He had taught her more than the simple childhood melodies. Pompano had opened an entire new world, a pastiche of melodies through the radio. In all of his workings with electronics, nothing delighted her more than the day when he had given her first radio.
Regardless of the friends she gained, Yolanda always returned to the sari-sari store to help her father. She acquired a sense of responsibility by taking care of her father, especially during those early years when he would drink too much and lie weeping on his bed, crying for her mother.
It was then that he would admonish her to stay away from the Americans. When pressed he would give her no clear-cut reason, only turn to more alcohol.
Living by the market, Yolanda had never befriended an American until this Bruce Steele appeared, although she had served them behind the counter. Until now they had been nothing more than curiously foreign.
Tiny bells jangled in the front. Yolanda smoothed her skirt and glided into the store. She drew in her breath — it was the American.
He wore blue jeans and a colorful T-shirt. She had always thought that this combination was for delinquents, the types that frequented the sleazy part of town. But his clothes were so clean and good-smelling. And there was something about his eyes.…
“Hello, Bruce Steele.” Yolanda did not look down, but smiled to herself. “I have ordered some more gum for you.”
He turned slightly red. He fumbled in his pocket and held out a pack to her. “Would you care for a piece?”
“No, thank you.” She reached back and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I would think you would not have any gum left after nearly two weeks.”
Bruce pocketed the pack. He leaned up against the long tabletop that traversed the back of the sari-sari store. “I’ve been in the jungle for the past ten days. A survival school.”
“Did you have fun, learn anything?”
“Fun?” His eyebrows rose. “No. It wasn’t too much fun, going four days without eating.” He grew silent for a moment, then said slowly, “But now that you mention it, I guess I learned a lot. About myself, I mean.”
Bruce paused. “There’s something I thought we could do, if you had time.”
Yolanda brightened. “Oh, tonight would be a good time to have dinner.”
Bruce looked squeamish. “Uh, I’m not really too hungry, but I had something else in mind.”
“Oh?” She felt slightly embarrassed at having brought up the subject.
“My dad lives near Subic. My roommate, his girlfriend, and I are heading down to see him tomorrow afternoon. Would you like to come with us?”
“To Olongapo?”
“Sure. It’ll only take a couple of hours.”
Yolanda drew in a breath. She had closed the store before while on her own — once to go with some girlfriends to the barrio, another time to see a music festival. Both times her father had approved of her leaving the store, and she had made each decision on her own.
This did not seem too much different. Especially if she was going to meet Bruce’s parents. And father had wanted to meet Bruce, too, so perhaps this was a good time.
Yolanda turned and placed her hands on the table. “I think it will be fun.”
“Great! I’ll be by right before noon to pick you up.” He started to back up.
Yolanda was surprised that he would be leaving so soon. “Can I get you something to eat before you go? You said you had not eaten for four days?”
Bruce grimaced. “Thanks, but I made up for it at lunch.”
As he left, Yolanda started humming to herself. Father would certainly approve, she thought. She had so much to look forward to the coming year — admission to the University of the Philippines, leaving the store — and the thought made her happy to be alive.
Cervante stood, wiped his hands on his pants, and stepped back. It was just getting dark, and the dirt road was barely visible two feet away through the jungle. From there, Pompano’s sensor would be invisible.
This was the last of the sensors — six of them planted by Cervante, their location unknown even to Pompano. Two hours ago he had sent the old man back to the plantation, after learning how to bury the cylindrical detectors and lay the thin wire lines. He had instructed Pompano to prepare the high-power microwave weapon, to make sure that there would be no surprises when it was transported the next morning. Cervante nodded to himself. They were almost ready.
Chapter 12
“Mr. Vice President … Mr. Adleman.” A hand shook his shoulder.
Adleman rolled onto his side. Light streaming from the hallway shone in his eyes. He blinked; Lieutenant Colonel Merke stood patiently by the bed. An apparition — a beautiful, sultry woman just dying to climb into bed with him … and then he remembered where he was. “I’m awake.”
Merke pursed her lips. “Sorry, Mr. Vice President. You didn’t answer the phone.”
Adleman dismissed the action with a wave. “What’s going on?”
“A call from the Security Council, sir.”
Adleman pushed up. “Bring in a line.”
“They want an encrypted link, sir.”
“The STE should handle it.”
Merke shook her head. “They insist on double encryption, Mr. Adleman, an SCI call. We’ll have to get back to Air Force Two.”
Adleman’s eyes widened; he was really awake now. The fact that the Security Council wanted to bypass the normally secure STE collateral classified phones and discuss Special Compartmented Information smacked of something big.
Adleman swung out of bed, ignoring Lieutenant Colonel Merke’s presence. She was a big girl and could avert her eyes if she wanted. He pulled on his shorts and glanced at the clock: two forty-five. The thirteen-hour time difference put Washington at three forty-five the previous afternoon.
“Any indication what’s up?”
“No, sir. Secretary Acht said it was urgent and insisted that he speak with you.” She nodded with her head to the briefcase she carried. “I have an updated situation briefing you could read on the way to Yokota.”
“Thanks.” Adleman took the hint to hurry. After pulling on his shoes he grabbed a shirt and headed out the door, fully intending to finish dressing in the car.
Adleman looked out the window from the backseat. Although no police cars accompanied them, unmarked and heavily armed Secret Service cars led and followed his limo. At the early hour the streets were nearly empty. Even though the city was settled in for the night, flashing billboards covering the tall buildings still lit up the night sky; advertisements for soft drinks, cameras, stereos, and fast food predominated. It could have been New York, had it not been for the Japanese characters adorning the billboards.
Adleman turned his attention to the situation briefing that Merke had handed him. The title page was a red-bordered sheet with top secret stamped across the top and bottom. He flipped through the pages: a CIA assessment of the Middle East led the briefing; a Russian air show in Dayton, Ohio, followed; all the intelligence traffic looked routine — nothing “hot” to be found.
It made Adleman feel uneasy. He settled back and flipped the briefing material shut. Lights whizzed by as they approached Yokota Air Force Base. The military driver, a young, slim black airman, kept his eyes on the road and didn’t attempt to engage the vice president in conversation. He’s probably scared half to death, thought Adleman. Either that, or he’s had his butt chewed one too many times by some general.