Cradle (3 page)

To each side of Bernice were perpendicular extensions to the desk, upon which were
arrayed stacks of floppy disks of different sizes (the stacks were labelled ‘read’
or ‘file’ or ‘outgoing correspondence’), interleaved with groups of magazines and
manilla folders containing hard copy print-out from the computers. Bernice pushed
a button on the panel but nothing happened. She looked apologetically at Carol on
the screen above the phone.

‘I’m sorry, Carol.’ Bernice was a little flustered. ‘Maybe I didn’t do it right. Dr.
Dale had a new system installed this week again and I’m not certain….’

One of the two large monitors flashed a message. ‘Oh good,’ Bernice continued, now
smiling. ‘I did it right. He’ll be with you in a minute. He has someone in there with
him and will finish quickly so he can see you and speak with you. I hope you don’t
mind if I put you on hold.’

Carol nodded and Bernice’s image faded away from the screen. On the monitor Carol
now watched the beginning of a short tutorial documentary on oyster farming. The piece
was beautifully filmed underwater using the most advanced photographic equipment.
The narration featured the mellifluous voice of Dr. Dale and the video pointed out
the connection between the inventions at MOI (the Miami Oceanographic Institute, of
which Dr. Dale Michaels was the founder and chief executive officer) and the rapid
rise of sea farming of all kinds. But Carol had to laugh. Playing quietly behind the
narration, and increasing in volume during periods of narrative silence, was Pachelbel’s
‘Canon’. It was Dale’s favourite piece of mood music (he was so predictable—Carol
always knew what was coming next when Dale put Pachelbel on the CD player in his apartment),
but it seemed strange to her to listen to the lilting strings as the cameras moved
in for close-ups of growing oysters.

The oyster story was abruptly discontinued and the screen dissolved to the interior
of a large executive office. Dale Michaels was sitting on a couch, across the room
from his modern desk, looking at one of three video monitors that could be seen in
the room. ‘Good morning again, Carol,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘So how did it go?
And where are you? I didn’t know that they had videos in the Marriott rooms yet.’

Dr. Michaels was tall and slim. Blond, his hair was slightly curly and receding just
a trace at the temples. He flashed a ready smile that was too quick, almost practised,
but his green eyes were warm and open.

‘I’m down in the comm room here at the hotel,’ Carol answered. ‘I just sent the whale
beaching story off to the
Herald
on disk. Jesus, Dale, I felt so sorry for those poor animals. How can they be so
smart and still get their directions so fouled up?’

‘We don’t know, Carol,’ Dale replied. ‘But remember that our definition of intelligence
and the whales’ definition are almost certainly completely different. Besides, it’s
not that surprising that they trust their internal navigation system even when it
leads them to disaster. Can you imagine a situation in which you would essentially
disregard information that your
eyes
were giving you? It’s the same thing. We’re talking here about a malfunction in their
primary sensor.’

Carol was quiet for a moment. ‘I guess I can see what you’re saying,’ she said finally,
‘but it hurt to see them so helpless. Oh, well, anyway, I got the story on video too.
Incidentally, the new integrated video technology is superb. The Marriott here just
installed a new higher data rate modem for video. I transferred the entire eight-minute
piece to Joey Hernandez at Channel 44 in only two minutes. He loved it. He does the
noon news, you know. Catch it if you can and tell me what you think.’

Carol paused just a beat. ‘And by the way, Dale, thanks again for the tip.’

‘Just glad to help.’ Dale was beaming. He loved it when he could help Carol with her
career. He had been pursuing her single-mindedly, in his left-brain scientific way,
for almost a year and a half. But he had been unable to convince her that a permanent
relationship would be mutually beneficial. Or at least, he thought that was the problem.

‘I think this whale thing could be a great cover,’ Carol was saying. ‘You know I was
worried about attracting too much attention with your telescope. And the “treasure
hunter” bit just doesn’t fit if someone down here recognizes me. But I think I can
use a whale follow-up story as the pretext. What do you think?’

