scoonts.theminotaur-第28节

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　The　radar　was　mounted　in　the　old　outhouse　on　the　bench　where　the　seats　once　were。　It　radiated　right　through　the　open　door。　Harold　Dodgers　removed　a　padlock　from　a　flap　door　at　the　back　of　the　structure　to　gain　access　to　the　control　panel　and　scope。　〃This　is　an　Owl　Screech　radar；〃　Fritsche　told　Jake。　〃Was　borrowed　it　from　the　EW　range　at　Fallen。〃　The　Electronic　Warfare　range　at　NAS　Fallon；　Nevada；　provided　realistic　training　for　fleet　aircrews。
　〃Wonder　where　the　U。S。　Navy　got　this　thing。〃　Owl　Screech　was　a　Soviet…made　gunfire…control　radar。
　〃From　the　Israelis；　I　think。　They　had　a　few　to　spare　after　the　1973　war。〃
　The　drone　of　a　jet　somewhere　overhead　caused　Jake　to　scan　the　blue　sky。　It　was　high；　conning。　An　airliner　or　a　bomber。　A　row　of　trees　higher　on　the　hill　waved　their　leaves　to　the　gentle　breeze。　So　warm　and　pleasant　here。　Jake　sat　down　in　the　grass　while　the　redheaded　youngster　worked　at　the　control　panel　and　Helmut　Fritsche　observed。
　〃We're　not　getting　any　power；〃　Harold　announced。　〃Can　I　borrow　the　car　and　run　back　to　the　shop？〃
　〃Sure。　You　have　the　keys。〃　Harold　eased　the　car　around　and　went　bumping　down　the　dirt　road。　Fritsche　joined　Jake　in　the　grass。
　Jake　tossed　a　pebble　at　the　outhouse。　The　stone　made　a　satisfying　trunk。　〃What's　the　plan　to　get　this　gizmo　into　production？〃
　〃Normally　we　would　do　engineering　drawings　and　blueprints　and　take　bids；　but　due　to　the　time　constraints　and　secrecy　requirements；　we'll　have　to　select　a　contractor　on　a　cost…plus　basis。　The　government　will　retain　title　to　the　technology　and　we'll　pay　Dodgers　royalties。〃
　〃What　contractor　will　get　it？〃
　〃One　with　the　staff　and　manufacturing　capacity　to　do　it　right　and　do　it　quickly。　Probably　an　existing　radar　manufacturer。〃
　〃Cost…plus。　Isn't　that　beltway　French　for　'can't　lose'？　And　the　contractor's　engineers　will　see　all　the　technology　and　have　a　leg　up　on　bids　for　second…　and　third…generation　gear。〃
　〃Yep。〃
　〃And　if　they　can　dream　up　ways　to　do　it　better；　they　can　get　some　patents　of　their　own；〃　Jake　tossed　another　pebble　at　the　outhouse。　〃Gonna　be　a　nice　little　plum　for　somebody。〃
　〃Yep。〃
　〃Good　thing　all　the　guys　in　our　shop　are　honest。〃
　Fritsche　sat　silently；　weighing　that　remark；　Jake　supposed。　〃I　guess　our　people　are　like　everyone　else；〃　Fritsche　said　at　last；　without　inflection。　〃People　are　pretty　generally　alike　all　over。〃
　〃Why　was　Strong　killed？〃
　〃Don't　know。〃
　〃Any　ideas？〃
　〃Some。　But　I　keep　them　to　myself。　I　try　not　to　gossip。　There　are　laws　against　slander。〃
　Jake　Grafton　stood　and　brushed　off　the　seat　of　his　trousers。　〃A　river　of　money　flowing　along　in　front　of　a　bunch　of　guys　on　middle…class　salaries；　a　bunch　of　guys　all　humping　to　keep　their　bills　paid　until　they　get　middle…class　pensions　and　form　letters　of　appreciation　from　the　government。　Everybody's　honest。　Nobody's　tempted。　Makes　me　want　to　salute　the　fucking　flag　and　hum　a　march。〃　He　looked　down　at　Fritsche。
　〃I　have　no　facts；　Captain；〃　the　scientist　said。　〃None。〃
