Impact

The president smoothed a thin hand over the top of his head, let it drop, tapped a finger on the table, and finally looked up. 'Stan, I want you and General Mickelson to chair an ad hoc group. It will include a few of your most trusted associates in the Science and Technology Policy group, as well as some top NPF people, chairman of the Joint Chiefs, NASA chief, DNI, and NSA. Meet now. I want a recommendation--a plan, a strategy--on how to deal with this by seven tomorrow morning. That recommendation should include military options, a diplomatic strategy, and above all a plan to gather more information. You've got seven hours.' He turned to leave the room, strode to the door, and paused. 'And I want that man, Wyman Ford, found and put on that group.'

72

The girl moved cautiously among the rocks, keeping in the shadows, moving stealthily toward the dinghy. She'd pass by him within less than twenty feet. Rather than kill her, he would use her to get the other one. The increasing light from the sky was an annoyance but he was so well hidden that even if it were day she wouldn't see him.

As she came into range, he stepped out of the darkness, gun in hand. 'Don't move.'

She screamed, jumped back. Burr fired over her head, the massively calibered Desert Eagle roaring like a cannon. 'Shut the fuck up and don't move!'

She quieted down pretty quick, standing there, trembling.

'Where's Ford?'

No answer.

He reached over with his left arm and grabbed her around the neck, wrenching her to one side and screwing the Eagle's muzzle in her ear. 'You going to answer my question?'

She choked, swallowed. 'I don't know.'

'Is he on the island?'

'Um, yes.'

'Where? What's he doing?'

'I don't know.'

Burr yanked her by the hair, jamming the muzzle against her cheek so hard the sights ripped her skin. 'Answer me.'

'He . . . He said he was going after you.'

'When? Where?'

'When you landed. Said he was going to get you.'

'Is he armed?'

'He's got a knife . . .'

Jesus. And Ford was probably watching them right now. Keeping the gun to Abbey's cheek, he kept her body close to his. Damn, it was getting bright. He raised the barrel of the gun and fired into the night sky. The sound of the shot echoed and rolled across the island.

'Ford!' he cried. 'I know you're out there! I'm going to count to ten, and if you aren't standing in front of me with your arms up, I'm going to put a bullet into her head. You hear me?' He fired into the air again and placed the hot muzzle against Abbey's cheek. 'You hear me, Ford? One . . . two . . . three . . .'

'Maybe he can't hear you,' Abbey cried. 'He's on the other side of the island.'

'--four . . . five . . . six--'

'Wait! I lied! He's not on the island!'

'--seven . . . eight . . . nine--'

'Listen to me! He's not on the island! Don't!'

'Ten!'

A long silence, and then Burr lowered the gun. 'I guess he isn't.' He released her and then, as she stumbled back, he struck her across the face, sending her sprawling. 'That's for lying.' He grabbed her and hauled her back to her feet. 'Where'd he go?'

A choking sound. 'I dropped him on the mainland. He went . . . back to Washington.'

'Where in Washington?'

'I don't know.'

'Who's the other person? I saw another person on the boat.'

She swallowed. He pushed the gun in harder. 'Answer.'

'Nobody. I'm alone.'

'Liar.'

'You must've seen my slicker hanging on a hook in the pilothouse, next to the window. It's got a big round rain hood--'

'Shut up.' He thought fast. She must be telling the truth; nobody could have gone through the count and not broken down to tell everything. Fact was, he hadn't seen either figure well in the dusk across half a mile of water.

'Where's the hard drive?'

'He took it with him.'

Son of a bitch. He felt a trembling rage. The job was a bust. Without the hard drive he wouldn't get paid.

There still might be a way to catch up to Ford. But first, he had to clean up--kill the girl, return to his boat, do the father, and get his ass back to the mainland. Then he could pursue Ford to Washington. No use wasting more time here. He shoved Abbey to the ground and, so as not to dirty himself, backed up a step.

She sprawled among the rocks, trying to rise.

'Move and you're dead.'

She stopped trying to move. Bracing himself, his legs apart and the Glock Desert Eagle in both hands, he aimed at Abbey's head and squeezed the trigger.

73

Ford found what he was looking for in Topsham, Maine--a small strip mall open late. He pulled up to an electronics store, went in, and bought a nondescript hard drive. At the Kinko's next door he printed out the suite of images from the deimos machine file, after carefully removing any references to Deimos itself, and shoved them in his briefcase. Using their computers, he burned four DVDs with the relevant suite of images from the deimos machine file. From a department store he bought nail polish remover, white enamel paint, a roll of paint-masking tape, a black Magic Marker, a box, brown parcel paper, and bubble wrap.

Back at his car, using the nail polish remover, he stripped all the identifying labels, logos, and serial numbers from the new hard drive. He masked out a square area on the side with the tape, painted it with white enamel, and put it under the car's floor heater, cranking it full blast.

While that was drying, he fetched shipping materials from the FedEx dropoff. He wrote a note:

The password is FuckNPF1. Look at all the images in the DEIMOS MACHINE file and the series of