looked like any
other ambitious angler out for the bigger game fish. Every so often
he pulled his outriggers, stopped in water with some shallower
structures, put a hook out and if he caught something, he hung onto
it. He could always say the fishing wasn’t that good and then be
suitably impressed when some other lucky stiff pulled out a
fifteen-pounder and patiently explained how it was done, Buddy.
His
thoughts kept turning to the girl. The odds were good that the
opposition had noticed their departure the other night. He wondered
what they might have thought of that. To show her any sort of
attention only endangered her. His cabin had not been entered in
their absence. Liam had taken a calculated risk. What exactly they
might have made of his computer, the only thing he’d left behind
that night, was a matter of guesswork. They had already had a look,
though. It was surprising they hadn’t just lifted it. That would be
an intelligence coup by any normal standards. If they could crack
into it. Ordinary thieves should have simply taken it, in which
case after a certain number of attempted entries, the system would
crash, thoroughly wiping itself in the process.
To fool
with the thing and not initiate auto-destruct took some kind of
special knowledge—or instinct.
Then
there was the whole problem of Lindsey herself.
He had no choice but to stick around for a few more days. His
cover was blown, but that didn’t mean they knew very much. However,
some things were clear. They knew he was here, and one must assume
they knew why. To think otherwise was too optimistic. The
opposition knew that a satellite had gone down from media coverage
if nothing else, and they knew approximately where to look. They
had some minimum of knowledge regarding EMERALD. From their point of view, to
recover the debris, hopefully the guidance system and surveillance
hardware, all of the onboard software, was extremely difficult.
They were operating, borderline illegally, in unfriendly territory. They would
only step over the line when it seemed worthwhile to do
so.
Why not,
if possible, keep an eye on the Canadian and allied searchers in
the hopes of snatching it out of their hands at the last
minute?
The logic
was good, and now Liam was in the hot-seat. Whatever he had found
was hot, in the radioactive sense, and heavy, in that it seemed to
be about seventy kilograms in mass. It was also buried in the muck.
It would take some digging and some lifting to get it out of there.
All the while, agents from at least one unknown entity were all
over them like a dirty shirt.
It was
when he caught a big mature rainbow trout in the middle of the lake
that he had the perfect idea. He took the opposition’s transponder
chip out of his pocket. Holding the gasping trout carefully, head
up, he stuffed the chip down its gullet. He grinned to see the
thing’s muscles contract and then it went down.
He didn’t
see where it went, but he was certain it hadn’t come back up,
taking a quick look around his feet and even checking to see if had
fallen on his shorts.
When
removing a hook from the aggressive and voracious perch of the
area, he’d been amused to see not only his own little minnow, a
universal bait, but the thing was tucked in amongst what looked
like a half a dozen more.
It was
like they were all looking out at you with the most solemn and
accusing look on their faces, mouths gaping and gills still going
in some cases.
He held
the fish over the side.
“ There you go, lad. Lead them buggers a merry chase.” The
thing would move at about the right speed and it would take them a
while to figure out the deception.
By that
time, he would be well on his way.
***
God, it
was hot in this country.
Aubrey
Herschel was a rogue CIA agent. With contacts among some of the
world’s major arms dealers, he was living in an airless stucco
villa jammed between the sea to the north, and the coast road and
the desert to the south. He had a long
other ambitious angler out for the bigger game fish. Every so often
he pulled his outriggers, stopped in water with some shallower
structures, put a hook out and if he caught something, he hung onto
it. He could always say the fishing wasn’t that good and then be
suitably impressed when some other lucky stiff pulled out a
fifteen-pounder and patiently explained how it was done, Buddy.
His
thoughts kept turning to the girl. The odds were good that the
opposition had noticed their departure the other night. He wondered
what they might have thought of that. To show her any sort of
attention only endangered her. His cabin had not been entered in
their absence. Liam had taken a calculated risk. What exactly they
might have made of his computer, the only thing he’d left behind
that night, was a matter of guesswork. They had already had a look,
though. It was surprising they hadn’t just lifted it. That would be
an intelligence coup by any normal standards. If they could crack
into it. Ordinary thieves should have simply taken it, in which
case after a certain number of attempted entries, the system would
crash, thoroughly wiping itself in the process.
To fool
with the thing and not initiate auto-destruct took some kind of
special knowledge—or instinct.
Then
there was the whole problem of Lindsey herself.
He had no choice but to stick around for a few more days. His
cover was blown, but that didn’t mean they knew very much. However,
some things were clear. They knew he was here, and one must assume
they knew why. To think otherwise was too optimistic. The
opposition knew that a satellite had gone down from media coverage
if nothing else, and they knew approximately where to look. They
had some minimum of knowledge regarding EMERALD. From their point of view, to
recover the debris, hopefully the guidance system and surveillance
hardware, all of the onboard software, was extremely difficult.
They were operating, borderline illegally, in unfriendly territory. They would
only step over the line when it seemed worthwhile to do
so.
Why not,
if possible, keep an eye on the Canadian and allied searchers in
the hopes of snatching it out of their hands at the last
minute?
The logic
was good, and now Liam was in the hot-seat. Whatever he had found
was hot, in the radioactive sense, and heavy, in that it seemed to
be about seventy kilograms in mass. It was also buried in the muck.
It would take some digging and some lifting to get it out of there.
All the while, agents from at least one unknown entity were all
over them like a dirty shirt.
It was
when he caught a big mature rainbow trout in the middle of the lake
that he had the perfect idea. He took the opposition’s transponder
chip out of his pocket. Holding the gasping trout carefully, head
up, he stuffed the chip down its gullet. He grinned to see the
thing’s muscles contract and then it went down.
He didn’t
see where it went, but he was certain it hadn’t come back up,
taking a quick look around his feet and even checking to see if had
fallen on his shorts.
When
removing a hook from the aggressive and voracious perch of the
area, he’d been amused to see not only his own little minnow, a
universal bait, but the thing was tucked in amongst what looked
like a half a dozen more.
It was
like they were all looking out at you with the most solemn and
accusing look on their faces, mouths gaping and gills still going
in some cases.
He held
the fish over the side.
“ There you go, lad. Lead them buggers a merry chase.” The
thing would move at about the right speed and it would take them a
while to figure out the deception.
By that
time, he would be well on his way.
***
God, it
was hot in this country.
Aubrey
Herschel was a rogue CIA agent. With contacts among some of the
world’s major arms dealers, he was living in an airless stucco
villa jammed between the sea to the north, and the coast road and
the desert to the south. He had a long
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