gave the colonel a ten-minute executive summary of the types of machinery needed to construct a high-yield nuclear device, typically known as a neutron bomb.
“We’re not sure of this, absolutely not sure yet,” emphasized the physicist, Dylan Lyon. “Until we have direct access to the devices, there’s no way of knowing for sure. However, combined with the plutonium reading—”
“Plutonium reading?” asked Dog.
Rubeo cut in, explaining what Danny’s detector had picked up.
“Guys, bottom-line this for me,” said Dog, cutting the scientist off as he began talking about sieverts and rad counts.
“Bottom line, you have an apparently private company with the technology and the wherewithal to make a nuclear device,” said Catsman. “And the company owner doesn’t particularly like the Communist Chinese, or the current president of his own country.”
Jed Barclay had just started to sift through the latest CIA briefing paper on South Asia when the secure phone in his small NSC cubicle buzzed.
“Jed, this is Colonel Bastian. We have to update the President.”
Jed tried to work out where the nuclear material had come from as the colonel ran down the evidence the Dreamland team had passed along. Iran, North Korea, and Russia were the probable candidates, though none was a perfect fit.
Korea, probably. They were desperate for money and would sell to anyone.
Assuming there was a weapon. He cradled the phone as he spoke, quickly booting his personal computer into the restricted access intelligence network known as SpyNet and searching the Asian pages for anything new. The update was dominated by the arrival of the vice president in Beijing ahead of the summit.
“There hasn’t been a threat,” said Jed. “There’d be blackmail of some sort. If someone had a weapon and didn’t want rapprochement, say, they’d threaten to use it.”
“I think you’re way too optimistic, Jed. I think these people might just go and blow people up. Forget about blackmail. They’d worry about the weapon being taken.”
“Good point. I’m going to have to go to the boss right away on this. The whole NSC,” said Jed. “I need everything you have.”
“They’re expecting your call at Dreamland. Major Catsman has a team assembled to brief you. Jed — I think if they do have a weapon, the summit will be an inviting target.”
“I was just thinking that. It starts tomorrow.”
“Exactly my point.”
Rubeo slammed his hand down on the counter area, barely missing the computer keyboard but upsetting the nearby cup, which shattered on the floor, sending a spray of hot coffee onto his pants.
“Figures,” muttered the scientist.
“Problems, Ray?”
Rubeo turned and found Major Catsman with her arms folded in the doorway.
“Major.”
“You all right, Ray?”
“Peachy.”
Catsman smirked, then walked over to the pot of coffee on the nearby counter and helped herself. She made a face with her first sip.
“Wow,” she said.
“Yes,” muttered Rubeo, who had made the coffee himself. He might have the equivalent of several Ph.D.’s, but none was in home economics.
“Your people just finished briefing Mr. Barclay. Dylan was very good. Thank you.”
“Yes,” muttered Rubeo.
“They may want you to talk to the President himself.”
“Fine.”
“Problems?”
Rubeo liked Catsman; she was intelligent, quick on her feet, and unlike some of the career military people, pretty easygoing about working with civilian scientists. He had worked with her several years before on the Megafortresses prior to Major Cheshire’s arrival. Still, Rubeo wasn’t in the habit of sharing personnel concerns with bluesuits, with the exception of Colonel Bastian.
“There are always problems,” he muttered.
“New theories on the ghost clone? Or the weapon?”
“I have plenty of theories,” he said. “Putting them into action is the problem. I could use about twenty more people.”
“Maybe Jennifer Gleason could help.”
“Hmph,” he said.
“Hmph?” said Catsman.
“Ms. Gleason is thinking about leaving us,” said Rubeo, almost in spite of himself.
“But she was cleared by Danny, and Colonel Cortend.”
“Yes, well, she’s rethinking her future.”
“Don’t we need her here?”
Catsman might be a good officer to work for and with, but there was still a block there; she couldn’t quite understand that dealing with geniuses wasn’t like flipping on a computer. And Jennifer Gleason was a real genius.
Ironically, until this security blowup, she’d been among the least temperamental geniuses he knew.
Excluding himself, of course.
“Of course we need her,” said Rubeo.
“Have you asked her to come back to duty?”
Rubeo realized that he hadn’t
“Want me to talk to her?” asked Catsman.
“No thank you, Major,” snapped Rubeo, jumping up from the console.
He was actually surprised when Jennifer answered his loud rap on the door.
“It’s me, Jennifer. I’d like to talk to you.”
“Door isn’t locked.”
Rubeo put his hand to the knob hesitantly and turned it. Jennifer, dressed in a gray T-shirt and jeans, sat on the couch across from the entrance to her small apartment.
She looked different.
“What have you done to your hair?” asked Rubeo.
She touched the ragged edge above her right ear, smiling faintly. The jagged edges made it clear she had cut it herself.
“Latest look,” she said.
“You look like Joan of Arc,” he said.
“Maybe I’ll have visions soon.”
“Hmph.” Rubeo felt his arms hanging awkwardly by his sides. He shoved them into his pockets. “I’ve been working on an idea for tracking the clone and possibly taking it over. But there’s so many systems involved, I’m having trouble pulling it together.”
“Good,” she said, making no move to get off the couch.
“I was wondering about your help.”
A quizzical look crossed her face, as if she didn’t understand the words.
“I’ll help,” she said, still making no move to get off the couch.
“Are you still going to leave?”
