'An insurance salesman, begging me to call him and compare policies when my auto insurance comes due. Apparently, a struggling independent who can't afford his own stationery.'
Janine shrugged.
'Well, he shows initiative. Maybe you should call him up and check him out.'
Danielson grinned. She felt she had pulled off her little lie, but her pulse pounded with the effort. She recalled the polygraph test which had constituted part of her screening for the Agency position, glad not to be hooked up to it now.
Janine plopped down on Pat's bed and began to comb her hair.
Isaacs sat in the back of the bar where the afternoon sun barely penetrated from the opaque plastic panels in the front windows. He had debated the alternatives: to meet in a crowded place where strangers would take no note, but where the probability of a chance acquaintance was higher; or to pick a quiet spot where the bartender and the few patrons might have some vague memory of their presence, but their chances of being recognized together were near zero. He opted for the latter.
Isaacs dawdled over his drink, feeling alternately morose, angry, and expectant. He recalled his attempt at fatherly advice to Danielson and felt the sting of irony. This was not the way to get ahead in the Agency. He smiled with relief when the door opened, revealing her silhouetted in the doorway. He was grateful that his confidence in this competent young woman had not been misplaced. The thought also passed through his mind that his goal could have been personal, rather than the business at hand, and she would have responded the same.
Danielson stood for a moment as her eyes adjusted from the sunlit afternoon. She instinctively peered towards the darkest area of the room and saw Isaacs arise from the booth. As she strode to greet him her senses were alert to his manner and carriage. His smile was warm, but did not quite reach his eyes, which looked troubled. He clasped her hand firmly, maintaining his grip just a fraction longer than necessary before giving it a last small pump and gesturing her into the seat.
'Thank you for coming,' he said.
Before she could respond the bartender had rounded the bar and sauntered to their table. He glanced at Danielson and raised an eyebrow towards Isaacs.
'Will you have a drink?'
'Well, it's early, but it is hot out. I'll have a gin and tonic.'
The bartender nodded and lackadaisically retraced his path.
'I hope I haven't inconvenienced you, springing this on you. I know you have precious little time off these days.'
'I did have a date this afternoon.'
'I'm sorry. I tried to give you a day's notice. I'm afraid I haven't played the dating game in quite a while.'
Danielson raised an eyebrow. Was he playing it now?
'I did try to pick a time when I thought you'd just be relaxing at home.'
'I might have been, but this afternoon's concert happened to fit my schedule. Anyway, I told him my hay fever had flared up, and I couldn't face either sitting in the grass sneezing or doping myself silly with antihistamines. I got a ram check for next week at the Kennedy Center , safely inside and air-conditioned. Now if I can just get the Del to let me off-.'
Her voice trailed off, her real question left floating in the air. Isaacs sensed her reserve and grinned nervously as the bartender arrived with her drink. He put down a fresh coaster, then promptly soaked it as he deposited the glass too abruptly. Danielson started to take a sip, but the coaster stuck to the bottom of the glass. She looked on with mild surprise as Isaacs unpeeled the coaster, reached for the shaker, and shook some salt on it. He gestured at the coaster. She placed her glass down and then lifted it. The coaster stayed nicely in place on the table. She took a sip, then raised her glass in an abbreviated toast. Isaacs nodded his appreciation. After a moment a serious look settled on his face.
'I need to talk to you about Operation QUAKER.'
Danielson smiled wryly to herself. She had been right: romance was a preposterous notion. Aloud she said, 'I find myself pondering it on occasion.' She glanced around the bar. 'Do we need to meet here to beat a dead horse?'
'Circumstances have changed. I think it's imperative that Operation QUAKER be revived.' Isaacs looked down into his drink and then up at Danielson. 'I need your help, but the political roadblocks still exist so there are risks.' He smiled briefly. 'That's the reason for this skullduggery today.'
He leaned forward and spoke intently.
'Let me explain what has happened.'
Isaacs described his relation with Rutherford , the naval operation that had ensued, and its connection to the Novorossiisk. He gave a brief, professional description of the fate of the Stinson and her crew, but Danielson felt his pain. She sensed that his personal loss spurred him on in this venture. She asked herself how much of his renewed enthusiasm for Operation QUAKER was a reaction to his grief, how much a need for retribution against McMasters, and how much a cool objective decision that he alone must shoulder the responsibility.
'If you're right about the Stinson and the Novorossiisk, then the whole situation we're caught up in now,' Danielson looked around and lowered her voice even further, 'the Russian satellite and our, uh, device, stems from whatever is causing the seismic signal.'
'That's my reading.'
Danielson leaned back in the booth, her mind swimming, trying to assimilate all that Isaacs had said. 'This damage,' she mumbled, almost to herself, 'how could the seismic signals I was tracking possibly sink a ship?' She looked directly at Isaacs. 'What could this thing be?'
Isaacs shrugged his shoulders and looked pained.
'I've asked myself that over and over. I don't have a single rational suggestion. Only a profound vague fear.'
'Could it be a Russian weapon of some kind? But why would they use it on their own ship? An accident? And why would they blame us? Bluster to cover up?'
Isaacs shook his head again in worried fashion. 'My instincts tell me the Soviets aren't behind this. They really don't understand what happened to the Novorossiisk. Everything else has followed naturally, god forbid.'
'Then who?'
'Who? What? No answers.'
Danielson was silent for a moment, thinking.
'What is the Navy doing about it? It was their destroyer that was lost.'
'The Navy is continuing its surveillance, but sporadically and from a great distance. Of course, they're on full alert as well, so the energies of any of their brass who could make some constructive decisions are focused on what they see as the immediate problem — trying to monitor everything in the world that floats and flies a red star.
'There's a self-defeating dichotomy in their approach. They don't really know what happened to the Stinson and won't officially admit any direct connection to its mission. And yet, they're afraid there was some direct cause and won't commit any ships or equipment to close surveillance. As it stands, they aren't learning anything new, not even establishing in their own minds that this thing is definitely dangerous.'
'But you think it is.'
'I'm convinced of it.'
'What you suggest is so totally inexplicable, maybe coincidence is the only reasonable explanation after all.'
'There's the slimmest chance that I'm overreacting to some outrageous coincidences. But I think the situation must be resolved one way or another. I'm certainly convinced that the present hiatus is unacceptable. Someone must take steps to determine what is really happening here.'
'Can't you go back to McMasters and appeal to him to reopen the file on its merits?'
'I tried that. I drafted a long memo setting out the case. It only succeeded in getting him more angry. He suspects I had some role in the Navy's interest, but can't prove it. In any case, he's clever enough to turn it around on me. He made an issue of the fact that there is no proof that the loss of the Stinson was not coincidence and that the Novorossiisk was not, after all, sunk, and hence that there is still no evidence that anything important is going on, much less for a connection between the two. I sent him the memo, what, eleven days ago, the day before the second laser was launched and we started this whole new loop. So he also gave me a healthy dose of "Don't you know there's a war on?", ignoring my argument that the issues are one and the same. He also maintains that since the Navy now has some official interest in the phenomenon, there is no reason for the Agency to duplicate the effort.'
Danielson toyed with a small puddle of spilled tome on the table, tracing a random pattern with her finger. She looked up.
'AFTAC is still collecting the seismic data — and sonar data from the undersea network, from what you say.'
