The Trojan Sea (12 page)

She sighed. “The tower said we had twenty minutes before the ambulance could get there. They got there in less than ten.”

“Saving that boy’s life was a public relations triumph. Even the White House is interested.” He tapped the photo with a forefinger. “This would have ended all that. I had to bribe the photographer—ten-thousand dollars to squash it.”

“I didn’t make that flight for publicity,” she said, trying to explain. “How often do we get a chance to save a life?” Marsten didn’t answer. “There’s another problem,” she continued. “The FAA is giving Tim grief about landing below minimums. Can you help?”

“A phone call to Senator—”

She interrupted him. “I don’t want to know.”

He gestured at the whiteboard, changing the subject. “Steiner’s Double Reflection technique?”

She nodded. “It’s frustrating. I need a refresher course in calculus.”

“It’s not calculus,” Marsten replied. “Steiner developed a special annotation to deal with the variables he was encountering, or so he told me.”

“Maybe I should get someone who understands this type of thing.”

“Under the circumstances,” Marsten replied, “that might not be a good idea.”

She sighed in resignation. She trusted Marsten’s instincts and appreciated his penchant for understatement. “You’re right, of course. But why do I get the feeling I’m looking at a Trojan horse?”

Marsten caught the reference immediately. “Something, or someone, intended to divert from within.” He frowned. “That’s because we’re dealing with Steiner. He’s such a sneaky bastard. But he does excellent work. I’m confident that if we ever have the opportunity to drill, we will find out just how excellent.”

“I don’t want this blowing up in our faces.” Again the sigh. “I’m obsessing, aren’t I?”

Marsten sat down beside her. “Considering what’s at stake here, it’s understandable. Speaking of blowing up, I’ve been thinking about the bombing at RTX.”

“Why am I not surprised?” she said. “I don’t want it happening again, and I want whoever did it punished.” He heard the suppressed anger in her voice. He had seen her anger in full flow only once, and that was in Eritrea. “If the powers that be can’t do something about it, I will. Here.”

He handed her the folder that detailed the new security program he had created for the company. She flipped through the pages, focusing on its salient points. “Lloyd,” she said, approval in her voice, “this is brilliant. This could be marketed to other companies, it’s that good. By all means let’s do it.” She paused, thinking. “But it will take some time to get this up and running. Until then I want to be sure we’re not targeted again.”

“I’ve got ARA on it.”

“Good. See if they can get someone on the inside. I wouldn’t mind burning them one bit.”

He made a note, not arguing. L.J. was a true daughter of Texas, a seething mass of contradictions and a total believer in rough justice and fighting her own battles. He chose his next words carefully. “I’ve also got them looking at a Lieutenant Colonel Stuart who works in the Pentagon. There might be a connection to Steiner.” He explained about the letter from the committee and how Stuart’s boat had been in the harbor at the same time as the seismic vessel.

“That is a bit of coincidence, isn’t it?” she murmured. “We can’t afford to have the government interfering.”

Marsten totally agreed. “As it involves Cuba, they will intervene and stop us.”

“Is this Stuart going to be a problem?”

“A temporary one at best,” Marsten replied.

“Stay on top of it,” L.J. said. Marsten nodded and left, throwing the offending photograph into the shredder. L.J. stared at the whiteboard for a few moments, trying to refocus on Steiner’s formula. Nothing came to her, and the equations remained as opaque as before. Unbidden, her hand moved slowly and erased the formula. She curled up in one corner of the couch, stared into space, and let her mind wander.
Be honest. You’re obsessed with the elephant.
The truth was in front of her. She had never wanted anything so badly, so intensely, that she would risk everything. But how to do it? Suddenly her right hand hit the remote pad on the end table, and the door locked. She reached for the phone and buzzed her secretary. “I’m not to be disturbed unless it’s an emergency.” Slowly she approached the whiteboard, the way a matador first greets a bull. Using black, red, blue, green, and yellow Magic Markers, she worked as a flowchart evolved, with arrows connecting little boxes.

