Authors: William Hutchison
Walker nodded to all three questions thinking it comical that Radcliff seemed so eager. Then he gave him the details. "I followed him and he led me to a Sergeant Hatchett. Hatchett was to be to man Lassiter was going to use to get Kamarov when he came over."
"How do you know for sure?" Radcliff asked, pressing for more details. "And who's this Hatchett?"
"Hatchett was a friend of Lassiter's from the service," Walker responded.
"We had a file on him. As for how we know he was the one Lassiter was going to use to kidnap Kamarov, let's just say we convinced him to tell us." At this point Walker paused. He had said enough. He backed away and squared off to the Senator. This was his territory and he wanted to make that point known. "The less you know the better, senator,"
Walker replied not wanting to elaborate, knowing it would be better for the senator if something went wrong and somehow Hatchett's death was linked to Walker and he to the senator.
Radcliff correctly interpreted Walker's wanting to divulge no more, but still wasn't satisfied. "What else can you tell me?"
"We have the details of the security the State Department set up for the visit. Each member of the security team was hand-picked by Lassiter-how, we don't know--but I suspect one of his people set it up with the State Department to ensure his men were chosen. That isn't important, though. None of the men have been given their instructions yet. They were to be contacted by Sgt. Hatchett. None of the men knows each other either and none knows who their team leader is supposed to be. Lassiter had it all planned such that he'd be more or less isolated from the whole affair except for his link to Hatchett if anything went wrong. I suspect that Lassiter even planned to cut that link as well after Hatchett did what he was told to do."
Radcliff listened intently and then replied, "pretty damn smart."
"Yeah, he was smart, all right, but we're smarter." Walker stated.
Radcliff then put his hand on the agent's shoulder and looked directly into his eyes. "You know what to do with Lassiter!"
Walker nodded in agreement and then shook Radcliff's hand and replied. "Yes, sir, consider it done!"
Both men then turned and left, each taking a separate direction. The whole incident took less than three minutes, but in those three minutes, Radcliff had gotten all the information he needed. He only had a little less than forty-five days to stop this thing, to avoid having to murder Kamarov and with Lassiter out of the way he would breathe a little easier. He'd have to call Pat, though, now that he knew what he knew. It was time to bring him in on his plan and to see how far he had gotten on SIGMA ONE since the hearings. With that data in hand, Radcliff could plan how to deal with Kamarov. If Pat had made progress, all he would have to do is stall Kamarov on his visit and ensure he never got over the U.S. missile fields. Then he could use SIGMA ONE to his own benefit as Lassiter had planned to do. If Pat hadn't made progress, he'd have to kidnap him, and then he could let Pat either use him at the NSF, if he thought he could, or he could take the Russian before a closed Senate hearing and get Pat the funding he needed to do his own research without the Soviet's help.
As Walker reached the end of the bridge he turned and looked back at Radcliff. He had forgotten to tell him about Kuscov, the Soviet agent he had seen when he rescued Hatchett. It would be important for Radcliff to know the KGB now obviously knew of Lassiter's plan because he suspected they would now likely use diplomatic channels to change security measures for Kamarov's visit so they could be sure their own plans weren't compromised. However, they still didn't know we knew about their little launch surprise, but they'd be suspicious just the same now that they had the tape. Fortunately in his instructions to Rory, Lassiter had kept some of the details to himself and he didn't divulge the reason for the kidnapping on the tape. He also hadn't said what he would do with the Soviet after the kidnapping. Had that information been included, the Soviets would know everything and would insist on handling their own security, if they didn't cancel the trip altogether. If they did decide to bring Kamarov over, Walker was sure the State Department would yield to their insistence in good faith whether the Soviets told the state department about Lassiter's plan or not. Kamarov's visit was important to them as well. Either way, Walker knew that the KGB's knowledge was limited and Radcliff's plan wasn't in any immediate danger. To bother Radcliff now with his speculation would be premature at this time. He would have to wait and see what, if anything, the Soviets did in response to the information they had obtained before he moved. Then, and only then, could he rationally work out a counter plan with Radcliff. A phone call to his friends at the State Department would now be warranted, and Walker would just have to wait. Walker, his mind made up, turned and left, hailing down the first cab he could.
Walker didn't know it at the time but Kuscov and his partner were both killed in a fiery car crash the same afternoon they had made the attempt on Rory's life. When Walker found out about this the next day in a routine intelligence update, he was glad he hadn't turned around on the bridge and brought up their involvement to Radcliff. In the briefing he was told they had died only moments after attacking Hatchett and Walker assumed they hadn't had time to pass on what they knew. Of course, he was wrong about that and spent the rest of the morning getting his equipment together to deal with his other problem (Lassiter) rather than dwelling on their death and its possible implications that it wasn't a solution, but another potential problem.
Around noon time, Walker left his office and drove out to Dulles Airport where he would take care of Lassiter for good by sabotaging his plane. As he arrived he noted the parking lot was vacant and in no time found the aircraft he was searching for.
As he sat down to work on it he was feeling pretty pleased with himself and smiled as he molded the thin piece of plastique explosive around the fuel line of Lassiter's Citabria, the general's two-seater aerobatic propeller-driven airplane. As Walker attached the pressure sensitive detonator to the fire wall and inserted the nickel- cadmium battery, he stepped back and took one last look at the plane and chuckled to himself. He knew as soon as the plane reached seven thousand feet, the detonator would go off and cause the plastique to explode which would, in turn, rupture the fuel line and cause the engine to explode. The rest," he thought, "would be history." The beauty of his plan was that he wouldn't even have to be near when the general took off. It would all be handled automatically and would provide a fitting end to such a high-flying, no good son of a bitch. Walker was pleased with his himself for devising such a simplistic and appropriate method of killing Radcliff's enemy and couldn't wait to tell him.
