haughty stare through the morning mist. Clearly, the buck knew he was here, and yet the beast didn’t seem to care, so assured it was in the wild of the upper Delaware River Valley. It lowered its head slightly, then raised it back upright — a challenge, Dean thought, or perhaps an acknowledgment, before it turned and slowly trotted away.
“Even if it had been hunting season,” Dean told the deer as it left, “I might have let you go.”
He let the binoculars fall to his chest and walked back to the streambed, swollen with the recent rains. He’d come here to clear his head, and he had. What he hadn’t done was replace the clutter with a specific plan on what to do.
He longed for Lia — he could feel the familiar ache in his chest — but where exactly she would fit in his future, he didn’t know. As for everything else, including what he would do for work, all of that would have to wait. For now, he was simply experiencing what was around him.
Something rustled in the bushes ahead. Dean stopped. Before he could raise the binoculars to examine the area, a chipmunk darted out and ran across the gnarled roots of a nearby tree and disappeared. From the noise it had made, he expected something closer to a mountain lion, and he laughed when he realized the tiny rodent was all that was there.
A humbling experience, the woods.
118
The CIA, the NSA, and the Department of Homeland Security had all prepared computer projections on how far a truck could have traveled from Manzanillo in the roughly thirty-six hours since the ship had docked. While the projections differed around the margins, they all agreed on one thing: it was possible that the truck had already crossed the border into the U.S.
“But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t close the border right now,” said Griffin Bolso, the FBI director, as representatives of the agencies involved in the crisis met via videoconference Thursday to update one another and the national security adviser. “We should close it immediately.”
“Closing the border is not going to accomplish much more than we’re doing now,” said Cynthia Marshall, representing Homeland Security. “We’re searching every truck that comes across the border, and traffic is already snarled beyond belief. If we close everything completely, we have to say why.”
“We’ve already said we’re looking for a bomb,” suggested Bolso. “I don’t see why we need to say anything else.”
“The president has reserved to himself the decision on what information to release,” said Hadash, who was chairing the meeting. “Bill, do you have better information on the possible truck?”
“I’m afraid we don’t. At least a dozen vehicles were rented and picked up that day, and two were stolen as well. They’re all tractor-trailer types,” said Rubens. “We think there’s a possibility that someone was hired to help, and the CIA is talking to day laborers in the area.”
“Yes, we are,” said Debra Collins smugly, as if no one else had the right to mention what her people were doing.
Besides the descriptions of the size of the crate and the type of vehicle, the border patrol and police agencies in the area had been given computer-generated images and artist renditions of Babin. It was not known, however, if Babin was with the truck — he had been in Lima while it was in transit and then in Ecuador before it docked. But there was no proof that he had hooked up with whatever accomplices or helpers were transporting it.
“The thing we have to remember,” said Collins, “is that there’s no evidence the bomb is actually coming to the U.S.”
“Where else would Sholk go?” said Rubens. “He wants to pay us back for betraying him. Or rather, pay the CIA back.”
Ordinarily, Rubens hated using the videoconferencing system, but in this case he thought the camera caught her perfectly — her face drawn, her eyes shifting back and forth.
“He’s a businessman, not a psycho,” she said. “He’d try to sell the weapon.”
Resistant to the bitter end, thought Rubens. But at least she was no longer trying to discount the possibility that Babin was alive.
“I’m not saying we shouldn’t be searching,” insisted Collins, softening her tone as she continued. “We have to conduct the largest possible search. I don’t want to be blindsided elsewhere, that’s all.”
“The question I have is how soon to extend the warning beyond the border states,” said Bolso. “And in what degree of detail. Telling these people we’re looking for something the size of a bathtub is just not enough.”
The discussion focused on the allocation of resources to check the highway system in the Southwest U.S. Searching Peru had proved a daunting task. Now the task was even greater. There were hundreds of thousands of trucks in the targeted zone, and every hour the zone’s radius increased by fifty miles. Army troops had been moved in to help patrol the Texas and New Mexico border areas, with aerial reconnaissance being conducted by Air Force, Army, and Coast Guard units. Homeland Security had taken charge of a new task group coordinating the search in the U.S.; the military’s Southern Command was coordinating search efforts in Mexico. General Spielmorph’s group was still in Peru, but some of his resources were being shifted north.
Rubens tapped the key controlling the different available feeds on the conference system, putting Collins on the small screen to his left.
She seemed to be staring directly at him, with all the venom of a cobra disturbed in its den.
If she takes Hadash’s job, I’ll resign, he thought.
Wouldn’t it be better, then, to take it himself?
“All right, thank you, everyone,” said Hadash. “The president wants updates on the hour. We’ll reconvene at ten o’clock, sooner if necessary.”
119
“What do you think the possibility is this has all been a bad dream?”
Lia looked across the aisle of the Air Force 737 that was ferrying her and Karr back to the Washington, D.C., area. He had contorted his huge frame between the seats in an effort to get comfortable.
“I don’t think it was a dream,” she told him.
“A nightmare?”
“No.”
“But it could all be a wild-goose chase,” said Karr. “We’ve been on them before.”
“You mean, what do I think the odds are that there’s no nuclear warhead?”
“Yeah. Look at it this way. Babin or whoever he hired to get the bomb could have been at the border twenty- four hours ago.”
“If he drove like you. And flew over the mountains and desert.”
“If he drove like me. Right. Now, twenty-four hours from the border — he could be just out to D.C.”
“Or he could still be in Mexico, which is the CIA theory,” said Lia.
“Yeah, but they’re always wrong. Good job, by the way.”
“What?”
“With the election cards. And the neo-Marxist wackos in the jungle. That’s all gonna get lost, you know. We’re not going to get any attaboys for it.”
“We don’t need any attaboys.”
“Speak for yourself, Princess,” said Karr, shifting his legs against the seat backs. “I need all the attaboys I can get. And steaks.”
