Tomahawk by David Poyer Page A

of town, too. Show him what goes on up on the Hill. Would you like that, Dan?”
    â€œUh, I guess.”
    â€œGood. I’ll call you. Sometime soon.”
    He looked after them as she and Mei headed for the ladies’ room. Something going on there, but he wasn’t sure what. He slipped Szerenci’s card into his wallet, said thanks again, and got up.
    Outside in the rain, he looked up at the buildings around him, envisioning how a fifty-megaton warhead would turn them instantly into incandescent gas. Then he headed for the subway, feeling secure only when he was shielded by a hundred feet of solid rock.

8

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    A couple of days later, Dan found Westerhouse sitting at his desk when he let himself in. The captain rose when he came in, clearing his throat in a way that might have been self-conscious. Dan saw he’d lost weight; the tab of his uniform belt came a couple of inches out of the buckle.
    â€œHi, sir. You back?”
    â€œOh, hi. I wonder if we could get together later in the day, go over what you’ve got on your plate.”
    â€œWill do, sir. How about if I
stop by around eleven?”
    They agreed on that and Westerhouse left. Dan sat, and there was a couple of seconds’ worth of silence. Then Sakai said, “Hey, you see Peter Jennings last night?”
    â€œUh, no. What’d I miss?”
    â€œHour-long special on Libya. Khaddafi’s building a nuclear weapon.”
    â€œJesus Christ. That’s all we need.”
    Burdette leaned back from his cubicle. “Dan.”
    â€œSorry. Forgot I was being monitored by the Moral Majority.” He looked at his list of things to do and remembered the Halloween girl again. She’d probably given him a string of random numbers just to get rid of him. One last try.
    This time, to his surprise, she answered. “Hello.”
    â€œIs this Kerry? Kerry Donavan?”
    â€œYes?”
    He could tell she had no idea who he was. “We met the other night, in Georgetown? The guy in the sweats. We went down to the canal together.”
    â€œOh. Oh, yes. I remember now.”
    â€œI called before, but a guy answered.”
    â€œYou must have talked to Carl.”
    He wondered who Carl was, and why they lived in the same house. “Look, I thought maybe we could get together, for a drink or something.”
    â€œAre you serious?”
    â€œSure, why not?”
    â€œI told you—you might be surprised by what you find.”
    â€œSometimes surprises are fun. If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out.”
    â€œI guess that’s a reasonable attitude. This afternoon?”
    â€œThis
afternoon? I’m at work.”
    â€œYou work downtown, right? I have to be there a little after three. Can you meet me at three?”
    He thought fast. “Maybe. Maybe I can.”
    â€œAll right, meet me at Federal Triangle. The subway exit. You can go with us. Then after, we’ll see, maybe come to dinner.” Someone called. A man’s voice? “Gotta go. See you.”
    She hung up. After a second, so did he, thinking, That was strange. Where were they going? Who was “us”? He faced his desk again, picked up a piece of paper, then put it down. He looked at his watch, then at the stack of reports and messages.
    He cleared everything else out of his mind and went to work.

    At ten to eleven, he turned his classified material facedown on his desk, locked his file drawer, and told Vic he was going to the program manager’s office.
    Westerhouse was sitting with his head propped on his arm. He pointed silently to the seat opposite. Dan sat and waited. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Sir, you got my note about my going to Canada, didn’t you?”
    â€œYeah, I did. Sorry, I had to be out. How are we looking on the schedule?”
    â€œIt’s actually looking up, sir.”
    Westerhouse examined him. “An optimist?”
    â€œNo, sir.