Code to Zero (29 page)

The telemetry encoder uses hysteresis loop core materials to establish a series of input parameters from satellite instruments.

Elspeth could not believe it. Just a few seconds before ignition, the launch had been postponed. She had been so close to success. The triumph of her life had been within her grasp—and had slipped through her fingers.

She was not in the blockhouse—that was restricted to key personnel—but on the flat roof of an administration building, with a small crowd of secretaries and clerks, watching the floodlit launch pad through binoculars. The Florida night was warm, the sea air moist. Their fears had grown as the minutes ticked by and the rocket remained on the ground, and now a collective groan went up as technicians in overalls swarmed out of their bunkers and began the complex procedure of standing down all systems. Final confirmation came when the mobile service tower slowly moved forward on its railway tracks to take the white rocket back into its steel arms.

Elspeth was in an agony of frustration. What the hell had gone wrong?

She left the others without a word and walked back to Hangar R, her long legs covering the ground with purposeful strides. When she reached her office, the phone was ringing. She snatched it up. “Yes?”

“What’s happening?” The voice was Anthony’s.

“They’ve aborted the launch. I don’t know why—do you?”

“Luke found the papers. He must have called.”

“Couldn’t you stop him?”

“I had him in my sights—literally—but Billie walked in, armed.”

Elspeth had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach to think of Anthony pointing a gun at Luke. It only made things worse that it was Billie who had intervened. “Is Luke all right?”

“Yes—and so am I. But Theo’s name is on those papers, remember?”

“Oh, hell.”

“They’ll be on their way to arrest him already. You have to find him first.”

“Let me think . . . he’s on the beach . . . I can be there in ten minutes . . . I know his car, it’s a Hudson Hornet . . .”

“Then get going!”

“Yep.” She slammed down the phone and rushed out of the building.

She ran across the parking lot and jumped into her car. Her white Corvette was a convertible, but she kept the top up and the windows tightly shut because of the mosquitoes that plagued the Cape. She drove fast to the gate and was waved through: security was heavy coming in, but not going out. She headed south.

There was no regular road to the beach. From the highway, several narrow, unpaved tracks led between the dunes to the shore. She planned to take the first, then continue south on the beach. That way she could not miss Theo’s car. She peered at the rough brush alongside the road, trying to pick out the track in the light of her headlamps. She had to go slowly, even though she was in such a hurry, for fear of missing the turnoff. Then she saw a car emerging.

It was followed by another, and another. Elspeth flashed her left-turn indicator and slowed down. A constant stream of cars was coming from the beach. The spectators had figured out that the launch was cancelled—no doubt they, too, had seen, through their binoculars, the service gantry returning to position—and they were all going home.

She waited to turn left. Infuriatingly, the track was too narrow for two-way traffic. A car behind her honked impatiently. She grunted with exasperation as she saw she was not going to be able to get to the beach this way. She flicked off the indicator and floored the gas pedal.

She soon came upon another turnoff, but the picture was the same: an unbroken line of cars emerging from a track too narrow to allow two cars to pass. “Hell!” she said aloud. She was sweating now, despite the air-conditioning in her car. There was no way for her to get to the beach. She would have to think of something else. Could she wait on the highway in the hope of spotting his car? It was too chancy. What would Theo do after he left the beach? Her best option was to go to his motel and wait there.

She sped on, driving fast through the night. She wondered if Colonel Hide and Army security were already at the Vanguard Motel. They might first have called the police or the FBI. They needed a warrant to arrest Theo, she knew—although law enforcement people generally had ways around such inconveniences. Whatever happened, it would take them a few minutes to get themselves together. She had a chance of beating them if she hurried.

The Vanguard was in a short business strip alongside the highway, between a gas station and a bait-and-tackle store. It had a large parking lot out front. There was no sign of police or Army security: she was in time. But Theo’s car was not here. She parked near the motel office, where she was sure to see anyone going in or out, and switched off her engine.

She did not have to wait long. The yellow-and-brown Hudson Hornet pulled in a couple of minutes later. Theo eased into a slot at the far end of the lot near the road and got out, a small man with thinning hair, dressed in chinos and a beach shirt.

Elspeth got out of her car.

She opened her mouth to call to him across the lot. At that moment, two police cruisers arrived.

Elspeth froze.

They were Cocoa County Sheriff’s vehicles. They came in fast, but without flashing lights or sirens. Behind them followed two unmarked cars. They parked across the entry, making it impossible for cars to leave.

At first Theo did not see them. He headed across the lot, toward Elspeth and the motel office.

She knew in a flash what she had to do—but it would take a steady nerve. Stay cool, she told herself. She took a deep breath, then started walking toward him.

As he came close, he recognized her and said loudly, “What the hell happened? Did they abort the launch?”

Elspeth said in a low voice, “Give me your car keys.” She held out her hand.

“What for?”

“Look behind you.”

He glanced over his shoulder and saw the police cars. “Fuck, what do they want?” he said shakily.

“You. Stay calm. Give me the keys.”

He dropped them into her open hand.

“Keep walking,” she said. “The trunk of my car is not locked. Get inside.”

“Into the trunk?”

