cyclops-第35节

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shocked　disbelief。
　　　　She　brushed　back　her　wet；　tangled　hair　and　struck　a　sophisticated；　feline　pose。　Then　she　spoke　in　a　soft；　manding　voice。　〃Be　a　dear；　Raymond；　and　pour　your　wife　a　glass　of　wine。〃




　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　



　　　　Hagen　drove　nineteen　miles　east　of　downtown　Colorado　Springs　on　Highway　94　until　he　came　to　Enoch　Road。　Then　he　turned　right　and　arrived　at　the　main　entrance　of　the　Unified　Space　Operations　Center。
　　　　The　two…billion…dollar　project；　constructed　on　640　acres　of　land　and　manned　by　5；000　uniformed　and　civilian　personnel；　controlled　all　military　space　vehicle　and　shuttle　flights　as　well　as　satellite　monitoring　programs。　An　entire　aerospace　munity　mushroomed　around　the　center；　covering　thousands　of　acres　with　residential　developments；　scientific　and　industrial　parks；　high…tech　research　and　manufacturing　plants；　and　Air　Force　test　facilities。　In　ten　short　years；　what　had　once　been　sparse　grazing　land　inhabited　by　small　herds　of　cattle　had　bee　the　〃Space　Capital　of　the　World。〃
　　　　Hagen　flashed　his　security　clearance；　drove　into　the　parking　lot；　and　stopped　opposite　a　side　entrance　to　the　massive　building。　He　did　not　get　out　of　the　car　but　opened　his　briefcase　and　removed　his　worn　legal　pad。　He　turned　to　a　page　with　three　names　and　added　a　fourth。