‘Sounds reasonable to me,’ Dale answered. ‘Incidentally, there have been a couple
of other whale irregularities reported as well this morning—a partial pod beaching
up at Sanibel and a supposed attack on a fishing boat north of Marathon. The owner
was Vietnamese and highly excitable. Of course it’s almost unheard of that false killers
attack anything related to humans. But maybe you can use the whole thing somehow.’

Carol saw that he was already up from the couch and walking around his office. Dr.
Dale Michaels had so much energy it was almost impossible for him to sit still or
relax. He was just a few months away from his fortieth birthday but he still had the
zest and enthusiasm of a teenager.

‘Just try not to let anyone from the Navy know that you have the telescope,’ he continued.
‘They called again this morning and asked for a third set of equipment. I told them
the third telescope was loaned out and being used for research. Whatever it is that
they’re looking for must be very important.’ He turned and looked at the camera. ‘And
very secret. This guy Lieutenant Todd reminded me again this morning, as soon as I
made a normal scientific inquiry, that it was Navy business and he couldn’t tell me
anything about it.’

Carol made some notes on a small spiral pad. ‘You know, Dale,’ she began again, ‘I
thought this story had tremendous potential as soon as you mentioned it to me yesterday.
Everything indicates that something unusual and secret is going on with the Navy.
It was amusing the amateur way Todd stonewalled me on the phone yesterday and then
demanded to know who had given me his name. I told him that a source in the Pentagon
had suggested that there was some “high priority” activity at the Naval Air Station
in Key West and that he, Todd, was associated with it. He seemed to buy it. And I’m
convinced that the bozo Navy public affairs guy here knows nothing at all about anything
that might be happening.’

Carol yawned and quickly put her hand over her mouth. ‘Well, it’s too late to go back
to bed. I guess I’ll exercise and then go find that boat we talked about. I feel as
if I’m looking for a needle in a haystack, but your guess could be right. Anyway,
I’ll start with the map you gave me. And if they really have lost a cruise missile
somewhere down here
and
are trying to cover it up, it would certainly be a great scoop for me. Talk to you
later.’

Dale waved goodbye and hung up. Carol left the communications area and walked out
to the end of the hotel. She had an oceanfront room on the first floor. The
Herald
wouldn’t pay for that kind of luxury, but she had decided to splash out anyway this
time and pamper herself. As she was changing into her swimsuit, she mused to herself
about her conversation with Dale.
Nobody would ever guess
, she thought,
that Dale and I are lovers. Or at least sex partners. It’s all so businesslike. As
if we’re teammates or something
. She paused for a moment and then completed her thought.
Did I make it that way?
she wondered.

It was almost nine o’clock and the resort was in the process of waking up when Carol
walked out of her room and into the hotel grounds. On the beach, the staff had just
arrived and were setting out the loungers and umbrellas on the sand for the early-risers.
Carol walked over to the self-admiring young man in charge and informed him that she
was going for a long exercise swim. Twice at hotels previously she had forgotten to
tell the guardians of the beach that she was going to swim half a mile away from the
shore. Both times she had been rescued, much to her dismay, and had created an untoward
scene.

As Carol worked into her freestyle rhythm, she began to feel the release of tension,
the loosening of the knots that bound her most of the time. Although she told most
other people that she exercised regularly to stay fit, the real reason Carol spent
at least forty-five minutes each morning running, swimming, or walking briskly was
that she needed the exercise to deal with her fast-paced life. Only after hard exercise
could she really feel calm and at peace with her world.

It was normal for Carol to let her mind drift idly from subject to subject while she
was swimming long distances. This morning she remembered swimming long ago in the
cold waters of the Pacific Ocean near Laguna Beach in California. Carol had been eight
years old at the time and had gone to a birthday party given by a friend—Jessica was
her name—whom she had met at soccer camp during the summer. Jessica was rich. Her
house had cost more than a million dollars and Jessica had more toys and dolls than
Carol could possibly imagine.

Hmm
. Carol was thinking as she recalled Jessica’s party and the clowns and the ponies.
That was when I still believed in fairy tales. That was before the separation and
divorce…
.

