For just an instant I felt like saying that I thought Al Gore invented the Internet, but this wasn’t the time to joke around. “So, what are you thinking?”
“DARPA doesn’t just subcontract the big projects like jets or armored vehicles anymore. They use private firms to develop lots of smaller, high-tech items.”
I thought back to my conversation with Maria at the aquarium.
“What about killer ray guns?” I asked.
Silence. “What’s going on here, Pat? This isn’t just an abduction case, is it?”
That’s when the door banged open and Ralph burst in. “Hunter struck,” he said. “There’s been another fire.”
5:53 p.m.
“Terry,” I said. “Keep looking into the DARPA connection. I’ll talk to you later. I have to go.” I closed my computer and directed my attention on Ralph. “Casualties?”
“Unknown.”
“Dirty bomb?”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
I slipped my computer into its bag and gathered my notes. “How do we know it’s Hunter?”
“Aina can explain when we get there.”
“So where is it?”
“You’re not gonna believe this: Coronado Island. One of the buildings on the Navy SEAL Amphib Base. They call it Building B-14.”
I was already halfway to the door. “Game on.”
General Cole Biscayne paced to the window and stared into the night. Sickly moonlight wandered over the hills surrounding his West Virginia home.
He’d seen someone out there in the yard last week, just on the edge of the tree line. He knew he had, even though he couldn’t be absolutely sure, even though the military police he’d brought in to investigate the area hadn’t found anything. Still, Cole knew he’d seen someone. And he had a feeling he knew who it was.
Sebastian Taylor.
Years ago they’d worked together in the CIA, back when Cole served as the handler for a team of covert agents in South America.
He’d trained Sebastian himself. Honed him into one of his unit’s top operatives. But since Taylor had disappeared last October, the ex-assassin had contacted the general twice and made it quite clear that he blamed him for his fall from grace. Cole had done everything in his power to track down his protege.
And had failed.
Cole scanned the yard again and saw nothing unusual, nothing out of the ordinary.
He was turning away from the window when the dogs began to bark.
47
6:06 p.m.
1 hour 54 minutes until Cassandra’s deadline Lien-hua, Ralph, and I skidded to a stop in front of the huge, slithering blaze that had all but consumed Building B-14. The ocean stretched like a dull smear of oil in the background.
A cluster of military personnel, firefighters, and even a smattering of what appeared to be privately hired security detail scurried around the burning building. Thankfully, the fire’s location on the amphib base precluded a crowd of civilian onlookers.
Ferocious bursts of flame crackled and flared from the building, and the air all around us was scorched hot with soot and ash. The rigid heat from the flames kept us at a distance, but I caught sight of the Navy Fire Suppression Unit doing their best to direct their streams of water at the flames licking out of the windows. They aimed four hoses at the heart of the building, but in reply, the fire just ate the roof and roared toward the night sky.
Austin Hunter had made it out of the building just in time.
He crouched low, scanned the area. Clear.
Now, to get off the island and save Cassandra.
General Biscayne crept down the stairs and peered between the curtains, the revolver he always kept under his pillow gripped tightly in his hand.
A car in his driveway.
A man walking up the stone path to his door.
Military uniform.
Not Sebastian Taylor.
But who?
Then Cole recognized him: Sergeant Bier, one of his assistants in the Department of Defense. Cole lowered his gun. Opened the door just as Sergeant Bier was about to knock.
The sergeant saw the gun in Cole’s hand and froze. “Are you all right, sir?”
“Yes, of course. What is it, Sergeant?”
“Project Rukh, sir.” The sergeant kept his eye trained on the general’s gun. “There’s a problem. There’s been a security breach in Building B-14.”
“What?”
“A fire. I was told to deliver the message in person. They believe the fire was intentional, sir.”
The general felt his gut tighten.
It had to be Victor Drake. It had to be.
So, Drake wanted to play it like this, huh? In order to hide his failure in completing the project, he decides to burn down the research facility that the military was providing him. Then he could just use the fire as an excuse for not delivering the device.
It sounded exactly like something a spoiled, self-centered billionaire would try. OK. You want to play hardball; it’s time to play hardball.
“Contact the members of the oversight committee,” General Biscayne said as he spun away from the door. “And arrange for an immediate flight to San Diego. It looks like I’ll be meeting with Mr. Drake a day early.”
48
6:24 p.m.
1 hour 36 minutes until Cassandra’s deadline Dusk was over, night was here.
It took me a few minutes to locate Lieutenant Mendez, but finally I found her talking with one of the base liaisons. They’d spread out the blueprint of the building on the hood of an MP’s car.
I hurried to her. Just as I arrived, she finished her briefing with the senior chief petty officer and then gave me a quick rundown: No known casualties. The base had received an anonymous bomb threat two hours before the fire. They’d cleared Building B-14, swept for explosives, found none, and were just about to let the staff return when the fire alarms went off. Because of the bomb threat, there was some confusion about whether to send in the bomb squad or the firefighters. Ten minutes later, it didn’t matter. The building was in flames, and all they could do was try to control the blaze.
“He was really quite clever,” Aina said. “He got everyone out of the building, plus he created enough confusion to give the fire time to ignite.”
“You’re sure it’s our guy?”
“Pretty sure.” She drew my attention to the blueprint. “Fire started here, on the east wing, near the A/C center.”
