America

'Everything you haven't told me. The works.'

'When do you want this?'

'Now.'

Krautkramer snapped his fingers.

'Tomorrow afternoon,' Jake said.

'Must have been pretty rough, seeing Jadot get it like that.'

'I think he was dead when he hit the ground. Bullet seemed to go through a lung and into his heart. Actually a pretty good way to go, all things considered.'

'Was he the target? Or you?'

'Maurice Jadot was a genuine nice guy who had the misfortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was sent to the liaison team to learn all he could about SuperAegis and report back to French intelligence. Presumably he did just that. If he knew anything at all about submarines and Tomahawk missiles, he never gave me a hint.'

'I heard Matheny had your photo in his car.'

'Maybe he was after me, maybe not,' Jake said, not willing to label himself worth killing. 'If I was his target he made a hash of it. Jadot's tough luck, killed by an incompetent assassin. Hope they don't put that on my tombstone.'

'Umm,' said Krautkramer, and looked around. 'Where's Carmellini? I have some information for him. He asked me to check a fingerprint. Well, actually some prints embedded on latex finger sleeves.' He removed a manila envelope from his file and tossed it on Jake's desk. 'That guy is something else. Some cock-and-bull story about a sultry wench and knockout drops… and the sleeves have a dead woman's prints on them.' He told Jake the name.

Grafton went to the door and called for the CIA officer.

Carmellini stared at Krautkramer when he heard the news. 'How long has she been dead?' he asked, so softly he had to repeat the question. 'How long?'

'She died in a car wreck about a month ago.'

Jake jumped in. 'This ID is off the FBI fingerprint computer?'

'In Clarksburg. We just scan in the print and they code it digitally and the computer searches the files.'

'Has anyone hacked into the files lately?'

Krautkramer looked startled. 'Not to my knowledge, but that isn't the kind of thing that lands on my desk.'

'Does the government maintain any other fingerprint files?'

'A few agencies still maintain their own. It's a duplication of effort, so we're trying to get them all in-house, but you know bureaucrats.'

'Indeed I do. But these databases… someone has been manipulating the data they contain. I can tell you for an absolute fact that a collection of career flag officers hasn't invested money in currency futures and hasn't sold out to Jouany. Let's find out who Sarah Houston really is. How about sending an FBI team to the CIA safe house in New York where Carmellini met this woman and have them go over the place for prints. See if these are the prints of the woman he knew as Sarah Houston or if someone at the CIA substituted prints.'

'Okay. We can do that.'

He waited until Krautkramer was out the door before he tossed Carmellini the envelope. 'You and Toad visit some Beltway bandits today. The Reston area is full of small high-tech shops that don't use the FBI master fingerprint files.'

Toad was standing in the door. 'We're not fingerprint experts,' he said, frowning.

'You don't have to be. The FBI has classified the prints, so it's a matter of matching classifications. Not good enough for court, but good enough for us. I want a name and photo of a woman who isn't dead. It's a long shot, I know, but it's possible she is the person who manipulated Jouany's database. If she is, she's a computer expert, and that means she's been around the high-tech industry. If she isn't, she an tell us who sent her to bat her eyes at Carmellini. Let's turn over some rocks and see what's underneath.'

Toad nodded. 'Nothing on DeGarmo's hard drives is of interest us boss. E-mails to nieces and nephews, his brother, a couple women he is apparently mildly interested in, and that's about it. Oh he does answers to suggestion box questions on one computer.'

'Mail the hard drives back to him. Try to do it in such a way that Krautkramer doesn't come charging over here waving warrants for our arrest.'

For the first time in weeks, Jake saw a glimmer of light. He told himself not to get his hopes up — but. Somewhere in this mess was someone who knew a whole hell of a lot about computer databases and security systems. And he doubted if that someone was Peter Kerr, the missing NASA software expert.

When Vladimir Kolnikov was convinced that there were no submarines lying in wait, he eased the photonics mast above the surface. The camera looked at the sky, lowered its point of aim, spun through 360 degrees, then automatically eased down into its housing. In the control room, Kolnikov, Turchak, and Heydrich examined the video. After they had run through it slowly, they ran it again and froze the frame on a ship anchored three miles away, at the entrance to the bay at Cadiz.

'That's her, Global Pioneer.'

'I see no American ships, no airplanes,' murmured Turchak, who was worrying a fingernail.

'We have done it, then,' Kolnikov said. He looked around the control room, at Eck, Boldt, and the others, and smiled. 'And done it well.'

'We're only halfway there,' Heydrich growled. 'Just you be here when I come back.'

'Or what?' Kolnikov demanded harshly. Then he softened his tone. 'God, you are tiresome.'

'Bring us some beer,' Eck said.

'A reasonable request,' Kolnikov agreed. 'A case, please. Something bitter. A good German beer.'

Heydrich turned and went aft. Kolnikov followed him. From the engineering spaces they climbed a ladder to the compartment that housed the airlock. One climbed through it to gain access to the minisub, which was mated to the boat above it. Heydrich went first, climbing the ladder. He settled into the minisub pilot's seat while Kolnikov stood on the ladder with only his head inside.

Heydrich flipped switches, and the minisub's battery brought it to life.

'Don't forget to flood the ballast tanks or you'll bob to the surface like a cork,' Kolnikov advised.

'I won't forget, Captain.'

'We will cruise back and forth. Use the underwater telephone and your lights. We will have our lights on. You shouldn't have any trouble once you see us. I'll have the boat at three knots to maintain plane effectiveness.'

'I understand.'

'Good luck,' Kolnikov said, dropping down into the airlock. He carefully shut the hatch and dogged it down. Only when he was sure that the hatch was properly sealed did he continue on down the ladder and close the hatch at the bottom of the lock, then dog it down.

He stood listening. He heard water rushing into the minisub's tanks. After a few moments that sound ceased. Finally he heard the minisub's hydraulic latches retract. He heard it scrape along the hull, bump several times, then it was free of the boat, swimming on its own.

Only then did Kolnikov leave the compartment and make his way forward toward the control room.

The minisub had no windows. Closed-circuit video cameras showed the pilot what was ahead and to the sides. Worse, the pilot had to skillfully manipulate the cameras by means of joysticks, adjusting the sensitivity of the light sensors, all while operating the rudder and planes. The task required skill and practice, neither of which Heydrich had ever had.

He immediately realized he was in over his head. For the first time in his life, Heydrich knew fear. When he released the hydraulic locks that held the minisub to America, he also engaged the electric motor. The minisub actually slid backward, scraping along the hull, before he gave it enough power to keep pace with the mother ship. Then he found he had too much ballast aboard and slid off the rounded side of America. The sub sank, the nose dropping, as he pulled back on the yoke and added power and blew off some ballast.

Finally, he wasn't sure how, he got the craft stabilized. America was a dark presence on his starboard side, separating from him in the gloomy sea.