“Yes!”
Elspeth went on past him.

She recognized Colonel Hide and another vaguely familiar face from Cape Canaveral. With them were four local cops and two tall, well-dressed young men who might have been FBI agents. None of them was looking her way. They gathered around Hide. Distantly, Elspeth heard him say, “We need two men to check the license plates of the cars here in the lot while the rest come inside.”

She reached Theo’s car and opened the trunk. Inside was the leather suitcase containing the radio transmitter—powerful and heavy. She was not sure she could carry it. She pulled it to the lip of the trunk and dragged it over the edge. It hit the ground with a thud. She closed the trunk lid quickly.

She looked around. Hide was still giving orders to his men. At the other end of the lot, she saw the trunk lid of her own car slowly closing, as if of its own volition. Theo was inside. That was half the problem solved.

Gritting her teeth, she grasped the handle of the suitcase and lifted it. It felt like a box of lead. She walked a few yards, holding it as long as she
could. When her fingers became numb with strain, she dropped the case. Then she picked it up with her left hand. She managed another ten yards before the pain overcame her will and she dropped the case again.

Behind her, Colonel Hide and his men were crossing the lot toward the motel office. She prayed Hide would not look at her face. The darkness made it less likely he would recognize her. Of course she could make up some story to explain her presence here, but what if he asked to look in the case?

Once more she changed sides and grasped the handle with her right hand. She could not lift the transmitter this time. Giving up, she began to drag it across the concrete, hoping the noise would not attract the attention of the cops.

At last she reached her car. As she opened the trunk, one of the uniformed police approached her with a cheerful smile. “Help you with that, ma’am?” he said politely.

Theo’s face stared at her from inside the trunk, white and scared.

“I got it,” she said to the cop out of the corner of her mouth. With both hands, she heaved up the suitcase and slid it in. There was a quiet grunt of pain from Theo as a corner dug into him. With a quick movement, Elspeth slammed the trunk lid and leaned on it. Her arms felt as if they would fall off.

She looked at the cop. Had he spotted Theo? He gave a puzzled grin. Elspeth said, “My daddy taught me never to pack a bag I couldn’t lift.”

“Strong girl,” the cop said in a mildly resentful tone.

“Thanks anyway.”

The other men went past, heading purposefully toward the motel office. Elspeth was careful not to catch Hide’s eye. The cop lingered a moment. “Checking out?” he said.

“Yeah.”

“All alone?”

“That’s right.”

He bent to the window and looked into the car, front and back seats, then straightened up again. “Drive safely.” He walked on.

Elspeth got into her car and started the engine.

Two more uniformed cops had stayed behind and were checking license plates. She pulled up next to one of them. “Are you going to let me out, or do I have to stay here all night?” she said. She tried a friendly smile.

He checked her license plate. “Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

He looked through the window into the backseat. She held her breath. “Okay,” he said at last. “You can go.”

He sat in one of the cruisers and moved it out of the way.

She drove through the gap and pulled onto the highway, then floored the gas pedal.

Suddenly she felt limp with relief. Her arms trembled, and she had to slow the car. “God almighty,” she breathed. “That was too damn close.”

Four whip antennae, protruding from the satellite cylinder, broadcast radio signals to receiving stations around the globe.
Explorer
will broadcast on a frequency of 108 MHz.

Anthony had to get out of Alabama. The action was in Florida now. Everything he had worked toward for twenty years would be decided at Cape Canaveral in the next twenty-four hours, and he had to be there.

Huntsville Airport was still open, lights blazing on the runway. That meant there was at least one more plane in or out tonight. He parked his Army Ford at the roadside in front of the terminal building, behind a limousine and a couple of taxicabs. The place seemed deserted. He did not trouble to lock the car but hurried inside.

The place was quiet but not empty. One girl sat behind an airline counter writing in a book, and two black women in overalls were mopping the floor. Three men stood around waiting, one in chauffeur uniform and the others in the creased clothes and peaked caps of cab drivers. Pete was sitting on a bench.

Anthony had to get rid of Pete, for the man’s own sake. The scene in the Engineering Building at Redstone Arsenal had been witnessed by Billie and Marigold, and one of them would soon report it. The Army would complain to the CIA. George Cooperman had already said he could not shield Anthony any longer. Anthony had to give up the
pretense that he was on a legitimate CIA mission. The game was up, and Pete had better go home before he got hurt.

Pete might have been bored after twelve hours of waiting at the airport, but instead he seemed excited and tense as he jumped to his feet. “At last!” he said.

“What’s flying out of here tonight?” Anthony said abruptly.

“Nothing. One more flight is due in, from Washington, but nothing is leaving before seven
A
.
M
.”

“Damn. I have to get to Florida.”

“There’s a MATS flight from Redstone at five-thirty going to Patrick Air Force base, near Cape Canaveral.”

“That’ll have to do.”

Pete looked embarrassed. Seeming to force the words out, he said, “You can’t go to Florida.”

So that was why he was so tense. Anthony said coolly, “How so?”

“I talked to Washington. Carl Hobart spoke to me himself. We have to go back—and no argument, to quote him.”