Her watch alarm sounded, breaking her reverie, and Carol turned around in the water
and headed back to shore. As she did so, she saw something strange out of the corner
of her eye. No more than twenty yards from her a great whale broke the water, sending
chills down her spine and adrenaline rushing into her system. The whale disappeared
underwater and, although Carol trod water for a couple of minutes and scanned the
horizon, she did not see it again.

At length Carol began swimming back toward shore. Her heart rate had started to return
to normal after the bizarre encounter and now she was thinking about her lifelong
fascination with whales. She remembered having a toy whale from Sea World, in San
Diego, when she was seven. What was his name? Shammy. Shamu. Something like that.
Then Carol remembered an earlier experience, one she had not thought about for twenty-five
years.

Carol was five or six and sitting in her room, ready for bed as requested, and her
father came into the room carrying a picture book. They sat together on the bed and
leaned against the wallpaper with yellow flowers while he read to her. She loved it
when he put his arm around her and turned the pages in her lap. She felt protected
and comfortable. He read to her a story about a whale that seemed human and a man
named Captain Ahab. The pictures were frightening; one in particular showed a boat
being tossed about by a giant whale with a harpoon stuck in his back.

When her father tucked her in that night he seemed to linger in the room, showering
her with tender hugs and kisses. She saw tears in his eyes and asked him if anything
was wrong. Her father just shook his head and told her that he loved her so much,
sometimes it made him cry.

Carol was so deep in this vivid memory that she wasn’t paying attention to where she
was swimming. She had drifted west with the current and could now barely see the hotel.
It took her a few minutes to orient herself and head back in the right direction.

Lieutenant Richard Todd waited impatiently while the data processing assistant made
the last corrections on the master sheets. ‘Come on, come on. The meeting is supposed
to start in five minutes. And we have a couple more changes to make.’

The poor girl was clearly bothered by the Navy officer hanging over her shoulder while
she worked at the design monitor. She corrected a couple of spelling errors on one
sheet and pushed the return key. On the screen in front of her appeared a computer
line-drawn map of south Florida and the Keys. With a light pen she tried to follow
Lieutenant Todd’s instructions and highlight the specific areas described by him.

‘There,’ he said finally, ‘that’s good. That finishes the group. Now hit the hard
copy repro button. What’s the initial key? I7BROKO1? Good. On the Top Secret data
base? All right. Today’s password?’

‘Matisse, Lieutenant,’ she answered, standing up to walk around the machine and pick
up a single collated hard copy of his presentation. Todd had a blank look on his face.
‘He was a French painter,’ the girl said sarcastically. ‘M-A-T-I-S-S-E, in case you’re
wondering.’

Todd signed out for his copy of the material and then scribbled the spelling of Matisse
on a sheet of scratch paper. He awkwardly thanked the girl in a minimal way and left
the room, heading out of the building and across the street.

The conference centre for the US Naval Air Station in Key West was next door. It was
a brand-new building of modern design, one of the few edifices on the base to break
the architectural monotone that could best be described as ‘white stucco, World War
II.’ Lieutenant Todd worked in one of the nondescript white buildings as head of Special
Projects for the site. Todd and his group were essentially troubleshooters for the
command, top-flight systems engineers who were moved from project to project depending
upon where they were needed. Todd himself was twenty-eight, an Annapolis graduate
in aerospace engineering, a gung-ho Navy bachelor who had grown up in Littleton, a
suburb of Denver in Colorado. Todd was ambitious and in a hurry. He felt as if he
were out of the mainstream down here in Key West and longed for a chance to move to
somewhere where he could really prove his mettle, a weapons design centre, for example,
or even the Pentagon.

The sign on the door in the conference centre read
TOP SECRET
—
BROKEN ARROW
. Lieutenant Todd checked his watch. One minute remained before 0930, the time for
the meeting. He entered an alphanumeric code into the door lock and walked into the
back of a medium-sized conference room with three large screens in the front. His
group of five younger officers and a couple of members of the senior staff had already
arrived. They were standing around the coffee and doughnuts that were on a table at
the left. Commander Vernon Winters was sitting alone at the centre of a long table
that ran across the room and virtually bisected it. He was facing the screens with
his back to the entrance.