按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
〃Remember that nobody at Whidbey has a need to know anything。 You'll be asked no questions by the senior people。 The junior ones will be curious； so just say the Pentagon sent you to fly。 That's it。 Learn everything you can about the plane and its mission。 And don't crash one。〃
Miss Moravia nodded and left； but Toad lingered。
〃Uh； CAG；〃 Toad said； 〃I'm a fighter type and this attack； puke stuff…〃
〃The admiral says that anyone I want to get rid of can winter over in Antarctica。 You want to go all the way south？〃
〃I'll take Whidbey； sir。〃
〃I thought you would。〃 He picked up some paper on his desk and looked at it； signaling the end of the interview。 〃Oh；〃 he added； looking up again； 〃by the way； you stay the hell away from Moravia。 Absolutely no romance。 Keep it strictly business。 You'd mope around here like a whipped puppy after she ditched you。 I haven't got the stomach for another sorry spectacle like that。〃
The office emptied at 5：30。 Jake stayed； sorting through the paper that had accumulated in Strong's in…basket。 Most of it he threw in the waste can under his desk。 Memos and letters and position papers that looked important he saved for later scrutiny。
When he finished with the in…basket pile he began rooting through the desk drawers。 Unbelievable！ Here at the back of the wide； shallow drawer above his knees was an old memo on army stationery； dated 1956。 Where had they gotten these desks？ And what else was in here？ Maybe he would find an announcement from the War Department that Japan had surrendered。
Alas； nothing so extraordinary。 A two…year old date book； most of the pages blank。 Some matchbooks from a restaurant…perhaps Strong liked to drop in there for a cup of coffee。 Three envelopes addressed to Strong in a feminine hand： empty envelopes with the stamp canceled； no return address。 One broken shoelace； a button that didn't look like it came from a uniform； two rubber bands； a collection of government pens and #2 lead pencils。 He tried the pens on scrap paper。 Most of them still worked。 Some of the erasers on the pencils were pretty worn。
So Harold Strong had been murdered。
And Admiral Henry had throttled the investigation even before it started。 Or so he said。
He shook his head in annoyance。 Those problems were not his concern。 His job was to run this project。 With the A…12 still in the prototype stage； many major decisions remained to be made。 Jake already knew where he would throw his weight； what little he had。 For too long； in his opinion； the military had been stuck with airplanes designed to acplish so many disparate missions that they were unable to do any of them well。 If they wanted an attack plane； then by God he would argue like hell for a capable attack plane。
Every aircraft design involved inevitable trade…offs： fuel capacity was traded for strength and maneuverability； weapons…carrying capacity sacrificed for speed； maneuverability surrendered for stability； and so on； because every aircraft had to have all of these things； yet it needed these things in degrees that varied with its mission。 But with stealth literally everything was being promised in varying degrees to achieve invisibility； or in the jargon of the trade； survivability。
For two hours this afternoon the manders and experts had argued that a plane that could not survive over the modern battlefield was not worth having。 Yet a plane that did survive but could not fight was equally worthless。 Somewhere between these two extremes was a balance。
The other major consideration that had been tossed around this afternoon was a conundrum that baffled politicians and generals as well as aircraft designers。 What war do you build your airplane to fight？ World War III nuclear？ World War conventional？ Vietnam？ Anti…terrorist raids against Libya？ The answer； Jake believed； had to be all of them。 Yet achieving survivability over the European battlefield might well mean trading away conventional iron…bomb…carrying capacity that would be essential in future brushfire wars； like Vietnam。 Megabuck smart missiles were currently in vogue but the nation could never afford enough of them to fight any war that lasted longer than two weeks。
This job was not going to be easy； or dull。
〃She…it；〃 Jake Grafton said aloud； drawing the word out slowly。 When you looked at Tyler Henry and listened to him he seemed okay。 But if all you did was listen to the words…well； it sure did make you wonder。 Spies？ Murder investigations put on hold？ Was Henry some paranoid wacko； some coconut schizo on the naked edge who ought to be locked in the bowels of St。 Elizabeth's without his belt and shoelaces？
The first thing I ought to do； Jake told himself； before I go see the ultimate war machine manufactured by some greedy Gyro Gearloose in a garage in California； is check out Henry。 It would be nice to know that the big boss has all his marbles。 It would be damn nice to know if he doesn't。 Dunedin wanted Jake to salute and march。
〃A fellow never gets very far marching in the dark； anyhow；〃 Jake said aloud。 〃Too much stuff out there to trip over。〃
He used one of the black government pens from Strong's hoard to write a note for the senior secretary's desk。 What was her name？ Mrs。 Pulliam。 There were just two secretaries； both civilians。
The note informed all and sundry he would be in late tomorrow； after lunch。 He had a moment of doubt。 There was so much to be done here。 Yet they had gotten along without a project manager for two months now； they could suffer through another day。
5
Toad Tarkington lowered himself into a seat against the window on the left side of the airplane； Boeing 727。 Three engines； he noted with satisfaction。 Airliners made him nervous these days。 He couldn't see the guys flying or monitor the instruments and he had no ejection seat； so he couldn't boogy on out if the clowns up front hamtmrgered it； which； from what he read in the newspapers； they had been doing lately with distressing frequency。 Luckily this flight to Seattle was almost empty； so after the crash there wouldn't be any unsightly mob ripping out hair and eyeballs scrambling for the emergency exits。
He glanced across the four empty seats and the aisle at Rita Moravia sitting against the window on the right side。 Now there was one cold； cold woman。 She hadn't yet smiled in his presence or given any indication she ever would。 The old Tarkington charm rolled right over her as if it had gone bad in the winter of '85； turned sour and rotten and gave off an evil odor。
The plane began to move。 Backwards。 They were pushing it out。 Toad glanced at his watch。 Twenty minutes late。 They were always late。 He tried to get fortable in his seat。 Reluctantly he picked up the copy of The Washington Post he had purchased at a news counter and scanned the headlines。 Same old crap…it's absolutely uncanny how politicians can be relied upon to do or say something every single day that even Charlie Manson would think bizarre。
He sneaked a glance at Moravia。 She was reading a paperback。
He squinted。 My God…it's a Jackie Collins novel！ How about that？ The ice queen deep into sex among the rich and stupid。 Maybe her hormones are okay after all。