Anthony felt wild with rage, but he pretended to be merely frustrated. “Those assholes,” Anthony said. “You can’t run a field operation from headquarters!”

Pete was not buying this. “Mr. Hobart says we have to accept there is no operation now. The Army is handling this from here on.”

“We can’t let them. Army security is totally incompetent.”

“I know, but I don’t think we have a choice, sir.”

Anthony made an effort to breathe calmly. This had to happen sooner or later. The CIA did not yet believe he was a double agent, but they knew he had gone rogue, and they wanted to put him out of action as quietly as possible.

However, Anthony had carefully cultivated the loyalty of his men over the years, and he should still have some credit left. “Here’s what we’ll do,” he said to Pete. “You go back to Washington. Tell them I refused to obey orders. You’re out of it—this is my responsibility now.” He half turned away, as if taking Pete’s consent for granted.

“Okay,” Pete said. “I guessed you would say that. And they can’t expect me to kidnap you.”

“That’s right,” Anthony said casually, concealing his relief that Pete was not going to argue.

“But there’s something else,” Pete said.

Anthony rounded on him, letting his irritation show. “What now?”

Pete blushed, and the birthmark on his face turned purple. “They told me to take your gun.”

Anthony began to fear he might not be able to get out of this situation easily. There was no way he was giving up his weapon. He forced a smile and said, “So you’ll tell them I refused.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. But Mr. Hobart was very specific. If you won’t hand it over, I have to call the local police.”

Anthony realized then that he had to kill Pete.

For a moment he was swamped by grief. What depths of treachery he had been led into. It hardly seemed possible that this was the logical conclusion of his commitment, made two decades ago, to dedicate his life to a noble cause. Then a deadly calm descended on him. He had learned about hard choices in the war. This was a different war, but the imperatives were the same. Once you were in, you had to win, whatever it took. “In that case, I guess it’s all over,” he said with a sigh that was genuine. “I think it’s a dumb decision, but I believe I’ve done all I can.”

Pete made no attempt to conceal his relief. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m so glad you’re taking it this way.”

“Don’t you worry. I won’t hold this against you. I know you have to follow a direct order from Hobart.”

Pete’s face took on a determined expression. “So, do you want to give me the firearm now?”

“Sure.” The gun was in Anthony’s coat pocket, but he said, “It’s in my trunk.” He wanted Pete to go with him to the car, but he pretended the opposite. “Wait here, I’ll get it.”

As he had expected, Pete feared he was trying to escape. “I’ll come with you,” Pete said hastily.

Anthony pretended to hesitate, then give in. “Whatever.” He walked
through the door, with Pete following. The car was parked at the curb, thirty yards from the airport entrance. There was no one in sight.

Anthony thumbed the trunk lid and threw it open. “There you go,” he said.

Pete bent over to look in the trunk.

Anthony drew the gun, silencer attached, from inside his coat. For a moment, he was tempted by a mad impulse to put it in his own mouth and pull the trigger, bringing the nightmare to an end.

The moment of delay was a crucial mistake.

Pete said, “I don’t see any gun,” and he turned around.

He reacted fast. Before Anthony could level his gun with its cumbersome silencer, Pete stepped sideways, away from the muzzle, and swung a fist. He caught Anthony with a bone-jarring blow to the side of the head. Anthony staggered. Pete hit him with the other fist, connecting with his jaw, and Anthony stumbled backward and fell, but as he hit the ground he brought the gun up. Pete saw what was going to happen. His face twisted in fear and he lifted his hands, as if they could protect him from a bullet, then Anthony pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession.

All three bullets found their target on Pete’s chest, and blood spurted from three holes in his gray mohair suit. He fell to the road with a thud.

Anthony scrambled to his feet and pocketed the gun. He looked up and down. No one was arriving at the airport, and no one had come out of the building. He bent over Pete’s body.

Pete looked at him. He was not dead.

Fighting down nausea, Anthony picked up the bleeding body and tumbled it into the open trunk of the car. Then he drew his gun again. Pete lay in the trunk, twisted in pain, staring at him with terrified eyes. Chest wounds were not always fatal: Pete could live if he were treated in a hospital soon. Anthony pointed the gun at Pete’s head. Pete tried to speak, and blood came out of his mouth. Anthony pulled the trigger.

Pete slumped, and his eyes closed.

Anthony slammed the trunk lid and collapsed onto it. He had been hit seriously hard for the second time in a day, and his head was
swimming, but worse than the physical damage was the knowledge of what he had done.

A voice said, “Are you okay, buddy?”

Anthony came upright, stuffing the gun inside his coat, and turned around. A taxi had pulled up behind and the driver walked up, looking concerned. He was a black man with graying hair.

How much had the man seen? Anthony did not know if he had the heart to kill him too.

The cabbie said, “Whatever you were loading into your trunk, looks like it was heavy.”

“A rug,” Anthony said, breathing hard.

The man looked at him with the candid curiosity of small-town people. “Someone give you a black eye? Or two?”

“A little accident.”

“Come inside, get a cup of coffee or something.”

“No, thanks. I’m okay.”

“Please yourself.” The driver ambled slowly into the terminal.

Anthony got into his car and drove away.