'That's right,' confirmed Isaacs, 'but the Cambridge Research Lab stopped analysing this particular signal, once we terminated our official interest in it. The AFTAC sonar data would help to pin down accurate positions, but since I didn't have enough sense to make the connection, there's been no analysis of it whatsoever. By rights the Navy should at least be studying the AFTAC sonar data, but from what I can tell, they're not.'
'So all the data are piling up,' Danielson summarized, 'but no one is looking at them.'
'True. And we can't get at it. None of this is official Agency business, so a special request through channels is necessary — and McMasters has that approach effectively blocked.'
Danielson concentrated. 'There are the data we gathered before the halt came. But that's all in the inactive file. I didn't save anything out.'
Isaacs punched a finger into the table. 'I flunk we must start there. I'll have to camouflage my request, but I can get some of that retrieved without it necessarily coming to McMasters's attention. Particularly if you can give me an idea of the few things, data tapes and such, which would be of greatest use.
'The problem,' he continued, 'is that I can't do any of the analysis. I'm rarely directly involved with raw data and computer analysis any more. If I were to go anywhere near that data on a regular basis, McMasters would be on my back immediately. Any kind of blowup is apt to foreclose the investigation completely.'
'On the other hand,' Danielson looked at him Godly, 'I interact with other data and the computer on a routine basis.'
Isaacs returned her level gaze. He knew he did not need to spell out the situation for her further.
Danielson lowered her eyes to the damp spot on the table again. Isaacs watched her averted eyes and noted the crinkling between her brows. When she looked up there was a hint of mischievousness and triumph on her face.
'I can do it! I can add a couple of subroutines to my fourier transform package. Then I can read in and print out the seismic data interspersed with the results of other projects at intermediate stages when no one routinely examines the output but me. The chances of someone noticing without going through step-by-step would be very small.'
'I'm sure you can do it. The question is whether you should and will. If we're caught at it, your job could be at stake. I would take responsibility for giving you the order, but that might not be sufficient. I'm asking a great deal of you.'
Danielson paused. 'Do you really think we can do any good? We can rehash the old data, but if that's all, can we accomplish any more than the Navy?'
Isaacs suddenly pounded his fist onto the table and then hunched in chagrin as the bartender looked up in their direction.
'We can think!' he whispered intensely. 'The Navy is sailing in circles, no one is really trying to understand what is going on!'
He relaxed and put his hand momentarily on hers. 'There's no doubt we'll be at a handicap. This analysis by subterfuge will be far less efficient and useful than the way we proceeded before. But we can use our heads on the data at hand rather than hide from it. Any effort at analysis will be preferable to the fiddling which is going on now. Our Rome is up there in orbit,' he glanced at the coifing, 'and it could burn any minute.'
Danielson looked at him. She concluded that he acted from a variety of motives, but that the overriding one was a deep concern to prevent the escalation of the conflict with the Soviets by understanding what was happening to the earth. She could not readily accommodate the notion that she might personally affect global power politics, but she keenly felt the need to come to grips with the mysterious motions in the earth that she herself had coaxed into rational form. Could the alignment of the Stinson and the Novorossiisk with the trajectory she had mapped out be only a coincidence? To believe that would be so easy, but, like Isaacs, she could not do so. The alternative was horrendous to contemplate, but impossible to ignore. Whatever drove the seismic signal, killed. What bizarre, implacable thing plagued them?
She recalled her notion that Isaacs might have had some romantic motive for this meeting. A wave of embarrassment burst upon her. How trivial that notion was compared to the fearsome reality.
The idea of violating a directive both fascinated and terrified her. She nodded at Isaacs, and he leaned back in satisfied relief.
Jason, he thought to himself. The next step is to call Jason. Aloud to her he said, 'Next weekend is the July Fourth holiday. I'll have to ask you to keep it open. We may have to take a trip.'
Chapter 8
Janine shrugged.
'Well, he shows initiative. Maybe you should call him up and check him out.'
Danielson grinned. She felt she had pulled off her little lie, but her pulse pounded with the effort. She recalled the polygraph test which had constituted part of her screening for the Agency position, glad not to be hooked up to it now.
Janine plopped down on Pat's bed and began to comb her hair.
Isaacs sat in the back of the bar where the afternoon sun barely penetrated from the opaque plastic panels in the front windows. He had debated the alternatives: to meet in a crowded place where strangers would take no note, but where the probability of a chance acquaintance was higher; or to pick a quiet spot where the bartender and the few patrons might have some vague memory of their presence, but their chances of being recognized together were near zero. He opted for the latter.
Isaacs dawdled over his drink, feeling alternately morose, angry, and expectant. He recalled his attempt at fatherly advice to Danielson and felt the sting of irony. This was not the way to get ahead in the Agency. He smiled with relief when the door opened, revealing her silhouetted in the doorway. He was grateful that his confidence in this competent young woman had not been misplaced. The thought also passed through his mind that his goal could have been personal, rather than the business at hand, and she would have responded the same.
Danielson stood for a moment as her eyes adjusted from the sunlit afternoon. She instinctively peered towards the darkest area of the room and saw Isaacs arise from the booth. As she strode to greet him her senses were alert to his manner and carriage. His smile was warm, but did not quite reach his eyes, which looked troubled. He clasped her hand firmly, maintaining his grip just a fraction longer than necessary before giving it a last small pump and gesturing her into the seat.
'Thank you for coming,' he said.
Before she could respond the bartender had rounded the bar and sauntered to their table. He glanced at Danielson and raised an eyebrow towards Isaacs.
'Will you have a drink?'
'Well, it's early, but it is hot out. I'll have a gin and tonic.'
The bartender nodded and lackadaisically retraced his path.
'I hope I haven't inconvenienced you, springing this on you. I know you have precious little time off these days.'
'I did have a date this afternoon.'
'I'm sorry. I tried to give you a day's notice. I'm afraid I haven't played the dating game in quite a while.'
Danielson raised an eyebrow. Was he playing it now?
'I did try to pick a time when I thought you'd just be relaxing at home.'
'I might have been, but this afternoon's concert happened to fit my schedule. Anyway, I told him my hay fever had flared up, and I couldn't face either sitting in the grass sneezing or doping myself silly with antihistamines. I got a ram check for next week at the Kennedy Center , safely inside and air-conditioned. Now if I can just get the Del to let me off-.'
Her voice trailed off, her real question left floating in the air. Isaacs sensed her reserve and grinned nervously as the bartender arrived with her drink. He put down a fresh coaster, then promptly soaked it as he deposited the glass too abruptly. Danielson started to take a sip, but the coaster stuck to the bottom of the glass. She looked on with mild surprise as Isaacs unpeeled the coaster, reached for the shaker, and shook some salt on it. He gestured at the coaster. She placed her glass down and then lifted it. The coaster stayed nicely in place on the table. She took a sip, then raised her glass in an abbreviated toast. Isaacs nodded his appreciation. After a moment a serious look settled on his face.
'I need to talk to you about Operation QUAKER.'
Danielson smiled wryly to herself. She had been right: romance was a preposterous notion. Aloud she said, 'I find myself pondering it on occasion.' She glanced around the bar. 'Do we need to meet here to beat a dead horse?'
'Circumstances have changed. I think it's imperative that Operation QUAKER be revived.' Isaacs looked down into his drink and then up at Danielson. 'I need your help, but the political roadblocks still exist so there are risks.' He smiled briefly. 'That's the reason for this skullduggery today.'
He leaned forward and spoke intently.
'Let me explain what has happened.'
