instructions for contacting them when — not if — he wished to not have a second meeting. Did that mean that what he was about to do was not actually happening?
Troy asked himself why, if he was never going to use it, he had kept the number the CIA stooge had given him.
Two drinks later, he decided.
The bartender looked at him as though he were nuts when he asked where to find a pay phone. When he explained that his cell phone battery was dead, the guy sent him to the last surviving bank of pay phones within a quarter mile of the hotel. His battery wasn't dead, but he decided that in anything having to do with the CIA, paranoia was just common sense.
'Nagte,' the voice said.
'Who?'
'Nagte… who are you?'
'Troy Loensch.'
'Where are you?'
'Is there anywhere in Vegas where we can meet… tomorrow?'
'Stay where you are.'
Troy did as he was told. He hung out at the end of the remote hallway where the pay phones were, pretending to scrutinize a piece of faux Byzantine sculpture as a handful of people came and went to and from a group of elevators down the hall.
He watched as a woman approached. She was wearing a low-cut top, a shiny leather miniskirt, and four-inch heels.
They made eye contact, and she smiled broadly. Could this be the local CIA handler?
Things could be worse. Troy would not have minded being manhandled by her.
Giving Troy a suggestive wink, she got into the elevator and was gone.
After her, he hardly noticed two tipsy guys in Hawaiian shirts who seemed to be lost as they argued about the way back to their rooms.
Before he knew what was happening, he found himself between them and being shuffled through the open door of the elevator.
Inside, neither said a word to Troy until the elevator doors opened again on an upper floor.
'This way,' one said, walking briskly down a corridor.
Troy knew the drill.
Once inside, their tipsiness evaporated.
'You called?'
'Yeah,' Troy said. 'You guys got here in a hurry.' 'It's our job to stay on top of things.'
'I assume that you know who I am and where I work… and how I got your number?' Troy asked.
'Yes,' the first man said impatiently. As in Arlington, there was one in the pair whose job it was to do all the talking. 'What do you have for us?'
'When I met your other guys, they suggested that I keep an eye on Raymond Harris.'
'Have you?'
'That's why I called.'
'And?'
'Your buddies may have been right.'
'How so?'
'At first, I didn't see anything astray about Harris,' Troy explained. 'As I told the other guys, Harris always seemed like a dedicated soldier… loyal to the United States. They said that he was going to try to use Firehawk to overthrow the United States. I told them I thought it was just paranoid bullshit.'
'You're thinking different now?'
'Maybe…'
'You're not sure?'
'I'm sure that he's said things about Firehawk maintaining a contingency capability within the HAWX Program… just in case.'
'In case of what?'
'In case the government of the United States reaches a point where it no longer has the best interests of the United States—'
'Who decides when that is?'
'I guess it would be Harris?' Troy postulated. 'What steps has he made with regard to this contingency?'
'How much do you know about what we do out at Cactus Flat?'
'More than most.'
'Do you know about Shakuru, the super-highaltitude, solar-powered—'
'Yes, we do,' the CIA man said impatiently. 'There have been press releases published.'
'Did you know that he's talking about an offensive capability for Shakuru?'
'I can't see that,' the man said. 'It has a top speed that wouldn't even get you a ticket out here on Highway Fifty,' the CIA man said dismissively.
'But it can fly higher than any aircraft you know of that has an air-breathing engine. If anything, it's much more efficient up there with its solar cells.'
'How high?'
'I've personally flown it above ninety thousand, and the altimeter is calibrated to two hundred thousand… not only that, it's stealthy because it's made mostly of plastic. Radar wouldn't be looking for anything above a hundred thousand feet and wouldn't notice it if they did.'
'That's useful to know.' The CIA man nodded.
Troy realized that he had now crossed the line. He had shared 'useful' information with the CIA. He had snitched to the cops. What would Yolanda say?
'There's also a hangar out there that I've never been inside,' Troy continued. 'It's surrounded by wire and heavily guarded. I've been told on a couple of occasions that it doesn't exist.'
'What's inside?'
'Not sure. I've never been inside. I've never had a chance to look in either.'
'Raven?' the second CIA man asked the first.
'Have you ever heard Harris or anyone mention `Raven'?'
'No, I don't think so,' Troy said. He had no memory of such a name having been mentioned. 'What's Raven?'
'It's an airplane that we don't know much about.' 'What kind of an airplane?' Troy asked.
'A shooter… a fast shooter… and obviously…. since it's in HAWX, a high flyer. That's all we know.'
'I thought you said it was your job to stay on top of things,' Troy said, mildly taunting the CIA guys.
'That's why we recruit people like you,' the CIA man said, turning the tables back to Troy.
'What if Harris is not planning some sort of overthrow of the United States government?' Troy asked.
'If you believed that, you wouldn't be here with us tonight… would you?'
Troy took a deep breath. Why, he asked himself, had he made this decision after a few drinks?
'Guess that makes me a full-fledged snitch,' he said 'If you want to believe that informing on treason makes you a snitch.'
'It does, but I've made that bed,' Troy said. 'What do you want me to find out about what Harris is planning… and about this Raven aircraft?'
'Everything.'
Chapter 39
