He stepped into his inner office, deposited
his case and hung his jacket on the rack. Circling his desk, he
cranked open the blinds to expose the blue sky and thickly treed
surroundings. His thoughts passed briefly from the carrier crisis
to the Sunlit morning, to Alice Lavey’s neckline, and back, and he
turned as Kathleen entered with a stack of intelligence summaries
and a steaming cup of black coffee.
He smiled “thanks” as he settled into his
chair. She returned the smile, gave a breezy “you’re welcome” and
slipped out, closing the door. He waited until the door clicked,
then leaned back and propped his feet on his desk. Bad for the
posture and image, but good for concentration, he thought, as he
reached for the bound folder stamped “Orbital Visual and Infrared
Reconnaissance Survey — Top Secret” and arranged the coffee within
easy reach.
He read quickly but thoroughly, skipping over
familiar facts, pausing to sip coffee and ponder and assimilate new
data. There was no question that the laborious analysis that had
revealed the crucial infrared signal of the mobile launchers
continued to be superlatively valuable. Each of the mobile stations
had moved in the last week, and not only were the three new
stations revealed, the movements of each of the old ones were
uniquely determined.
Satellite identification was still proving a
difficult task. The launchings could be predicted over a week in
advance and followed simply. Once in orbit the reconnaissance net
was sufficiently dense that each satellite could be tracked, but a
few escaped classification into the offensive, defensive, or
reconnaissance categories.
He finished the first report and started on
the aircraft reconnaissance, continuing with desultory sips of his
cooling coffee. The Chinese were beginning the reprocessing plant
for their new reactor. The Warsaw Pact troops had interrupted their
war games with the onset of the current crisis. He noted that two
of the previously identified high speed tanks in Poland had been
reclassified as older, slower models.
He glanced at his watch as he finished with
this report. 10:23. Time to start on the signal intelligence before
his team assembled.
He read along, stopping at an item already
covered in the other surveys, the Soviet low tonnage underground
event at Semipalatinsk. The satellite photos had shown the surface
activity involved in setting up the experiment, and the infrared
trace had indicated when the explosion occurred. This report
outlined the results of monitoring the data links, both those
uncoded and those for which the code had been broken. The result
was that the Agency experts knew nearly as much about the test as
the Russian scientists who performed it.
The summary noted that the nature of the
explosion was confirmed by the associated seismic signal. That
statement caught Isaacs’s eye, and he stared at the ceiling,
momentarily trying to recall a related tidbit of information he had
filed away. As usual, the seismic reference was added simply for
completeness since the Agency was not directly involved with the
seismic monitoring system. He snapped his fingers and leaned
forward to punch the button on his intercom.
“Kathleen?”
“Yes?”
“Would you have — let me see, who might be
available? — would you have Pat Danielson stop in just after
lunch?”
“Yes, sir. Time for the meeting.”
“Right.” Isaacs swung to his feet and headed
out of his office, flipping a goodbye sign at Kathleen. As he
walked the short distance to his conference room, he began to sort
out tactics for turning up clues to the fate of the Russian
carrier. The meeting, frustrating and unproductive, lasted to noon
and beyond.
Temper lengthened Pat Danielson’s stride.
Weasel, she thought. What garbage, lunch to discuss my report! Put
a damn run in my stocking with his hangnail! She slowed her pace as
she turned into the last hallway. How’s a person to get any credit?
He probably didn’t even read it. Sure glad Isaacs is reasonable,
knows I’m a woman, but listens. Hope this is good news.
When she entered Kathleen”s office, the two
women exchanged greetings. They were cordial to one another, but
not close. Although they worked for the same man and Kathleen was
only a few years older, the difference in their positions,
secretary and professional, created a practical barrier. Kathleen
waved the young woman into Isaacs’s office and followed her with a
quick eye skimming the details of dress, hair, carriage before
turning once more to her tasks as the door closed.
Isaacs looked up as Danielson entered his
office, her wide smile of greeting reminding him of his ebullient
mood on the way to work this morning, a mood battered but not yet
dead.
“Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon, Pat,” Isaacs replied.
“Please sit down.” She seated herself in the chair across from his
desk, a bit too tall and big-boned to be graceful, but with good
control of her body, not gangly. Isaacs watched her sit and cross
her legs. He caught a quick flash of a run before she reversed her
legs to cover it up. He regarded her for a moment. Good worker,
even disposition under everyday hectic conditions, but no real test
yet. Some spine, but not bitchy. Attractive in a wholesome sort of
way, wide face, high cheekbones, a vague sprinkling of freckles to
complement the reddish tinge in her hair. His evaluation of her
work did not depend on her appearance, but he was honest enough to
admit he preferred a good-looking competent woman to an ugly one.
She looked at him expectantly.
“How’s your work going?”
“Fine,” she replied, but he caught the hint
of distress that passed over her face.
“I can’t keep tabs on everything as much as I
would like to. I called you because I have a small project I’d like
you to take on, but if you’re having some trouble, we have a chance
to talk now.”
“No, no trouble,” she said quickly, then
hesitated, and fixed him with a gaze. “My work is satisfactory,
isn’t it?”
“Very much so,” he said seriously. “There are
some excellent data coming from the new satellite; you’re doing
your part.”
“Doing my part,” she repeated quietly to
herself. “May I say something?”
He nodded. There was something she wanted to
get off her chest.
“I really like this job. I think I’m doing
something to help my country.” She paused. “But there are times
when I wonder whether I’m getting due credit.” She straightened up
and adopted a sterner tone. “The fact is, somebody made a pass at
me at lunch, and I’m still upset. I don’t want to name names, but
first he complimented my work too much, and then afterwards he said
some unkind things.”
“A superior of yours?”
“Well, yes, but I don’t want to cause
trouble.”
“Sounds like you’re not the cause. Tell you
what. First, let me repeat, you are doing well. That’s one reason I
called you in here today. I’ll confess I’ve heard that you’re
better than some who get as much credit, or more. I’ll try to keep
a closer eye on that. As we both know, you more than I, the Agency
is still a man’s world. No use pretending you won’t have to work
hard to get ahead. About this other thing, though, I won’t brook
harassment.” He pointed a finger at her. “I want to know if that
happens again.”
Danielson nodded, but he knew she would not
mention the subject again.
“So, can you handle another project?”
“Yes, sir, I can,” she said confidently.
“Good.” Isaacs leaned back in his chair and
folded his hands across his stomach. “You know I just came back
from my tour of active duty?”
“Yes, you were in Florida , I believe I
heard.”
“That’s right, at AFTAC, the Air Force
Technical Assistance Center on Cape Canaveral. Do you know what
they do there?”
Her brow wrinkled. “No, I guess I don’t.”
“Do you know about the Large Seismic
Array?”
She brightened. “A little. That’s in Montana
, isn’t it? A collection of seismic detectors to monitor
underground nuclear explosions and such things.”
“That’s right,” Isaacs nodded, “among other
things, AFTAC monitors the Large Seismic Array, other seismic
detectors in a world-wide network, and a separate ensemble of
underwater acoustic monitors. Basically, they maintain a
surveillance system to complement the various aerial and satellite
operations.”
Danielson gave a brisk nod of
comprehension.
Isaacs continued, “I was stationed in the
intelligence section at AFTAC. I spent some time looking at data
from the LSA and reports on the analysis of the data.”
His tone altered slightly as he added an
explanatory note. “The data are analyzed at the Air Force Cambridge
Research Lab in Massachusetts.”
“Anyway,” Isaacs continued his narrative,
“there was one little piece of information that piqued my
curiosity. They’ve apparently picked up a repeated but very weak
signal — only a careful analysis can pull it out of the noise —
which has a period of about an hour.”
Danielson raised an eyebrow,
“Interesting.”
“At first I thought it must be the shuffling
of undergraduate feet during class change at the University of
Montana.” Danielson smiled.