Raymond　LeBaron。。。。Whereabouts　unknown。

Leonard　Hudson。。。。Same。

Gunnar　Eriksen。。。。Same。

General　Clark　Fisher。。。lorado　Springs。


　　　　Hagen's　call　to　the　Drake　Hotel　from　Pattenden　Lab　had　alerted　an　old　friend　at　the　FBI；　who　traced　the　number　of　Anson　Jones　to　a　classified　line　at　an　officer's　residence　on　Peterson　Air　Force　Base　outside　of　Colorado　Springs。　The　house　was　occupied　by　four…star　General　Clark　Fisher；　head　of　the　joint　Military　Space　mand。
　　　　Posing　as　a　pest　control　inspector；　Hagen　had　been　given　the　run　of　the　house　by　the　general's　wife。　Fortunately　for　him；　she　considered　his　unexpected　arrival　as　a　heaven…sent　opportunity　to　plain　about　an　army　of　spiders　that　had　invaded　the　premises。　He　listened　attentively　and　promised　to　attack　the　insects　with　every　weapon　in　his　arsenal。　Then；　while　she　fussed　around　in　the　kitchen　with　the　hired　cook；　experimenting　with　a　new　recipe　for　apricot　sautéed　prawns；　Hagen　tossed　the　general's　study。
　　　　His　search　revealed　only　that　Fisher　was　a　stickler　for　security。　Hagen　found　nothing　in　desk　drawers；　files；　or　hidden　recesses　that　could　prove　beneficial　to　a　Soviet　agent　or　himself。　He　decided　to　wait　it　out　until　the　general　left　for　the　evening　and　then　search　his　office　at　the　space　center。　As　he　left　by　the　rear　door　Mrs。　Fisher　was　talking　on　the　telephone　and　simply　waved　goodbye。　Hagen　paused　for　a　moment　and　overheard　her　telling　the　general　to　stop　off　on　his　way　home　and　pick　up　a　bottle　of　sherry。
　　　　Hagen　put　the　legal　pad　back　in　the　briefcase　and　took　out　a　can　of　diet　cola　and　a　thick　salami　sandwich　with　sliced　dill　pickle；　wrapped　in　wax　paper　with　a　delicatessen's　advertising　printed　on　both　sides。　The　Colorado　temperature　had　cooled　considerably　once　the　sun　had　dropped　over　the　Rocky　Mountains。　The　shadow　of　Pike's　Peak　stretched　out　over　the　plains；　casting　a　dark　veil　over　the　treeless　landscape。
　　　　Hagen　didn't　notice　the　scenic　beauty　unfolding　through　the　windshield。　What　disturbed　him　was　that　he　did　not　have　a　firm　grip　on　any　member　of　the　〃inner　core。〃　Three　of　the　names　on　his　list　remained　hidden；　God　only　knew　where；　and　the　fourth　was　still　innocent　until　proven　guilty。　No　hard　facts；　only　a　phone　number　and　a　gut　instinct　that　Fisher　was　part　of　the　Jersey　Colony　conspiracy。　He　had　to　be　absolutely　certain；　and　most　important；　he　desperately　needed　to　pick　up　a　thread　to　the　next　man。
　　　　Hagen　stopped　his　mental　wanderings；　his　eyes　focused　on　the　rearview　mirror。　A　man　in　a　blue　officer's　uniform　was　passing　through　the　side　entrance；　the　door　held　open　by　a　five…stripe　sergeant；　or　whatever　specialist　rating　the　Air　Force　gave　its　enlisted　men　these　days。　The　officer　was　tall；　athletically　built；　wore　four　stars　on　his　shoulders；　and　was　quite　handsome　in　a　Gregory　Peck　way。　The　sergeant　acpanied　him　across　a　sidewalk　to　a　waiting　Air　Force　blue　sedan　and　smartly　opened　the　rear　door。
　　　　Something　about　the　scene　snapped　a　string　in　Hagen's　mind。　He　sat　up　straight　and　turned　around　to　stare　boldly　out　the　side　window。　Fisher　was　in　the　act　of　bending　over　to　enter　the　backseat　of　his　car；　holding　a　briefcase。　That　was　it。　The　briefcase　wasn't　held　by　the　handle　as　it　would　normally　be　carried。　Fisher　was　clutching　it　like　a　football；　under　his　arm　and　against　the　side　of　his　chest。
　　　　Hagen　had　no　qualms　against　changing　his　carefully　laid　out　plan　in　midstream。　He　improvised　on　the　spot；　quickly　forgetting　about　searching　Fisher's　mand　office。　If　his　sudden　creative　spark　didn't　pan　out；　he　could　always　go　back。　He　started　the　engine　and　moved　off　across　the　parking　lot　behind　the　general's　car。
　　　　Fisher's　driver　pulled　across　the　intersection　and　turned　onto　Highway　94　under　a　yellow　light。　Hagen　hung　back　until　the　traffic　thinned。　Then　he　ran　the　red　light　and　accelerated　until　he　was　close　enough　behind　the　Air　Force　blue　car　to　make　out　the　driver's　face　in　its　rearview　mirror。　He　held　that　position；　watching　to　see　if　there　was　any　eye　contact。　There　was　none。　The　sergeant　was　not　a　suspicious　sort　and　never　checked　his　tail。　Hagen　rightly　assumed　the　man　had　no　training　in　defensive　driving　tactics　against　possible　terrorist　attack。