Burt sat alone in his dorm room staring out the window. He had been there for two days ever since he announced to Debbie after that
faithful morning walk and his confrontation with her he needed to get away--that relaxing wasn't working, and that he had more than a few things on his mind he needed to straighten out. At first Debbie pleaded with him not to leave, but after considering the way he acted on the beach, she acquiesced and let him go. He wasn't acting normally and she, too, thought it best they be apart for a while.
That was forty-eight hours earlier, and during those two days, he hadn't eaten or slept. All he had been able to do was pace back and forth in front of his computer, afraid to turn it on, afraid to link, afraid of what would happen to him if he did. Yet, each time he passed it he desperately wanted to turn it on and free his mind. He wanted to feel the power surge he got when he established unity with the computer.
As he sat on his bed, he looked around at the destruction he had caused. All of his clothes were strewn on the floor around him. All his textbooks were piled in a heap in a corner of the room, and shreds of toilet paper were sprinkled on top of the entire mess like new fallen snow. Burt didn't remember what had set him off, but the evidence of his rage was all around him. The sight terrified him at first, and he didn't like the way he was feeling inside. He felt angry and mean, and although he knew he was changing, he was powerless to stop, powerless to control his emotions, so he simply let the anger and bitterness sweep over him and engulf him.
Just as Burt was about to hurl the chair he had picked up and held in his hand against the wall, he heard someone knocking at his door. The sound interrupted his rage, and momentarily he stood in the center of the room, chair in hand, stupefied and unable to move.
From the other side of the door, Burt heard a female voice calling his name. The voice sounded sweet and pleasant, but unfamiliar. It wasn't Debbie. Her voice was lower, more sultry and not as fresh and innocent as the one he heard. As he continued to listen to the stranger repeat his name, his rage subsided and he put the chair down and went to answer the door.
"Mr. Burt Grayson, are you in there?" Amanda repeated standing outside. She had called the registrar the day before and had obtained Burt's dormitory address, and in fact, had come by earlier only to be told by whoever was in the room to go away and not bother coming back again. Because of the dangerous tone of voice emanating from the other side of the door she now stood in front of, she decided not to interrupt then but to come back later the next day.
When she was just ready to turn around and leave, hearing no answer to her repeated calls, the door opened and before her stood a young man who looked to be in his early twenties dressed only in his gym shorts and sweat shirt, and obviously in need of sleep judging from his disheveled hair and sunken eyes.
"Mr. Grayson? Are you Mr. Burt Grayson?" Amanda asked.
Burt couldn't believe his eyes. The woman standing before him was beautiful and the sight of her, although initially embarrassing him, captivated him and sent a tingle through his body as he studied her every feature.
"Mr. Grayson?" Amanda repeated, trying to break his trance and feeling slightly uncomfortable as she watched his eyes travel up and down her body.
Finally Burt's eyes met hers and he spoke. "Yes. I'm Burt. And to whom do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected, but pleasant visit." He chose his word carefully and smoothly--something, again, which was unexpected both to him and to her.
Amanda was instantly impressed with his greeting. Surely this couldn't have been the same person who had so rudely verbally accosted her last evening as she stood in the same place she was standing now. Surely it couldn't be this handsome (although obviously sleepy) ragamuffin in who stood before her now. She extended her hand.
"I'm Amanda Yates from the National Security Foundation, and I read an article about your project. My organization in Washington is very interested in speaking with you and perhaps learning more about what you are doing with it. I believe it has something to do with what you call thought-programming." She then stepped forward. "Do you mind if I come in?"
Burt hesitated but then responded quickly. "Pardon the mess, but my roommate trashed the place yesterday. I was just starting to clean up when I heard you at the door."
Amanda peered inside past Burt. The place was a disaster area, but the fact that it wasn't Burt who had caused the destruction she saw was comforting, so she entered as Burt stood aside and invited her in. Once she was inside, he eagerly cleared off a place on the bed and asked her to sit down and then took the chair he had nearly destroyed earlier and sat down beside her.
Amanda glanced around the room once more and cringed at the sight, but put these thoughts aside and began her interview. As they talked, she alluded to the prominence of the NSF and their interest in his project, but carefully avoided giving any details as to the organization's real mission as she was instructed to do so by Pat before she left. Although Burt might be a potential candidate for SIGMA ONE, she was under strict orders not to reveal even the slightest hint of what the project's real purpose was. Her job was only to find out what, if anything, Mr. Grayson had accomplished in his experiments. Pat would then decide, based on her evidence, what should be done about possibly recruiting Mr. Grayson.
Burt appeared to be interested in what she had to say and after exchanging small talk for perhaps two to three minutes, he began to explain the nature of his project and the reasons for its pursuit. He then gave her a quick demonstration of how he could control the computer with his mind, this time producing a finely detailed digitized picture of Amanda's face on the screen, followed by a series of beautiful geometric patterns which were quickly replaced with mathematical formulae and equations. While so doing, he spent a great deal of time telling her about his brother and his handicap, extolling the potential benefits which could be realized when his project was completed and the technique he had developed could be made available to other victims of crippling diseases.