Isaac smiled back, “Unfortunately the signal
is out of phase with the university. Still, such a period seems too
anthropocentric not to be man-made, and yet no one I talked to came
up with any plausible account of it. Worse yet, to my mind, no one
seemed to have any inclination to follow up on it. It’s probably
not important, but it’s the kind of item I like to put a tag on, so
it doesn’t cause confusion at a later date.
“I know you have heavy commitments on current
projects, and this is not a crucial item, but I would like to
follow up on it. You’ll have to get in touch with the people at
AFTAC and the Cambridge Research Lab. You’ll probably want to
acquire some of the data tapes. I’ll give you a list of the people
involved and clear the way for you through channels, but beyond
that you’ll be pretty much on your own. Any questions about
that?”
“Not until I talk to the people and learn
about the system,” Danielson replied. “I expect their basic signal
processing techniques are similar to ones I use — computer
enhancement?”
“There are some differences, but that was
another reason I picked you.”
“I’ll have to learn something about
seismology. That will be interesting.”
“Very good.”
Isaacs supplied the young operative with a
list of contacts and suggested several reports that would help to
familiarize her with the nature and operation of the Large Seismic
Array. She made pertinent notes and then departed.
As Danielson closed the door behind her,
Isaacs swiveled his chair towards the window and leaned back,
staring out. Above the trees, hazy clouds had filled the clear
morning blue. It would be muggy by now. He pondered the strange
seismic data a few moments to no particular avail. Then another
imperative broke his train of thought. Baris would arrive shortly
to discuss developments in Africa. He glanced at his watch, groaned
mentally, and squared up at his desk. An image of the fire-scarred
deck of the carrier Novorossiisk filled his mind. Somewhere within
that ship-bulk was the key to why we were toeing the brink yet
again. He reached for the too, too thin file of notes from the
morning’s crisis meeting. In a few minutes he was totally absorbed
in that project, straining to find a fresh approach. He took the
strain home with him that evening.
*****
Yuan Li Tzu glanced towards the hated gaping
mouth of the mine. His shift was due to make their descent into the
depths, and he would be in trouble if he were late. He could not
resist another careful reading of the letter from his father,
mentally sucking from it all hints of hope. He paused and looked at
his rough, scarred hands. They had once belonged to a talented and
promising fourteen-year-old piano student in Shanghai. Then the
cultural revolution descended. The Red Guards had labeled the piano
a decadent instrument of the West. Yuan recalled the fear and
bewilderment he had felt as he was banished to the copper mine in
the high mountains near Tibet. He had spent over a decade, his
young manhood, in bitter detention in the mine, sickly, torn from
his family, his education, his chosen way of life.
Now this letter from his father gave the
first ray of hope. A chance, still slim, that relatives in the
United States could take advantage of the burgeoning political ties
with China to free him from his slavery and to offer him a new life
in a new country. Yuan’s mind spun fantasies of escape as he
carefully folded the letter and tucked it safely in a pocket of his
tunic.
He arrived at the mine too late — the crude
elevator had already begun its descent. As he expected, a member of
the revolutionary cadre noted his tardiness and began to shout
exhortations of devotion to the people and the party. Yuan suffered
the tirade in numb silence.
As the elevator reached bottom, a small
tunnel bored upward through the rock. The tunnel arced over
smoothly and then headed downward once more into the depths of the
Earth. The plane of the arc paralleled the main horizontal shaft of
the copper mine. The apex lay about forty feet above the shaft and
twenty feet to one side. The small tunnel briefly existed intact.
The stress fractures grew outward from it, shooting rapidly down
and across in multiple fissures through the mine-shaft weakened
bedrock.
No one noticed the first cracks widening in
the ceiling and wall of the shaft. Then small rocks crumbled down
along with sifting dust. Several miners cried in alarm and men
began to scatter in both directions from the weakened portion. The
ceiling of the shaft released with a roar and the whole section of
rock from the small recently bored tunnel to the mine shaft
collapsed in, sealing off the mine with tons of rubble. Those few
lucky enough to be on the upward side fled towards the elevator,
help, and freedom. Scores of men in the depths of the main felt the
cold clutch of darkness and fear settle about them.