I figured that since she’d invited me to, I’d better do what she asked. I stared thoughtfully at her leg. “Wow. Yeah. That’s something else, all right.”
Ralph glanced at her bruise, then at me, then asked Lien-hua,
“How’s it feel?”
“It’s OK,” she said. “It was pretty stiff this morning, but I did some tai chi in the hallway, that really helped.”
“The hallway?” Ralph said.
“Never mind,” I mumbled and stuffed some pancakes into my mouth. General Cole Biscayne brushed a fleck of lint off his uniform, slid his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and checked the time: 0809 hours.
Good. He liked the fact that they’d had to wait for him before beginning the meeting. He threw open the doors to the conference room and saw that the other members of the Project Rukh Oversight Committee were already assembled. They saluted, shook his hand, or offered him a slight nod depending on their rank and how well they knew the head of the Pentagon’s research and development agency.
He motioned with one finger to a woman standing at attention by the door. “Petty Officer Henley, the shades.”
“Yes, sir.” She walked to the wall of windows and closed off the panoramic view of the ocean and the line of smoke tilting into the sky. Then she left the room. This was not a meeting for someone of her rank.
General Biscayne chose to stand while the others sat. “Let’s cut to the chase.” He scanned the room. No one looked happy; most looked scared. Seated around the table were two other DARPA members, as well as North Island Naval Air Station Base Commander Admiral Norval Tumney, FBI Executive Assistant Director for Criminal Investigations Margaret Wellington, half a dozen other top-ranking defense department and intelligence agencies officials, and Victor Drake, president and CEO of Drake Enterprises.
“Gentlemen,” General Biscayne said, and then with a nod toward Ms. Wellington, he added, “and ladies. The police caught and killed the arsonist from last night’s attack. Good. I’m sure the investigation will go on for months and we’ll eventually find out all we need to know about him, but for right now, here’s what I want: will someone please tell me that the Project Rukh research wasn’t compromised before the facility was destroyed. Tell me we have confirmation that the prototype wasn’t stolen. Tell me I flew all the way out here for nothing, that I can relax, and then go back to Washington, meet with the president tomorrow, and inform him that neither the research nor the prototype has gotten into the wrong hands. Tell me those things and I will leave this room a happy man.”
No one moved, except for those who averted eye contact with the general. Victor Drake began tapping his fingers rhythmically against the table.
“Let me be clear.” Anger prowled through the general’s words.
He yanked back the shades and pointed at the smoke. “The Department of Defense has invested nearly three billion dollars in this program, and we are not about to let all that go up in smoke because some rogue SEAL had a vendetta to pay.”
Still no answer from the group.
General Biscayne looked directly at Victor Drake. “How close was the device to being fully operational?”
“It was completed, but I’m sad to say it really doesn’t matter anymore. All the files, as well as the prototype, were destroyed in the fire.”
The general let the shades fall shut again. “All the research?”
“I’m afraid so. Nothing could be salvaged. We kept only hard copies of the research so it wouldn’t be possible for someone to hack in to the computer system and steal the findings. At this point, though, it looks like we may have made the wrong decision.”
“And the prototype as well? Destroyed? Are you certain?”
“Yes. No doubt about it.”
General Biscayne considered all this for a moment. If Victor was behind the fire-and it only made sense that he was-he probably had made sure to destroy the device. It was the only way to cover up his failure, the only course of action that made sense. So, maybe the fire was a good thing after all. The Department of Defense could get out of its dead-end contract with Drake Enterprises, blame the fire on terrorists, capitalize on the public outrage, and then use the incident to lobby for a substantial increase in the national security budget for the next fiscal year. FBI Executive Assistant Director Margaret Wellington coughed softly and then spoke up. Her voice reminded the general of a ratchet set. “General Biscayne, we are all aware that this project is of the utmost importance to you and the rest of your team at the Pentagon. Fine. But I’m new to this committee and I haven’t been adequately briefed on the exact scope of Project Rukh. The way in which all the pieces of research fit together still remains-”
“Classified,” he interrupted her. “And it does so for a reason.”
She tensed, folded her hands in front of her. Refused to be intimidated. “Do not interrupt me, General. I’m a civilian. That means you work for me.”
Silence squeezed its arms around the room. Squeezed it tight, until Admiral Norval Tumney, a man whom the general thought would have been more aptly named “Tummy” or “Tubby,” said, “The navy will do everything in its power to assure that this situation is resolved promptly and professionally.”
“I’m sure you will, Norv,” said General Biscayne. “It’s the only way to save your butt from a court-martial after letting this guy, Hunter, sneak onto the base and burn down B-14.”
The admiral’s face darkened with disdain, but General Biscayne didn’t care. “I want the remains of that building gone through with a tweezers. If there’s a shred of paper the size of my fingernail that survived the fire, I want it found. Am I making myself clear?”
Everyone except for Margaret Wellington nodded.
“And verify that the prototype was destroyed. I don’t need to tell you that it had better not fall into the wrong hands.” He riveted his eyes on Victor Drake. “And Drake, whatever paperwork you have stashed away in your office somewhere-and I know you have some-I want that as well. I want it all. We’re pulling the plugs on this. The DOD is finished with Drake Enterprises.” Then he stomped past the conference table and was halfway to the door before he threw one word back into the room: “Dismissed.”
63
Lien-hua, Ralph, and I let the breakfast conversation wander into sports and the weather and politics and Ralph’s struggles to conquer his son at video games and Lien-hua’s upcoming trip to visit her brother in Beijing, and it felt good to let our friendship explore other topics than just murder, death, and abductions. But soon, like always, our conversation cycled back to the case.
“Well,” said Ralph. He spoke tenderly, with respect for the dead.
“With Austin Hunter dead, Cassandra in the hospital, and the suspect from last night in police custody, I think you two might be able to head home. Margaret arrived last night. Lucky me. I get to spend the day with her.”
“We still have a lot of unanswered questions about this case,” said Lien-hua. “Plus, we still need to find Shade.”
“Lien-hua is right,” I said. “At this point there are a lot more questions than answers, and we need to address some of them before we can wrap anything up.” I folded down my computer screen.
“I’m going to visit Cassandra before Tessa wakes up for our meeting with Calvin.”
“Werjonic is here?” Ralph exclaimed. Dr. Calvin Werjonic is a household name among investigators, especially those who track serial offenders.
“We’re meeting at 10:30.”
“Well, say hi to the old buzzard for me.” Ralph nodded with deep respect. “He’s a good man, that Werjonic. Smartest guy I ever met.” Lien-hua stood. “Pat, I think I’ll come with you to talk with Cassandra. Hopefully, it’ll shed some light on this case before we close things up.”