stack of intelligence summaries and a steaming cup of black coffee.
He smiled 'thanks' as he settled into his chair. She returned the smile, gave a breezy 'you're welcome' and slipped out, closing the door. He waited until the door clicked, then leaned back and propped his feet on his desk. Bad for the posture and image, but good for concentration, he thought, as he reached for the bound folder stamped 'Orbital Visual and Infrared Reconnaissance Survey — Top Secret' and arranged the coffee within easy reach.
He read quickly but thoroughly, skipping over familiar facts, pausing to sip coffee and ponder and assimilate new data. There was no question that the laborious analysis that had revealed the crucial infrared signal of the mobile launchers continued to be superlatively valuable. Each of the mobile stations had moved in the last week, and not only were the three new stations revealed, the movements of each of the old ones were uniquely determined.
Satellite identification was still proving a difficult task. The launchings could be predicted over a week in advance and followed simply. Once in orbit the reconnaissance net was sufficiently dense that each satellite could be tracked, but a few escaped classification into the offensive, defensive, or reconnaissance categories.
He finished the first report and started on the aircraft reconnaissance, continuing with desultory sips of his cooling coffee. The Chinese were beginning the reprocessing plant for their new reactor. The Warsaw Pact troops had interrupted their war games with the onset of the current crisis. He noted that two of the previously identified highspeed tanks in Poland had been reclassified as older, slower models.
He glanced at his watch as he finished with this report. 10:23. Time to start on the signal intelligence before his team assembled.
He read along, stopping at an item already covered in the other surveys, the Soviet low tonnage underground event at Semipalatinsk. The satellite photos had shown the surface activity involved in setting up the experiment, and the infrared trace had indicated when the explosion occurred. This report outlined the results of monitoring the data links, both those uncoded and those for which the code had been broken. The result was that the Agency experts knew nearly as much about the test as the Russian scientists who performed it.
The summary noted that the nature of the explosion was confirmed by the associated seismic signal. That statement caught Isaacs's eye, and he stared at the ceiling-momentarily trying to recall a related tidbit of information he had filed away. As usual, the seismic reference was added simply for completeness since the Agency was not directly involved with the seismic monitoring system. He snapped his fingers and leaned forward to punch the button on his intercom.
'Kathleen?'
'Yes?'
'Would you have — let me see, who might be available? — would you have Pat Danielson stop in just after lunch?'
'Yes, sir. Time for the meeting.'
'Right.' Isaacs swung to his feet and headed out of his office, flipping a goodbye sign at Kathleen. As he walked the short distance to his conference room, he began to sort out tactics for turning up clues to the fate of the Russian carrier. The meeting, frustrating and unproductive, lasted to noon and beyond.
Temper lengthened Pat Danielson's stride. Weasel, she thought. What garbage, lunch to discuss my report! Put a damn run in my stocking with his hangnail! She slowed her pace as she turned into the last hallway. How's a person to get any credit? He probably didn't even read it. Sure glad Isaacs is reasonable, knows I'm a woman, but listens. Hope this is good news.
When she entered Kathleen's office, the two women exchanged greetings. They were cordial to one another, but not close. Although they worked for the same man and Kathleen was only a few years older, the difference in their positions, secretary and professional, created a practical barrier. Kathleen waved the young woman into Isaacs's office and followed her with a quick eye skimming the details of dress, hair, carriage before turning once more to her tasks as the door closed.
Isaacs looked up as Danielson entered his office, her wide smile of greeting reminding him of his ebullient mood on the way to work this morning, a mood battered but not yet dead.
'Good afternoon.'
'Good afternoon, Pat,' Isaacs replied. 'Please sit down.' She seated herself in the chair across from his desk, a bit too tall and big-boned to be graceful, but with good control of her body, not gangly. Isaacs watched her sit and cross her legs. He caught a quick flash of a run before she reversed her legs to cover it up. He regarded her for a moment. Good worker, even disposition under everyday hectic conditions, but no real test yet. Some spine, but not bitchy. Attractive in a wholesome sort of way, wide face, high cheekbones, a vague sprinkling of freckles to complement the reddish tinge in her hair. His evaluation of her work did not depend on her appearance, but he was honest enough to admit he preferred a good-looking competent woman to an ugly one. She looked at him expectantly.
'How's your work going?'
'Fine,' she replied, but he caught the hint of distress that passed over her face.
'I can't keep tabs on everything as much as I would like to. I called you because I have a small project I'd like you to take on, but if you're having some trouble, we have a chance to talk now.'
'No, no trouble,' she said quickly, then hesitated, and fixed him with a gaze. 'My work is satisfactory, isn't it?'
'Very much so,' he said seriously. 'There's some excellent data coming from the new satellite; you're doing your part.'
'Doing my part,' she repeated quietly to herself. 'May I say something?'
He nodded. There was something she wanted to get off her chest.
'I really like this job. I think I'm doing something to help my country.' She paused. 'But there are times when I wonder whether I'm getting due credit.' She straightened up and adopted a sterner tone. 'The fact is, somebody made a pass at me at lunch, and I'm still upset. I don't want to name names, but first he complimented my work too much, and then afterwards he said some unkind things.'
'A superior of yours?'
'Well, yes, but I don't want to cause trouble.'
'Sounds like you're not the cause. Tell you what. First, let me repeat, you are doing well. That's one reason I called you in here today. I'll confess I've heard that you're better than some who get as much credit, or more. I'll try to keep a closer eye on that. As we both know, you more than I, the Agency is still a man's world. No use pretending you won't have to work hard to get ahead. About this other thing, though, I won't brook harassment.' He pointed a finger at her. 'I want to know if that happens again.'
Danielson nodded, but he knew she would not mention the subject again.
'So, can you handle another project?'
'Yes, sir, I can,' she said confidently.
'Good.' Isaacs leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his stomach. 'You know I just came back from my tour of active duty?'
'Yes, you were in Florida , I believe I heard.'
'That's right, at AFTAC, the Air Force Technical Assistance Center on Cape Canaveral. Do you know what they do there?'
Her brow wrinkled. 'No, I guess I don't.'
'Do you know about the Large Seismic Array?'
She brightened. 'A little. That's in Montana , isn't it? A collection of seismic detectors to monitor underground nuclear explosions and such things.'
'That's right,' Isaacs nodded, 'among other things, AFTAC monitors the Large Seismic Array, other seismic detectors in a world-wide network, and a separate ensemble of underwater acoustic monitors. Basically, they maintain a surveillance system to complement the various aerial and satellite operations.'
Danielson gave a brisk nod of comprehension.
Isaacs continued, 'I was stationed in the intelligence section at AFTAC. I spent some time looking at data from the LSA and reports on the analysis of the data.'
His tone altered slightly as he added an explanatory note. 'The data's analysed at the Air Force Cambridge Research Lab in Massachusetts.'
