“What have you got?” Isaacs inquired.
“It’s a private lab, about two years old. Strictly devoted to weapons research subcontracted from the Los Alamos National Laboratory.”
There was something very familiar about that description. Isaacs couldn’t quite place it.
“Who runs it?” he asked.
“Guy name of Krone.”
“Paul Krone!” Isaacs slammed his fist on his desk, remembering Zicek talking about Krone in La Jolla, suggesting he be brought in. Looks like he was already in, Isaacs thought grimly.
“Sir?” Kathleen spoke over the intercom.
“Yes! What is it.” Isaacs was more abrupt than he intended.
“Sir, I just got a call from the guard at the front gate. Apparently a car from the Soviet embassy dropped off a note they insisted be delivered to you. It’s being processed through security.”
Isaacs’ mind raced through the possibilities.
“From the embassy, you say. Did the guard recognize anyone?”
“Not specifically. The car was an embassy limousine. There was a chauffeur and some official in the back seat who handed over the note and did all the talking.”
Isaacs had a vivid mental image of looking out through his rear window and seeing nothing but the grill and long hood of Zamyatin’s limousine.
“Ask security to have him check some mug shots of embassy personnel. Make sure one of Colonel Grigor Zamyatin is among them.”
“Yes, sir.” Kathleen rang off.
What could Zamyatin want? Isaacs asked himself. Why would anyone else in the Soviet embassy hand-deliver a note to him? He put these questions aside and picked up the pile of material Baris had brought in.
“Let me see some of that,” Baris requested. “I only took time to skim it.” He riffled through the pile of folders looking for some specific ones; then they settled down to read. Isaacs paused occasionally to make notes on a pad. Ten minutes passed in silence broken only by the shuffle of paper in the folders. Then the intercom buzzed again.
“Sir, Sergeant Ruiz, the guard, identified Colonel Zamyatin. He, Colonel Zamyatin that is, was very adamant that you get the note quickly and personally.”
“Where is it then?”
“Sergeant Ruiz said someone from the bomb squad picked it up.”
“The bomb squad!”
“Well, yes, I suppose they were concerned about letter bombs, that sort of thing.”
“Letter bombs are anonymous. Not likely that the Colonel would drop by in his official limo to deliver one. Tell them to get that note up here. On the double!”
“Yes, sir!”
Isaacs waved his arms at the ceiling in a gesture of desperation. “What a world,” he exclaimed.
“So what kind of picture do we have here?” he asked rhetorically, addressing Baris. “Krone Industries set up this lab to do research on contract to Los Alamos. They’ve done work on particle beams and lasers, particularly using them to implode material to high density and temperatures, just as Zicek said. That could be directly relevant.”
“It’s not just Krone Industries,” said Baris. “I’ve been reading quarterly reports the lab submitted to Los Alamos. Krone himself is chief man on the spot, devoting himself one hundred percent to the effort.
“And not just his time,” Baris continued. “Out of curiosity, I got a list of the companies in Krone Industries and looked up their financial reports.” He hefted one of the folders he had selected. “That lab is not just running on its consulting contract with Los Alamos. Every one of these companies under Krone’s thumb has diverted significant portions of their resources to the lab. There’s an immense effort going on there. Far more than required by the government contract.”
Isaacs leaned back in his chair to digest this information and looked up at a rap on the door. Kathleen opened it and ushered in an energetic young man with close-cropped hair. In his hand he clutched a mangled envelope.
“Mark Burley, sir. From counteractivity. This is the note delivered to you half an hour ago. We processed it as quickly as we could.” He handed over the envelope.
Isaacs took it and raised a sceptical eyebrow. The envelope was crudely ripped open and both the envelope and the portion of the enclosed note, which was exposed through the ragged flap, were wrinkled.
“You opened it?”
“Yes, sir,” Burley replied with deep sincerity. “We determined it was not a letter bomb by certain physical tests, but we wanted to check the contents for contaminants. Contact poisons. If we’d had time we could’ve opened it so you’d never have noticed.” A small, proud smile came and went quickly. “As it was, we did the most thorough job we could, in the shortest time.”
“I’m sure you did.” If Burley noticed Isaacs’ facetious tone, he gave no sign.
“Thank you, Mr. Burley. I appreciate the fast work.”
“Anytime, sir. That’s our job.” The young man spun smartly on his heel and marched out. Isaacs exchanged an amused, wry smile with Baris.
“Boy Scout. Place is crawling with them,” said Baris.
Isaacs’ smile faded as he extracted and read the hand- scrawled note. It was very brief.
I know. I have to tell them. You must hurry.
Isaacs had briefed Baris on his interchange with Korolev. He handed the piece of rough, light brown Russian paper to Baris.
“Know?” he asked. “Know what?”
“I’m afraid damn near everything we do,” Isaacs replied. He thumbed the intercom.
“Yes?”
“Kathleen, get me Martinelli.”
Isaacs put a hand on the phone in anticipation and looked at Baris.
“At the very least Korolev knows everything we did when Pat and I first went to talk to Jason because of the synopsis I sent him. There’s a very good chance he followed the same line of reasoning as Runyan. As wild an idea as a black hole was, it has a certain inevitability in hindsight. Korolev didn’t have direct access to our physical evidence from Nagasaki and Dallas, but he had his own from the Novorossiisk.”
The phone buzzed and Isaacs jerked the receiver to his ear.
“Vince? I want to know about Soviet ship deployment. Particularly along thirty-two degrees forty-seven minutes, both north and south longitude.” He listened for a moment. “Anytime in the last six weeks. I’d rather have that now and fresh stuff when you can get it.” He listened again. “That’s just the ticket. Thanks, Vince.”
He hung up and looked intently at Baris. “We have to assume Korolev also guessed we were dealing with a black hole. I sent him my memo in late June. He’s had six weeks to ponder it and move to do something about it. I also tipped off Zamyatin to watch Nagasaki. We can also assume they have at least a rough idea what went on there. If they have penetrated the Japanese with any efficiency, they probably have the full report. Korolev could pick up quickly on the parallels between the holes drilled in Nagasaki, and those in the Novorossiisk. For that matter, they may know about Dallas.
“In any case,” Isaacs continued, “we lost three weeks sitting on our duffs waiting for Dallas to happen, three more before we got back to Jason, and Gantt got the real dope. That’s six weeks when Korolev could have been pushing for some monitoring program in Russia. The trajectory doesn’t pass through Russia, so they’d have to mobilize somewhere else. It makes most sense to me to use their Navy. We would have moved faster if ours hadn’t been so recalcitrant.
“I don’t know what their response time would be, but I certainly got the idea from Zamyatin that Korolev has clout at high levels in the Kremlin. If they put properly instrumented ships on the trajectory, they could learn everything we have.”
