Threat Level Black - Страница 33

“I have an idea, William.”

“You can call me Bill, really.”

“Bill.” There was that smile again, this time full force — not phony, and definitely disarming. “I have a closing in about fifteen minutes. I think that’s them out there, a little early. And then I have a full slate for the rest of the day. But if you come back around four-thirty, say, I can take you to a few condos and you can get an idea of the market. If you can afford it, you’ll probably do a lot better buying. What do you think?”

“Of buying? I don’t know. I guess.”

“Because of the market. But we can talk about it.”

“Great,” he said, standing. “Real great.”

* * *

NADT had been envisioned more as a think tank than a weapons development company, and those roots showed in its headquarters buildings. The ultramodern buildings were located well back from the road behind manicured lawns and gardens. A range of security sensors, from cameras to motion detectors, maintained constant surveillance of the grounds, but to the naked eye the place seemed deserted until you passed a row of evergreens a few hundred feet off the road. At that point a pair of security guards and the small kiosk appeared a few feet ahead.

Howe had been told that devices were planted in the roadway a bit farther along that could paralyze car engines with an electromagnetic pulse, and he had seen firsthand some of the weaponry the NADT security force had at its disposal. But for all that, the guards appeared almost nonchalant, unfailingly courteous, and friendly; indeed, they were tested and graded on these qualities, with the overall goal of presenting an image to the world — or, more specifically, visiting politicians and high-ranking military people — of absolute self-confidence and efficiency.

Unfortunately, that image had been largely that: an image. The security staff had not exactly covered itself with glory in the Cyclops One fiasco. While the problems at NADT had been caused by Bonham and some of the investors, not the security people or the engineers and scientists and grunts who did the real work, one of his first tasks would be to determine if anyone else should be sacked because of it.

A difficult task. Just about everyone he knew here was dedicated and hardworking, serious and proud of the job they did. A lot were ex-military people, though of course that wasn’t a carte blanche endorsement, either.

“Colonel, good morning,” said Nancy Meile, meeting him just as the two gate men cleared him and his vehicle to proceed. Meile, about forty and a former partner in a private security firm, was the security director. “Rumor true? You’re taking the job?”

“A few hurdles left,” he said.

“I hope you take it.”

“Why?”

The question seemed to take her by surprise, and she didn’t answer right away. “I think you’ll do a good job.”

As an officer advanced through the ranks of the military, he or she couldn’t help but become aware of the various political games that were played. For Howe, the gamesmanship was a severe negative: In his opinion it detracted not just from the mission he and his comrades had to accomplish, but from the bedrock duty and loyalty to one’s oath and the country itself. The relative lack of games in the development projects he’d gotten involved in with NADT, as a matter of fact, was one of the attractions.

As head of NADT he’d have to devote considerable energy to playing those political games. But not with his staff.

“I wasn’t fishing for a compliment,” he told Meile. “I want simply to understand what needs to be done.”

His words felt a bit too stiff in his mouth, but he at least got the thought across; he could see it register on her face.

“I’d be happy to talk with you at length when you think it’s appropriate,” she said.

“I’ll take you up on that,” said Howe, putting the car in gear.

He drove to the main building, a low-slung, modernist affair whose main floor served merely as a reception and processing center for the offices located in the bunkered floors below. Because of its unique relationship to the government, NADT was considered a possible target for a hostile government, and the protections against attack and, perhaps more importantly, spying were diverse. A copper sheath surrounded the different sections, rendering eavesdropping devices useless. Sixty feet of earth and concrete would keep any but the most powerful American bunker-buster bomb from damaging the heart of the complex.

The vice president for operations was a cherubic man named Clyde Delano; he had worked for various government agencies under both Republican and Democratic administrations for close to thirty years before coming to NADT. A chemist by training, the years had magnified his academic demeanor. As he took Howe on a tour to meet some of the scientific and research staffers, he launched into a discussion of World War I, apparently because he’d been rereading Keegan’s history of the war over breakfast. He asked Howe what he thought would have happened to Europe if America had not entered the conflict but remained neutral.

“Never really gave it much thought,” said Howe.

“Very different world,” said Delano. “Maybe Germany wins. Maybe the stalemate goes on for a decade.”

Howe tried changing the subject — he wanted to know what Delano thought needed to be done at NADT — but the vice president for operations simply demurred, claiming he hadn’t given it much thought. Howe found a similar reluctance to speak freely among the upper-level scientists he met, who failed to loosen up even over lunch in the company cafeteria, a facility that would rival many a D.C.-area restaurant. Meals here were free, a perk that helped compensate for the long hours and stringent security measures and discouraged people from taking off-campus breaks.

After lunch, Howe went over to the president’s office, which had been vacant since the disgrace of General Bonham. All of Bonham’s personal belongings had been removed, leaving the shelves and desk bare; the only things that remained were a few yellow pads and an old-fashioned Rolodex phone directory. Howe idly flipped through the directory: There was his name, along with a long list of contact numbers and addresses.

He took out the list of phone numbers Dr. Blitz had recommended he call. But instead of picking up the phone, he found himself thinking about Delano, who had functioned as Bonham’s second-in-command. Clearly they were not going to be a good match; he needed someone else to take his place, someone he could trust.

Bringing someone else in from the Air Force would send the wrong signal, he thought; and besides, he wanted someone with better contacts with the administration and Congress, his weaknesses; someone in the service wasn’t likely to have them.

He thought of Harold McIntyre, the former NSC assistant for technology, whom he’d worked with before. Though McIntyre could be a bit of a playboy and partyer, he had a good feel for who was who among the contractors and his standing with the administration was impeccable. He also liked Howe — not surprising, since Howe had led the mission that rescued him from India after war broke out there. McIntyre had left government following that incident, and that was a complication: Howe thought he might have had some sort of emotional collapse because of the stress he’d undergone.

McIntyre’s name was in Bonham’s directory, with his phone number listed. Howe picked up the phone, hesitated a moment, then punched in the numbers.

An answering machine picked up.

“This is McIntyre. Leave a message.”

“Mr. McIntyre. Bill Howe here. How are you? Listen, I’ve been offered a job and, uh, well, I wanted to—”

The line clicked and a tone sounded.

“Colonel Howe?” said a distant voice.

“That you, Mac?”

“Yes, sir. How are you?”

There was a slight tremor in his voice, the sort of quality a freshly minted lieutenant might betray when he chanced to come face-to-face with the base commander. Very unlike McIntyre, Howe thought, though it was definitely him.

“I’m fine. How are you?”

“Not that well, actually.” McIntyre laughed. “I, uh… well, they have me on Paxil.”

“That a painkiller?”

McIntyre laughed again. It was a light, self-deprecating laugh. “Antidepressant. Supposedly, I have some sort of, uh, like, uh…”

“Delayed stress?”

“Yeah, something like that. Combined with depression.”

Howe tapped on the desktop. He didn’t want to subject the poor guy to more pressure.

“I heard you were up for that job over at NADT,” said McIntyre. “Bonham’s job. Head of the whole shebang.”

“That’s right,” Howe told him.

“You ought to take it,” said McIntyre.

“That’s the reason I’m calling,” said Howe. “I’m trying to get opinions on the place.”

“Colonel, I’ll give you a whole rundown if you want. Anything you’re looking for. I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me, Mac.”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

McIntyre spoke as if he were a junior officer, though during McIntyre’s time in the government — which was only a few months ago, after all — he’d been the one with more authority. He would be absolutely loyal if he took the job. But Howe couldn’t offer him the post; the poor guy would feel obligated to take it, and then he’d fall apart.

Still, Howe could pick his brain.