anticipation as he dreamed that he was taking great powerful leaps toward it, building up incredible speed. As the dog dreamed, Chinese Gordon heard it first give a little growl of joy, almost like a man’s laugh. Then Chinese Gordon felt the dog’s paws begin to quiver as the motor neurons received the tiny false messages to run. Chinese Gordon lifted up the corner of the tablecloth and watched the great black dog, flattened on its side like a frieze of an ancient nightmare creature. The dog’s thick neck muscles were clenched now, the head held forward in stiff eagerness. Chinese Gordon leaned down and whispered, “Go get it.” The dog’s legs began to move, his big paws churning at the invisible ground, the frantic dash bringing him closer and closer to his prey. Chinese Gordon watched the dog until the dream subsided and the dog seemed to sigh with pleasure. “Good boy,” he whispered. “You got it.”
Margaret stepped back from the door and waited until she heard Chinese Gordon take up the sheaf of papers again, then quietly climbed back onto the bed. She lit a cigarette and stared into the darkness. She exhaled and watched the smoke curl and fold and float upward into a shaft of light that came from the doorway. While she watched it, she smiled.
Mexico City consists of a densely populated central core surrounded by newer and less compact suburbs, to form a metropolitan area of approximately fourteen million inhabitants. The complex is precariously held together by a network of major traffic arteries, the most important being route 190, which runs southeast to Guatemala City; 85, which runs north to Laredo, Texas; 45, to El Paso, Texas; 15, which crosses the U.S. border south of Tucson; and 95, south to the coast at Acapulco. Each of these national roads passes through Mexico City and carries a portion of its daily commuter traffic. Of immediate concern to the experts of the Center for Disaster Preparedness was that any severe damage to the Distrito Federal would not only totally immobilize the capital itself but also disrupt mobile communication for the entire country. The situation is similar to that in the major metropolitan areas of the western United States such as Los Angeles, which contains the only major north-south routes as well as the western termini of the east-west routes carrying two-thirds of the interstate traffic.
Chinese Gordon picked up Doctor Henry Metzger and petted his head. Then he gave a short laugh. In the bedroom Margaret whispered to herself in the darkness, “Go get ’em.”
Alice came around the corner of the house with a trowel in her hand and waved it at him comically. She had her hair tied in a small bun at the back of her head, and she was wearing an immaculate pink sundress that seemed crisp and starched. She looked impossible. That had always been something that had fascinated him about Alice— she always looked so clean, like a little girl waiting to have her picture taken.
He walked up the lawn and set his briefcase on the front step. As always, it was empty, just something the president of the Seyell Foundation carried, but today it felt heavy.
“Welcome home, Ben. Lots of traffic?”
“It was what the man on the radio calls ‘a tough commute.’ I guess I’ve got to take the car in again for psychoanalysis too.”
“It did sound a little odd. Sort of growly.”
Porterfield glanced at the car with disgust. It took so little to transform one from a symbol of freedom and motion into four thousand pounds of steel. As he looked, he saw the dark blue Mercedes glide to a stop behind it.
“Isn’t that Jim Kearns?”
“Yes,” said Porterfield. He felt a perverse annoyance that surprised him until he listened to his own thought: No. I’m home now.
Kearns got out of his car and raised his hand. “Hello, Alice, Ben. I was just passing by and saw you two standing there like an ad for a real-estate development.”
“Come in out of the heat,” said Alice in a tone so easy and confident that it sounded inevitable. “I was just about to make Ben a cool drink.”
“Good. I’ll drink his and he can go get his own.”
They went inside, and Alice disappeared into the kitchen while Kearns and Porterfield sat in the living room in silence. Alice returned and said, “I’m assuming you still drink martinis, Jim. Neither of us has seen you in such a long time.” Kearns looked at Porterfield.
“There are only two there, Alice,” said Kearns. “Have you finally decided to cut off Ben’s bad habits?”
“Far too late for that,” she answered. “I’m afraid I was in the middle of repotting a plant. It’s lying there looking dazed and naked right now, so I’d better finish up before I join you.” They heard the back door close quietly.
“Alice is the most graceful woman I know,” said Kearns, frowning at the carpet.
“She’s been at this a long time. What’s on your mind?”
“I’m sorry to come here like this. There was no other way. I’m one of the people who’s not supposed to be seen at the Seyell Foundation. I’m afraid we’ve got more trouble.”
“Did Pines think of another plan?”
“Not today. No. Look, you were connected to the Latin America desk for a lot of years, one way or another. We’ve both worked it for a lot of years. If I tell you what I know, you’ll understand, and hardly anybody else would. Right now our section has about six hundred people in the field—Company people—and nobody knows how many locals and Special Operations types and stringers. In the past four days thirty-seven were supposed to check in. In the two days before that, fourteen others were due for some kind of communication.”
“No word from any of them?”
“Nothing. Those fifty-one are spread from Veracruz to Buenos Aires. Some are in deep cover, running networks, but some of them are supposed to be sitting in embassies and consulates, major corporations, airlines, and so on. The only thing they have in common is that they’re all family—no outsiders. Some of them have been out there for twenty years without missing a check-in.”
Porterfield frowned. “Does the Director know about this?”
“I told Pines, but he said the Director didn’t think it was significant. Ben, it’s got to be a response to the way they blew the Donahue problem. The word got around in the only way it could have—the upper-level operational people. They’re not talking to us, but they sure as hell must be talking to each other.”
“Interesting,” Porterfield said. “It looks like the Company’s first strike. Do you suppose they want the Director’s resignation, or what?”
“I wish I thought that. I really do. Everybody I know wants that, and nobody has any hope it’ll happen. To tell you the truth, I’m worried. Frightened.” He gulped a quarter of his drink and then stared at it as he rolled the glass between his palms. “They haven’t asked for anything. Nobody has said a word. They just dropped out of sight.”
“All of them? Fifty-one people?”
“So far fifty-one. After tomorrow it may be close to seventy.”
“What exactly do you think they’re doing?”
“These aren’t a bunch of disaffected recruits just out of college. Some of these people have overthrown governments, recruited and trained armies. I’ll tell you what I think. I think they’ve decided to establish an alibi for someone.”
“If fifty or seventy or ninety people drop out of sight, any of them or all of them can go where they like.”
Kearns nodded. “And even if you know it in advance, you can’t tell which of them is coming, or where he’s coming from.”
“Of course. That has to be it. Even afterward, it would be impossible to know who burned the Director,
