“Well, son-of-a-bitch, Bob,” Martinelli said. “Maybe old man Drefke’s not a complete knucklehead after all. For a while there I thought I was going to have to look for a new career, Kelly Girl or some such thing.”
Isaacs grinned. “I’ll tell you it was a relief to me when he agreed to read my memo. Up to that point he could easily have just said screw it and tossed the lot of us out.”
“Seriously,” Martinelli said, “I appreciate everything you did to save my butt.”
“For god’s sake, Vince, I got you into it.”
“I’m a big boy, I knew what I was doing. I appreciate you going to bat for me.”
“Well, I shouldn’t have gotten you involved. I’m relieved we got out okay.” They both stared into their drinks, a little embarrassed by this open exchange of gratitude.
Then Martinelli strove to recapture the spirit of celebration. “So how is friend McMasters taking all this?” he inquired in a jovial tone.
“He’s sulking.”
“Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”
They both chuckled.
“It really backfired on him,” Isaacs mused. “Not only did he not get me booted, but now Drefke’s made the whole investigation top priority and put me in charge. That’s really going to hurt him.”
“I don’t suppose it’s too much to hope that a little luster’s gone off his star?”
“My reading is that Drefke still appreciates his ability to run internal affairs, but he sees him in a different light now. McMasters had some rationale to argue Project QUAKER wasn’t agency business, but his forbidding me to work on it and then having me shadowed don’t look too hot in hindsight.”
“Ah, another toast then. To the future Deputy Director of Intelligence.” Martinelli raised his glass to Isaacs.
“C’mon, Vince,” Isaacs protested.
“You know it’s true.”
Isaacs was pleased, but embarrassed again. He recognized the timetable for his promotion had probably accelerated.
“So what’s happening in Dallas?” Martinelli inquired.
Isaacs laughed, glad to change the subject.
“You wouldn’t believe the confusion out there. Your basic case of conflicting authorities. The city cops are all over the place. The governor, and more importantly, his chief financial backers, are all from Dallas. They feel personally attacked, so the governor’s got a squad of investigators from the state intelligence bureau on the spot. That’s already enough to piss off the locals and make for a general madhouse because nobody in those outfits has any idea what it is they’re supposed to be investigating. Then we get into the act and that really stirs up the pot.
“I wanted to send in a few of my people on the quiet, but by the time Drefke made his decision to go ahead the place was swarming with the Texas troops. Drefke decided we had to follow the letter of the charter: no internal investigations.
“So we contacted the FBI and they sent a team of investigators. We told them what sort of information we want, but not why. We’re sitting on that till we better understand what’s going on. One of the things this accomplishes is to get the local FBI special agent riled up, first because he’s got these out-of-towners descending on him, and worse because he knows they’re working for us, not even for the FBI.”
Isaacs chuckled again.
“To complete the confusion, the local cops and the state police have been ordered to cover up the FBI involvement and to absolutely avoid any hint leaking out that the Agency is interested. I doubt that will be totally hushed up, but it’s got them in a pickle.”
“Wow, real circus then,” Martinelli laughed. “I’ve got to sympathize with the local cops. If I’ve got the picture right, they’ve got the formal public responsibility for the investigation, but can only go through the motions while the spooks crawl in and out of the woodwork.”
“That’s about it,” Isaacs said. “Actually, we need to help them develop some cover story. They really are in a bind.”
“So are you learning anything in the midst of all this chaos?”
“A bit. We sent a team to check the site in Nagasaki. We had less trouble with the Japanese government than we’ve had with Texans.” Isaacs shook his head in amusement. “The physical evidence is very similar in the two cases. I put that in my preliminary report. That’s what convinced Drefke to let us all off with that bit of wrist-slapping today and give me the green light.”
“Another?”
“No thanks. I’ve got to get home. This whole thing has been tough on Muriel. I promised her a nice quiet dinner out.”
“Fair enough.” Martinelli grinned, but then a serious look settled over his eyes. “I read that copy you sent me earlier this week of your original memo outlining this mess. Frankly, I lost some sleep over it. Can you explain to me what the hell’s really happening?”
Isaacs shook his head wearily. “I’m relieved we’re off the hook and the investigation can go ahead full throttle, but the truth is I’m scared. I don’t know what we’re up against. There’s something damned serious going on.”
“So what’s the next step?”
“We’ve got to get better heads than mine working on the clues. Pat Danielson and I had a brief consultation with Jason back in our underground days, three weeks ago. We’re headed back there on Monday. I’m not sure anything will come of it, but we have some fresh evidence from Nagasaki and Dallas, and I can’t think what else to do.”
“Well, good luck. Have a quiet weekend, will you? And my love to Muriel.”
“Thanks, Vince.”
Isaacs drained his glass and headed home.
Chapter 11
Pat Danielson was home. Her relief had turned to elation during Drefke’s lecture to them the previous Friday afternoon. As he droned on in somber tones, she slowly realized that he was not only reinstating them, he was granting Isaacs full authority to pursue Project QUAKER. She had invited Janine out to one of their favorite spots and had gotten gaily tipsy before dinner. Returning to the apartment, she had succumbed to a spontaneous urge and called her father in Los Angeles and made plans to spend the weekend with him.
She enjoyed it immensely, being back in the small house so flooded with childhood memories, now gently nostalgic in her buoyant good mood. She and her father took walks down familiar sidewalks, the cracks in them so much closer together than when she had played hopscotch along them. They talked long and avidly, sharing experiences past and present. More balm on the wound in their relation, now nearly invisible. Long Beach and the ocean were only two miles away. She spent Sunday afternoon on the beach, alternately body-surfing, jogging, and soaking up the Sun, a teenager again. She rediscovered the simple pleasure of sitting on the seawall and watching the world go by—Sunburned throngs on bicycles, roller skates, skateboards, even a few ordinary pedestrians, all in constant motion up and down the miles of beachfront sidewalk. She thought a lot about Project QUAKER and their scheduled meeting with Jason to renew their consultation. She thought about Alex Runyan. She looked forward to seeing him again.
Late Monday morning, Danielson flew down to San Diego and met Isaacs’ incoming flight. By early afternoon, they were back in Ellison Gantt’s room closeted with the same members of Jason. Both Wayne Phillips and Alex Runyan had greeted them on their arrival. Runyan, again in shorts, T-shirt, and thongs, had attached himself to Danielson, escorting her with friendly chatter up the stairs and to a seat on the comfortable, slightly frayed sofa next to the portable blackboard. She had self-consciously enjoyed the attention. Now she looked around noting with amusement the tendency for people to resume the positions they had previously established, even three weeks before, some instinctual territoriality, she supposed. Noldt and Fletcher sat in the same chairs, next to the sofa. Noldt’s round face beamed as he greeted her again. Fletcher had just come in from a run on the beach, his dark lean face still flushed and his hair wet from a shower. Gantt was again seated at his desk, looking as grey and undistinguishable as ever. Zicek and Leems came in. Leems scowled and took the chair by the door, but Zicek smiled and joined the pair on the sofa.