The coffeemaker had finished its cycle and, after Kat declined, Dr. Maverick poured a cup for Robert and himself before sitting back down.
“MacCabe, are you familiar with the Sputnik Syndrome?”
“I’m… familiar with Sputnik.”
“There are many versions of the principle. Pearl Harbor is another. In other words, in order to spark a unified determination to develop a weapon or a military capability, there has to be a substantial threat. If the threat doesn’t already exist, and you’re the national leader who knows it’s needed, you may have to invent it. That’s what I’m convinced Franklin Roosevelt did by sacrificing Pearl Harbor to get us in the war in time to win it. That was also what Sputnik did for our space program, and our military abilities in space.”
“So you’re saying—” Robert continued.
“I’m saying that up until the past few months, there has been no credible threat out there that anyone was developing anti-eyeball guns for use against military or civilian targets, and thus no reason for the new President to overrule the old ban.”
Kat had been listening in silence. She sat forward suddenly. “Wait. Are you implying that this black project will benefit from having their stolen prototypes used against civilian airliners?”
Dr. Maverick smiled. “Think about the predictable response when these mysterious crashes are revealed as being caused by such lasers. Publicly, there will be a call for an international ban on research. Privately — secretly — we already have advanced technology and can press forward to dominate the science while pretending to adhere to our own international ban. In addition, we’ll also be ahead in developing solid defenses against such weapons. We’ll order thousands of weapons produced and stockpiled, and more research done, in order to be ready if someone violates the ban. We did the same thing with biological and chemical weaponry.”
“And the contractor survives.”
Dr. Maverick nodded. “The contractor survives, in the best interests of the country.”
“So this black project may have helped lose those weapons?”
He shook his head. “Not directly. But if antipersonnel laser weapons were stolen and sold on the black market, as Carnegie suspected, the black-project managers would know two things. One, they were early prototypes and quite limited versus what could be developed later. And two, it would only be a matter of time before some military or terrorist group used one and created a new Sputnik Syndrome, thus rescuing them from the shadowy netherworld of project shutdown.”
“We think,” Kat said, meeting his eyes, “that Walter Carnegie made a good case that the U.S. government may be engaged in a frantic effort following the SeaAir crash to cover up the theft of those weapons, because they said nothing and did nothing for so long. But you’re implying the black-project managers may not have wanted anything done about the theft.”
“They may not have even reported the weapons were stolen, Agent Bronsky,” Dr. Maverick said. “This may be less a cover-up than an embarrassed nonresponse.”
“Then, who do you think,” Robert began, his eyes darting between Kat and Dr. Maverick, “is chasing us?”
Dr. Maverick raised his bushy eyebrows and glanced around again, paying particular attention to the living room windows. “The terrorists who stole those weapons would be the most likely candidates, but… I don’t know. Look, you can’t work in the black-project world without getting a bit paranoid about our own security. I mean, who’s chasing whom? A bunch of suits have been ricocheting around Vegas looking for me, according to friends. Are they terrorists, or are they our own people?”
“What do you mean, Doctor? Security people? I can tell you they aren’t FBI.”
He licked his lips and looked out the rear window before answering. “I don’t know. But someone was obviously scared enough of Walter Carnegie to kill him.”
“You know that for a…” Robert began, but Maverick was shaking his head no.
“I only know that Walter would never kill himself. Look, can we get out of here? I don’t mean to be inhospitable, but I’d prefer to close this place up and go. I was only coming by for supplies when I spotted the light.”
Kat was drumming her fingers on the table. “Dr. Maverick, are you familiar with Jordan James?”
There was no particular reaction other than mild surprise, she noticed. He nodded after thinking for a few seconds. “Yes. CIA director a few years back, right?”
“Yes, but now acting Secretary of State.” She filled him in on their relationship before looking at her watch. “He should be arriving here in a few minutes.”
Maverick looked startled. “What? Here? My house?”
She nodded.
“Why?”
The sound of an engine and the crunching sound of tires on snow reached their ears simultaneously, the headlights showing through the window of the living room.
She watched as Jordan left the backseat of the car and walked quickly to the front door, buttoning his heavy overcoat. The car remained in front, its driver leaving the parking lights on and the engine idling as Kat introduced Jordan to Thomas Maverick and Robert MacCabe.
“I need to talk with you in private, Kat,” Jordan said, as they stood awkwardly in the tiny hallway. “If you folks will excuse us for a few minutes…”
She borrowed one of Dr. Maverick’s parkas and motioned Jordan through the back door. The first hint of dawn was lightening the sky to the east, but the woods behind the house were still dark and secluded. The blanket of new snow absorbed their voices. They walked in silence for about a hundred feet to one side of the cabin before Kat turned to him. “What is it, Uncle Jordan?”
He chewed his lip for a moment before responding. “Kat, I know for a fact there’s a renegade group within the FBI working for Nuremberg. Whoever they are, they’ve been seduced with the promise of untold riches.”
Kat unconsciously leaned away from Jordan, her eyes wide, remembering her impassioned defense of the Bureau. Robert was just a reporter. But this man was not only like family, he was a high-ranking official of the U.S. government. Loyalty to the Bureau alone couldn’t dismiss the force of his words.
Kat shook her head. “But how, Jordan? Why? And for what?”
He patted her arm. “Human nature requires bad apples, Kat, and the old adage that everyone has a price is distressingly true. The Bureau is no exception.”
“You’re saying—” she began. “Wait a minute. You’re saying there’s a faction of how many?”
He shook his head. “At least two or three, and they’re probably fairly high up. The cooperation they’re providing includes support such as IDs, the creation of agents that don’t exist, giving these fake agents the intelligence information they need, and probably communications interception. That’s why every call you made to Jake Rhoades was fed immediately to those who were trying to silence all of you. Precisely what this Nuremberg group is going to demand, none of us knows, but they’re incredibly well financed, and they’ve bought their way into the Bureau. I know that’s hard to accept, Kat, but you must.”
She was breathing rapidly, her mind racing to get a logical grasp of what he was saying and how it could happen.
“As we speak, Nuremberg’s agents could be closing in on this place. We’ve got to get you, and Mr. MacCabe, and Dr.… Maverick, was it?”
“Yes.”
“All of you back to my Air Force jet. They’re waiting in Boise for me to call. As long as you’re under my protection aboard that jet, they won’t touch you.”
“Why not?” The question had popped out of her mouth, bypassing the normal filter of respect and deference she felt for Jordan James.
He hesitated before replying, as if startled by the question. He stopped patting her arm for a moment, then resumed. “Because, Kat, there is a vast difference between attacking a civilian airliner and attacking one of the presidential fleet. The former will get a unified response of governmental and law enforcement determination to capture and prosecute, but the latter will unleash the fury of the U.S. military. Only the certifiably insane among terrorist organizations would engage the latter.”