Isaacs described his relation with Rutherford , the naval operation that had ensued, and its connection to the Novorossiisk. He gave a brief, professional description of the fate of the Stinson and her crew, but Danielson felt his pain. She sensed that his personal loss spurred him on in this venture. She asked herself how much of his renewed enthusiasm for Operation QUAKER was a reaction to his grief, how much a need for retribution against McMasters, and how much a cool objective decision that he alone must shoulder the responsibility.
'If you're right about the Stinson and the Novorossiisk, then the whole situation we're caught up in now,' Danielson looked around and lowered her voice even further, 'the Russian satellite and our, uh, device, stems from whatever is causing the seismic signal.'
'That's my reading.'
Danielson leaned back in the booth, her mind swimming, trying to assimilate all that Isaacs had said. 'This damage,' she mumbled, almost to herself, 'how could the seismic signals I was tracking possibly sink a ship?' She looked directly at Isaacs. 'What could this thing be?'
Isaacs shrugged his shoulders and looked pained.
'I've asked myself that over and over. I don't have a single rational suggestion. Only a profound vague fear.'
'Could it be a Russian weapon of some kind? But why would they use it on their own ship? An accident? And why would they blame us? Bluster to cover up?'
Isaacs shook his head again in worried fashion. 'My instincts tell me the Soviets aren't behind this. They really don't understand what happened to the Novorossiisk. Everything else has followed naturally, god forbid.'
'Then who?'
'Who? What? No answers.'
Danielson was silent for a moment, thinking.
'What is the Navy doing about it? It was their destroyer that was lost.'
'The Navy is continuing its surveillance, but sporadically and from a great distance. Of course, they're on full alert as well, so the energies of any of their brass who could make some constructive decisions are focused on what they see as the immediate problem — trying to monitor everything in the world that floats and flies a red star.
'There's a self-defeating dichotomy in their approach. They don't really know what happened to the Stinson and won't officially admit any direct connection to its mission. And yet, they're afraid there was some direct cause and won't commit any ships or equipment to close surveillance. As it stands, they aren't learning anything new, not even establishing in their own minds that this thing is definitely dangerous.'
'But you think it is.'
'I'm convinced of it.'
'What you suggest is so totally inexplicable, maybe coincidence is the only reasonable explanation after all.'
'There's the slimmest chance that I'm overreacting to some outrageous coincidences. But I think the situation must be resolved one way or another. I'm certainly convinced that the present hiatus is unacceptable. Someone must take steps to determine what is really happening here.'
'Can't you go back to McMasters and appeal to him to reopen the file on its merits?'
'I tried that. I drafted a long memo setting out the case. It only succeeded in getting him more angry. He suspects I had some role in the Navy's interest, but can't prove it. In any case, he's clever enough to turn it around on me. He made an issue of the fact that there is no proof that the loss of the Stinson was not coincidence and that the Novorossiisk was not, after all, sunk, and hence that there is still no evidence that anything important is going on, much less for a connection between the two. I sent him the memo, what, eleven days ago, the day before the second laser was launched and we started this whole new loop. So he also gave me a healthy dose of "Don't you know there's a war on?", ignoring my argument that the issues are one and the same. He also maintains that since the Navy now has some official interest in the phenomenon, there is no reason for the Agency to duplicate the effort.'
Danielson toyed with a small puddle of spilled tome on the table, tracing a random pattern with her finger. She looked up.
'AFTAC is still collecting the seismic data — and sonar data from the undersea network, from what you say.'
'That's right,' confirmed Isaacs, 'but the Cambridge Research Lab stopped analysing this particular signal, once we terminated our official interest in it. The AFTAC sonar data would help to pin down accurate positions, but since I didn't have enough sense to make the connection, there's been no analysis of it whatsoever. By rights the Navy should at least be studying the AFTAC sonar data, but from what I can tell, they're not.'
'So all the data are piling up,' Danielson summarized, 'but no one is looking at them.'
'True. And we can't get at it. None of this is official Agency business, so a special request through channels is necessary — and McMasters has that approach effectively blocked.'
Danielson concentrated. 'There are the data we gathered before the halt came. But that's all in the inactive file. I didn't save anything out.'
Isaacs punched a finger into the table. 'I flunk we must start there. I'll have to camouflage my request, but I can get some of that retrieved without it necessarily coming to McMasters's attention. Particularly if you can give me an idea of the few things, data tapes and such, which would be of greatest use.
'The problem,' he continued, 'is that I can't do any of the analysis. I'm rarely directly involved with raw data and computer analysis any more. If I were to go anywhere near that data on a regular basis, McMasters would be on my back immediately. Any kind of blowup is apt to foreclose the investigation completely.'
'On the other hand,' Danielson looked at him Godly, 'I interact with other data and the computer on a routine basis.'
Isaacs returned her level gaze. He knew he did not need to spell out the situation for her further.
Danielson lowered her eyes to the damp spot on the table again. Isaacs watched her averted eyes and noted the crinkling between her brows. When she looked up there was a hint of mischievousness and triumph on her face.
'I can do it! I can add a couple of subroutines to my fourier transform package. Then I can read in and print out the seismic data interspersed with the results of other projects at intermediate stages when no one routinely examines the output but me. The chances of someone noticing without going through step-by-step would be very small.'
'I'm sure you can do it. The question is whether you should and will. If we're caught at it, your job could be at stake. I would take responsibility for giving you the order, but that might not be sufficient. I'm asking a great deal of you.'
Danielson paused. 'Do you really think we can do any good? We can rehash the old data, but if that's all, can we accomplish any more than the Navy?'
Isaacs suddenly pounded his fist onto the table and then hunched in chagrin as the bartender looked up in their direction.
'We can think!' he whispered intensely. 'The Navy is sailing in circles, no one is really trying to understand what is going on!'
He relaxed and put his hand momentarily on hers. 'There's no doubt we'll be at a handicap. This analysis by subterfuge will be far less efficient and useful than the way we proceeded before. But we can use our heads on the data at hand rather than hide from it. Any effort at analysis will be preferable to the fiddling which is going on now. Our Rome is up there in orbit,' he glanced at the coifing, 'and it could burn any minute.'
Danielson looked at him. She concluded that he acted from a variety of motives, but that the overriding one was a deep concern to prevent the escalation of the conflict with the Soviets by understanding what was happening to the earth. She could not readily accommodate the notion that she might personally affect global power politics, but she keenly felt the need to come to grips with the mysterious motions in the earth that she herself had coaxed into rational form. Could the alignment of the Stinson and the Novorossiisk with the trajectory she had mapped out be only a coincidence? To believe that would be so easy, but, like Isaacs, she could not do so. The alternative was horrendous to contemplate, but impossible to ignore. Whatever drove the seismic signal, killed. What bizarre, implacable thing plagued them?
She recalled her notion that Isaacs might have had some romantic motive for this meeting. A wave of embarrassment burst upon her. How trivial that notion was compared to the fearsome reality.
The idea of violating a directive both fascinated and terrified her. She nodded at Isaacs, and he leaned back in satisfied relief.
Jason, he thought to himself. The next step is to call Jason. Aloud to her he said, 'Next weekend is the July Fourth holiday. I'll have to ask you to keep it open. We may have to take a trip.'
