She said firmly, 'Langley assures me it is.'
The captain nodded, his face noncommittal. 'We'll insert you, that's fine. But I'll have to go through the Pentagon for the rest.'
'Do it fast. We don't know yet exactly what kind of disaster we're facing, but it won't be minor. If we don't end the threat, the loss of just a carrier battle group could look like a victory.' Randi could see skepticism vie with uneasiness in the officers' eyes. She left them to their work and returned to her makeshift quarters to change.
Chapter Twenty-six
After a careful search, Jon found what looked like the bedroom wing of the sprawling villa, where there were actual doors on some of the rooms. The doors were carved, heavy wood, with solid brass fittings that looked as if they might date back to the days of the first Arab and Berber dynasties.
Jon stopped at a side corridor with magnificent mosaics that began their designs on the floor and wrapped completely up the walls and across the ceiling. Every square inch was covered with bits of perfectly placed semiprecious stones and glazed tiles, many with gold leaf. Whatever rooms were off this passage had been set off, secluded, and they must have belonged to someone important. Perhaps they still did.
He moved cautiously down the jewel-like hall. It was like being inside a long treasure box. At the end, he stopped. Here was the only door, and it was not only closed, it was locked from the outside by an antique sliding bolt that looked as sturdy as the day it had been forged. The door itself had filigreed fittings and was intricately carved, elegant, and massive. He pressed his ear to it. What he heard made his heart accelerate the clicks of a keyboard.
He slid open the bolt and turned the handle with slow, steady pressure until he felt rather than heard the door's interior latch open. He pressed the door in a few inches until he could see a room furnished comfortably with Western overstuffed chairs, simple tables, a bed, and a desk. There was also an archway that opened onto a whitewashed corridor.
But the center of gravity, the heart of the room, the point where Jon's gaze was riveted was the long, thin back of Emile Chambord, who was stooped over the desk, working at a keyboard that was connected to a strange, clumsy-looking apparatus. Jon recognized it instantly: The DNA computer.
He forgot where he was, the danger of it all. Transfixed by the science, he studied the machine: There was a glass tray, and inside lay a collection of silvery blue gel packs, which must contain the vital DNA polymers. Connected by ultrathin tubing, the gel packs were submerged in a foam-like jelly, which would prevent vibration and keep the readout stream stable. The tray appeared to be temperature controlled, which was also crucial since molecular interaction was highly temperature sensitive. There was a small digital readout for set-point adjustment.
Nearby, another machine with an open, glass face was linked to the gel packs by more of the thin tubing. Through the glass he could see a series of small pumps and glass canisters. That had to be the DNA synthesizer the feeder station for the gel packs. Small lights blinked on its control panel.
Excited, Jon drank in the rest of Chambord's miraculous creation. A 'lid' sat on top of the tray, and at the interface between it and the packs of DNA was what appeared to be a thin plate of soft metal coated with a biofilm probably another type of molecular polymer. He deduced it must be a sensor device, absorbing the DNA chemical energy, changing its conformation, and emitting light as a result.
What an ingenious idea — a molecular switch that was based on light. Chambord was using the DNA molecules not only to compute; another class of molecules in the sensor detected the computation. A brilliant solution to what had been an impossible problem.
In awe, Jon forced himself to take a deep breath. He reminded himself of the reason he was here, the danger this machine presented to the world. Considering that it was still in enemy territory, Fred Klein would want him to destroy it instantly. But Chambord's prototype was not only scientifically beautiful, it was ground-breaking. It would revolutionize the future and could make life better and easier for masses of people. It would be years before anyone else came close to approximating what was here right now in this room.
As Jon argued with himself, he eased the door farther open and slid into the room. Using the handle, he held the latch bolt open and closed the door. As the bolt slid gently home, he decided he would give himself one serious chance to get the prototype out safely. If he failed, if he had no other option he would wreck it.
Still having made no sound, he looked for a lock on this side of the door, but there was none. He turned and studied the airy room, lighted by electricity even though the villa dated back long before its invention. The windows were open onto the night, and filmy curtains floated in on a light breeze. But the windows were barred.
He focused on the archway, which showed what appeared to be another hallway and the edge of another archway that opened onto yet another room. The layout suggested a complex of rooms reachable from the rest of the house only by the door behind him, locked from the outside. He nodded to himself. This would once have been the quarters of the favorite wife of a Berber noble or perhaps of the queen of a seraglio harem of a Turkish official from the old Ottoman Empire.
He started across the room to Chambord, when the scientist suddenly turned. A pistol was in his bony hand, pointed at Jon.
A cry in French came from the archway: 'No, Papa! You know who this is. It's our friend, Dr. Smith. He tried to help us escape in Toledo. Put down the gun, Papa!'
The pistol held steady, still aimed across the room at Jon. Chambord frowned, his cadaverous face suspicious.
'Remember?' Therese continued. 'He's Dr. Zellerbach's friend. He visited me in Paris. He was trying to find out who bombed the Pasteur.'
The pistol relaxed a hair. 'He's more than a doctor. We saw that at the farmhouse in Toledo.'
Jon smiled and said in French, 'I really am a medical doctor, Dr. Chambord. But I'm also here to rescue you and your daughter.'
'Ah?' A puzzled wrinkle appeared between Chambord's eyes, but his great, bony face still peered suspiciously. 'You could be speaking lies. First, you tell my daughter you're just a friend of Martin's, and now you say you're here to save us.' The pistol jerked up again. 'How could you find us? Twice! You're one of them. It's a trick!'
'No, Papa!'
As Therese ran between Jon and her father, Jon dove behind a large-couch covered with an Oriental rug and came up with his Walther in both hands. Therese stared unbelieving at Jon.
'I'm not one of them, Dr. Chambord, but I wasn't totally honest with Therese in Paris, and for that I apologize. I'm also a U.S. Army officer. It's Lieutenant Colonel Jon Smith, M.D., and I'm here to help you. Just as I was trying to help you in Toledo. It's the truth, I swear. But we must move quickly. Almost everyone's in the dome room, but I don't know for how long.'
'An American lieutenant colonel?' Therese said. 'Then. '
Jon nodded. 'Yes, my real mission my assignment was to find your father and his computer. To stop his kidnappers from using his work.'
Therese turned on her father. Her slender, dirt-smudged face was insistent. 'He came to help us!'
'Alone?' Chambord shook his head. 'Impossible. How can you help us alone?'
Jon stood up slowly. 'We'll figure out how to get out of here together. I'm asking you to trust me.' He lowered his pistol. 'You're safe with me.'
Chambord considered him. He glanced at his daughter's determined expression. At last he let his pistol fall to his side. 'You have some proof, I suppose?'
'Afraid not. Too chancy.'
'That's all very well, young man, but all she can tell me is that you're a friend of Martin's, which is what you told her. That doesn't give me much confidence you can help us escape. These people are dangerous. I have Therese to consider.'
Jon said, 'I'm here, Dr. Chambord. That's got to be worth something. Plus, as you pointed out, I've found you
