Indeed fascinated by this revelation, Exeter pushed away his log and turned to face his XO.
“You don’t say. That guy’s not afraid of the devil himself. How have the Soviets treated him so far?”
Benton’s eyes flashed.
“This is the hot part. Skipper.
They’re not Russians, they’re French!”
Hardly believing what he was hearing, Exeter did a double-take.
“Say again. Pat?”
“You heard me, Skipper. That sub we took out was a French Agosta-class attack boat. And don’t worry that we might have blown away a bunch of innocents, because there was a full-scale, operational, electromagnetic railgun mounted on its stern deck.”
“Sweet Jesus,” sighed Exeter, his mind reeling.
“So it wasn’t the Soviets all along. Wait until we inform Dr. Fuller.”
“That guy deserves the Medal of Honor,” returned the XO as he pulled his pipe from his shirt pocket and poked its stem between his lips.
“And by the way, I made certain to tell Commander Pierce that the Condor made it into orbit without a hitch. That little bit of news really made his day.”
“As it’s made each of ours,” added the Captain.
“I imagine that the commander is going to want to initiate a transfer of survivors as soon as possible.
We’d better get the Razorback ready for them. Prepare the crew’s mess hall as a holding area. I guess it would be a good idea to put together a squad of armed security guards. Have Lieutenant Willingham lead them.”
The XO nodded.
“Aye, aye. Skipper. I’ll get on it at once. Should I ready a transmission for COM SUB
“I’ll take care of that. Pat. I’d love to be there to watch the admiral’s face when he hears this one. I have a feeling that there’s going to be some mighty curious Intelligence types waiting for us back at port.
Now, you’d better get going on that security detail.
Thanks again for all your help. Pat. With this bum knee and all, I couldn’t handle the boat without you.”
“I don’t know about that,” retorted the XO.
“You’re doing an awfully fine job as it is.”
Flashing a warm grin, Benton turned and disappeared out the passageway. Still seated at his desk, Exeter reached forward to massage his knee. While he did so, his mind struggled to absorb the shocking information that had been just revealed to him.
No matter the nationality, he found himself satisfied that at least the right enemy had been eliminated. Again he thanked the Lord for Dr. Richard Fuller’s warning. Without the Nose researcher’s guidance, there was a very good chance that the Condor would have never made it out of the earth’s atmosphere.
Anxious to learn of the motive that had inspired the attempt to interrupt the flight in the first place, Philip turned back to his desk. A proper dispatch would have to be drafted and then relayed down to San Diego. As he went to pick up his pen, his eyes drifted to the picture of Carla and his girls, mounted on the wall before him. Wondering if he’d ever be able to share that morning’s incredible events with them, he shook his head and returned his attention to the duty that awaited him.
Colonel Jean Moreau was no stranger to difficult days, yet this one that was just passing was one of the worse he had ever experienced. It had all started early in the morning, when he had been awakened from a sound sleep by a telephone call. His assistant, Jacques LeMond, had wasted no time in revealing that the Third Brigade had struck once again. This time a group of three young mothers had been found hacked to death outside the installation’s central living quarters.
Sticking up in the blood-soaked ground nearby. had been a single machete with a red bandana tied to its hilt.
When the mutilated bodies were initially discovered, a wave of panic had spread among the other workers. Aware of just who this calling card belonged to, they had already begun to talk of abandoning their jobs for the very safety of their families. Fear could be dangerously contagious if it weren’t stood up to, and Moreau had ordered his assistant to stem the hysteria at its very source. If need be, the Legion was to be called out. For, if the terrorists weren’t stopped cold in their tracks, Moreau could soon have a massive insurrection on his hands.
No sooner had he arrived at this office than he had received word that the series of a half-dozen Japanese communications satellites that they had been contracted to put into space would be delivered from three to six months late. Such a delay could have serious consequences for their already threatened cash-flow position.
If that news weren’t frustrating enough, he had spent the rest of the day with one eye on the clock and the other on his private telephone line. For hours on end, he had waited for the telephone call that still had yet to arrive.
A half hour before, he had left his office and driven straight home. There he had mixed himself a Pernod and soda and headed at once for the solace of his veranda. With his telephone beside him, he had stretched out on his favorite rattan lounger and watched the dusk engulf the thick jungle that lay only a few steps away, on the other side of the screened-in porch.
As always, the steaming humidity was all-oppressive, and not even the constantly whirling ceiling fan was able to draw down a decent cool draft of air. To the ever-increasing, hypnotic throb of the night creatures, he breathed in the very scent of the jungle. The smell of pure, green life itself met his nostrils, and he found himself longing for the dry, sweet fragrance of the meadow in which he had been born and raised.
Did such a world really still exist? Sometimes Moreau wondered. For seven long years, he had known little else but the confines of this malaria ridden sweat-hole called French Guiana. Dedicating his every effort to the success of Ariadne, he had sacrificed the prime years of his life to see this dream come true. Yet no matter how long and tediously he had applied himself, there had always seemed to be one more insurmountable obstacle facing him. And now, to think that all this selfless toil depended upon such desperate measures as Operation Diablo.
Just thinking about this plan that he had been forced to implement soured his mood to an even greater degree. For, though he would have liked to purge its essence from his very mind, his conscience would not cooperate. Try as he could to justify their actions, he knew it all came down to one basic fact. It was one thing to take down an unmanned Titan 34-D missile, but to interfere with a manned space shuttle flight placed them in the same league as the misguided terrorists of the Third Brigade.
A decade ago, Moreau had sworn his allegiance both to the Commandant and the cause he served.
During the years that followed, he had certainly had his share of unsavory tasks to fulfill, yet this was the first time that he seriously questioned his involvement.
Did this mean that his days there were already numbered?
A rustling sound came from behind him, and Moreau realized that he was no longer alone. Seconds later, Theresa sauntered up before him an ice-filled glass in her hand.
“I thought that you would like another drink, mi amore,” she greeted seductively.
Slowly replacing his empty glass, the pert teenager did her best to linger at his side as long as possible.
Though her initial appearance had upset Moreau, he couldn’t help but take in her tight, tanned body.
Dressed in her briefest shorts, and a thin, stringed halter-top, the
Brazilian beauty exuded a raw sensuality. His loins instinctively stiffened in response. For a brief second, he even considered throwing her to the ground and mounting her right there. Like an animal in heat, he’d lose his worries deep in her wet, primal abyss. Yet the ringing phone cut through the dusk like a shriek of terror, and in an instant any passionate intentions on his part dissipated.