Chapter 8
Nancy Wambaugh pedaled down the sidewalk on her bike. School was out for the day, and the crisp air and warm winter sun of late June felt good in her windblown hair. Sometimes the teacher made her do things in the first grade she didn't like, but she was delighted with the lesson she had learned today. Her daddy had taught her some time ago to recite, sag-song, where she lived — ' Newcastle , New South Wales , Australia.' When she was too young to be ashamed, she would put a little curtsy at the end, pleased at her father's big smile. She had always loved the image in her mind of a new castle , full of princesses and good things, but today she had learned a new grown-up thing about it. She had learned to spell it, and it made a little poem! As she pumped, she sang,
'N, E, W, C,'
Left foot, right foot, left foot, right.
'A, S, T, L, E,'
Left foot, right foot, left foot, right.
Wham!
Nancy landed on her right elbow and cheek, feet tangled painfully in the pedals of the bicycle. She sucked in her breath from the shock and then wailed as she looked at the blood that began to seep from the long scrape on her arm. She scrambled away from the bike and looked around, hurt and angry. She was sure her older brother, David, had bumped her off the bike with a pillow, that's what it had felt like when the bike tumbled, like when they had pillow fights and David knocked her down. She put her fingers to the sting on her face, and they came away bloody. She screamed louder.
Her cries drowned the hiss that rose above her head. The raucous whisper returned some distance away as Nancy ran towards home.
'MOMEEEE!
McMasters's head snapped up from the report he was reading at the sound of the intercom buzzer. 'Yes, what is it?'
'Alan Mirabeau, from the computer section, is here to see you.'
'Umm, ah, yes.' McMasters leaned back in his chair in anticipation. 'Send him in.' McMasters watched as the earnest young man peered around the door and then walked to his desk.
'Sir? You asked for me to monitor requests for certain files?'
'Indeed.'
'Well, a request did come this morning for some of the inactive files associated with Project QUAKER. Here's a list of the files that were requested.'
McMasters leaned forward to take the proffered sheet. 'The files were transferred out for about an hour, then written back in and deactivated again.'
Long enough to transfer their contents to any active files, McMasters mused. He glanced over the list. They meant nothing to him, and everything. 'Who requested this?' He knew, but he wanted to hear.
'It was a written request, sir. Signed by Mr Isaacs.'
Mirabeau was nervous. He had dreamed of a chance like this to interact with the upper echelons, but this was not what he had envisioned. He wanted terribly to please McMasters, but not at the expense of getting in trouble with Isaacs, another member of the ruling circle. He had not realized that McMasters's seemingly routine and innocuous request was going to put him in the position of spying on Isaacs. Every fibre of his being was attuned to sensing the desires of his superiors and satisfying them. He was in agony at the thought that he could not please one of these men without incurring the displeasure of the other.
'Can you put a trace on this material?' McMasters put a finger on the list in front of him.
'But it's been deactivated again,' Mirabeau protested, but then the light of understanding spread over his face, and his admiration for McMasters increased. 'Oh, I see. You think a copy was kept out.'
'Precisely,' McMasters replied.
The young man concentrated for a moment.
'The file names will have been changed, so a search for them would be pointless. There is no simple way to search for this material, but I can do a sampling of running jobs to search for particular combinations of data and instructions that occur in these files.'
'I want to know when this material is used, and by whom,' McMasters demanded.
'Yes, sir.'
'That's all.'
'Yes, sir.' The young man headed for the door.
'Oh, Mirabeau.'
'Sir,' he replied, swivelling quickly.
'Not a word of this to Isaacs, or his associates.'
The young man smiled with relief.
'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 towards McMasters and then shut the door behind him.
Saturday morning Isaacs paced up and down in front of the check-in counter at Dunes. 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 towards 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 his 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 on to 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 towards 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 aeroplanes 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 metres to a kilometre.'
'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 Defence 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 framing at defence 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 Plumps: 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's 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.
'Pat, I am concerned about this trip. I hate exposing us, you in particular, but we need some help, some idea of what's going on.' He poked at his green beans then went on. 'Frankly, even without the risk, I always have mixed feelings with these people. Individually and collectively they're very bright. They have an excellent track record for making progress on seemingly intractable problems, like ours, and the fact that they do serve on Jason gives us something in common, I suppose. But I can't help thinking they're still academics. The fact that they choose that sort of life, rather than committing themselves to the front line like some of us are compelled to do, means we have a different mindset. A basically different view of the world, life.'
He shrugged.
'I think I understand,' Danielson said. 'I guess I'm pretty nervous meeting with them for another reason, but it's related. I've never had to do any Agency business in public, outside of Langley, except for that liaison with the Cambridge Research Lab, but that was just work. Now I've got to try to explain what I've done, what I've been thinking, to professional scientists, framed sceptics. It's a little frightening.'
He looked her seriously in the eyes.
'You know your stuff,' he said confidently. 'Don't worry on that account.'
A passing stewardess eyed their trays. They concentrated once more on the food before them. After-lunch, Danielson extracted her case from beneath the seat in front of her and reviewed her notes one more time.
At the Son Diego airport Isaacs called ahead to announce their arrival, then they picked up a rental car and got on the freeway headed north, passing between steep hillocks on either side. Only the tang in the airstream through a partially opened window gave evidence of the nearby Pacific. They turned off the freeway and headed uphill to the west. The crest brought a panoramic view of a sweep of coastline to the right, broken in mid-arc by the jut of Scripps pier. To the left the town of La Jolla snuggled around the hillside and down to the sea. In another few minutes they turned into the gateway of the Bishop's School for Girls, nestled a short distance from the commercial centre of La Jolla.
As they got out of the car, Wayne Plumps called to them. Isaacs and Plumps greeted one another with refined congeniality. Plumps, a Harvard physicist, was, at 68, the senior member and current head of Jason. Like many atlas generation he had nurtured his career both in physics and in defence-related matters on the Manhattan Project during World War 11. A contributor to a wide variety of fields, he was best known for his work on nuclear physics which had earned him a share of a Nobel Prize.
His physique conceded something to age, but Phillips's rangy build still extended to nearly six feet. His thick grey hair was balding, but not exceedingly so. The lock of hair in the middle of his forehead gave the effect of a high rise widow's peak. His longish face displayed kindly blue eyes underscored by pronounced bags. Plumps had come from a monied eastern family and had been raised in style. Although he was among the most highly respected of his colleagues, he had long been regarded as a pariah by some members of his family for not devoting his life to the disbursement of the extensive family trust funds.
Isaacs introduced Danielson to Phillips and they chatted as they moved off down the walk and into a nearby building. Danielson warmed immediately to the physicist's courtly manner which belied his aggressive intellect.
They entered one of the dormitories. The bulletin board in the foyer bore outdated reminders of the school-term occupants. Freshly scattered around were announcements of classes and various activities. In a lower corner, neatly aligned but yellowed with age, was a detailed list of covenants applicable to proper young school girls.
Plumps gestured for Isaacs and Danielson to ascend the stairway which led from the foyer. At the top they paused while Plumps caught up with them and led the way down a hall. At midpoint he stopped, rapped once on the door, then turned the knob and stepped back to usher them in.
The furnishings of the room they entered looked all out of place. After a moment's reflection, Danielson realized that it was a regular dormitory room converted for the summer into an office. The beds had been removed and replaced by a large serviceable desk which stood against the left wall, littered with papers and books. A comfortable old sofa had been shoehorned in beneath the windows opposite, and along the right wall stood a roller-footed portable blackboard. Next to the blackboard a partially opened door revealed a compact lavatory. Extra chairs were placed randomly, adding to the sense of clutter.
