ticket if they could get their hands on the winning numbers before the drawing?
No, he was committed. He was going to step very carefully, and when he left, it wouldn’t be walking, it would be in a solid gold limousine with diamonds for headlights.
There was a price to be paid in human life, of course, but he was willing to pay it — well… as long as it wasn’t his.
7
Tuesday, June 7th
Sperryville, Virginia
A light rain pattered tiny wet fingers on the tent, but the rip-stop Gortex was up to it — water beaded and ran down the roof sides in meandering rivulets.
It was just after dawn. Jay Gridley lay on his back watching the drops. He was inside the two zipped-together sleeping bags next to Soji, his head propped on his rolled-up jacket. She’d been right — he hadn’t been the least bit disappointed in this camping trip, no sir, no way. This was the best vacation he had ever had, no two ways about it. He wasn’t a fan of the great outdoors, he was much more comfortable creating a VR version of it and plugging into that, but no matter how good a programmer you were, you couldn’t begin to approach the reality of sex.
Nope, nossir, no way, no how.
Jay glanced over at Soji, who was still asleep. He resisted the urge to reach over and stroke her dark hair. God, she was beautiful. Smart, wise, everything he could possibly want in a woman. The only question was, how could he make it permanent? Would she, he wondered, laugh at him if he asked her to marry him?
Soji opened her eyes and smiled at him. “Thinking about asking for your money back, white boy?”
“I’ll have you know I’m half Thai,” he said, “and that for your white boy.” He gave her a slapped biceps and raised fist. “And no, I wasn’t thinking about asking for my money back, thank you.”
“Scenery was worth the trip?”
“All the scenery I need is here in the tent.”
She laughed. “Uh-oh, a flatterer trying to reattach me to my ego.”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m a Buddhist’s worst nightmare. Listen to me, you will fall right off the edge of the eightfold path.”
“Never happen,” she said. “We Buddhists are middle-of-the-roaders, remember?”
Now he did reach out and softly run his hand through her hair.
She caught his hand, brought it to her mouth, kissed the palm. “Hold that thought,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
“Going to go and meditate in the rain?”
“No, I’m going to go pee behind the tent.”
“You’re ruining my image of your holy nature.”
“Sorry. You’ll just have to get used to me being a lowly human.”
“Like the rest of us.”
She unzipped the sleeping bag and rolled out, gloriously nude. “Well, not as lowly as some of you.”
He watched her crawl out of the low-roofed tent, smiling at her tight backside as it vanished past the mosquito netting. They were in the middle of nowhere, hadn’t seen another soul for four days, not since they’d left the main trail. They could run around naked in the sunshine — as long as they slathered themselves in sunblock and bug dope, of course — and nobody would see them. If it stopped raining and there was any sunshine — and as far as he was concerned, he didn’t care if they ever left this tent except to go pee.
Jay laughed. Boy, had he come a long way from being a dedicated computer op. Going back to work had no appeal whatsoever. This was what life was all about.
Yes, sir.
London
Toni had rented a small place when Alex had gone back to the U.S. — she had some money in the bank, but hotel prices in London would eat that up in a big hurry, now that she wasn’t on an expense account. Carl had introduced her to one of his students who had a granny flat, and the cost was more than reasonable. In fact, Toni wondered if maybe Carl was somehow subsidizing it on the sly. So far, she hadn’t worked up enough nerve to ask him — if he wasn’t, he might be insulted by the thought. And if he was, then she’d have to move out, and that would be a pain in the butt.
Either way, her money would be depleted by the time her visa ran out, and she’d have to leave the country by the end of the summer.
She was sitting at the small table in the kitchen — a kitchenette, really — when the doorbell chimed. Who could that be? Save for Carl and her landlord, nobody knew she lived here. A salesman? Somebody come to the wrong address?
When she opened the door, the last person she expected to see stood there:
MI-6 agent Angela Cooper.
Toni was stunned. The bitch! How dare she come here?
Toni clamped a lid on the rush of anger that threatened to boil forth. Polite might be too much to ask for, but she kept her voice even: “What do you want?”
Cooper flashed a weak smile. She was a beautiful woman, no doubt of that. Toni could see the attraction. “I need to speak to you. May I come inside?”
“Why? We don’t have anything to talk about.”
“I think we do. Please.”
Toni offered as bored a shrug as she could. “Sure. Come in.”
Once inside, Cooper looked nervous. She sure as hell should be, Toni thought. She might be a trained secret agent, but Toni’s martial abilities were a lot sharper than what the Royal secret service would be passing on to its operatives. If push came to shove, she could take Cooper — even if she had James Fucking Bond backing her up. And she would enjoy whacking Cooper. A lot.
“What?”
“I won’t be here but a moment or two. Listen, I’ve wrestled with this and I can’t come up with any clever way to say it, so here it is, flat out: I didn’t sleep with Alex Michaels.”
“No, I expect you didn’t get much sleeping done.”
Cooper shook her head. “You have it wrong. We did not have sex — is that clearer? Not in any way, shape, or form, not even by Clinton definition. I wanted to, but he turned me down.”
It caught Toni flat-footed. “What?”
“Yes, I know I made it seem as if we had, but — it didn’t happen. I wanted to, believe it, and I tried my best, but he wouldn’t go for it.”