　Jake　looked　around；　trying　to　think　of　something　to　say。　He　gave　up　and　strolled　up　the　hill　to　the　trees；　where　he　relieved　himself。　Somehow　aboard　ship　things　had　been　simpler；　more　clear。　On　his　way　back　to　the　wooden　building　he　saw　the　car　returning　with　Harold　at　the　wheel。
　The　redhead　had　the　radar　fired　up　in　less　than　a　minute。　With　Fritsche　and　Jake　looking　over　his　shoulder；　he　flipped　switches。　〃This　is　its　target…acquisition…its　search…mode。　And　that　blip　right　there　is　the　tabernacle。〃　He　pointed。　Jake　stared　at　the　return　a　moment；　then　stepped　a　few　paces　to　his　right　and　looked　around　the　shed　at　the　scene。　The　radar　in　the　shed　made　a　variety　of　mechanical　noises　and　he　could　hear　the　antenna　banging　back　and　forth　against　its　stops。　Now　he　referred　again　to　the　radar　scope；　which　was　American；　not　Soviet。　Okay；　there　was　the　tabernacle；　the　house　beyond　and　to　the　right；　the　trees　on　the　left。。。
　〃Now；〃　said　the　young　Dodgers；　〃step　over　there　again　and　wave　your　arms　at　my　dad。　Then　he'll　fire　up　the　suppressor。〃　Jake　did　as　requested　and　returned　to　the　scope。　Even　as　he　watched；　the　blip　that　was　the　tabernacle　faded　from　the　screen；　along　with　the　ground　return　in　the　area　beyond。　Where　the　blip　had　been　was　merely　a　blank　spot　with　no　return　at　all…
　〃Try　the　frequency　agility；〃　Fritsche　suggested。　Harold　flipped　another　switch　and　then　turned　a　dial。　The　tabernacle　became　faintly　visible　as　a　ghost　image。　〃As　he　changes　frequency　on　the　Owl　Screech；　the　puter　on　the　suppressor　is　trying　to　keep　up；〃　Fritsche　explained　to　Jake；　〃so　he　sees　this　ghost　image；　which　is　not　enough　to　lock　on　to。　And　remember；　this　is　an　American　scope；　more　sensitive　than　Soviet　scopes。〃
　〃I'm　impressed。〃
　〃Go　to　a　higher　PRF　and　try　to　lock　on　the　spot　where　we　know　the　tabernacle　is；〃　Fritsche　said　to　Harold。　'Try　the　expanded　display。〃
　Nothing。　The　radar　failed　to　lock。　The　center　of　the　presentation　was　an　empty　black　spot。
　After　a　long　silence；　Fritsche　spoke　softly；　almost　as　if　he　were　afraid　of　his　own　thoughts。　〃If　we　could　implement　this　technique　at　optical　wavelengths　you　wouldn't　even　be　able　to　see　that　building　down　there　with　the　naked　eye。〃
　〃You　mean　you　could　see　right　through　it？〃
　〃No；　it　would　look　like　a　black　hole。　Nothing　would　e　back　from　it。　But　no　one　is　going　to　have　that　kind　of　technology　until　well　into　the　next　century。〃
　〃For　heaven's　sake；〃　said　a　stunned　Jake　Grafton；　〃let's　just　get　the　bugs　worked　out　of　this　and　get　it　to　sea。　That's　more　than　enough　for　you　and　me。〃
　
　The　phone　on　Luis　Camacho's　desk　rang　at　noon　on　Tuesday　as　he　was　eating　a　tuna　salad　sandwich。　He　had　mayonnaise　on　his　fingers　and　managed　to　smear　it　on　the　telephone。　〃Camacho。〃
　〃Luis；　this　is　Bob　Pickering。　Could　you　take　a　few　minutes　now　and　e　down　to　my　office？　I　have　some　folks　here　I　would　like　you　to　meet。〃
　Camacho　wrapped　the　half　sandwich　that　remained　and　stuck　it　in　his　lower　desk　drawer；　which　he　locked　without　thinking。　Every　drawer　and　cabinet　in　his　office　was　always　locked　unless　he　was　taking　something　out　or　putting　something　in。　It　was　a　habit。
