Threat Level Black - Страница 31

He wasn’t normally the flaying type, but nonetheless liked to keep his options open.

“I’m not really looking for other Arab men,” Fisher told her. “Just him.”

“Maybe Harry knows him,” said the young man. His name tag said his name was Pietro, though the kid looked Scandinavian, even with his tattoos.

“Who’s Harry?” asked Fisher.

“Works here on Sundays,” said Pietro. He took the receipt and looked at it. “Yup: Look. This was a Sunday.”

“Harry around?” Fisher said.

“It’s not Sunday,” said Mira.

“How old is he?”

“Thirty-five, forty,” said Pietro.

“What’s his last name?”

“Spageas or something like that,” said Pietro. “Something Greek.”

That narrowed it down to three-quarters of the residents of Astoria.

“You have an address or a phone number for him?”

Mira shook her head. Pietro just shrugged. Fisher rubbed his eyes, trying to focus on the paper tacked to the bulletin board behind the counter. But he was standing too far away to see if Harry’s name was listed there.

“So, what would my friend have bought for $48.50?” asked Fisher.

Pietro thought it was probably a small grave bouquet, though the price didn’t quite work out right. Mira had no opinion.

“If you see Faud again,” said Fisher finally, “have him call me.” He slid a business card with a special sat phone number onto the counter, even though he was pretty sure it would be thrown into the garbage after he left.

He was wrong about that. Mira ripped it in half before he made it to the door.

Chapter 8

The first thing Howe did when he got back to the D.C. area was check into an inexpensive hotel and sleep.

When he woke up eight hours later, it was a little past four A.M. He decided he would call Blitz and leave a message on his voice mail telling him that he had changed his mind and that, if the job was still open at NADT, he wanted it.

Much to his surprise, Blitz picked up the phone himself.

“Dr. Blitz?”

“Who is this?”

“Bill Howe.”

“Colonel. How are you? Are you all right?” Blitz’s voice was tired and a little hoarse.

“Yes, sir. A little, uh, embarrassed.”

“Nonsense. We’re the ones who messed up: There should have been more people at the airport. Due to the circumstances in Korea — well, I don’t want to make excuses.”

“Is that job at NADT still open?”

Blitz didn’t answer.

It’s all right, Howe thought to himself. My own fault.

“It absolutely is,” said Blitz, his words practically gushing. “You’ve changed your mind?”

“If that’s acceptable.”

“Of course it is. That’s great. That’s great. Where are you?”

“Actually, I’m not far from Andrews, in a motel.”

“Can you come over to my office? There are a couple of hurdles — just little egos to gratify, really. But believe me, this is great. Really, really great.”

“I’ll be over as soon as I shave, sir.”

* * *

If he’d been less tired, Blitz might have jumped up and done a little war whoop when he hung up the phone. Instead he merely got up and went over to the credenza where he had placed his coffee earlier. A full NSC meeting had been scheduled for seven A.M., and he needed to have a good handle on his recommendations for an interim North Korean government by then. Iraq stood as an important example: You had to get way out ahead of the curve on this, take advantage of the initial confusion and elation, and make the hard choices. The public would follow.

He was also supposed to talk about Israel and the Palestinians, whose latest peace talks had stalled.

His life lately seemed the embodiment of the ancient curse: May you live in exciting times.

He took his coffee mug and went to see if he could find any drinkable coffee down the hall.

* * *

Though it was ostensibly several hours before “regular” government business began, Howe found a good number of staffers on duty when he arrived at the West Wing. Security certainly hadn’t been relaxed because of the hour: He was wanded and had his iris scanned for ID even though one of the men at the post recognized him. Upstairs he found Blitz sitting at his desk amid a variety of papers and reports.

“Colonel, thank you for coming over,” said Blitz, who practically jumped from his chair to shake his hand. “You’re making the right decision.”

“Thanks,” said Howe, sitting.

“I’d offer you coffee, but the only place to get it is down the hall in the chief of staff’s office. They make it pretty strong.”

