“Son of a bitchin’ cat,” Arnie Gering yelped as he bolted out of the chair.
“What in the hell are you doing in my office?” Kramer demanded.
“Goddamn cat!” Gering said again, backing away from the desk.
“You’re screwing around with Ace’s computer, Arnie. Tell me why, and tell me now.”
Gering dug a handkerchief out of the back pocket of his jeans and began dabbing at his face. He spluttered some more when he saw the blood.
“Let’s have it, Arnie.”
Kramer stayed close to the door, ready to scream and run if he turned on her. She didn’t know what he was up to, but she was damned proud of Ace the Wonder Cat.
Ace stopped hissing now that Gering had moved away, but he remained alert, his hind legs tensed for another launch.
She glanced quickly at the computer screen:
SPECIAL PROJECTS
CONFIDENTIAL FILES — ACCESS CODE REQUIRED
ENTER PASSWORD: BLUE DA-
Gering had been attempting to hack his way into the special projects files.
“What’s going on?” she demanded again.
Gering was regaining some degree of composure. “I’m working late.”
“Working on what?”
“Damn it! Can’t you see I’m scratched up. Why don’t you declaw that damned cat?”
The blood continued to seep from the cuts, obliterating the freckles on his sunburned face.
“I don’t give a shit about your face, Arnie. How did you get in here?”
She checked the door and jamb, but couldn’t see any scratches. Gering had a key to the building, but not to this door. Maybe he had used a credit card on the lock.
“It was open,” he said.
“This door is never unlocked at night.”
“It was open.”
“What are you after?”
Gering cleared his throat. “I was just checking on that job we did in Nebraska.”
“Why?”
“Well, shit. Lefty and I only got a lousy two grand apiece. We ought to get as much as the others are getting.”
Kramer moved sideways across the room, facing him, and closing in on the desk. She reached out and gently stroked Ace’s neck.
She could feel the bunched up muscles under his skin. Ace wasn’t going to relax just yet.
“You’re fortunate to have received a bonus at all.”
“I’m entitled to more.”
“How much more, do you think?”
“Well, I want to know what the others are getting.”
“Forget the others,” she said. “How much do you think you’re worth?”
Gering grinned at her. “I ought to get another five thousand.”
“Maybe you’ll find a job somewhere that will pay you that much more.”
His grin faded. “What? You can’t fire me.”
“I can’t? Seems to me I’m the one who hired you. I’ve changed my mind.”
“You fire me, and I go right to the newspapers,” Gering said.
“With what?”
“There’s something screwy about that deal. You just watch, Kramer. Some reporter will dig into it.”
“And visit you in jail, too?”
“Jail?”
“Breaking and entering. Attempted theft of proprietary information.” She picked up the phone and dialled a nine and a one.
“Hold on, damn it!”
Kramer kept her forefinger poised over the button. “Get out, Arnie.”
With a face turning redder than normal, and still holding his handkerchief to his cheek, Gering spun around and stomped out. She waited until she heard the front door slam, then dropped the telephone back in its cradle and settled into her chair.
She took a deep breath, She was more rattled than she thought she had been.
Damn. Where are you, Andy?
Grabbing the phone, she dialled the number in Washington and got the answering machine, which simply said, “Yes?”
At the beep, she said, “This is Klondike. There’s a problem with Icarus, and someone had better call me fast.”
Twenty minutes later, which was pretty fast for Washington, the phone rang.
It was a male voice she had never heard before.
“Klondike, I’d like a password.”
“Sugar time,” she said.
“And I’ll say, ‘mustard.’”
“Who are you?”
“Urn, I’m someone knowledgeable about all of Icarus. What’s the problem?”
She told him about Gering.
“And you canned him?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that may have been a little precipitous.”
“I can’t have someone working here that I can’t trust,” she said, jotting a note to have all the exterior locks changed in the morning. Also the security alarm codes.
“Yes. You’re probably correct.”
“I know I am.”
“I’ll check into it.”
“And you call me back,” she said. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering.”
“I’ll do that.”
She hung up. Ace the Wonder Cat promptly flopped on top of the phone.
“You deserve a medal, you know that?”
Ace got busy cleaning his claws.
The single airstrip in Northfield, Maine, was a tiny one, but long enough. The F-4s had used every available foot of its length without having to deploy the drag chutes, and as soon as the last Phantom — seven-seven, flown by Wyatt — was down, the runway lights had promptly been extinguished.
Parked in the weed-choked field off the edge of the runway were the six fighters, the two C-130s, and an unmarked Falcon business jet. Two dark blue tanker trucks without identification other than Maine license plates, manned by men in blue denims without insignia, moved among the aircraft, topping off the fuel tanks. Across the runway, a few civilian small aircraft were parked in an unlit area. The few buildings on that side of the field appeared to be deserted, and Wyatt could be assured that they were. Embry’s people would have threatened or bribed anyone who wanted to hang around the airport at night.
Most of the Noble Enterprises crew were inside the Hercules transport, filling up quickly on MREs.
Wyatt and Barr sat with George Embry inside the Falcon’s cabin. Embry had brought along coffee and club sandwiches, and every time he took a bite out of his, Wyatt felt guilty about the guys stuck with the military rations.
Embry lifted fourteen manila envelopes from the attaché case resting on the table between their seats. “Documentation,” he said.
“Is it any good, though?” Barr asked.
“The best. Social security cards, credit cards, flying and driving licenses, some nifty passports, the works. Before I leave, we’ll collect all of the ID you guys have. I’ll ship it back to Albuquerque for you.”
Embry passed Wyatt a thicker envelope. “Operating cash, in case you run into any emergencies.”
Wyatt opened the envelope and spilled the bills on the table. There were U.S. dollars in fifties and twenties and a few hundreds, French francs, Algerian dinars, CFA francs for Chad, and Libyan dinars.
“It adds up to around ninety thou, U.S.,” Embry said.
“This getting charged against my contract, George?”
“Nah, this is a freebie. Just in case anyone has to hitchhike out of the country.”
“Or the continent,” Barr added.
Wyatt divided the rubber-banded stacks, kept about a fourth of it, and shoved the rest to Barr.
“Gee, thanks, Daddy.”
“Split it up with the others, Bucky.”
“My guys,” Embry said, “are loading a couple cardboard boxes on the transport. That’s the small arms you asked for, as well as the maps, radios, and other crap for the survival packs.”
“We won’t be needing those,” Barr said.
“Thanks,” Wyatt said.