rludlum-shelby.thecassandracompact-第2章

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　service　rooms　behind　those　doors　and　their　locks　could　not　be　opened　even　with　the　most　sophisticated　key　card。　That　space　was　part　of　Klein's　secret　suite。
　There　was　no　nameplate　on　Klein's　door；　only　an　internal　Pentagon　designation：　2E377。　If　asked；　the　few　coworkers　who'd　actually　seen　him　would　describe　a　man　in　his　early　sixties；　medium　height；　unprepossessing　except　for　his　rather　long　nose　and　wireframed　glasses。　They　might　recall　his　conservative　and　somewhat　rumpled　suits；　perhaps　the　way　he　would　smile　briefly　when　passed　in　the　hall。　They　might　have　heard　that　Klein　was　sometimes　called　before　the　joint　chiefs　or　a　congressional　mittee。　But　that　would　be　in　keeping　with　his　seniority。　They　might　also　know　that　he　was　vested　with　the　responsibility　of　checking　the　properties　the　Pentagon　leased　or　had　an　interest　in　throughout　the　world。　That　would　account　for　the　fact　that　one　seldom　saw　him　at　all。　In　fact　it　was　sometimes　difficult　to　say　who　or　what　Nathaniel　Klein　really　was。
　At　eight　o'clock　in　the　evening；　Klein　was　still　behind　his　desk　in　the　modest　office　that　was　identical　to　all　the　others　in　the　wing。　He　had　added　a　few　personal　touches：　framed　prints　depicting　the　world　as　imagined　by　sixteenth…century　cartographers；　an　old…fashioned　pedestal…mounted　globe；　and　a　large；　framed　photograph　of　the　earth　taken　from　the　space　shuttle。
　Although　very　few　people　were　aware　of　it；　Klein's　affinity　for　things　global　was　a　direct　reflection　of　his　real　mandate：　to　serve　as　the　eyes　and　ears　of　the　president。　From　this　nondescript　office　Klein　ran　a　loosely　knit　organization　known　as　Covert…One。　Conceived　by　the　president　after　the　horror　known　as　the　Hades　Project；　Covert…One　was　designed　to　be　the　chief　executive's　early　warning　system　and　secret　response　option。
　Because　Covert…One　worked　outside　the　usual　military…intelligence　bureaucracy　and　well　away　from　the　scrutiny　of　Congress；　it　had　no　formal　organization　or　headquarters。　Instead　of　accredited　operatives；　Klein　recruited　men　and　women　whom　he　called　〃mobile　ciphers〃…　individuals　who　were　acknowledged　experts　in　their　fields　yet　who；　through　circumstances　or　dispositions；　found　themselves　outside　the　mainstream　of　society。　Most…　but　certainly　not　all…　had　some　military　background；　were　holders　of　numerous　citations　and　awards；　but　had　chafed　under　structured　mand；　and　so　had　elected　to　leave　their　respective　services。　Others　came　from　the　civilian　world：　former　investigators…　state　and　federal；　linguists　who　were　fluent　in　a　dozen　languages；　doctors　who　had　traveled　the　world　and　were　accustomed　to　the　harshest　conditions。　The　very　best；　like　Colonel　Jon　Smith；　bridged　the　two　worlds。
　They　also　possessed　one　factor　that　disqualified　so　many　Klein　looked　at：　their　lives　were　strictly　their　own。　They　had　little　or　no　family；　few　encumbrances；　and　a　professional　reputation　that　would　stand　up　to　the　closest　scrutiny。　These　were　invaluable　assets　for　an　individual　sent　in　harm's　way　thousands　of　miles　from　home。
　Klein　closed　the　folder　on　the　report　he　had　been　reading；　removed　his　glasses；　and　rubbed　his　weary　eyes。　He　was　looking　forward　to　going　home；　being　greeted　by　his　cocker　spaniel；　Buck；　and　enjoying　a　finger　of　single…malt　scotch　followed　by　whatever　dinner　his　housekeeper　had　left　in　the　oven。　He　was　about　to　get　up　when　the　connecting　door　to　the　next　room　opened。
　〃Nathaniel？〃
　The　speaker　was　a　trim　woman　a　few　years　younger　than　Klein；　with　bright　robin's　eyes　and　graying　blond　hair　done　in　a　French　twist。　She　wore　a　conservative　blue　business　suit　accented　by　a　string　of　pearls　and　a　filigree　gold　bracelet。
　〃I　thought　you'd　gone　home；　Maggie。〃