“I don’t really want any, thanks,” said Howe.

“I haven’t had much sleep. I’m sorry if I look a little beat.”

Howe shrugged.

“I’ve made a list of people whom you’ll want to talk to,” continued Blitz, digging through the papers on his desk. He came up with a yellow pad. “Wait until after twelve, though. I’ll have spoken to a few myself by then, and the word will be around.”

Blitz continued talking, digressing into the legal separation between NADT and the government, a matter he had already gone over at least once before and a subject that Howe himself already knew. But the national security advisor’s words had a certain momentum to them once he got going; it was difficult to stop him, even as he reviewed basic history. The arrangement was meant to help expedite the development and testing of cutting-edge weapons; while it had started out for only one project — a high-energy-beam weapon known as a rail gun that, ironically, had been abandoned — the previous administration had found NADT extremely useful for a wide range of projects and encouraged its continued existence. Under unique legislation, the President of the United States could select three of the private company’s seven board members. Those three votes could be counted on for Howe, and Blitz had already sounded out three of the other four board members; all would back Howe gladly.

“I’m sure it will go fine, Dr. Blitz,” Howe managed finally. “I know you’re busy—”

“Yes,” said Blitz. “Why don’t you tell me about North Korea? I’ve seen the report, but I would like to hear it from you.”

Howe summarized what had happened. Once again he remembered and mentioned the small aircraft, which he thought were UAVs.

“I’m not really sure I’m following you there,” said Blitz. “UAVs?”

“Unmanned aerial vehicles, like Predator and Global Hawk,” said Howe. “No report that I’ve seen says that North Korea had them.”

“I see.”

“These were fairly big. They’d have a good-sized payload. You might target them,” said Howe.

“I’m sure they’ve been targeted,” said the national security advisor.

“Well, good, then,” said Howe, not quite sure that Blitz understood. But obviously the man had a lot of things on his mind.

“Check with me at the end of the week. In the meantime you ought to find a house or something to rent.”

Howe realized he hadn’t even thought of that. He shook Blitz’s hand again, then left to find some breakfast.

Chapter 9

It wasn’t as if Tyler had disgraced himself. On the contrary, the ground part of the mission had gone off as well as could be expected given the circumstances, and certainly there was nothing to be ashamed of. But he couldn’t get the feeling of failure to leave him. It felt like a heavy, oppressive thing, a monster sitting on his shoulder.

Tyler and his team had been picked up by Osprey as planned and flown to Kunsan Air Base, also known as K-8, near the western coast of the country well south of Seoul. But rather than the rest they expected, the soldiers were all ordered back to their parent units, which were preparing for a mission to look for refugees from the dictatorship near the Chinese border. Tyler was asked to join an evaluation team being put together by the Pentagon and the CIA; its primary task was to prepare estimates on the capacity of any insurgent groups to mount an offensive within a six-to-eighteen-month time frame.

He had to find his own transportation to a highly classified facility near Wonjun in central South Korea. Distance-wise it wasn’t that far, but the entire country was under what amounted to a lockdown because of the war. Just finding a car and getting gasoline into it was a major endeavor.

The Korea Joint-Mission Evaluation Group had space in a bunkered facility originally built as a backup command center by the CIA but occupied most recently by the South Korean army. It was therefore in scrupulously good repair and so clean that, before descending the double-wide concrete steps that led from the main entrance to the work areas downstairs, Tyler felt obliged to knock the dirt from the sides of his shoes. The masonry walls gleamed, and a visitor might be forgiven for thinking that he or she was descending into a chip fabrication plant or high-tech lab where clean suits and respirators were de rigueur.

Security was being provided by the U.S. Army, and the MPs made everyone show ID and submit to a weapons and bug search. Handguns had to be stowed in a locker under the security team’s control.

Cleared through, Tyler walked down the hallway and turned to the right, descending another set of stairs before reaching a ramp that opened into the operating center. Within a few hours he found himself sitting at terminals in a computer center, tied into various secure information networks so he could update himself on the situation in the North.