– The Biowar Report
"So you re stymied?"
"Maybe not." He gave the deputy director an inquiring look and got a nod of permission. "It seems that one of the Doc creatures-the one that isn't a brain surgeon-is supposed to be an expert on that sort of thing. We think probably he could disassemble one for us, and then we could get a better look at it. It's a pretty impressive little gadget. Apparently it monitors full five-sense inputs and transmits them to at least orbital distance. We don't have any idea, really, what its range is. It uses some frequency that we haven't been able to detect. It isn't in any of the conventional radio bands. And it requires no external power source."
One of the men said thoughtfully, "I can see why you'd like to take it apart. If the alien can do it, what's holding you up?"
"Trouble is, we can't communicate with the Doc directly. He never speaks. The Dopey talks for him."
"But if he doesn't speak at all-"
"Well, that's another thing we'd like to know more about. Somehow the Dopey creature communicates with them."
Daisy turned to the neurosurgeon from Walter Reed: "Dr. Ever-good?"
"Are you asking if the extraterrestrials are bugged, too? It doesn't look that way. Nothing shows up on X rays."
"Well, they've got something," Ott said stubbornly. "What about this little muff thing that the Dopey creature wears all the time? He won't let us investigate it. Of course, we could simply take it-" he added, looking at Marcus Pell.
"Not yet, anyway," the deputy director said. "Go on, Daisy."
The vice deputy turned to the State Department man, whose one finger was again elevated. Hilda resigned herself to five minutes of hearing about all the turmoil that was building up all around the world, but what he said was, "The Canadians are asking for one of those things, since we've got three now. They claim they're entitled to it under the Ottawa Agreement in return for letting us use the base at Calgary to get the people down. The President promised-"
Marcus Pell waved a hand negligently. "We know what the President promised. We'll certainly keep them informed, in due course. Is that all?"
"Well, no. There's also this Chinese custody suit."
Pell looked tolerantly amused. "Wouldn't you say that's a bit premature? The damn kid hasn't even been born yet."
"That's their point. They say the baby has a right to be born on the territory of the People's Republic so that he may enjoy full citizenship. What they want is for the mother to come to Beijing, not later than ninety days from now, and stay there for the delivery."
"Hmm." The deputy director considered for a moment, then shrugged. "Next time you see the ambassador, why don't you point out to him that unfortunately our domestic-relations courts are pretty well backed up with cases, so their suit might not get heard until the baby's getting ready for college." He gazed benevolently at the man from State, then said, "Now, I'm afraid, I've got some other matters to deal with. Brigadier Morrisey? If you can come to my office for a moment-"
Pell didn't speak to Hilda all the way to his private suite; he was listening intently to the messages coming from his earpiece, and she didn't interrupt.
When they got to the office a man was sitting there. He got up as they entered, and Hilda recognized him. Solly Garand. A field manager like herself-like she used to be, anyway. The deputy director said, "Colonel Garand, Brigadier Morrisey-you know each other."
"Sure do," said Garand, grinning and extending his hand to Hilda. "Congratulations on your promotion, Hilda."
Pell didn't give her time to respond. "Solly's been running some of our ethnics, including the Ukrainian group that's financing the irredentists. The ones that stole the bug from the authorities. You want to tell her where you stand now, Solly?"
"Right. I guess you know we've got assets in the ex-pat group here in America, and now we've got one in Ukraine, too. That's courtesy of the Russians, because they don't want the Ukrainians getting anything they don't have-"
Doktor-nauk Artzybachova Recovering
Administration officials at Hospital No. 14 confirm that Doktor-nauk R. V. Artzybachova has left the hospital for rest and recovery. Officials declined to speculate on her whereabouts or how long she would remain in seclusion, citing her advanced age and the exhausting experiences she has undergone.
State Information Agency, Ukraine
"Background her later, Solly. Cut to the chase."
"Well, we haven't located the device yet, but now we have a problem, It's this Dr. Artzybachova. The irredentists have tried to kidnap her. So she's left the hospital and now she's holed up in her dacha with a few bodyguards she trusts because they're from old zek families-"
Hilda interrupted. "From what?"
"Families of old concentration-camp people. From the Gulag. People who served time with Artzybachova's grandfather; she knows the irredentists are after her, and the zek children are the only ones she trusts. Only we think one of her guards is actually a terrorist."
Hilda mulled that over for a moment. Then she turned to the deputy director. "That's tough for the old lady, but why do we care? The woman looked pretty much past it in Calgary."
"Fooled me too," Pell said sourly. "That's why I let the Canadians have her, but it looks like what was wrong with her was mostly missing her medications for a few months. Anyway, we can't let the mob have her. Do you happen to remember what her specialty was?"
"Instrumentation-oh."
"Exactly. Oh. She knows more about the freaks' instruments than anybody else who's human. Does she know enough to get some use out of that bug? I don't know, but I can't afford to find out the hard way. That's where you come in, Hilda. I'm putting you in charge."
She blinked at him. "Back in the field?"
"In the field? Hell, no, Hilda. Solly'll be the field manager, but I want you right here supervising, and- Hold it a minute."
His screen was flashing urgency. He turned it away from his guests and took a message. Then he looked up, furious. "The goddam French!" he snarled. "That was a flash from State. That mission Eurospace was planning to Starlab-they're going through with it. The French sent this note"-he glanced at the screen-"blah-blah, Freedom of the Skies treaty, blah-blah, is an abandoned satellite, blah-blah-blah. So they intend to launch within ten days."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
With the space freaks gone-gone somewhere or other, no one seemed to be willing to say where-the safe house changed character. The uniformed guards disappeared. So did most of the interrogators, a fact which carried an attractive fringe benefit: Now there was less back-and-forth calling between the safe house and the Bureau headquarters, and so the Starlab people had a chance at the one secure line.
Dannerman lucked out. He got the first crack at the phone, and the person he was calling answered on the first ring. "Hello, honey," he said. "Looks like they're going to let us out of here pretty soon. Any chance of dinner tonight, maybe-tomorrow at the latest?"
There turned out to be a very good chance. Anita Berman was a forgiving soul, and besides she had been watching the news like everybody else. "I've really missed you, Dan," she said, sounding as loving as ever.
"And I've missed you-I can't tell you how much," he said. Meaning it literally, too; because he was reluctant to say all the things he wanted to say to her with two of the Pats waiting impatiently for their turn at the phone.