L.J. labored well into the evening, erasing, re-forming, and recon necting the vectors. Finally a decision tree emerged. She stood back and surveyed her handiwork before drawing in a vector labeled “Stuart.”
Where in the grand scheme of things do you fit?
He was an uncontrolled variable she didn’t need. She drew in a box at the end of Stuart’s vector and wrote Marsten’s name in it. Doubt assailed her as she stared at what she’d done. With slow precision and in big block letters she wrote the words
THE TROJAN SEA
at the very top.

She continued to refine her work. When an inner voice said it was right, she committed it to memory. A shiver of doubt shot through her.
Can anyone do this?
The audacity, the sheer magnitude of what she had created was staggering. But so were the rewards. The same inner voice that told her Tim Roxford could land in zero-zero conditions told her she had to try.

She wiped the board clean. But the words
THE TROJAN SEA
were still visible. Then she scrubbed them away. She didn’t need to see them again—they were imprinted indelibly on her very soul.

Duke walked slower than usual as Marsten made his way through River Legacy Park. The temperature was pleasant for the tenth of October but not warm enough for the old dog. “You’re too much of a gentleman to complain,” Marsten said. Logic told him the walks would soon come to an end, but his heart wasn’t listening or able to accept the truth.

The jogger coasted up beside him and repeated the opening protocol even though the two men recognized each other. “Nice dog. Irish setter?” Marsten countered with the proper words as the younger man jogged in place. “Our agent in Miami may have located the terrorists who bombed RTX,” the jogger said. “They appear to be a splinter group of Puerto Rican nationalists. No names yet or exactly how they’re wired. How much further do you want to take it?”

“Puerto Ricans? How interesting. I’m surprised they’re not Cubans.” Marsten thought before taking the next step. L.J. had been very specific in what she wanted. “We need to get someone on the inside to monitor the bastards.”

The request surprised the jogger, but he never missed an opportunity to make money. “That would require a special arrangement.” He named a dollar amount, and Marsten nodded in agreement. “We also have an update on Monsieur Dr. Steiner,” the jogger continued. “When he isn’t busy abusing young female students, he’s telling the Department of Energy about his latest discovery. Something about Seismic Double Reflection.”

“The source of your information?” Marsten asked.

“One of the young women.”

“Is Steiner talking to Stuart?”

The jogger shook his head. “But Steiner is in contact with DOE, and DOE has a member on the Strategic Petroleum Reserve Committee that Stuart is serving on.”

“So we have a connection.”

“DOE and the Department of Defense are pretty big organizations. But a connection is possible.”

Does L.J. need to know?
Marsten wondered. He made a decision. “Break it.”

“Another special arrangement?”

“I see no other alternative,” Marsten muttered.

“We’re talking in the vicinity of twenty-five thousand dollars.”

Marsten jerked his head yes. He spun around and walked quickly away, Duke hobbling after him. He didn’t want to know the details.

The jogger ran into the nearby trees and circled through the park. Certain that he was clean, he returned to the minivan where Sophia James, still tan from her recent trip to Miami, was waiting for him. “I got it all,” she told him.

“Not on tape, I hope.”

“Of course not,” she said. “I take it I’m going back to Miami, and you’re off to Washington? Freelancing, of course.”

“Of course,” he replied.

Washington, D.C.

It started in the morning when the automatic coffeemaker’s filter clogged and hot coffee spilled over the kitchen counter and drained onto the floor. Stuart cursed eloquently as he cleaned up the mess, not aware he was at the high point of his day. Then he couldn’t set the alarm system when he left for work and spent a few extra minutes trying to solve that problem. Giving up, he ran for the Metro station. He arrived in time to see the train leave the platform. That caused him to miss his connection, and he arrived for work an hour late.

Of course, Ramjet wanted to see him immediately. He rushed out of his cubicle only to collide with one of the civilian employees who worked in ILSX. Unfortunately, she was carrying a bag with a spent toner cartridge for a printer. The bag flew into the air, overturned, and dumped a fine black powder over Stuart. The woman was all apologies, but nothing short of dry cleaning was going to clean Stuart’s coat. Rather than send a cloud of dust into the other cubicles, Stuart removed the coat and rolled it up. Already late, he headed for Ramjet’s office. Peggy Redman stopped him.

