We should clean it up on our own if we can.'
Maybe Morrison wasn't involved with this, but given the situation in
Portland, they couldn't afford to take the chance. The next incident
might happen anywhere--New York, Chicago, even Washington, D.C. While
the thought of senators and congressmen beating each other to bloody
pulps sounded fine as a joke punch line, the reality of it was
different.
Getting a warrant would be easy enough, and there were probably federal
marshals somewhere in Alaska who could serve it. And while he was at
it, he would give
General Howard a call. After his personal experience, John might like
to go along to have a few words with Morrison himself. In his
position, Michaels knew he would.
Sunday, June 12th Gakona, Alaska
Ventura looked at his watch. It had been six hours since the real test
had ended, but Morrison felt he had to play out the fiction of
conducting his calibrations. In the end, Ventura knew that wouldn't
matter, but Morrison felt the need. It was late, and Ventura, while
not tired, was feeling somewhat edgy. There had been no contact from
the Chinese, and he didn't much like sitting in one place for so long,
not this far into the game. The trailer had a stale smell to it, and
the night had cooled some, because an electric heater kept kicking on
and off.
As the HAARP system did its automatic thing, Morrison himself was lying
on the ugly brown fake-leather couch at the end of the room, fast
asleep.
Ventura's com vibrated soundlessly against his hip. He touched the
mouthpiece of the small wireless headset he wore hooked over his left
ear.
'Yes?'
'We have company. Two cars, four men. They just passed Rim One.'
'Talk to me.'
'Tan Fords, unmarked, new, blackwall tires, what looks like government
fleet plates. Three men, one woman, couldn't get much more than that.
Cunningham will get a better view with his digital scope when they go
under the rail overpass.'
'Got it.'
Ventura felt chill bumps rise on his neck, the gooseflesh warning him
of danger. Who would come here in the middle of the night? He looked
at his watch again. If they were traveling the speed limit, they'd be
reaching the overpass ... right... about... now ... The phone
vibrated.
'Go.'
Styles said, 'From the front, three men, one woman.
Clean-cut, mid-thirties, matching dark windbreakers, blue maybe. Hold
on, they are going past... Angle is bad here, I can't see their backs.
I got a flash of what looked like some kind of logo on the jackets from
the side, can't get it all, last letters look like H-A-L ... That's it.
Plates are like Zach said, U.S. permanent fleet.'