Toni waved at the table. This was astounding. “You want to sit down?” As it always did when she got flustered, her Bronx accent came back: Ya wanna siddown?
Was she telling the truth? Had Alex put her up to this?
Cooper read her mind: “In case you are wondering, no, Alex didn’t tell me to talk to you; I haven’t spoken to him since he left the country. I heard what happened between you two. I was going to let it pass. When he wouldn’t do me, I was, well, a bit put out, so I decided to sting you a little by letting on that he had. I suppose I wanted you to take him to task, make him squirm a bit. But despite his rejection, I did like Alex, and it isn’t really fair to make him suffer because he was doing right by you.”
“Alex didn’t deny it when I brought it up,” Toni said.
“I don’t understand why not. It had been a long day. We had supper in a pub. He had one beer too many, and I offered to give him a massage. But that was as far as it got. He was half-asleep facedown on the massage table when I stripped and tried to get him to have it off with me. I was ready — and it was obvious he was ready, too — but instead of his willie, he waved you in my face.”
She paused, took a deep breath, and went on. “I was furious. And I resented you for having him, so that’s why I did what I did. I’m sorry. That’s it.”
She turned and started for the door.
Toni had trouble finding her voice, barely made it before the woman got the door open. “Angela?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for telling me. It couldn’t have been easy.”
Cooper smiled, more genuine this time. “I’d rather be having a bloody root canal. You’re lucky to have a man like that interested in you. Maybe you can patch things up.”
When she was gone, Toni sat at the table, staring at the wall. Why hadn’t he just told her? He knew she thought he’d slept with Cooper; all he had to do was deny it, she would have believed him. At least she thought she would have believed him. Why hadn’t he spoken up?
She replayed their last meeting, trying to remember exactly how it had gone. Had he ever actually said he’d been with Cooper?
No…
Well, shit! What the hell was wrong with him! Why had he let her think he’d done it!
Abruptly, Toni felt the emotions well, and tears spill. Dammit, Alex!
She was angry all over again, but this time for an entirely different reason. What on Earth could he have been thinking?
8
Wednesday, June 8th
Gakona, Alaska
“Is that where we’re going?” Ventura had to raise his voice for Morrison to hear him. Normally, a plane like the Cessna Stationair was not that noisy while cruising, but this one had a slightly warped door edge on the passenger side that added a loud almost-whistle.
“That’s the place,” Morrison said.
Ventura looked down from what he guessed was about eight thousand feet. Most of what he saw looked like virgin evergreen forest. In the distance was a snowcapped mountain range with a few very tall peaks. The HAARP site itself was cut out of the forest — it was as if somebody had cleared a large area in woods in the rough shape of a skeleton key. Several buildings and a parking lot in a ragged circular area were connected by a straight road to the array itself — which looked as if somebody had planted seeds that grew up to be giant 1950s-style television antennas. Beyond that was a second rectangular array, as large as the first. Behind the control buildings and just coming into view was a long, straight paved strip a couple of thousand feet long.
The pilot banked the plane slightly, then throttled back as he straightened the Cessna out.
“We’ve got our own landing strip now,” Morrison said. “Better security. It wasn’t a problem when they built the place — anybody could just walk up to the front gate, they even had open house every now and then — but there was some ugly vandalism by eco-terrorists, so now there’s a big chainlink fence and armed military guards. The nearest town, such that it is, Gakona, is over that way. There’s a post office, a gas station, a motel and a couple of bed-and-breakfast places, a restaurant, a bar, like that. They get a lot of tourists,
hunters, and fishermen up here. If you want, you can get a dogsled custom-made for you here, too, but if you are looking for nightlife, this isn’t the place. Forty-nine permanent residents.”
Ventura nodded. He had been in backcountry towns so small and isolated that a big topic of conversation on a Sunday morning was the size of a particularly large icicle hanging from a bar awning. “Gets a little chilly for street dancing,” Ventura said.
It was not a question, though Morrison treated it as such. “Yes, it drops to forty or fifty below in the dark of winter, and usually there are a couple feet of white fluffy powder on the flats, piled higher against the buildings. Sometimes the wind blows hard enough to scour the ground clean in places, though. Plays hell with the runners on your snow machine when you hit one of those.”
Ventura smiled politely. He had done some background research before they’d flown into Anchorage. He probably knew more about the terrain and local country than Morrison did, but he didn’t let on. In almost every situation, knowledge was power, and because you worked for a man didn’t mean that you trusted him.
From what he had learned, the HAARP site was a hundred and some odd miles northeast of Anchorage, almost to the Wrangell Mountains, the high range that divided Alaska from the Canadian Yukon.
He already knew that the nearest town was Gakona, and that it was about fifteen miles north and west of the town of Glennallen, which wasn’t exactly a major metropolis itself. Up here, people gave directions differently than in a city — the Sourdough Motel, for instance, was at Milepost 147.5—you didn’t need to say which road, there weren’t so many you’d get confused. Gakona was on the Glenn Highway, though the locals called it the Tok CutOff, a couple of miles from the Richardson Highway intersection. The town, what there was of it, was near the confluence of the Copper and Gakona rivers. The original inhabitants were Ahtna Indians, though few of them lived here now. Few of anybody lived here now. During the busy season, there were more people working at the HAARP site than lived in town. People who chose to be up here enjoyed the great outdoors, and they were either hardy or they didn’t stay.