　　　　After　a　slight　bend　in　the　highway　the　lights　of　a　shopping　center　came　into　view。　Hagen　glanced　at　his　speedometer。　The　sergeant　was　cruising　along　five　miles　an　hour　below　the　posted　speed　limit。　Hagen　pulled　into　the　outer　lane　and　passed。　He　speeded　up　slightly　and　then　slowed　down　to　turn　into　the　driveway　of　the　shopping　center；　gambling　that　one　of　the　stores　sold　liquor；　gambling　that　General　Fisher　hadn't　forgotten　his　wife's　instructions　to　buy　the　bottle　of　sherry。
　　　　The　Air　Force　car　drove　on　past。
　　　　〃Damn！〃　Hagen　muttered　to　himself。　It　struck　him　that　any　serviceman　would　have　purchased　liquor　at　his　base　post　exchange；　where　it　was　sold　for　much　less　than　at　a　retail　store。
　　　　Hagen　was　stalled　for　a　few　seconds　behind　a　woman　trying　to　back　out　of　a　parking　slot。　When　he　finally　broke　free；　he　burned　rubber　swinging　from　the　driveway　onto　the　road。　Luckily；　Fisher's　driver　had　caught　a　red　light　at　the　next　intersection　and　Hagen　was　able　to　catch　and　pass　him　again。
　　　　He　pressed　the　accelerator　to　the　floor；　trying　to　put　as　much　distance　as　he　could　between　them。　In　two　miles　he　turned　into　the　narrow　road　leading　to　the　main　gate　of　Peterson　Air　Force　Base。　He　showed　his　security　clearance　to　the　Air　Policeman　standing　stiffly；　wearing　a　white　helmet；　matching　silk　scarf　at　the　neck；　and　a　black　leather　side　holster　that　contained　a　pearl…handled　revolver。
　　　　〃Where　can　I　find　the　PX？〃　Hagen　asked。
　　　　The　AP　pointed　up　the　road。　〃Straight　ahead　to　the　second　stop　sign。　Then　left　toward　the　water　tower。　A　large　gray　building。　You　can't　miss　it。〃
　　　　Hagen　thanked　him　and　moved　away　just　as　Fisher's　car　pulled　up　behind　and　was　smartly　waved　on　through　the　gate。　Taking　his　time；　he　stayed　within　the　base　speed　limit　and　eased　into　the　post　exchange　parking　area　only　fifty　feet　ahead　of　Fisher。　He　stopped　between　a　jeep　Wagoneer　and　a　Dodge　pickup　truck　with　a　camper　that　effectively　hid　most　of　his　car　from　view。　He　slipped　from　behind　the　wheel；　turning　off　the　lights　but　keeping　the　engine　running。
　　　　The　general's　car　had　stopped；　and　Hagen　unhurriedly　approached　it　in　a　direct　line；　wondering　if　Fisher　would　get　out　and　buy　the　sherry　or　send　the　sergeant　to　run　the　errand。
　　　　Hagen　smiled　to　himself。　He　should　have　known　it　was　a　preordained　conclusion。　The　general；　of　course；　sent　the　sergeant。
　　　　Hagen　reached　the　car　at　nearly　the　same　moment　as　the　sergeant　walked　through　the　door　into　the　PX。　One　quick　scan　to　see　if　some　bored　soul　waiting　in　a　parked　car　might　be　idly　staring　in　his　direction　or　a　shopper　from　the　PX　pushing　a　grocery　cart　close　by。　The　old　cliché　〃The　coast　is　clear〃　ran　through　his　mind。
　　　　Without　the　slightest　hesitation　or　wasted　movement；　Hagen　slipped　a　weighted　rubber　sap　from　a　specially　sewn　pocket　under　one　arm　of　his　windbreaker；　jerked　open　the　rear　car　door；　and　swung　his　arm　in　a　short　arc。　No　words　of　greeting；　no　trivial　conversation。　The　sap　caught　Fisher　precisely　on　the　point　of　his　jaw。
　　　　Hagen　snatched　the　briefcase　from　the　general's　lap；　slammed　the　door；　and　walked　casually　back　to　his　car。　From　start　to　finish　the　action　had　taken　no　more　than　four　seconds。
　　　　As　he　drove　away　from　the　PX　toward　the　main　gate　he　ticked　off　the　timing　sequence　in　his　mind。　Fisher　would　be　unconscious　for　twenty　minutes；　maybe　an　hour。　Give　the　sergeant　four　to　six　minutes　to　find　the　shelf　with　the　sherry；　pay　for　it；　and　return　to　the　car。　Another　five　minutes　before　an　alert　was　sounded；　providing　the　sergeant　even　noticed　the　general　had　been　mugged　in　the　backseat。
　　　　Hagen　felt　pleased　with　himself。　He　would　be　through　the　main　gate　and　halfway　to　the　Colorado　Springs　airport　before　th