“No, sir, of course not, sir.” That solved his problem of divided allegiance. Now he was acting under direct orders. He gave a brief bow toward McMasters and then shut the door behind him.
Saturday morning Isaacs paced up and down in front of the check-in counter at Dulles. He felt unmoored, detached from the bearings that had given him stability for almost two decades of his career. He was desperate to get on with this quest, but awash with anxiety over the risks he was taking, risks he had convinced Pat Danielson to share. And now she was late. He stopped to look at his watch and glance down the passageway toward the main terminal. He fought down the urge, born of frustration, to blame her tardiness on her womanhood. She didn’t deserve that. She was too good, too responsible. She’d have some good excuse. He clinched his fist on the handle of the slim briefcase he carried and resumed his pacing.
He prayed that some glimmer of understanding, some hint of where to turn next, would come from this hurried unauthorized rump meeting with Jason. He feared that it would prove nothing but a scamper out onto a limb, with McMasters grinning, sharpening his saw. He rethought the steps he had taken, the precautions. He had done everything practical to minimize the chance that McMasters would stumble onto his resurrection of Project QUAKER, but the old bird was canny, there was no way to be absolutely sure. He jumped when the hand grasped his arm. He turned to see Pat Danielson’s flushed, excited face.
“Bob—Mr. Isaacs.”
His irritation at her faded with the relief of her arrival and the infectious sparkle in her eyes.
“Right the first time.”
“Bob.” She touched his arm again, still animated. “I’m sorry I’m late, but I’ve found something. I got up early to look over my calculations and then lost track of time.”
“We’ve got a couple of minutes. Let’s—Here.”
Isaacs looked around, then took her carry-on bag and led her to a vacant waiting area. As they sat, he inquired in a low voice, “What have you got?”
“A prediction, I guess,” she almost whispered, leaning toward him. “I’ve been running my programs since Wednesday, checking the position and phase of the signal. I can guess with fair accuracy where the signal will come to the surface each cycle.
“The question that has been preying on me is the sinking of the Stinson. That means something destructive can happen when the signal comes to the surface. So I asked myself, why aren’t there reports of some destruction on land?”
“I wondered the same thing,” Isaacs remarked. “One possibility is that much of the path falls along areas of relatively low population density. Maybe most of the time no one notices. Another factor is that we don’t really know what to expect. Sporadic reports of strange events could easily be overlooked in the undeveloped countries, even here in the United States.”
“Exactly,” nodded Danielson. “But occasionally the phenomenon should surface in a region of high population density. That would increase the probability of someone noticing something.”
Isaacs raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“Four days from now, it should come up in Nagasaki about 11:13 in the morning local time,” said Danielson flatly. “That’s 9:13 Wednesday evening, our time. And nineteen days later, July 26, it will surface in Dallas about midnight.”
Isaacs leaned back and looked at her.
“How well can you pinpoint the location?”
“There are uncertainties in the period and location from the seismic data alone, but those are big, sprawling cities. I am reasonably sure there will be a surfacing somewhere within their boundaries.”
Isaacs turned to look out of the window, staring past the airplanes arrayed on the tarmac.
“Would it help you to have some of the Navy data?”
“Yes, sir, even just one or two recent high precision locations would allow me to calibrate my curves. We might be able to pin down the site within…” She paused to think. “Well, maybe a few hundred meters to a kilometer.”
“I may be able to get that,” said Isaacs intently, returning his gaze to her. “It’s very short notice, but I may also be able to get some satellite time to monitor the area in Nagasaki.” He mulled the chances of contacting an agent in Nagasaki who could make an on-the-spot observation, without tipping his hand to others in the Agency.
“Okay, Pat, that’s good work. When we get back, I’ll try to get some of the Navy information so you can refine your estimates.”
“Aren’t you going to have to tell McMasters, to issue a warning to Nagasaki?”
“We’re still on shaky ground here. I’m hoping we can gain enough information on the Nagasaki event that we can go above board in time for Dallas. And with luck, this trip to Jason may give us some insight into the whole mess.”
Danielson looked uncertain, but then their flight was called and they had to queue up to board.
During lunch on the plane, Danielson queried Isaacs about the nature of the group with whom they would meet.
“These people who serve on Jason—how are they selected?”
Isaacs paused to swallow a bite of gravy-swathed grey meat.
“Well, they operate under the auspices of the Secretary of Defense as you know. They’re quite autonomous though and select their own members. The idea is, I suppose, that they themselves are the best judges of whatever arcane talent is required to participate in a general-purpose think tank.
They receive the standard security clearance, but the hard part is getting elected—a single no-vote eliminates a prospective member.”
“They don’t have any particular training at defense work?”
“No, they’re just required to be the very best in their chosen area of science.”
“How many people are we talking about then?”
“Thirty some. But we’ll only see a small group of individuals who may have some particular expertise to bring to our problem.”
“So all these great brains spend their summer vacations worrying about whatever problems are dished up to them.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“And they always meet in the same place—this Bishop’s School?”
“Generally, yes. The grounds of the school are cloistered and secure. And, of course, La Jolla is a very congenial place to be in the summer. I believe some members rent houses in town, but most of them move right into the dorms. They’re converted into combination living and working areas. I guess I see the sense to it. You take a bunch of very bright people and make them comfortable in an environment where they can concentrate and interact without interruption. In any case, it seems to work. Jason has a long record of developing significant ideas and cracking hard problems.”
“I’m sure.” Danielson poked at the food on her tray. “I find it an ironic mix, innocent little Episcopalian school girls during the school year and great scientists weighing the fate of mankind during summer vacation.”
“I suppose,” Isaacs replied.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Danielson continued, “I’m curious as to how you could set up a meeting with them so quickly. I would have thought there were all sorts of channels to go through.”
“Normally you’re right,” Isaacs assented. “Another piece of the tightrope we’re walking. I’ve dealt with them before, through those official procedures. I took the chance of calling Professor Phillips; he runs Jason now, a pleasant fellow, I think you’ll like him. I hinted at the emergency and let him know this was something informal, something I am doing on my own recognizance, on a weekend like this. Of course, I couldn’t come right out and tell him about McMasters’ prohibition. We’ll have to trust his discretion. I’m pretty sure Phillips is okay. I don’t know the others personally. We’ll just have to hope.”
He cast her a worried glance.