　Maggie　Templeton；　who'd　been　Klein's　assistant　for　the　ten　years　he　had　worked　at　the　National　Security　Agency；　arched　her　neatly　sculptured　brows。
　〃When　was　the　last　time　I　left　before　you　did？　Good　thing　I　didn't；　too。　You'd　better　have　a　look　at　this。〃
　Klein　followed　Maggie　into　the　next　room；　which　was　really　one　large　puter　station。　Three　monitors　were　lined　up　side　by　side；　along　with　a　host　of　servers　and　storage　units；　all　driven　by　the　government's　most　advanced　software。　Klein　stood　back　and　admired　the　dexterity　and　proficiency　with　which　Maggie　worked　her　keyboard。　It　was　like　watching　a　virtuoso　performance　by　a　concert　pianist。
　Besides　the　president；　Maggie　Templeton　was　the　only　person　familiar　with　the　entire　workings　of　Covert…One。　Knowing　he　would　need　a　skilled　and　trusted　right　hand；　Klein　had　insisted　on　Maggie's　being　involved　from　the　get…go。　Besides　having　worked　for　him　at　the　NSA；　she　had　better　than　twenty　years　experience　as　a　senior　CIA　administrator。　But　most　important　to　Klein；　she　was　family。　Maggie's　sister；　Judith；　had　been　Klein's　wife；　taken　by　cancer　years　ago。　Maggie　too　had　had　her　share　of　tragedy：　her　husband；　a　CIA　covert　operative；　had　never　returned　from　a　mission　abroad。　As　fate　would　have　it；　Maggie　and　Klein　were　the　only　family　each　had。
　Finished　on　the　keyboard；　Maggie　tapped　on　the　screen　with　an　elegantly　manicured　fingernail。
　VECTOR　SIX。
　The　two　words　pulsed　in　the　center　of　the　screen　like　a　blinking　traffic　light　at　an　empty　intersection　in　a　country　town。　Klein　felt　the　hairs　on　his　forearms　push　against　his　shirtsleeves。　He　knew　exactly　who　Vector　Six　was；　he　could　see　his　face　as　clearly　as　if　the　man　were　standing　next　to　him。　Vector　Six：　the　code　name；　if　it　ever　appeared；　was　to　be　construed　by　Mein　as　a　panic　signal。
　〃Shall　I　pull　up　the　message？〃　Maggie　asked　quietly。
　〃Please。。。。〃
　She　touched　a　series　of　keys　and　the　encrypted　message　of　letters；　symbols；　and　numbers　shot　up　on　the　screen。　She　then　repeated　the　process　with　different　keys　to　activate　the　decryption　software。　Seconds　later；　the　message　appeared　in　clear　text：
　
　D？ner…　prix　fixe…　8　euro
　Spécialité：　Fruits　de　mer
　Spécialité　du　bar：　Bellini
　Fermé　entre　14…16　heures
　
　Even　if　a　third　party　somehow　managed　to　decode　the　message；　this　menu　of　a　nameless　French　restaurant　was　both　innocuous　and　misleading。　Klein　had　set　up　the　simple　code　the　last　time　he　had　met　Vector　Six　face　to　face。　Its　meaning　had　nothing　to　do　with　Gallic　cuisine。　It　was　the　call　of　last　resort；　a　plea　for　immediate　extraction。
　Klein　didn't　hesitate。　〃Please　reply　as　follows：　Reservations　pour　deux。〃
　Maggie's　fingers　flew　over　the　keys；　tapping　out　the　secure　response。　The　single　sentence　bounced　off　two　military　satellites　before　being　sent　back　to　earth。　Klein　didn't　know　where　Vector　Six　was　at　that　moment；　but　as　long　as　he　had　access　to　the　laptop　Klein　had　given　him；　he　could　download　and　decrypt　the　reply。
　e　on！　Talk　to　me！
　Klein　checked　the　time　stamp　on　the　message：　The　message　was　less　than　two　minutes　old。
　A　reply　flashed　across　the　screen：　Reservations　confirmées。
　Klein　exhaled　as　the　screen　faded　to　black。　Vector　Six　would　not　stay　on…line　any　longer　than　was　absolutely　necessary。　Contact　had　been　established；　an　itinerary　proposed；　accepted；　and　verified。　Vector　Six　would　not　use　this　channel　of　munications　again。
　As　Maggie　shut　down　the　link；　Klein　sat　down　in　the　only　other　chair　in　the　room；　wondering　what　extraordinary　circumstances　had　prompted　Vector　Six　to　contact　him。
　Unlike　the　CIA　and　other　intelligence　agencies；　Covert…One　did　not　run　a　string　of　foreign　agents。　Nonetheless；　Klein　had　a　handful　of　contacts　abroad。　Some　had　been　cultivated　during　his　days　at　the　NSA；　others　were　the　results　of　chance　meetings　that　had　blossomed　into　a　relationship　based　on　both　trust　and　mutual　self…interest。
