They parked in front of an unmarked building that was identified by Lemesh as the administration building. Inside, he showed them a pair of laboratories that appeared well-outfitted to McKenna. Offices, record-keeping sections, and a lounge made up the rest of the two-story structure. They were introduced to staff members as they ran into them in the halls. Many nationalities seemed to be in residence, but it was evident that most of the menial jobs had gone to Khmer citizens. Several Khmer medical students and interns were introduced.
McKenna and Munoz made many notes in small notebooks, acting the inspection team, and recording points of interest. McKenna didn’t note anything of military interest.
The tour of the out-buildings was precisely what Munoz hadn’t wanted to see. Two dormitories, new but already overcrowded, housed refugee and orphaned children of the war with Vietnam. Most were missing a limb or two. Many were sightless. Some had what McKenna would have described as profound psychological problems.
Other small wards were devoted to the diseases — typhoid, dysentery, malaria, leprosy, muscular dystrophy, smallpox, and others that McKenna lost track of — that plagued nations whose children did not receive the inoculations and health care that were commonplace in the United States.
The children, who looked up at him from cots and wheelchairs, appeared to be receiving excellent care. Their bodies were not emaciated, and their wounds were cleanly dressed, and the bustling native nurses seemed solicitous, but the children’s eyes were big and brown and hopeless. That lack of zeal, that matte-brown deadness, affected him the most.
After two hours of enduring the tour, he was relieved when Lemesh let them out of the Land Rover back at the airstrip.
“I think, Doctor Lemesh,” Pearson said, “that you can be proud of what you have achieved here.”
“I thank you, Colonel Pearson. Perhaps, if there were not so many, we could do more.”
“How many children are in residence?” she asked.
“There are now 1,612. I have applications for hundreds more.”
“Thank you, Doctor, for putting up with our surprise visit, and for your courtesy.”
“I do wish you would stay for lunch.”
Lemesh was clearly enamored of Amelia Pearson. Throughout the tour, he had been constantly at her side, continually solicitous of her comfort. He opened doors for her.
“We really must be on our way,” she told him, “though I hope to return some day.”
“Nothing would make me more happy,” the doctor told her.
None of them said anything as Munoz closed and locked the door. Pearson dropped into her seat. McKenna took his time starting the engines.
They cleared the treeline on takeoff, but just barely.
Heading south at fifteen thousand feet, Pearson came forward.
“What do you think, Amy?” he asked.
“I’m going to write a report for the United Nations, whether they want one or not.”
“I’ll sign it” Munoz said.
“What did you think of the hospital, Kevin?” she asked.
He figured she wasn’t asking about the doctor. Maybe she had already made her judgment there.
“The hospital’s fine,” he said. “But on the walk between the blood diseases compound and the respiratory diseases ward, I heard something I didn’t expect to hear.”
“What’s that?”
Munoz answered, “Turbojet engine spooling up.”
Chapter Fourteen
As soon as they got back to Wet Country, Pearson left for Themis aboard Mako Three. Ken Autry also had two nuclear physicists aboard, so McKenna figured she would have someone to talk to during the trip.
He certainly hadn’t been able to talk to her on their sojourn to Kampuchea.
He waved goodbye as she and the two extremely apprehensive scientists disappeared into the passenger module. She didn’t wave back.
After the Mako took off, McKenna walked back to Hangar One and took the elevator to the control tower. He had a call in to Brackman and wanted to stay close to a secure phone. As he might have expected, Munoz had found a place to cuddle up with a pillow.
Captain Marcia Eames, the duty officer in the tower, told him, “That’s a fine-looking shirt, Colonel.”
McKenna plucked at the collar of the flowered shirt. “These are the best abstract drawings of orchids I’ve ever seen, Marcia.”
“Oh, they’re orchids?”
“Aren’t they?”
“I thought they were orange blossoms,” she said. “I’ve never seen orange orchids.”
“Maybe I was robbed?”
“I don’t think they’ll give you your money back. They’ve been trying to sell that shirt for three years.”
He had to wait for twenty minutes before Brackman called back.
“Sorry, Kevin. I’ve been tied up.”
McKenna reported on their trip. “Jet engines at ground level in the jungle aren’t all that usual. What I’d like to do, General, is mount a recon pod and do a low-level pass over the area. I expect you’ll also be hearing from Pearson in regard to dropping sensors.”
Though the world was mostly his oyster, McKenna didn’t make routine decisions on his own about low-level flights over sovereign countries with the MakoShark.
“The recon is approved,” Brackman said. “Do it as soon as it gets dark there. On the sensors, I’ll have to check with Cross. These little countries tend to get testy in the UN if they discover they’re being spied on.”
“Thank you, General. We’ll go ahead and set it up.”
“One more thing, Kevin. Before you can get off, you may be grounded.”
“What!”
“General Delwin Cartwright has put in his papers for retirement.”
That was a pleasant thought, but McKenna was diplomatic enough to remain silent.
“And he has apparently had lengthy and detailed conversations with Senator Alvin Worth and Congresswoman Marian Anderson. Worth is raising hell in the Senate Intelligence Oversight Committee and Anderson has the House Armed Services Committee in an uproar.”
“About what?” McKenna asked.
“About a colonel who’s allowed to ride roughshod over generals.”
“That’s not worthy of a response, Marv. Nor worthy of a congressional hearing.”
“And about poor organizational structures and controls in the Space Command which result in the loss of expensive spacecraft.”
“That little prick! That’s bullshit.”
“That’s two of us who are aware of it,” Brackman said. “However, the motions before both committees are calling for a suspension of activities in 1st Aerospace Squadron until the Congress can investigate.”
“That could take years,” McKenna said. “What’s the response?”
“The White House and the SecDef are rallying, going after the other committee members to squash the motions.”
“Will they get it done?”
“They might have, except that the Washington Post got the story somehow. Reporters are calling everyone in the book for confirmations. It’ll be common knowledge in a few hours, and that will add to the pressure.”
“Jesus Christ. I should have pumped a Wasp II into Worth and Anderson when I had the chance.”
“That thought had traipsed across my mind, McKenna. I’d rather find a better way to deal with it.”
If the American Space Shuttle was a semi-truck, the MakoShark was a pickup truck. Because the space fighter was multi-tasked and smaller than the Shuttle, it could not handle the same amount of cargo load. Both payload bays together would not accept the SS-X-25 ICBM.