Isaac Mannheim checked his watch and then gazed down the hill, marking
the time with growing impatience. Coping with inactivity, he felt, was
the most extraordinarily difficult task in life. In fact, he never
understood how anybody could retire, when three lifetimes would not be
adequate for all one's dreams. The tall man who had saved his life
earlier in the day had departed almost an hour and a half ago. Where
was he? This waiting around was not accomplishing a damned thing.
He rose off the rock where he'd been sitting, and stretched. Enough of
this lollygagging about; he had to get down there and find out what was
happening. Already he assumed that something had interfered with the
schedule. This afternoon's agenda included a communications power-up of
the servomechanisms that guided the phased-array transmitter through
the trajectory. He had even warned the tall stranger about it before he
descended into the conduit. Well, he seemed to carry luck around with
him, because the power-up had begun, then suddenly halted. But that
meant somebody was mucking with the timetable. It was necessary to stop
these people, whoever they were, from causing any more interference.
In times like these, he figured, it paid to be pragmatic. So give them
a piece of whatever it was they wanted and they'd go away. It always
worked. Even the student sit-ins of the sixties could have been tamed
with a few gestures, a handful of concessions. If he'd been in charge,
the problem would have disappeared.
So this time he would take the initiative. These people had no reason
to want to stop the project--which meant, logically, that they had to be
after something else. So why not just let them have it and then get on
with matters?
After squinting at his watch one last time, he shrugged and started
down the hill, working his way through the rocks and scrub brush. The
sun beat down fiercely, making him thirsty and weak, while the sharp
rocks pierced the lightweight shoes he had worn for the plane. But the
other, sturdier pair he had packed was lost with the helicopter. . . .
Well, so be it. The first rule of life was to make do with what you
had, manage around problems, and he intended to do exactly that.
Shrugging again, he gingerly continued his climb. On his left he was
passing the landing pad, with the slightly beat up Agusta, the sight of
which momentarily discomfited him. But surely Bates had it insured.
Still, the whole business was damned irritating, start to finish.
As he walked onto the asphalt of the connecting roadway and headed for
the entrance to Command, he puzzled over how these thugs could have
penetrated the facility in the first place and why Security had not
handled the problem. That was bloody well what SatCom was paying its
layabout Greek guards to do. Thev should have nipped the whole mess in
the bud.
He turned and scanned the mountain one last time, but still spied
nobody. The chap who saved his life must have gotten lost. Or killed.
With a shrug he walked directly up to the SatCom entry lobby and shoved
open the glass door. To his surprise nobody was manning the security
station. And an ominous dark stain covered the desk. Why hadn't anybody
cleaned that up?
Readying his lecture, he dug out his security card and headed across
toward the door to Command.