Two men sat on the sofa. Isaacs recognized one as Ellison Gantt, the distinguished seismologist from Caltech who had been instrumental in planning the large seismic array. Gantt had receding grey hair and wore dark-framed glasses. His jowls and chin were beginning to sag. The two men rose and Phillips introduced them. The other was Vladimir Zicek from Columbia , one of the world's experts on lasers. Danielson was unsure she would recognize Gantt if she were to bump into him on the street later: he looked like so many other grey, middle-aged men. In a coat and tie he could have passed anywhere as a business executive. Zicek was more distinctive. He was rather small in stature with sharp features and hair combed straight back from his forehead. There was a friendly twinkle in his eyes and his polite continental manner appealed to her. Phillips addressed Gantt.
'Ellison, you're our host here today. Would you amid assembling the others?'
'Of course. Let's see — it's Leems, Runyan, Noldt, and Fletcher, isn't it?'
'That's right,' acknowledged Plumps.
Gantt moved into the hallway. Plumps offered Danielson a seat on the sofa, which she took. She realized it put her in full direct view of each new arrival, and she watched with amusement as they filed in over the next several minutes. Each reacted with various degrees of surprise to find an attractive female in the retinue.
Isaacs remained standing, fidgeting at the delay which would be barely excusable by regimented CIA standards. They were all assembled in a few minutes, however. Isaacs conceded even that was admirable for a bunch of prima donna college professors.
Plumps courteously introduced each new arrival and Isaacs checked them off against the files he had studied. earl Fletcher and Ted Noldt arrived together. They were experts in high energy particle physics. Fletcher, a theorist from Princeton , Noldt, an experimentalist from Stanford. They both were in their middle thirties, friends from graduate school. Fletcher was of medium height with shaggy brown hair. He had quick dark eyes set in a square face with the gaunt, tanned cheeks of a long-distance runner. Noldt was a bit taller, but blond and pudgy. A crooked grin and glasses gave him the look of a good-humoured owl.
Harvey Leems, a solid-state physicist from Berkeley , followed in a minute. Leems was tall and bald. His thick, rimless glasses diminished his eyes and contributed to a sour look. He greeted Isaacs and Danielson with a quick nod.
Gantt returned lugging a slide projector and screen which he proceeded to arrange. Last to arrive was Alexander Runyan, an astrophysicist from Minnesota. Runyan's raw— boned frame ran three inches over six feet. Danielson watched him come through the door and stop to be introduced to Isaacs. He was wearing a T-shirt that showed a slight paunch, cut-offs, and flip-flop thongs. He moved slowly, almost shambled, but Danielson sensed in him an energy that could be quickly galvanized. A dark beard going salt-and-pepper, particularly at the sideburns, covered a face she thought might be handsome if she could see it all. He turned towards her then, gave a look of surprise and delight and whipped off the glasses he'd been wearing. He stepped across the room and introduced himself, shaking Danielson's hand and giving her a warm smile. His eyes were light grey or green, hidden in a perpetual sun squint that melded easily into his smile. He squeezed between Danielson and Zicek on the sofa. There was an exchange of knowing looks among the scientists. If there were an attractive woman in the crowd, Runyan would be at her side pouring on the charm.
Phillips moved to the small, clear area before the projection screen which Gantt had placed in front of the lavatory door.
'Gentlemen,' he began, 'we are pleased to welcome Mr Isaacs and Dr Danielson from the Central Intelligence Agency. They have an interesting problem to set before us. It's not on our formal agenda, but I've promised Mr Isaacs we'll lend what insight we can. They'll present us with some details and then lead a general discussion to explore the nature of the situation. Mr Isaacs.'
'Thank you. Professor Phillips,' Isaacs began, looking around the room. 'I want to thank you all for giving up your Saturday afternoon on such short notice. As you will see, we are dealing with a problem so foreign to our experience, that any hint of how to proceed will be most useful.'
Isaacs spent ten minutes giving a general but concise review of the surveillance role of the CIA and the parallel operation in AFTAC with particular stress on the capabilities of the Large Seismic Array and the undersea acoustic monitors. He also described the role of the Office of Scientific Intelligence in guiding and interpreting the surveillance missions. He then turned the floor over to Danielson.
Although nervous, Danielson had maintained her demeanour while watching the group file in. Butterflies struck in earnest, however, as she listened to Isaacs. She was intent on giving a professional presentation. She knew intellectually that she was well versed in her subject, but her emotional reaction was tainted by the knowledge that she, as a woman and an engineer, was about to stand up before an audience of male physicists considered the best in their fields.
As she stepped around next to the projector, she was vividly aware that the all male group was equally conscious of her sex. Her voice broke slightly as she began, and she spoke her first few introductory sentences at a low volume which scarcely carried over the faint traffic noise from the window.
'A little louder for those of us who are hard of hearing, please Dr Danielson.'
The admonition came from Plumps, but it was delivered with a warm supportive smile. Danielson heartened and her tone strengthened. She turned on the first slide which drew her attention away from the audience and to her subject matter. Soon she was caught up in the precise intricate web of analysis which, through her deep involvement, was an extension of her own personality.
Danielson's reading of her small audience was largely accurate. Before she began to speak and establish some grounds for an intellectual bond, the instinctive response was to react to her as a female. Not a man in the room failed to run a glance from her softly curled hair down to trim ankles and back and say to himself, 'not your standard CIA type' or variations on that theme. There was a communal embarrassment and the reinforcement of some prejudice as she began so softly, but by and large they were a sophisticated and open-minded group prepared to relate on an intellectual level. Once Danielson got involved in her subject, she commanded their attention, and a growing respect. When she reached her major point, that the seismic signal kept sidereal time, time with the stars, there was a muffled commotion of gestures and excitedly whispered comments that told Danielson that she had established the desired rapport with her audience.
When Danielson finished, Ellison Gantt spoke from his seat in the swivel chair at the desk.
'This is a very strange situation, but let me say for the information of my colleagues that Dr Danielson seems to have a good command of the basics of seismology in general and the nature of the Large Seismic Array in particular. I'd like a chance to study the data she's presented in more detail, but at first sight I have to concur that the signal's a genuine one. I've never seen one like it. It's certainly not the result of normal seismological activity.'
Danielson knew Gantt by reputation. She was pleased by his gesture of support.
Harvey Leems spoke up from his seat near the door. 'Do you have other independent evidence of the existence of this phenomenon — something other than this seismological record, that is?'
'Yes, let me speak to that,' replied Isaacs. 'The seismic data is crucial because it told us that something systematic was occurring and led us to look for corroborative evidence. That's the other half of the story.'
He gave a quick smile and nodded at Danielson. As he rose, she took his chair which was more convenient than the sofa. The remnant state of intense nervous involvement with her own presentation persisted. Several minutes passed before she could concentrate adequately on Isaacs's remarks. Isaacs outlined the associated sonar data and the behaviour it portrayed. Whereas the seismic signal was lost in the mantle, the sonar signal proceeded along the extrapolated path to the ocean surface, disappeared for about forty seconds and then retraced its path to the ocean bottom where the seismic signal was picked up once more.
'On the basis of such data,' Isaacs continued, 'about three weeks ago a Navy destroyer was sent to investigate a site of the predicted surfacings. At its first station it recorded and relayed a signal typical of the one I just described. It then took up a position near a second predicted point of surfacing.'
