A young technician was there on duty. He was extremely nervous and kept fumbling with an M-2 carbine, a thirty-round clip in place.
"You're going to shoot someone if you keep doing what you're doing, son," Carter said.
The young man nearly jumped out of his skin.
Owen led him back to the door. "I want you to wait outside, Brad. I don't want anyone coming in here and bothering us for the next…" He turned back to Carter.
"Half hour, forty-five minutes."
"All right?" Owen asked, turning back to the young man.
"Yes, sir," the tech said crisply, and he stepped outside, the thick metal security door clicking shut behind him.
"You want me in or out. Carter?" Owen asked.
"You can stay," Carter said. "Just don't read over my shoulder. Anyone else read these circuits?"
"Not outside this room… other than the addressees."
"Good," Carter said. He sat himself down in front of the machine marked for the State Department, opened the circuit, and typed in his recognition code and the For-Your-Eyes-Only designation for David Hawk.
The reply came within a second or two, and the indicator for him to stand by came a moment later.
Carter sat back and lit a cigarette.
"Coffee?" Owen asked.
"Sure."
The station manager poured them both a cup, handed Carter his, then went back to the desk, sat down, and put his feet up. It was approaching noon in Washington, so Hawk would certainly be at his desk.
"I get the impression you've done this before," Owen said from over the rim of his cup.
"Done what?" Carter asked.
"I don't know what you people call it… missions, assignments, jobs. Whatever."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"I think you do."
Carter looked at him. "You're going to have to hold yourself together a little bit longer."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Owen snapped, sitting forward.
"It means if you fold on me now, like Duvall folded on you, my job will become difficult if not impossible. If that happens, I have a fair idea a lot of people will be killed."
"Agency hoopla…"
"I don't engage in histrionics, Justin," Carter snapped. He was very tired and at the thin edge of becoming nasty.
"I see…"
The teletype in front of Carter rang five bells, the indication of a highest-priority incoming. He swiveled around to it after noting the impressed look on Owen's face.
FOR YOUR EYES ONLY NICK CARTER N-3
FRENCH HAVE LODGED AN UNSPECIFIED PROTEST OUR AMBASSADOR PARIS QUERY — ANY KNOWLEDGE YOUR STATION
HAWK
Quickly Carter teletyped that he had full knowledge of the protest, which involved kidnapping.
The machine was silent for a few seconds, and Carter could almost see David Hawk, his thick shock of white hair mussed, the ever present cigar clenched in his teeth, staring at the teletype as he thought out Carter's message.
QUERY — PROGRESS REPORT YOUR ASSIGNMENT — DO YOU REQUIRE ASSISTANCE
NOT REALLY KIDNAPPING — BUT CHARGE WILL BE SAME
As quickly and as succinctly as he could, Carter teletyped a full report on what had happened since He had gotten there, including the transport pilot's observation that the Orientals ran the place, his initial meeting and first impressions of Duvall, Fenster, and Owen, his subsequent flyover of Natu Hiva with Tieggs, and men his meeting with the governor, the trip back with Gabrielle Rondine, and the attack on the base.
REQUEST STATE DEPARTMENT CLEARANCE ASYLUM FOR GABRIELLE RONDINE QUERY REQUEST POSITION OF NEAREST U.S. NUKE SUB
This time the circuit was quiet for at least ten minutes, and Owen was beginning to get nervous by the time the five-bell signal rang again.
Carter turned back to the machine as it spat out the latitude and longitude of the U.S.S. Starfish, then translated that into a mileage figure from Hiva Faui.
The Starfish, with its full complement of men and nuclear weapons, was about 1700 nautical miles away. Estimated time of arrival, according to Hawk, was in thirty hours, which meant the sub could make, submerged, better than fifty-five knots. Amazing.
REQUEST STARFISH ON SITE FOR POSSIBLE ASSISTANCE UP TO BUT NOT INCLUDING NUCLEAR STRIKE
The teletype was still for another two or three minutes. But then the final message clattered:
STARFISH YOURS
Carter cut the circuit, then cranked the paper out of the teletype machine and ran it through the shredder.
Owen had poured himself another cup of terrible coffee, and he had lit a cigar. He sat behind the desk watching Carter's every move.
"Well?" he said. "Do the peons get let in on it? Or do we have to guess?"
"Help is on its way, Justin," Carter said.
Owen looked up hopefully.
"Thirty, maybe thirty-five hours at the most, and this will all be over."
"Are the Marines landing? Is that it?"
"Something like that."
"But I don't get told."
"You don't get told," Carter said. He didn't want to start a panic. If there was a leak on the base, Carter wanted to make absolutely sure that the imminent arrival of the Starfish did not get out. Owen was the head man… it would begin with him.
"I see," Owen said, getting up from behind the desk. He held the cigar tightly between his teeth at the side of his mouth, then unlocked the steel door and stepped outside. Carter followed him, the young technician slipping back into the room.
Halfway down the corridor Carter stopped the station manager.
"It's not what you think, Justin," he said.
"What's not what I think?"
Carter looked into his eyes. "You signed on as a satellite tracking and receiving station manager. Am I correct?"
Owen nodded.
"I'm going to give that back to you."
Owen started to protest, but Carter held him off.
"Stay out of my business, Justin, and I'll give you your business back to you on a silver platter. Is it a deal?"
Owen hesitated.
Carter stuck out his hand. "Is it a deal?" he asked. "You let me do my job, and I'll give you your job in return?"
After a very long, pregnant silence, Owen managed a slight smile. He shook hands with Carter. "It's a deal, Carter," he said. "But then I don't have much of a choice, do I?"
Carter shook his head.
Owen laughed, then turned and walked down the corridor and out the door into the warm night air.
The engineering building had quieted down, and after a few moments Carter followed the station manager out of the building.
There was still a lot of activity on the base, but it was not as frantic as before. The fire in the barracks building was all but out, and there were only two men watching it now, with one fire unit.
As he crossed the main street, Carter looked down toward the main gate. A pair of trucks had been pulled up tailgate to tailgate in front of the main gate, and there were several armed men down there watching for another attack — an event that was highly unlikely to occur tonight.
Beyond the dining hall, Carter crossed the far street and entered the administration building, taking the back stairs up to the VIP housing area.
In his own room he peeled off his clothing and his weapons, then stepped into a scalding hot shower, which he ended with an icy cold blast.
After he dried off, brushed his teeth, and downed a quick shot of brandy from the bottle on his dresser, he crawled into bed and was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.
It was just dawn when Gabrielle Rondine climbed into bed with Carter, her breasts pressed against his back, her long legs entwined with his, and her lips brushing his ear.