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The elevator was a little sluggish, but it reached the bottom of the shaft.

Better too slow than fast, Herbert decided.

He wheeled himself out, reached back inside to send the carriage upstairs, and headed to the Tank. The skeleton team at work throughout Op-Center was sharp and focused. That did not surprise Herbert. In a postcrisis situation, work was an intense, short-term involvement that kept trauma from settling in. It was like an emotional gag reflex. The full impact of what had happened would not hit these people until they put down the armor of responsibility.

Hood was the only other person in the Tank. The reunion was surprisingly relaxed, at least from Herbert’s perspective. The intelligence chief had kept Hood up to date and had nothing to add. He plugged the laptop into the dedicated power source in the room and rebooted it. He wanted to be ready if Viens called with information. The map from Homeland Security showed traffic patterns, air lanes, and even possible terrorist targets such as nuclear power plants, electrical grids, dams, transportation centers, and shopping malls. Overlays with different access routes could be added to the image if necessary.

The McCaskeys arrived shortly after Herbert. They brought dinner, which was welcome. It marked the first real break anyone had enjoyed since the attack. In the case of the McCaskeys, it was the first real time-out they had enjoyed since the death of William Wilson. Hood asked about Rodgers. Both McCaskey and Herbert told him what the general was doing.

“I meant, how is he doing?” Hood asked.

“I think he is kind of in limbo, waiting to see how this all turns out,” McCaskey told him.

“It is odd,” Maria said. “Mike Rodgers is out in the real world, but you say he is in limbo. We are in a badly wounded facility, yet we are supposedly connected to the world.”

“I suppose everything depends on your attitude,” Hood replied.

“Knowing you have a job helps,” McCaskey said.

“Elected officials and appointees learn to live with flux,” Hood said. “I still say it’s the inside defines the outside.”

“You mean like us,” Maria said. “The shell of Op-Center is broken, but we are still functioning.”

“Exactly,” Hood said.

Herbert did not involve himself in the conversation. He busied himself with taking bites from the roast beef club sandwich the McCaskeys had brought, pulling up a map of San Diego County on his laptop, and jacking his borrowed cell phone into the Tank system. As a rule, pep talks bored the intelligence chief. Herbert was self-driven. Usually because there was a throat he needed to get his hands around. That was all the motivation he needed. This particular conversation had a fringe of wide-eyed sanctimony that made him angry. Maria had her spouse alive and well and at her side. Hood still had an organization to run and a résumé that would keep him circulating through government employ as long as he wanted. It was easy for them both to be optimistic.

Maybe you really ought to join Mike out there, Herbert thought. Start a consultancy of some kind, maybe for private industry. Security in a nonsecure age. It was something to think about.

The call from Stephen Viens came before Herbert had to listen to very much more of the chat. He was surprised to hear from the surveillance operations officer so quickly.

“We just got a call from the California Highway Patrol, San Diego Command Center,” Viens told the intelligence chief. “They found what they think is your missing limousine.”

“What makes them think it’s the one?” Herbert asked.

Herbert did not ask why the CHP had called the NRO. The Department of Homeland Security had linked all the nation’s highway patrol offices into the NRO’s Infrastructure Surveillance System. The ISS gave local law enforcement offices unprecedented access to observe possible terrorist activity through military, weather, and other observation-equipped satellites.

“The limousine was abandoned in a lot off Highway 163, which is just east of San Diego,” Viens said. “The original driver was found tied up in the trunk. He said he was hit on the head in the hotel parking lot, and that’s all he remembers. The kidnappers obviously switched vehicles. The CHP wants the NRO to look through the back-image log, see if they caught a parked vehicle in the area.”

“How long will that take?”

“Not very,” Viens said.

“What do you mean?”

“The satellites that watch Naval Base Coronado and the inland flight training center do not overlap,” Viens said. “They follow Highway 15 east. It looks like the limousine pulled over in a blind spot. They are double-checking now.”

And who would know that better than a former head of naval intelligence? Herbert asked himself.

“It is possible that the Interceptor-Three border patrol satellite picked something up, but that may be a little too far south to have seen this activity. The FBI monitors that one and is looking into it.”

“I’ll let Mike know,” Herbert said. “Thanks, Stephen.”

Herbert updated the others while he punched in Rodgers’s number.

“Why would the admiral organize his own abduction?” Maria asked.

“That’s the key, isn’t?” Herbert said.

Rodgers picked up the phone. The general said he was just about to board the Apache but waited while Herbert briefed him. Rodgers listened without comment. With the sound of the helicopter pounding in the background, Herbert was not even sure Rodgers could hear.

“Did you get all that, Mike?” the intelligence chief asked when he was finished.

“I did,” Rodgers said.

“Any thoughts?”

“Yeah. I think we’ve been had,” Rodgers said. “Big time.”

“In what way?”

“I’ll let you know when I’ve checked something out,” Rodgers told him. “I’ve got to run. I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

“Go get ’em,” Herbert said and hung up. He lowered the phone and looked at the others.

“Go get who?” McCaskey asked.

“Mike didn’t say,” Herbert said. “He told me he’ll call in thirty minutes or so. The only thing I know for sure is it’s ironic.”

“What is?” Hood asked.

Herbert replied, “That the man who is in the best position to put this one away doesn’t really work for us anymore.”

FIFTY-TWO

San Diego, California
Wednesday, 4:29 P.M.

The news of the abduction shocked Kat Lockley. It also concerned her. Senator Orr would never have organized that, and she could not imagine who would. Someone from the outside, perhaps. Maybe Rodgers?

That was not important right now. What mattered was the senator and his safety. After talking with Stone, Kat jabbed the elevator call button. While she waited to take the carriage to the penthouse, she phoned the senator and told him what had happened. She asked him to stay in his room and said she would be there in a minute or two. Senator Orr agreed, at least until security could be organized for him to go downstairs. He felt it was important to talk to his people as soon as possible, to let them know that he was all right and the convention would go on. Kat said she would see to that. Her second call was to Pat Simcox, head of security. She wanted to make sure he stayed at his post outside the senator’s room and did not join the detail searching for Admiral Link. Simcox said he had no intention of leaving. He told her not to worry. If this were a plot against the USF, no one would get through to the senator.

She believed him. The truck driver turned security man was tough.

The elevator arrived, and guests streamed out. There were concerned looks and questions for Kat. She told them the senator was all right, then excused herself and entered. On the way up, she was joined by Kendra Peterson.