Isaacs paused and looked around at his audience. 'Our data is incomplete, but at approximately the predicted time of surfacing, the ship exploded, capsized and sank. Two hundred thirty-six of the crew were lost.'
Most of the men to whom he spoke stared down at their hands or off to various spots in the room. Only Leems and Runyan kept their eyes on Isaacs.
'There's some evidence that the turbines exploded. There's no proof that the sinking of the ship was related to its mission, but the circumstantial evidence and other events suggest to me that that possibility must be strongly considered.
'We have seen in hindsight that a related event probably occurred to the Soviet aircraft carrier Novorossiisk last April. It was in the Mediterranean on the trajectory Dr Danielson described and at the right time, as nearly as we can tell. Something punctured a small hole through it vertically a few millimetres to a centimetre across and triggered extensive fire damage. There was an associated sonar signal. We suggested a meteorite, but the Soviets rejected the idea: we're not sure why. In any case, that event began an escalating and very dangerous conflict with the Soviets. We needn't go into that here, but to say that the Soviets mistakenly blamed us for the damage to the carrier. Besides direct physical damage, ignorance of the true nature of this phenomenon threatens us with other indirectly related, but very real perils.'
Isaacs paused and scanned around the group.
'It's imperative that we understand this phenomenon for its intrinsic menace, and to contain this related confrontation with the Soviets.'
He looked at them again, satisfied he had made the point. 'To summarize the picture we currently have, then,' said Isaacs, 'some influence moves along a line fixed in space. It travels through the earth or the ocean where its passage can be detected with seismographs or sonar, respectively. It seems to reverse just above the earth's surface and then return on a parallel path. There is evidence that this influence is responsible for puncturing a hole several millimetres across through solid steel. And there is every reason to think that it is something that is an immediate threat to life and property and, indirectly, to our political stability.'
Leems had listened carefully to this extended reply to his first question and raised another.
'If this phenomenon is as dangerous as you indicate, why haven't there been widespread reports of damage? If it really surfaces regularly, that's about eighteen times a day somewhere on earth.'
'I agree that's a point of interest,' replied Isaacs, 'and Dr Danielson has had another important insight in that regard which she just told me about this morning. We think the answer is that, for the most part, the damage is of a curiously limited nature, and the locus on the earth's surface passes through relatively sparsely occupied territory. You've noticed, I suppose, that we are very nearly on the track here in La Jolla. From Son Diego the path stretches across the southwest United States , where there are few people, although it does pass through Dallas/Fort Worth. The southeast United States is also not too densely populated. The nearest big cities to the path are Macon , Georgia and Charleston , South Carolina , both somewhat to the north. From there the path goes across the Atlantic, intersecting Africa south of Casablanca then cutting across North Africa and into the Mediterranean. It passes through the Middle East, but again misses the big cities, going south of Haifa and Esfahan. From there it goes across Afghanistan and Pakistan and through the Himalayas. The path cuts through the heart of China , but misses major population centres. If there were incidents in the rural areas there, as for many of the other affected countries, we might very well hear nothing of it. The path intersects Nagasaki and then proceeds across the Pacific. The story is very much the same for the locus in the southern hemisphere. Lots of ocean, relatively little population density.
'So I suspect most events go unobserved, and that many which are observed go unreported. The probability of a surfacing twice in the same place is small. To any single witness it would be an isolated event with little meaning.
'What Dr Danielson has pointed out is that the seismic signal should come up within a region of high population density occasionally, increasing the chances of observing some associated phenomena. She predicts that the trajectory of the seismic wave will intersect a position within the city of Nagasaki this coming Thursday, July 8, Japanese time. On July 26 a similar event should take place in Dallas.'
'Well, you clearly want to put some observers at those sites,' said Leems, coldly. 'Aren't you jumping the "gun, talking to us now without that data?'
Isaacs stared at Leems for a long moment, then replied in an equally cool tone. 'As I said, the predictions were made after this trip was scheduled. I'm hoping the events which have already transpired will give you some clue to tell us what to look for.'
'N, E, W, C,'
Left foot, right foot, left foot, right.
'A, S, T, L, E,'
Left foot, right foot, left foot, right.
Wham!
Nancy landed on her right elbow and cheek, feet tangled painfully in the pedals of the bicycle. She sucked in her breath from the shock and then wailed as she looked at the blood that began to seep from the long scrape on her arm. She scrambled away from the bike and looked around, hurt and angry. She was sure her older brother, David, had bumped her off the bike with a pillow, that's what it had felt like when the bike tumbled, like when they had pillow fights and David knocked her down. She put her fingers to the sting on her face, and they came away bloody. She screamed louder.
Her cries drowned the hiss that rose above her head. The raucous whisper returned some distance away as Nancy ran towards home.
'MOMEEEE!
McMasters's head snapped up from the report he was reading at the sound of the intercom buzzer. 'Yes, what is it?'
'Alan Mirabeau, from the computer section, is here to see you.'
'Umm, ah, yes.' McMasters leaned back in his chair in anticipation. 'Send him in.' McMasters watched as the earnest young man peered around the door and then walked to his desk.
'Sir? You asked for me to monitor requests for certain files?'
'Indeed.'
'Well, a request did come this morning for some of the inactive files associated with Project QUAKER. Here's a list of the files that were requested.'
McMasters leaned forward to take the proffered sheet. 'The files were transferred out for about an hour, then written back in and deactivated again.'
Long enough to transfer their contents to any active files, McMasters mused. He glanced over the list. They meant nothing to him, and everything. 'Who requested this?' He knew, but he wanted to hear.
'It was a written request, sir. Signed by Mr Isaacs.'
Mirabeau was nervous. He had dreamed of a chance like this to interact with the upper echelons, but this was not what he had envisioned. He wanted terribly to please McMasters, but not at the expense of getting in trouble with Isaacs, another member of the ruling circle. He had not realized that McMasters's seemingly routine and innocuous request was going to put him in the position of spying on Isaacs. Every fibre of his being was attuned to sensing the desires of his superiors and satisfying them. He was in agony at the thought that he could not please one of these men without incurring the displeasure of the other.
'Can you put a trace on this material?' McMasters put a finger on the list in front of him.
'But it's been deactivated again,' Mirabeau protested, but then the light of understanding spread over his face, and his admiration for McMasters increased. 'Oh, I see. You think a copy was kept out.'
'Precisely,' McMasters replied.
The young man concentrated for a moment.
'The file names will have been changed, so a search for them would be pointless. There is no simple way to search for this material, but I can do a sampling of running jobs to search for particular combinations of data and instructions that occur in these files.'
'I want to know when this material is used, and by whom,' McMasters demanded.
'Yes, sir.'
'That's all.'
'Yes, sir.' The young man headed for the door.
'Oh, Mirabeau.'
'Sir,' he replied, swivelling quickly.
'Not a word of this to Isaacs, or his associates.'
The young man smiled with relief.
'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 towards McMasters and then shut the door behind him.
Saturday morning Isaacs paced up and down in front of the check-in counter at Dunes. 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 towards 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 his 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 on to 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 towards 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 aeroplanes 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 metres to a kilometre.'
'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 Defence 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 framing at defence 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 Plumps: 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's 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.
