America

Jake glanced at the story, which originated in London. So the leaker wasn't anyone in his office. For some reason, that fact made the headline easier to take.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

A television reporter and photographer were waiting outside Jake's building when he arrived. He sat in the car with Flap Le Beau watching them. They hadn't seen him yet. 'Uh-oh,' he said.

'What are you going to do?'

'If I ignore them it will look like I've got something to hide.'

'That's the spirit. This is Washington. Deny, deny, deny.'

'I'll go a long way following that advice.'

'Don't hold anything up in front of your face. And don't let them see the handcuffs. That stuff prejudices the jury.'

'Your name was on that list too. Want to come over and hold a joint conference, tell them how we're going to invest our newfound riches?'

'Out,' Flap said, jerking his thumb. 'I'll hurry over to my office and watch you on the news.'

As Jake got out of the car he adjusted the pistol under the blouse of his blue uniform so it wouldn't fall out.

The reporter was a woman, and she had the drill perfected. He heard her say into the microphone as he walked toward the door, 'Here comes Admiral Grafton now.'

She shouted, 'Admiral Grafton, Admiral Grafton!'

Jake walked over, trying to look innocent. How do you do that?

'Admiral Grafton, this morning a London newspaper printed a story that said you and a number of other American military officers have huge accounts with the Jouany firm. Would you comment on that?'

'I don't have an account with any of the Jouany firms. I have never invested a dollar with them. There's been some mistake.'

'So you're denying that Antoine Jouany owes you over three and a half million dollars?'

'Yep, I'm denying it. He doesn't owe me a penny.'

'How about the other officers on the list?'

'I can't speak for them,' he said, and turned toward the door to the building.

She asked another question anyway, 'Have you been subpoenaed yet by the House subcommittee?'

Jake kept going. Oh, boy! A congressional subpoena. That would get today off to a rollicking start.

Sonny Killbuck was waiting upstairs with a pile of computer-generated maps and photos taken by reconnaissance satellites. Ilin, Barrington-Lee, and Mayer were in the outer office going over software with two NASA experts. They were still trying to determine why the SuperAegis launch went awry. Jake doubted if the reason would ever be determined, but it gave them something to do. Fortunately, telephone service had yet to be restored, so reporters weren't ringing the phone off the hook.

'Two of Heydrich's salvage ships are working wrecks,' Killbuck told Jack. 'One is in the Maldives, and the other is docked in Nice. Verified with satellite photography.'

'That missile didn't make it halfway around the world to the Maldives. It would have had to achieve orbitable velocity to get that far. It went in the Atlantic, someplace.'

'I agree,' said Captain Killbuck. He pointed out likely ships, ships that had cranes and thrusters and sufficient deck space to be used for salvage work. One of them, a cable layer, was in Cadiz.

'What's it doing there?'

'Who knows? We can find out, but it will take awhile.'

'I think the satellite is on a seamount or continental shelf. Without a salvage ship, they can't work helmeted divers in deep water. I would bet it's where scuba divers can get to it, say less than a hun-

dred feet. The divers could come out of the sub, open the missile, take out the satellite.'

'They can't get it into the sub,' Killbuck objected. 'The airlock opening is too small.'

'That's right. But maybe they could put a cable on it, tow it, take it someplace where it can be raised by a ship with a crane. At night. What we've got to do is find that ship.'

'Why did they need the minisub?'

Jake Grafton took his time with that one. 'I don't know that they needed the minisub. It was on America when they stole it, but I think the target was really America. They needed a sub that a small crew could man. As you know, America is more computerized than any other American submarine. And it's stealthy. If they had had any other boat, they'd be dead after a sea battle with two Los Angeles-class attack boats.'

'I think they'll use the minisub to go back and forth between another ship and the submarine.'

'I think so too,' the admiral said. 'They know all about radar and IR recon satellites. And they know we're looking. What they need is a ship that they can get the minisub into.'

Killbuck made a note. Then he asked, 'What do you think they will do with America after they have the satellite?'

'You know the answer to that. They'll abandon her. Submerged.'

'So they'll use the minisub to get the people out?'

'I doubt it,' Jake said. 'Those fifteen men killed six American sailors and stole a submarine. They fired missiles that killed more than six hundred more Americans. They sank La Jolla and killed her crew. They're the most wanted men on Earth. Whoever is behind this doesn't want those men to ever talk to prosecutors or sit on a witness stand. I have this sneaking suspicion that USS America will be their tomb.'

The foreign liaison types, Ilin included, went to lunch at noon. Jake hadn't spoken to Ilin since immediately after Jadot was killed. He had been avoiding the man. Jake had nothing to use as a lever to pry whatever Ilin knew from him, so there was no point talking. They were past the point of idle chitchat.

He was sitting at his desk staring out the window when Toad and Carmellini came in carrying a pizza. 'Want a piece, sir?' 'A couple, if you can spare them.'

'Normally we wouldn't, but since you're regular navy..' As they opened the box on Jake's conference table, Toad said, 'We got lucky this morning. A Beltway bandit has a former FBI agent as their security guy. He keeps the prints of everyone who gets access to the inner sanctum in a card file. He found this.' Toad handed Jake a copy of the access card.

'Zelda Hudson. Hudson Security Services.' He read the address in Newark aloud, then put the card on his desk. 'No photo?'

'I was saving the best for last.' Toad whipped another sheet of paper from his pocket. This was a sheet of copy paper with the photo reproduced on it. A white woman with regular features and a mass of dark hair. She looked as if a smile would transform her face, make her radiant.

'Well?' Jake said, looking at Carmellini. 'It's her, all right. Sarah Houston, Zelda Hudson.' As he worked on the pizza, Jake thought about it. 'Maybe we ought to wait to find out what Krautkramer finds in that CIA West Side apartment.'

'I don't care what he finds,' Carmellini retorted. 'We have a name and address. We even called information and got the phone number of Hudson Security in Newark. I called and asked for her. I recognized her voice. Didn't say anything, just hung up.' 'What did she say?' Toad asked with his mouth full. ' 'Hello.' '

'That's it? You can recognize women with two syllables?' 'How many does it take before you figure out it's your wife?' 'The degree of familiarity is a bit different, but your point is well taken.' Toad turned his attention to Jake. 'What say Tommy and I take a car and zip up Jersey way this afternoon. Maybe we can have a little talk with this woman.'

'What are you going to say to her?' 'Stolen any submarines lately? Hired any killers?' Jake finished his slice of pizza before he spoke. 'We'll wait for Krautkramer. He might want to put a wiretap on their phones. Maybe he won't want to do anything until he's had a wiretap in place for a while. If he wants to talk to her, perhaps he'll let us tag along.'