Candy said, "Have you told anyone this?"
"Are you kiddin'? The FBI, the cops, the NASA people — everybody. Listen, we're all nervous as hell around here." He paused. "Hammer wasn't acting like himself for the last couple of weeks. We all knew there was something wrong, that something was bugging him. The way I figure it, somebody told him he had to play ball with them or his wife and kids would get it."
A car passed by on the street outside and he immediately froze. It hardly showed. Just a flicker of the eyes, but even in the poor light Nick caught it. "It could happen to any of us," Dexter said hoarsely. "We don't have any protection — nothing like what the missile workers have. So believe you me, I'm plenty glad General Kinetics lent us their cops. Before that, my wife was afraid to even take the kids to school or go shopping. All the women here were. But GKI arranged special bus service and now they do it in one trip) — drop the kids off at school first, then go on to the Orlando shopping center. It's a lot safer that way. And I don't mind leavin' 'em to go to work." He chuckled grimly. "Just the same, Mister — can I have my gun back? Just in case."
Nick swung the Lamborghini out of the empty lot across from the Georgiana boatyard. "Where are you staying?" he asked her.
The mission had been accomplished. The evidence, still reeking of gasoline, lay folded in his back pocket next to the pornographic snapshot. The trip back across the waterway had been uneventful. "At the Polaris," she said. "It's on the beach, just north of A1A, on the road to Port Canaveral."
"Right." He tramped on the gas and the powerful silver bullet surged ahead. The wind whipped their faces. "How do you get around?" he asked her.
"I left my Giulia in Palm Beach," she replied. "Daddy's chauffeur will drive it up in the morning."
Of course, he thought. It figured. An Alfa-Romeo. Suddenly she moved closer and he felt her hand on his arm. "Are we off-duty now?"
He glanced at her, eyes glinting with amusement. "Unless you have a better idea."
She shook her head. "I don't" He felt her hand tighten on his arm. "What about you?"
He sneaked a look at his watch. Eleven-fifteen. "I've got to get settled somewhere," he said.
He could feel her fingernails through his shirt now. "The Polaris," she murmured. "TV in every room, heated pool, pets, cafe, dining room, bar and coin laundry."
"Is that a good idea?" he chuckled.
"That's your decision." He could feel the jutting hardness of her breasts against his sleeve. He glanced at her in the mirror. The wind had plastered her long, burnished blonde hair against the side of her face. She moved the hair aside with the fingers of her right hand and Nick had a good view of her profile — the high brow, deep-blue eyes, the wide sensuous mouth bearing the faint traces of a smile. The little girl was now a highly desirable woman, he thought. But duty called. He had to contact AXE headquarters before midnight.
"The first rule of espionage," he recited. "Avoid being seen in the company of a fellow operative."
He felt her stiffen, draw away. "Meaning?"
They had just passed the Gemini Inn on North Atlantic Avenue. "That I'll be staying there," he said. He stopped for a traffic light and glanced over at her. Its red glow turned her skin to flame.
She didn't speak to him again on the way to the Polaris, and when she got out, her face was closed to him, angry. She slammed the door and disappeared into the lobby without looking back. She wasn't used to being turned down. The rich never are.
Hawk's voice cut into his ear like a knife. "Flight 1401-A leaves Miami International for Houston at 3:00 a.m. est. Poindexter of Editing will meet you in front of the airline ticket counter at 2:30 A.M. He'll have all the necessary information with him, including a study folder on your background and present duties."
Nick was on Route 1 again, heading south through an anonymous world of rushing lights and darkness. Hawk's voice began to fade and he leaned forward, adjusting the knob on the tiny, ultra-sensitive two-way radio concealed among the dazzling array of dials on the dashboard.
When the head of AXE paused, he said, "If you'll excuse the expression, sir, I don't know beans about outer space. How can I hope to masquerade as an astronaut?"
"We'll come back to that in a moment, N3." Hawk's voice was so sharp that Nick winced and adjusted the volume control of his earplug. Any similarity between the rambling, glassy-eyed drunk of that afternoon and the man who now sat speaking to him from his desk at AXE's Washington headquarters was strictly the result of Hawk's acting ability and of a stomach as tough and leathery as his hide.
"Now regarding the situation at the Bali Hai," Hawk continued, "let me explain. There has been high-level leakage of information for months. We think: we've narrowed it down to this restaurant. Senators, generals, top government contractors dine there. There's careless talk. The microphones pick it up. But where it goes, we don't know. So this afternoon I deliberately gave out false information." He allowed himself a brief, humorless chuckle. "Rather like tracing a leak by dumping yellow dye into the plumbing system. I want to see where that yellow dye comes out. AXE has sensitive listening posts at all levels in every government and espionage organization in the world. They'll pick it up and presto — we'll have the connecting pipeline."
Through the curved wind screen Nick watched a reddish glow of lights growing rapidly larger. "So everything I was told in the Bali Hai was false," he said, slowing for the Vero Beach Interchange. He thought fleetingly of the suitcases containing his personal things. They were sitting in a room he'd never even entered at the Gemini Inn in Cocoa Beach. No sooner had he registered than he'd had to rush back to his car to contact AXE. No sooner had he contacted AXE than he was on his way back to Miami. Had the trip north really been necessary? Couldn't Hawk have brought his own stooge along to Palm Beach?
"Not everything, N3. That's just the point. Only a few items were false — but vital ones. I suggested that the U.S. moon program was a shambles. I further suggested that it would be a couple of years before it would get under way again. The truth, however, is — and this is known only to me, a few top officials of NASA, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the President, and now you, Nicholas — the truth is that NASA is going to attempt another manned flight within the next few days. Not even the astronauts themselves know about it. It's to be called Phoenix One — because it will arise from the ashes of the Apollo project. Fortunately Connelly Aviation has the equipment ready. They're rushing a second capsule to Cape Kennedy from their California plant. The second team of astronauts are at the peak of their training, ready to go. It's felt that this is the psychological moment for another shot." The voice paused. "This one, of course, must go off without a hitch. It's felt that a smashing success at this moment is the only thing that will remove the bitter taste of the Apollo disaster from the public's mouth. And that taste must be removed if the U.S. space program is to be saved."
"And where," Nick asked, "does Astronaut N3 enter the picture?"