"Austin filled me in on his findings. The pilot was at Arlington attending his own funeral. I understand his son saw him."
"He insisted that he be allowed one more look at his wife and child," the director said. "He was told he was going into protective custody for an indefinite time. Of course it was only a ruse. Shortly after he was placed under protection, he was killed by his protector."
"The man who lived in upstate New York."
"That's right."
Sandecker's blue eyes hardened. "Sorry I don't feel any sad ness for the assassin. He was a cold-blooded killer at an age when we supposedly attain wisdom. And he would have murdered Austin. What was the reason for the protocol? Wasn't murdering those crewmen enough?"
"The brass who decided this thing didn't want the faintest chance the secret would get out. They thought it could start an other war. Relations were bad enough as it was between us and the Soviets. The protocol was set up to react blindly to any at tempt to unravel the secret. They thought any spy snooping would come from abroad. No one dreamed the threat would come from the U.S. congress. It was all totally unnecessary. The speaker of the House was defeated for reelection, and his expose never got off the ground. It was probably assumed that the little land mine they left to blow up in the face of anyone following their trail would deactivate itself. They never thought it would still be dangerous fifty years later."
Sandecker leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers. "So this ancient scheme cooked up by a bunch of macho cow boys is what almost got my man killed. I understand that the assassin had his bags packed ready to go with a sniper's rifle and explosives. Apparently planning quite a retirement party for himself. Too bad we can't let the American public know what tomfoolery their tax dollars were used for in the name of democracy."
LeGrand said, "That would be a mistake. It is still extremely sensitive. Reducing Russia's nuclear arsenal has been a struggle. If this story got out it would strengthen the hand of the nationalists who say the U.S. can't be trusted."
"They would think that anyhow," Sandecker said dryly. "In my experience there is one thing powerful people fear the most: embarrassment." He smiled. "I trust there are no more protocols waiting out there to ambush the unwary?"
It was a veiled warning.
"I've already ordered a complete examination of our computer files to prevent exactly such a possibility," LeGrand said. "No more surprises."
"Let's hope so," Sandecker said.
Chapter 28
Austin poured himself a hot mug of Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee straight, took a sip of the high-octane brew, and picked the aluminum cylinder off his desk. He hefted it in his big hand, staring at the battered convex surface as if it were a crystal ball. The object yielded no secrets, only a distorted reflection of his bronzed features and pale hair.
Setting the cylinder aside, he returned to the map of Alaska spread out on his desk. He had been to Alaska several times, and the sheer immensity of the fiftieth state never failed to boggle his mind. Searching for the old flying wing base in some of the most rugged territory on earth would be like trying to find a single grain of sand on Malibu beach. Compounding the problem, the base would have been built in a way to keep it from prying eyes. He ran his finger from Barrow deep inside the Arctic Circle south to the Kenai Peninsula. The phone rang as the seed of an idea was beginning to sprout.
Eyes glued on the map, he grabbed the phone, stuck it in his ear, and snapped a perfunctory hello. Sandecker's crisp voice came on the line.
"Kurt, can you come up to my office?"
"Can this wait, Admiral?" Austin said, trying to hold on to his thought.
"Of course, Kurt," Sandecker said magnanimously. "Is five minutes sufficient?"
The notion withered and died like a flower in the sun. Sandecker must have been the original irresistible force. The admiral's mind operated at warp speed, and consequently his sense of time tended to be compressed.
"I'll be there in two minutes."
"Splendid. I think you'll find it worth your while."
When Austin walked into Sandecker's tenth-floor office he expected to see the director of NUMA behind the immense desk made from a hatch taken from a Confederate blockade runner. Instead the admiral sat off to the side in one of the comfortable dark leather chairs reserved for visitors. He was chatting with a woman who sat with her back to Austin. Sandecker, who was wearing a navy blazer with gold anchors embroidered over the breast pocket, rose to greet Austin.
"Thank you for coming, Kurt. There's someone here I'd like you to meet."
The woman stood, and Austin's preoccupation with his Alaskan puzzle evaporated in a single glance.
She was tall and slim, with Eurasian high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes. In contrast to her exotic looks she was dressed conservatively in a long burgundy skirt and matching jacket. Her dark blond hair was tightly woven into a single braid down to her shoulder blades. Something about her went beyond natural beauty. She had the erect carriage of someone born to royalty, but at the same time she walked with the lithe easiness of a panther as she came over to shake hands. The deep brown eyes with gold flecks seemed to radiate a tropical heat. Maybe it was his imagination, but her musky scent made Austin think of the throb of distant drums. It suddenly dawned on him who the woman was.
"You're Dr. Cabral?"
Austin would not have been surprised if she had answered with a soft purr. In a low, mellow voice she said, "Thank you for coming to see me, Mr. Austin. I hope I haven't interrupted any thing important. I asked Admiral Sandecker if I might have the chance to thank you personally for your help."
"You're very welcome, but Gamay and Paul did all the hard work. I simply answered the phone and pushed a couple of but tons."
"You are far too modest, Mr. Austin," she said with a smile that could have melted ice cubes. "If not for your quick action I'm afraid my head and those of your colleagues would be deco rating a village thousands of miles from these comfortable surroundings."
Sandecker stepped between them and guided Francesca back to her chair. "On that happy note, Dr. Cabral, would you mind if we imposed and asked you to tell us your story from start to finish?"
"Not at all," she replied. "Talking to someone about my experience has therapeutic value, and I also find myself remembering details I had forgotten."
Sandecker motioned for Austin to sit, then slipped into his desk chair and lit up one of the ten custom-made cigars he smoked each day. He and Austin listened with rapt attention as Francesca narrated the gripping tale of the hijacking, the crash and her brush with death, her ascension as a white goddess. She went into great detail about the public works projects in the Chulo village that she took so much pride in. She ended with an account of the arrival of the Trouts, their mad flight, and their rescue by helicopter.
"Fascinating," Sandecker said, "absolutely fascinating. Tell me, what became of your friend Tessa?"
"She stayed on with Dr. Ramirez. Her knowledge of medicinal plants will be invaluable in his research. I talked by phone to my parents to make sure they are well. They wanted me to come home, but I decided to stay in the U.S. I need more of a decompression time before I insert myself back into the Sao Paulo social whirl. Beyond that, I am determined to carry on the task that was interrupted ten years ago."
Sandecker contemplated the stubborn set of Francesca's jaw. "I firmly believe past is not only present but also future. It would help to know what lies ahead if you told us something about the events that led to your plane trip."