'Pat, I am concerned about this trip. I hate exposing us, you in particular, but we need some help, some idea of what's going on.' He poked at his green beans then went on. 'Frankly, even without the risk, I always have mixed feelings with these people. Individually and collectively they're very bright. They have an excellent track record for making progress on seemingly intractable problems, like ours, and the fact that they do serve on Jason gives us something in common, I suppose. But I can't help thinking they're still academics. The fact that they choose that sort of life, rather than committing themselves to the front line like some of us are compelled to do, means we have a different mindset. A basically different view of the world, life.'
He shrugged.
'I think I understand,' Danielson said. 'I guess I'm pretty nervous meeting with them for another reason, but it's related. I've never had to do any Agency business in public, outside of Langley, except for that liaison with the Cambridge Research Lab, but that was just work. Now I've got to try to explain what I've done, what I've been thinking, to professional scientists, framed sceptics. It's a little frightening.'
He looked her seriously in the eyes.
'You know your stuff,' he said confidently. 'Don't worry on that account.'
A passing stewardess eyed their trays. They concentrated once more on the food before them. After-lunch, Danielson extracted her case from beneath the seat in front of her and reviewed her notes one more time.
At the Son Diego airport Isaacs called ahead to announce their arrival, then they picked up a rental car and got on the freeway headed north, passing between steep hillocks on either side. Only the tang in the airstream through a partially opened window gave evidence of the nearby Pacific. They turned off the freeway and headed uphill to the west. The crest brought a panoramic view of a sweep of coastline to the right, broken in mid-arc by the jut of Scripps pier. To the left the town of La Jolla snuggled around the hillside and down to the sea. In another few minutes they turned into the gateway of the Bishop's School for Girls, nestled a short distance from the commercial centre of La Jolla.
As they got out of the car, Wayne Plumps called to them. Isaacs and Plumps greeted one another with refined congeniality. Plumps, a Harvard physicist, was, at 68, the senior member and current head of Jason. Like many atlas generation he had nurtured his career both in physics and in defence-related matters on the Manhattan Project during World War 11. A contributor to a wide variety of fields, he was best known for his work on nuclear physics which had earned him a share of a Nobel Prize.
His physique conceded something to age, but Phillips's rangy build still extended to nearly six feet. His thick grey hair was balding, but not exceedingly so. The lock of hair in the middle of his forehead gave the effect of a high rise widow's peak. His longish face displayed kindly blue eyes underscored by pronounced bags. Plumps had come from a monied eastern family and had been raised in style. Although he was among the most highly respected of his colleagues, he had long been regarded as a pariah by some members of his family for not devoting his life to the disbursement of the extensive family trust funds.
Isaacs introduced Danielson to Phillips and they chatted as they moved off down the walk and into a nearby building. Danielson warmed immediately to the physicist's courtly manner which belied his aggressive intellect.
They entered one of the dormitories. The bulletin board in the foyer bore outdated reminders of the school-term occupants. Freshly scattered around were announcements of classes and various activities. In a lower corner, neatly aligned but yellowed with age, was a detailed list of covenants applicable to proper young school girls.
Plumps gestured for Isaacs and Danielson to ascend the stairway which led from the foyer. At the top they paused while Plumps caught up with them and led the way down a hall. At midpoint he stopped, rapped once on the door, then turned the knob and stepped back to usher them in.
The furnishings of the room they entered looked all out of place. After a moment's reflection, Danielson realized that it was a regular dormitory room converted for the summer into an office. The beds had been removed and replaced by a large serviceable desk which stood against the left wall, littered with papers and books. A comfortable old sofa had been shoehorned in beneath the windows opposite, and along the right wall stood a roller-footed portable blackboard. Next to the blackboard a partially opened door revealed a compact lavatory. Extra chairs were placed randomly, adding to the sense of clutter.
Two men sat on the sofa. Isaacs recognized one as Ellison Gantt, the distinguished seismologist from Caltech who had been instrumental in planning the large seismic array. Gantt had receding grey hair and wore dark-framed glasses. His jowls and chin were beginning to sag. The two men rose and Phillips introduced them. The other was Vladimir Zicek from Columbia , one of the world's experts on lasers. Danielson was unsure she would recognize Gantt if she were to bump into him on the street later: he looked like so many other grey, middle-aged men. In a coat and tie he could have passed anywhere as a business executive. Zicek was more distinctive. He was rather small in stature with sharp features and hair combed straight back from his forehead. There was a friendly twinkle in his eyes and his polite continental manner appealed to her. Phillips addressed Gantt.
'Ellison, you're our host here today. Would you amid assembling the others?'
'Of course. Let's see — it's Leems, Runyan, Noldt, and Fletcher, isn't it?'
'That's right,' acknowledged Plumps.
Gantt moved into the hallway. Plumps offered Danielson a seat on the sofa, which she took. She realized it put her in full direct view of each new arrival, and she watched with amusement as they filed in over the next several minutes. Each reacted with various degrees of surprise to find an attractive female in the retinue.
Isaacs remained standing, fidgeting at the delay which would be barely excusable by regimented CIA standards. They were all assembled in a few minutes, however. Isaacs conceded even that was admirable for a bunch of prima donna college professors.
Plumps courteously introduced each new arrival and Isaacs checked them off against the files he had studied. earl Fletcher and Ted Noldt arrived together. They were experts in high energy particle physics. Fletcher, a theorist from Princeton , Noldt, an experimentalist from Stanford. They both were in their middle thirties, friends from graduate school. Fletcher was of medium height with shaggy brown hair. He had quick dark eyes set in a square face with the gaunt, tanned cheeks of a long-distance runner. Noldt was a bit taller, but blond and pudgy. A crooked grin and glasses gave him the look of a good-humoured owl.
Harvey Leems, a solid-state physicist from Berkeley , followed in a minute. Leems was tall and bald. His thick, rimless glasses diminished his eyes and contributed to a sour look. He greeted Isaacs and Danielson with a quick nod.
Gantt returned lugging a slide projector and screen which he proceeded to arrange. Last to arrive was Alexander Runyan, an astrophysicist from Minnesota. Runyan's raw— boned frame ran three inches over six feet. Danielson watched him come through the door and stop to be introduced to Isaacs. He was wearing a T-shirt that showed a slight paunch, cut-offs, and flip-flop thongs. He moved slowly, almost shambled, but Danielson sensed in him an energy that could be quickly galvanized. A dark beard going salt-and-pepper, particularly at the sideburns, covered a face she thought might be handsome if she could see it all. He turned towards her then, gave a look of surprise and delight and whipped off the glasses he'd been wearing. He stepped across the room and introduced himself, shaking Danielson's hand and giving her a warm smile. His eyes were light grey or green, hidden in a perpetual sun squint that melded easily into his smile. He squeezed between Danielson and Zicek on the sofa. There was an exchange of knowing looks among the scientists. If there were an attractive woman in the crowd, Runyan would be at her side pouring on the charm.
Phillips moved to the small, clear area before the projection screen which Gantt had placed in front of the lavatory door.
'Gentlemen,' he began, 'we are pleased to welcome Mr Isaacs and Dr Danielson from the Central Intelligence Agency. They have an interesting problem to set before us. It's not on our formal agenda, but I've promised Mr Isaacs we'll lend what insight we can. They'll present us with some details and then lead a general discussion to explore the nature of the situation. Mr Isaacs.'
'Thank you. Professor Phillips,' Isaacs began, looking around the room. 'I want to thank you all for giving up your Saturday afternoon on such short notice. As you will see, we are dealing with a problem so foreign to our experience, that any hint of how to proceed will be most useful.'
