And that man had chosen deliberately to run and hide during the confusion that had taken place at Glitter City. It remained to be seen if undercover agent Icarus had disappeared when all the other people had vanished.
“Push it all the way, Spotter,” Remington said.
Perrin hesitated just a moment. Both of them knew that when Remington set him free, someone might die. There had been deaths in the past, enemies who had posed a potential threat to Rangers or had escaped justice in other conflicts.
“Yes, sir,” Perrin said.
“Get back to me as soon as you know something.” Curiosity ate at Remington. He treasured secrets. Secrets held power. He couldn’t help wondering what Cody was hiding.
“Yes, sir,” Perrin responded.
Remington broke the connection and turned his attention back to Falkirk on the computer link.
Wasp’s captain was looking away when the video feed came back on. He talked with someone off-screen briefly, then tapped the key to open the audio. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Remington said. “The LZs.”
“Right.” Falkirk looked distracted.
“Is something wrong?”
“Just got a disturbing communiqué on an away op I’ve got in play.”
Remington’s senses sharpened. “How will it affect us?” Anything that was going to cause fallout on his Rangers was within his domain.
“This doesn’t affect you,” Falkirk said. “I was hoping I’d found a way to roll the DEFCON 2 back.”
Remington shook his head. “Something like that, you’d need an act of God.”
“I know,” Falkirk said. “An act of God is what I thought I had in play.”
33
United States of America
The Pentagon, Washington D.C.
Local Time 6:42 P.M.
Delroy Harte sat outside General David Marsden’s office and felt the enormity of the mission he’d agreed to carry out for Captain Falkirk.
The fact that the Pentagon was up and running at nearly seven o’clock in the evening when it normally shut down at three-thirty in the afternoon was a prime indicator of how bad things were in the United States. Luckily, the trip in had prepared him for it. Abandoned and wrecked cars surrounded Dulles International. Bulldozers were still at work scraping smashed planes and jets away to free up more runways as the nation slowly reclaimed the air. This time, though, Delroy was certain people would be even less likely to trust air travel.
At 1:21 A.M., when the disappearances had taken place, there hadn’t been many flights in the air above Washington, but a hefty assortment of the ones that had been in a holding pattern above, taking off from, or landing at Dulles had come down spectacularly all around the city. The falling passenger jets at the airport had taken out hangars and other jets being serviced and fueled. According to the local news reports, fires had burned at the airport most of the night because emergency services had been even harder hit by the mysterious personnel depletion than the mean averages in the population as a whole so far indicated.
The Pentagon halls stayed busy, and while he waited, Delroy watched the people hustle through. Many messages were still being carried by hand throughout the building because not all of the phone lines were operational again. According to a pamphlet Delroy had found in the seat he’d been shown to by the young Marine lance corporal who had been assigned to him upon his entrance to the heavily secured building, the Pentagon had over one hundred thousand miles of phone lines. He had no idea how many miles weren’t working.
Thinking about phone lines made Delroy think again of calling his wife. Or ex-wife, as the case might be. She would have gotten in touch with him if she were going to end their marriage. Then again, he had stopped returning her calls and letters a long time ago. She didn’t owe him much courtesy after everything he hadn’t done, everything he hadn’t said, everything he hadn’t listened to her say.
Delroy held his hat in his hands. He was jet-lagged and worn.
And empty, he thought bitterly. The nightmare—he’d almost convinced himself that was what it had been even though he could still feel the man’s scaly hand pressed against his face—had beaten down most of whatever belief he had saved up while aboard Wasp. He thought about the way he had faced Donaldson while the Marine colonel had pressed his sidearm into his face. He had been so arrogant, so sure of himself. He didn’t feel that way now.
Delroy rubbed at his face. He’d shaved with the toiletries he’d been provided after landing, and he’d put on a fresh uniform that Falkirk had requisitioned. It fit him like it had been made for him. As tall as he was, he’d always had to have his pants altered. While he’d been living at home, his wife had taken care of that. The last few years he’d had the ship launderer take care of it for him.
He glanced up at the two young Marines standing outside General Marsden’s door. “I’m going to stretch my legs. I’ve been on a plane for the last fourteen and a half hours.”
“Yes, sir,” the lance corporal replied. “Please remain within our sight, Chaplain. If you’re found in the building without an escort, you’ll be locked down.”
Delroy nodded. “I’m not going far. Just to the window there and back.” He walked slowly, missing the feel of Wasp’s deck under his feet. He wished he were there now. Then he felt guilty for that wish because he knew it was only because he wanted to crawl into a hole and lick his wounds.
He stood at the window and looked out. Darkness had fallen over the city. Evening still fell early in March. But the night was held at bay by the lights around the city. Searchlights strobed the sky and the light pollution washed away the stars.
Frantic voices whispered up and down the hallways. The pamphlet also said that the corridors measured seventeen and one-half miles long. Yet the farthest distance between any two