“Go wash your face,” she commanded. He quickly explained how he’d been dumped on. “Here, give me your coat. I’ll try to clean it up.” Stuart did as ordered and was able to enter Ramjet’s office in a half-decent state.

“Mike,” Ramjet called, obviously glad to see Stuart. “A message from Personnel came down last night. Headquarters USAFE in Ramstein, Germany, needs a plans officer with your qualifications. I recommended you for the job. Wonderful opportunity. They need you ASAP, and I released you for immediate reassignment. They’re expecting you next week.”

An image of Eric caught in Barbara Raye’s clutches flashed in front of Stuart. He panicked. “Sir, I, ah—this is my last assignment before retiring and I’ve, ah, made a commitment to my family. It would be—”

Ramjet shook his head, interrupting him. “Needs of the service always come first. You know that.” He waved his hand, dismissing Stuart. “Good luck, Mike.”

Before Stuart could escape, Ramjet stopped him. “Oh, Mike. About your slot on that committee on the, ah…” He stopped, as if unable to recall the committee’s name.

“Strategic Petroleum Reserve,” Stuart said, filling in the thought.

“Yes, that one. Tell General Butler I’ll be taking your place.”

“I understand,” Stuart said, finally making good his escape.

“Colonel Stuart,” Peggy called. “General Butler’s office called. He’s wondering why you’re late for a committee meeting. It started five minutes ago.” She handed him his coat.

“Ah, shit,” Stuart moaned. He ran for the shuttle van that would take him across the river.

Peggy sighed and reached for the phone. “Joannie, Colonel Stuart is on his way. Put in a good word for him. He’s having a bad day.” She listened for a moment. “Girl, you have no idea how true that is. What would they do without us?”

The meeting was over when Stuart reached the conference room in the Old Executive Office Building. An assistant who was tidying up the room for the next meeting told him that General Butler was waiting for him in the national security adviser’s office. Suppressing another “Ah, shit,” Stuart hurried to Mazie Kamigami Hazelton’s office suite. A pleasant, middle-aged secretary ushered him in. “They’re waiting for you,” Joannie said.

What did I miss?
he wondered. The image of a three-star general and the national security adviser waiting for a lieutenant colonel was not reassuring.

Butler threw him a perturbed look when he entered Mazie’s office. “Mike, the uniform.”

Stuart nodded dumbly. “Yes, sir. I know. I didn’t have a chance to change.”

Mazie smiled at him and gestured at a chair. “Has it been one of those days?”

Stuart nodded. “I’m afraid so, Mrs. Hazelton.” He sat down.

“We have a problem,” Butler said. “The oil companies are digging their heels in on this one and not helping. Not one has been willing to discuss their future plans for exploration.”

“Perhaps,” Stuart ventured, “that’s because they’re in a wait-and-see mode and don’t know what they’re going to do.”

“That makes sense,” Mazie said. “Also, it keeps their competitors guessing.” She leaned across her desk and handed him a folder with the Department of Energy logo on the cover. The word
SECRET
was stamped in red at the top and bottom, front and back. “DOE received this from a Dr. Emil Steiner. Could this be what they’re waiting for? General Butler tells me this is one of your specialties and you can make sense out of the math.”

Stuart glanced at the contents. “I’ve never heard of Seismic Double Reflection before.”

“The experts from DOE have looked at it,” Mazie said. “They think it’s a major breakthrough in oil exploration and may give us the means to break OPEC.”

“I can look at it,” Stuart said, thumbing through the first few pages. He stopped and frowned. His lips pursed into a tight line. He chose his words carefully. “This will take some work.”

“Is something wrong?” Butler asked.

“On the face of it, this is elegant, brilliant. But it feels out of balance. Sorry, I can’t put my finger on it. I’ve heard of Steiner, twice turned down for a Nobel. Always something not quite right.”

“When will you know?” Mazie asked.

“In a few days,” Stuart answered. “Before I leave for Germany.”

“You’ve been reassigned?” Butler asked.

“It came down last night, and Colonel Priestly released me for immediate travel. He told me to tell you he’ll be filling my position on the committee.”

Butler’s eyes narrowed. “Do you want the assignment?” Stuart shook his head. “I see,” the general said. “We’ll talk later.”

Stuart knew he was dismissed. “Yes, sir.”