Isaacs spent ten minutes giving a general but concise review of the surveillance role of the CIA and the parallel operation in AFTAC with particular stress on the capabilities of the Large Seismic Array and the undersea acoustic monitors. He also described the role of the Office of Scientific Intelligence in guiding and interpreting the surveillance missions. He then turned the floor over to Danielson.
Although nervous, Danielson had maintained her demeanour while watching the group file in. Butterflies struck in earnest, however, as she listened to Isaacs. She was intent on giving a professional presentation. She knew intellectually that she was well versed in her subject, but her emotional reaction was tainted by the knowledge that she, as a woman and an engineer, was about to stand up before an audience of male physicists considered the best in their fields.
As she stepped around next to the projector, she was vividly aware that the all male group was equally conscious of her sex. Her voice broke slightly as she began, and she spoke her first few introductory sentences at a low volume which scarcely carried over the faint traffic noise from the window.
'A little louder for those of us who are hard of hearing, please Dr Danielson.'
The admonition came from Plumps, but it was delivered with a warm supportive smile. Danielson heartened and her tone strengthened. She turned on the first slide which drew her attention away from the audience and to her subject matter. Soon she was caught up in the precise intricate web of analysis which, through her deep involvement, was an extension of her own personality.
Danielson's reading of her small audience was largely accurate. Before she began to speak and establish some grounds for an intellectual bond, the instinctive response was to react to her as a female. Not a man in the room failed to run a glance from her softly curled hair down to trim ankles and back and say to himself, 'not your standard CIA type' or variations on that theme. There was a communal embarrassment and the reinforcement of some prejudice as she began so softly, but by and large they were a sophisticated and open-minded group prepared to relate on an intellectual level. Once Danielson got involved in her subject, she commanded their attention, and a growing respect. When she reached her major point, that the seismic signal kept sidereal time, time with the stars, there was a muffled commotion of gestures and excitedly whispered comments that told Danielson that she had established the desired rapport with her audience.
When Danielson finished, Ellison Gantt spoke from his seat in the swivel chair at the desk.
'This is a very strange situation, but let me say for the information of my colleagues that Dr Danielson seems to have a good command of the basics of seismology in general and the nature of the Large Seismic Array in particular. I'd like a chance to study the data she's presented in more detail, but at first sight I have to concur that the signal's a genuine one. I've never seen one like it. It's certainly not the result of normal seismological activity.'
Danielson knew Gantt by reputation. She was pleased by his gesture of support.
Harvey Leems spoke up from his seat near the door. 'Do you have other independent evidence of the existence of this phenomenon — something other than this seismological record, that is?'
'Yes, let me speak to that,' replied Isaacs. 'The seismic data is crucial because it told us that something systematic was occurring and led us to look for corroborative evidence. That's the other half of the story.'
He gave a quick smile and nodded at Danielson. As he rose, she took his chair which was more convenient than the sofa. The remnant state of intense nervous involvement with her own presentation persisted. Several minutes passed before she could concentrate adequately on Isaacs's remarks. Isaacs outlined the associated sonar data and the behaviour it portrayed. Whereas the seismic signal was lost in the mantle, the sonar signal proceeded along the extrapolated path to the ocean surface, disappeared for about forty seconds and then retraced its path to the ocean bottom where the seismic signal was picked up once more.
'On the basis of such data,' Isaacs continued, 'about three weeks ago a Navy destroyer was sent to investigate a site of the predicted surfacings. At its first station it recorded and relayed a signal typical of the one I just described. It then took up a position near a second predicted point of surfacing.'
Isaacs paused and looked around at his audience. 'Our data is incomplete, but at approximately the predicted time of surfacing, the ship exploded, capsized and sank. Two hundred thirty-six of the crew were lost.'
Most of the men to whom he spoke stared down at their hands or off to various spots in the room. Only Leems and Runyan kept their eyes on Isaacs.
'There's some evidence that the turbines exploded. There's no proof that the sinking of the ship was related to its mission, but the circumstantial evidence and other events suggest to me that that possibility must be strongly considered.
'We have seen in hindsight that a related event probably occurred to the Soviet aircraft carrier Novorossiisk last April. It was in the Mediterranean on the trajectory Dr Danielson described and at the right time, as nearly as we can tell. Something punctured a small hole through it vertically a few millimetres to a centimetre across and triggered extensive fire damage. There was an associated sonar signal. We suggested a meteorite, but the Soviets rejected the idea: we're not sure why. In any case, that event began an escalating and very dangerous conflict with the Soviets. We needn't go into that here, but to say that the Soviets mistakenly blamed us for the damage to the carrier. Besides direct physical damage, ignorance of the true nature of this phenomenon threatens us with other indirectly related, but very real perils.'
Isaacs paused and scanned around the group.
'It's imperative that we understand this phenomenon for its intrinsic menace, and to contain this related confrontation with the Soviets.'
He looked at them again, satisfied he had made the point. 'To summarize the picture we currently have, then,' said Isaacs, 'some influence moves along a line fixed in space. It travels through the earth or the ocean where its passage can be detected with seismographs or sonar, respectively. It seems to reverse just above the earth's surface and then return on a parallel path. There is evidence that this influence is responsible for puncturing a hole several millimetres across through solid steel. And there is every reason to think that it is something that is an immediate threat to life and property and, indirectly, to our political stability.'
Leems had listened carefully to this extended reply to his first question and raised another.
'If this phenomenon is as dangerous as you indicate, why haven't there been widespread reports of damage? If it really surfaces regularly, that's about eighteen times a day somewhere on earth.'
'I agree that's a point of interest,' replied Isaacs, 'and Dr Danielson has had another important insight in that regard which she just told me about this morning. We think the answer is that, for the most part, the damage is of a curiously limited nature, and the locus on the earth's surface passes through relatively sparsely occupied territory. You've noticed, I suppose, that we are very nearly on the track here in La Jolla. From Son Diego the path stretches across the southwest United States , where there are few people, although it does pass through Dallas/Fort Worth. The southeast United States is also not too densely populated. The nearest big cities to the path are Macon , Georgia and Charleston , South Carolina , both somewhat to the north. From there the path goes across the Atlantic, intersecting Africa south of Casablanca then cutting across North Africa and into the Mediterranean. It passes through the Middle East, but again misses the big cities, going south of Haifa and Esfahan. From there it goes across Afghanistan and Pakistan and through the Himalayas. The path cuts through the heart of China , but misses major population centres. If there were incidents in the rural areas there, as for many of the other affected countries, we might very well hear nothing of it. The path intersects Nagasaki and then proceeds across the Pacific. The story is very much the same for the locus in the southern hemisphere. Lots of ocean, relatively little population density.
'So I suspect most events go unobserved, and that many which are observed go unreported. The probability of a surfacing twice in the same place is small. To any single witness it would be an isolated event with little meaning.
'What Dr Danielson has pointed out is that the seismic signal should come up within a region of high population density occasionally, increasing the chances of observing some associated phenomena. She predicts that the trajectory of the seismic wave will intersect a position within the city of Nagasaki this coming Thursday, July 8, Japanese time. On July 26 a similar event should take place in Dallas.'
'Well, you clearly want to put some observers at those sites,' said Leems, coldly. 'Aren't you jumping the "gun, talking to us now without that data?'
Isaacs stared at Leems for a long moment, then replied in an equally cool tone. 'As I said, the predictions were made after this trip was scheduled. I'm hoping the events which have already transpired will give you some clue to tell us what to look for.'