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Chaney stepped into the corridor.
"_We_ tipped him off, you idiot--we passed the word. _We_ told him of the plot and of his
re-election. Do you really think he has the guts to expose himself? Knowing that he would be re-elected
the next day for another four-year ride? Do you think that, Saltus?"
Monitoring cameras looked at him under bright lights.
In the closed-off operations room, the TDV came back for him with an explosive burst of air.
Chaney turned on his heel and walked into the shelter. The newspapers were stacked, the gear
was stored away, the clothing was neatly hung on racks. He had arrived and was preparing to leave with
scarcely a trace of his passage.
The torn envelope caught his eye--the instructions from Katrina, and his identification papers, his
gate pass. Cool, impersonal, distant--impassive, reserved. The wife of Arthur Saltus giving him last
minute instructions for the field trial. She still lived on station; she still worked for the Bureau and the
secret project--and unless the Commander had been reassigned to the war theater he was living with her.
But the barracks were dark, padlocked.
Brian Chaney knew the strong conviction that he was gone--that he and the Major had left the
station. He didn't believe in crystal balls, in clairvoyance, hunches, precognition--Major Moresby could
have all that claptrap to add to his library of phony prophets, but this one conviction was deeply fixed in
his mind.
He was not _here_ in November, 1980.
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ELEVEN
Chaney sensed a subtle change in relationships. It was nothing he could clearly identify, mark, pin
down, but a shade of difference was there.
Gilbert Seabrooke had sponsored a victory party on the night of their return, and the President
telephoned from the White House to offer his congratulations on a good job well done. He spoke of an
award, a medal to convey the grateful appreciation of a nation--even though the nation could not be
informed of the stunning breakthrough. Brian Chaney responded with a polite _thank you_, and held his
tongue. Seabrooke hovered nearby, watchful and alert.
The party wasn't as successful as it might have been. Some indefinable element of spontaneity was
missing, some elusive spark which, when struck, changes over an ordinary party into a memorable
evening of pleasure. Chaney would remember the celebration, but not with heady delight. He passed
over the champagne in favor of bourbon, but drank that sparingly. Major Moresby seemed withdrawn,
troubled, brooding over some inner problem, and Chaney guessed he was already preoccupied with the
startling power struggle which was yet two years away. Moresby had made a stiff, awkward little speech
of thanks to the President, striving to assure him without words of his continued loyalty. Chaney was
embarrassed for him.
Arthur Saltus danced. He monopolized Katrina, even to the point of ignoring her whispered
suggestions that he give unequal time to Chaney and the Major. Chaney didn't want to cut in. On another
evening, another party before the field trials, he could have cut in as often as he dared, but now he sensed
the same subtle change in Kathryn van Hise which was sensed in the others. The mountain of information
brought back from Joliet, November 1980, had altered many viewpoints and the glossy overlay of the
party could not conceal that alteration.
There was a stranger at the party, the liaison agent dispatched by the Senate subcommittee.
Chaney discovered the man surreptitiously watching him.
The briefing room offered the familiar tableau.
Major Moresby was again studying a map of the Chicago area. He used a finger to mark the
several major routes and backroads between Joliet and the metropolis; the finger also traced the rail line
through the Chicago suburbs to the Loop. Arthur Saltus was studying the photographs he'd brought back
from Joliet. He seemed particularly pleased with a print of an attractive girl standing on a windy street
corner, half watching the cameraman and half watching for a car or a bus coming along the street behind.
The print revealed an expert's hand in composition and cropping, with the girl limned in sunny
backlighting.
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Kathryn van Hise said: "Mr. Chaney?"
He swung around to face her. "Yes, Miss van Hise?"
"The engineers have given me firm assurance _that_ mistake will not happen again. They have used
the time since your return to rebuild the gyroscope. The cause has been traced to a vacuum leakage but
that has been repaired. The error is to be regretted, but it will not happen again."
"But I _like_ getting there first," he protested. "That's the only way I can assert seniority."
"It will not happen again, sir."
"Maybe. How do they _know_ it won't?"
Katrina studied him.
"The next targets will each be a year apart, sir, to obtain a wider coverage. Would you care to
suggest a tentative date?"
He betrayed surprise. "We may choose?"
"Within reason, sir. Mr. Seabrooke has invited each of you to suggest an appropriate date. The [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]