Chapter 3
Megan leaned against the side of the chair, reading the Web site news report on the computer screen. Still tired from the mission — she’d slept twelve hours straight after getting back — she felt a smug feeling of satisfaction curl around her as she thumbed through the reports.
Everything she’d believed, everything she’d envisioned, had been right.
Luck had played a hand — a large hand. If Cyclops One hadn’t been there, two of the Indian missiles would have gotten through.
Luck…or maybe the Almighty.
You could think in those terms; it was possible, wasn’t it, that God was playing a hand in all this? For surely he’d want the end of war.
There was still much further to go. The augmented ABM system. With or without Jolice, it would be built now.
Thanks to her, and thanks to the weapon. The development teams needed more time, just a little more time, which Congress and the other critics hadn’t been willing to give. They didn’t understand how weapons development, how research, worked. They weren’t willing to give the developers the time they needed to make truly revolutionary systems.
Now they would, assuaged by the first test results and buoyed by the intervention in Pakistan and India. Which had been the point in the first place. Jolice or another consortium, it was all the same to her in the end. Megan knew that for most of the others — for all of them, really — money had been the motivating factor. She didn’t care, though: Motives were not important; results were. Results.
Howe was getting a lot of play in the stories. He deserved it.
Maybe in ten years she’d see him again. In five?
In two, if she went ahead with the surgery. She hadn’t decided yet. There was time for that. For now, they had to get ready to dismantle the operation; they’d stayed here much longer than they’d anticipated, running all sorts of extra risks.
Risks that had paid off handsomely.
Something clunked behind her. Megan turned slowly from the chair in her room and saw Rogers standing in the doorway. He’d done an admirable job flying Cyclops One by remote control, and yet, uncharacteristically he hadn’t bragged about it.
Hope for him yet.
“What are you reading?” he asked.
“Just our reviews. We’re a rave. Packed yet?”
Rogers moved his hand from his side. He had a PDA in it. “There’s been a change in plans,” he said, handing it to her.
There was an E-mail screen and a message from Bonham:
Need you at new test. Details will follow. Sorry.
“This is crazy,” she said, thumbing back through it. “Why did he send it to you, not me?”
Rogers shrugged. “Maybe he thinks you’ll disagree.”
“It’s too risky to use the weapon again, and there’s no need.” Megan felt her face flushing. “I can’t believe it. We’re set to leave. I already sent half the security team away.”
“It’s no big deal,” he said, taking the PDA back.
“Screw you, it’s not a big deal.”
Rogers smiled as if he’d like to get the chance.
“I’m going to E-mail him myself,” Megan told him.
“Fine with me.”
“You think we can fly off here indefinitely?”
“I think if we haven’t been seen yet, we won’t be seen for a while. I wouldn’t worry,” Rogers added. “Segrest’ll add some stock to keep us happy.”
“How do you know that?”
“That’s how he is.” He put the handheld computer in his pants pocket and smiled.
Had the bastard talked to Segrest as well? There were no phones here, of course, but E-mail was a different story.
“You talked to Segrest?” she asked.
“No. But I know him.”
She couldn’t tell if this was just his usual blowhard BS or what. Maybe Bonham had told Segrest to pony up, anticipating there’d be a problem.
But why didn’t he come to her?
“This isn’t Segrest’s call,” said Megan.
“E-mail Bonham.”
“I’m not doing it.”
“You think you’re the only one who can fly the Blackjack?”
“Rogers, be realistic. We’re taking too much of a chance.”
“Flying all the way to India wasn’t too much of a chance? You wanted to do that, not me.”
“We did that so we could get out of here without them hounding us for the rest of our lives.”
“We didn’t do it for humanity?”
She ignored his sneer.
“I’m sorry,” said Rogers, suddenly contrite. “Listen, what’s one more mission, more or less?”
“I’m going to contact Bonham,” she said.
“Fine with me.”
“How are we going to feed the rest of the people on the island?”
“We’ll cash them out and tell them to leave once we take off. We blow the plane up with the hangar, just like we planned, and we leave. It’s just a few days later than we thought, that’s all,” said Rogers. “A few days later, and a lot richer.”
Megan shook her head. “You’re too greedy, Abe. Too greedy.”
“Listen, Megan, that’s easy for you to say. You were born rich. I just gave everything I have up to do this. Yeah, I agree, the ABM system makes a hell of a lot of sense, but you know and I know that the real reason this got done was because the people behind Jolice stand to gain billions.”
“Congress never would have voted to fund more development without the test,” said Megan. “We had to have good results.”
“I’m not disagreeing. I’m just saying that the motive for a lot of people happens to be money. I’m not arguing the results, but I don’t want to be criticized by you because I’m taking my share.”
Megan pressed her lips together. There was no arguing with that: Segrest and many of the others were going to profit. She would too. And Bonham — his motivation was political power. None of them were pure.
“I can fly the plane without you if I have to,” said Rogers. “I’ve already talked to the others. They want the money.”
“I’ll bet.” Megan sat in the chair, her eyes focused on the floor. The thing to do now was get out — out, out, out!
But Bonham must have thought the whole thing through. Rogers was probably right: It was highly unlikely they’d be spotted if they hadn’t been already.
“I’m going to E-mail him,” she said, spinning back in the chair.
“Be my guest. Let me know if the new plan comes in.”