　They　were　a　diverse　group：　a　doctor　in　Egypt　whose　patients　included　most　of　the　country's　ruling　elite；　a　puter　entrepreneur　in　New　Delhi　who　provided　his　skills　and　equipment　to　his　government；　a　banker　in　Malaysia　adept　at　moving；　hiding；　or　ferreting　out　offshore　funds　anywhere　in　the　world。　None　of　these　people　knew　each　other。　They　had　nothing　in　mon　beyond　their　friendship　with　Klein　and　the　puter　notebook　he　had　given　each　one　of　them。　They　accepted　Klein　as　a　midlevel　bureaucrat　but　knew　that　secretly　he　was　much　more　than　that。　And　they　agreed　to　serve　as　his　eyes　and　ears　not　only　out　of　friendship　and　belief　in　what　he　represented；　but　because　they　trusted　him　to　help　them　if；　for　any　reason；　their　respective　homelands　suddenly　became　a　dangerous　place　for　them。
　Vector　Six　was　one　of　the　handful。
　〃Nate？〃
　Klein；　glanced　at　Maggie。
　〃Who　gets　the　call？〃　she　asked。
　Good　question。。。。
　Klein　always　used　his　Pentagon　ID　when　traveling　abroad。　If　he　was　going　to　meet　a　contact；　he　made　sure　it　would　be　in　a　public　place；　at　a　secure　location。　Official　functions　at　a　U。S。　embassy　were　the　best　choices。　But　Vector　Six　was　nowhere　near　an　embassy。　He　was　on　the　run。
　〃Smith；〃　Klein　said　at　last。　〃Get　him　on　the　line；　please；　Maggie。〃
　
　Smith　was　dreaming　of　Sophia　when　the　insistent　beep　of　the　telephone　intruded。　He　was　watching　the　two　of　them　sitting　on　a　riverbank；　in　the　shadows　of　immense　triangular　structures。　In　the　distance　was　a　great　city。　The　air　was　hot；　filled　with　the　attar　of　roses　and　of　Sophia。　Cairo。。。　They　were　at　the　pyramids　of　Giza；　outside　Cairo。
　The　secure　line。。。
　Smith　sat　up　fast　on　the　couch　where　he　had　fallen　asleep；　fully　dressed；　after　ing　home　from　the　cemetery。　Beyond　the　windows　streaked　with　rain；　the　wind　moaned　as　it　drove　heavy　clouds　across　the　sky。　A　former　bat　internist　and　battlefield　surgeon；　Smith　had　developed　the　gift　of　waking　up　fully　alert。　That　ability　had　served　him　well　during　his　time　at　USAMRIID；　where　sleep　was　often　snatched　between　long；　grueling　hours　of　work。　It　served　him　well　now。
　Smith　checked　the　time　at　the　bottom　right…hand　corner　of　the　monitor：　almost　nine　o'clock。　He　had　been　asleep　for　two　hours。　Emotionally　spent；　his　mind　still　filled　with　images　of　Sophia；　he　had　driven　himself　home；　heated　up　some　soup；　then　stretched　out　on　the　couch　and　listened　to　the　rain　churn　overhead。　He　had　not　intended　to　fall　asleep；　but　was　grateful　that　he　done　so。　Only　one　man　could　call　him　on　that　particular　line。　Whatever　message　he　had　could　signal　the　beginning　of　a　day　of　infinite　hours。
　〃Good　evening；　Mr。　Klein。〃
　〃Good　evening　to　you　too；　Jon。　I　hope　I'm　not　disturbing　your　dinner。〃
　〃No；　sir。　I　ate　earlier　on。〃
　〃In　that　case；　how　soon　can　you　get　out　to　Andrews　Air　Force　base？〃
　Smith　took　a　deep　breath。　Klein　usually　had　a　calm；　businesslike　demeanor。　Smith　had　seldom　found　him　curt　or　abrupt。
　Which　means　there's　trouble…　and　it's　closing　fast。
　〃About　forty…five　minutes；　sir。〃
　〃Good。　And　Jon？　Pack　for　a　few　days。〃
　Smith　stared　at　the　dead　phone　in　his　hand。　〃Yes；　sir。〃
　Smith's　drill　was　so　ingrained　that　he　was　hardly　aware　of　going　through　the　motions。　Three　minutes　for　a　shower　and　shave；　two　minutes　to　dress；　two　more　to　double…check　and　add　a　few　things　to　the　ready　bag　in　the　walk…in　closet。　On　his　way　out；　he　set　the　security　system　for　the　house；　once　he　had　the　sedan　out　in　the　driveway；　he　armed　the　garage　using　the　remote。
　The　rain　made　the　ride　to　Andrews　Air　Force　base　longer　than　usual。　Smith　avoided　the　main　entry　and　turned　in　at　the　supply　gate。　A　poncho…covered　guard　exam