　Camacho　knew　Pickering；　but　not　well。　Pickering　worked　the　District　of　Columbia　and　routinely　handled　walk…ins。　〃Luis；　this　is　Mrs。　Matilda　Jackson　and　Mr。　Ralph　Barber。　Luis　Camacho。〃　As　they　shook　hands；　Pickering　added；　〃Mr。　Barber's　an　attorney　with　Ferguson　and　Waithe。〃　Ferguson　and　Waithe　was　one　of　the　District's　larger　firms；　almost　two　hundred　lawyers；　and　specialized　in　federal　regulatory　matters。
　Pickering　summarized　Mrs。　Jackson's　adventures　of　the　previous　Friday　evening　while　Camacho　glanced　at　the　visitors。　He　concluded；　〃Based　on　past　experience；　Mrs。　Jackson　felt　that　the　District　police　may　not　be　sympathetic　to　a　plaint　from　her；　so　she　went　to　Mr。　Barber；　her　former　boss；　yesterday；　and　he　thought　she　should　e　see　us。〃
　Barber　was　in　his　fifties；　still　wearing　his　topcoat　and　white　silk　scarf。　Apparently　he　hoped　this　interview　would　be　brief。　Mrs。　Jackson　still　had　her　coat　around　her　too；　but　its　faded　cloth　contrasted　sharply　with　the　blue　mohair　that　kept　the　spring　winds　from　the　lawyer's　plump　frame。
　〃The　neighborhood　used　to　be　someplace　a　person　could　be　proud　of；〃　Mrs。　Jackson　said　slowly。　〃But　those　crack　houses　and　dealers　on　the　corners。。。　The　police　have　got　to　do　something！〃
　〃We　felt　that　the　information　and　evidence　Mrs。　Jackson　has　would　probably　receive　a　more　dispassionate　look　from　the　FBI。〃　The　counselor　gestured　toward　the　edge　of　Pickering's　desk；　upon　which　lay　a　roll　of　film　and　a　clear　plastic　baggie　containing　a　crumpled　cigarette　pack。
　〃I　thought　you　might　want　to　send　these　to　the　lab；〃　Pickering　told　Luis。　〃I'll　do　the　report　and　send　you　a　copy。　We'll　get　back　to　you　in　a　few　days；　Mrs。　Jackson。　One　of　us　will。　Right　now　we　need　to　get　a　set　of　your　fingerprints　to　pare　with　whatever　is　on　that　cigarette　pack。　Just　in　case；　you　understand。〃
　Camacho　jotted　the　report　number　on　a　piece　of　paper　from　Pickering's　desk；　then　excused　himself。　Curious　about　the　two　items　he　carried；　he　walked　them　straight　to　the　lab　and　logged　them　in。　Tomorrow　afternoon；　he　was　told。　After　three…
　
　The　Consolidated　Technologies　prototype　had　a　hangar　all　to　itself　in　Palmdale。　As　Jake　stood　and　looked　about　the　cavernous　interior；　he　was　surrounded　by　engineers　and　vice　presidents；　at　least　twenty　people　all　told。　The　vice　presidents　all　wore　business　suits；　but　the　engineers　seemed　fond　of　short…sleeved　white　shirts　with　dark　ties。　If　that　garb　didn't　announce　their　profession；　they　all　sported　nerd　buckets…plastic　shirt…pocket　protectors　full　of　pens　and　pencils；　from　which　dangled　their　building　passes。　Solar…powered　calculators　rested　in　belt　holsters　on　engineers　and　vice　presidents　alike。
　The　black　airplane　had　a　conventional　dual　nose　wheel　with　the　nose　tow　bar　that　enabled　it　to　be　launched　by　catapult；　but　that　was　about　the　only　feature　Jake　found　familiar。　The　rounded　wings　were　situated　well　back　on　the　fuselage　and　a　canard　protruded　under　each　side　of　the　canopy。　Two　vertical　stabilizers　canted　inboard　rose　from　the　rear　of　the　fuselage。　The　engine　air　intakes　were　on　top　of　the　plane；　behind　the