cyclops-第39章
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m space。
The women were elegantly dressed in evening gowns； while half the men wore tuxedos and the other half were attired in military uniforms。 Several servants waiting on the table stood stock…still like images on motion picture film that was suddenly freeze…framed。 The stunned silence was as thick as a wool blanket。 A scene straight out of an early thirties Hollywood melodrama。
Pitt realized he and the rest must have made a shocking picture。 Soaking wet； their clothing torn and ragged； bruised and gashed skin； torn muscles； broken bones。 Hair plastered down around their heads； they must have looked like drowned rats rejected from a polluted river。
Pitt looked at Gunn and said； 〃How do you say ‘Pardon the intrusion' in Spanish？〃
〃Haven't the vaguest idea。 I took French in school。〃
Then it struck Pitt。 Most of the uniformed men were high…ranking Soviet officers。 Only one appeared to be from the Cuban military。
Jessie was in her element。 To Pitt she couldn't have looked more regal； even if the designer safari suit hung on her body in tatters。
〃Is there a gentleman among you who will offer a lady a chair？〃 she demanded。
Before she received an answer； ten men with Russian…type machine pistols burst into the room and surrounded them in a loose circle； sphinx…faced men whose weapons were aimed at all four stomachs。 Their eyes were icy and their lips set in tight lines。 There was little doubt in Pitt's mind that they were highly trained to kill on mand。
Giordino； with the appearance of a man run over by a garbage truck； painfully pulled himself to his full height and stared back。 〃Did you ever see so many smiling faces？〃 he asked conversationally。
〃No；〃 said Pitt with the beginning of a to…hell…with…you grin。 〃Not since Little Big Horn。〃
Jessie didn't hear them。 As if in a trance she shouldered her way through the armed guards and stopped near the head of the table； staring down at a tall； gray…haired man attired in formal evening wear； who stared back at her in shocked disbelief。
She brushed back her wet； tangled hair and struck a sophisticated； feline pose。 Then she spoke in a soft； manding voice。 〃Be a dear； Raymond； and pour your wife a glass of wine。〃
Hagen drove nineteen miles east of downtown Colorado Springs on Highway 94 until he came to Enoch Road。 Then he turned right and arrived at the main entrance of the Unified Space Operations Center。
The two…billion…dollar project； constructed on 640 acres of land and manned by 5；000 uniformed and civilian personnel； controlled all military space vehicle and shuttle flights as well as satellite monitoring programs。 An entire aerospace munity mushroomed around the center； covering thousands of acres with residential developments； scientific and industrial parks； high…tech research and manufacturing plants； and Air Force test facilities。 In ten short years； what had once been sparse grazing land inhabited by small herds of cattle had bee the 〃Space Capital of the World。〃
Hagen flashed his security clearance； drove into the parking lot； and stopped opposite a side entrance to the massive building。 He did not get out of the car but opened his briefcase and removed his worn legal pad。 He turned to a page with three names and added a fourth。
Raymond LeBaron。。。。Whereabouts unknown。
Leonard Hudson。。。。Same。
Gunnar Eriksen。。。。Same。
General Clark Fisher。。。lorado Springs。
Hagen's call to the Drake Hotel from Pattenden Lab had alerted an old friend at the FBI； who traced the number of Anson Jones to a classified line at an officer's residence on Peterson Air Force Base outside of Colorado Springs。 The house was occupied by four…star General Clark Fisher； head of the joint Military Space mand。
Posing as a pest control inspector； Hagen had been given the run of the house by the general's wife。 Fortunately for him； she considered his unexpected arrival as a heaven…sent opportunity to plain about an army of spiders that had invaded the premises。 He listened attentively and promised to attack the insects with every weapon in his arsenal。 Then； while she fussed around in the kitchen with the hired cook； experimenting with a new recipe for apricot sautéed prawns； Hagen tossed the general's study。
His search revealed only that Fisher was a stickler for security。 Hagen found nothing in desk drawers； files； or hidden recesses that could prove beneficial to a Soviet agent or himself。 He decided to wait it out until the general left for the evening and then search his office at the space center。 As he left by the rear door Mrs。 Fisher was talking on the telephone and simply waved goodbye。 Hagen paused for a moment and overheard her telling the general to stop off on his way home and pick up a bottle of sherry。
Hagen put the legal pad back in the briefcase and took out a can of diet cola and a thick salami sandwich with sliced dill pickle； wrapped in wax paper with a delicatessen's advertising printed on both sides。 The Colorado temperature had cooled considerably once the sun had dropped over the Rocky Mountains。 The shadow of Pike's Peak stretched out over the plains； casting a dark veil over the treeless landscape。
Hagen didn't notice the scenic beauty unfolding through the windshield。 What disturbed him was that he did not have a firm grip on any member of the 〃inner core。〃 Three of the names on his list remained hidden； God only knew where； and the fourth was still innocent until proven guilty。 No hard facts； only a phone number and a gut instinct that Fisher was part of the Jersey Colony conspiracy。 He had to be absolutely certain； and most important； he desperately needed to pick up a thread to the next man。
Hagen stopped his mental wanderings； his eyes focused on the rearview mirror。 A man in a blue officer's uniform was passing through the side entrance； the door held open by a five…stripe sergeant； or whatever specialist rating the Air Force gave its enlisted men these days。 The officer was tall； athletically built； wore four stars on his shoulders； and was quite handsome in a Gregory Peck way。 The sergeant acpanied him across a sidewalk to a waiting Air Force blue sedan and smartly opened the rear door。
Something about the scene snapped a string in Hagen's mind。 He sat up straight and turned around to stare boldly out the side window。 Fisher was in the act of bending over to enter the backseat of his car； holding a briefcase。 That was it。 The briefcase wasn't held by the handle as it would normally be carried。 Fisher was clutching it like a football； under his arm and against the side of his chest。
Hagen had no qualms against changing his carefully laid out plan in midstream。 He improvised on the spot； quickly forgetting about searching Fisher's mand office。 If his sudden creative spark didn't pan out； he could always go back。 He started the engine and moved off across the parking lot behind the general's car。
Fisher's driver pulled across the intersection and turned onto Highway 94 under a yellow light。 Hagen hung back until the traffic thinned。 Then he ran the red light and accelerated until he was close enough behind the Air Force blue car to make out the driver's face in its rearview mirror。 He held that position； watching to see if there was any eye contact。 There was none。 The sergeant was not a suspicious sort and never checked his tail。 Hagen rightly assumed the man had no training in defensive driving tactics against possible terrorist attack。
After a slight bend in the highway the lights of a shopping center came into view。 Hagen glanced at his speedometer。 The sergeant was cruising along five miles an hour below the posted speed limit。 Hagen pulled into the outer lane and passed。 He speeded up slightly and then slowed down to turn into the driveway of the shopping center； gambling that one of the stores sold liquor； gambling that General Fisher hadn't forgotten his wife's instructions to buy the bottle of sherry。
The Air Force car drove on past。
〃Damn！〃 Hagen muttered to himself。 It struck him that any serviceman would have purchased liquor at his base post exchange； where it was sold for m
