rludlum-shelby.thecassandracompact-第2节

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　Megan　shook　her　head。　〃I'd　love　to。　But　I　have　to　go　back　to　ouston　tonight。　But　I　don't　want　to　lose　touch　with　you；　Jon。　Are　you　still　living　out　in　Thurmont？〃
　〃No；　I　sold　the　place。　Too　many　memories。〃
　On　the　back　of　a　card　he　jotted　down　his　address　in　Bethesda；　along　with　a　phone　number　that　he　was　actually　listed　under。
　Handing　her　the　card；　he　said；　〃Don't　be　a　stranger。〃
　〃I　won't；〃　Megan　replied。　〃Look　after　yourself；　Jon。〃
　〃You　too。　It　was　good　to　see　you；　Megan。　Good　luck　on　the　mission。〃
　She　watched　him　walk　out　of　the　overhang　and　disappear　into　the　drizzle。
　〃I'm　at　loose　ends。。。。〃
　Megan　had　never　thought　of　Smith　as　a　man　without　purpose　or　direction。　She　was　still　wondering　about　his　cryptic　ment　as　she　walked　over　to　Sophia's　grave；　the　rain　drumming　on　her　umbrella。
　
　CHAPTER　TWO
　　
　The　Pentagon　employs　over　twenty…three　thousand　workers…　military　and　civilian…　housing　them　in　a　unique　structure　that　covers　almost　four　million　square　feet。　Anyone　looking　for　security；　anonymity；　and　access　to　both　the　world's　most　sophisticated　munications　plus　the　power　centers　of　Washington　could　not　ask　for　a　more　perfect　venue。
　The　Leased　Facilities　Division　occupies　a　tiny　portion　of　the　offices　in　the　Pentagon's　E　block。　As　its　name　implies；　Leased　Facilities　oversees　the　procurement；　management；　and　security　of　buildings　and　land　for　the　military；　everything　from　storage　warehouses　in　St。　Louis　to　vast　tracts　of　Nevada　desert　for　an　air　force　testing　ground。　Given　the　decidedly　unglamorous　nature　of　its　work；　the　men　and　women　in　the　division　are　more　civilian　than　military　in　character。　They　arrive　at　the　offices　at　nine　o'clock　in　the　morning；　put　in　a　dutiful　day's　work；　and　leave　at　five。　World　events　that　might　keep　their　colleagues　at　their　desks　for　days　on　end　have　no　impact　on　them。　Most　of　them　like　it　that　way。
　Nathaniel　Fredrick　Klein　liked　it　too…　but　for　altogether　different　reasons。　Klein's　office　was　at　the　very　end　of　a　hall；　tucked　between　doors　that　were　marked　ELECTRICAL　ROOM　and　MAINTENANCE。　Except　there　were　no　such　service　rooms　behind　those　doors　and　their　locks　could　not　be　opened　even　with　the　most　sophisticated　key　card。　That　space　was　part　of　Klein's　secret　suite。
　There　was　no　nameplate　on　Klein's　door；　only　an　internal　Pentagon　designation：　2E377。　If　asked；　the　few　coworkers　who'd　actually　seen　him　would　describe　a　man　in　his　early　sixties；　medium　height；　unprepossessing　except　for　his　rather　long　nose　and　wireframed　glasses。　They　might　recall　his　conservative　and　somewhat　rumpled　suits；　perhaps　the　way　he　would　smile　briefly　when　passed　in　the　hall。　They　might　have　heard　that　Klein　was　sometimes　called　before　the　joint　chiefs　or　a　congressional　mittee。　But　that　would　be　in　keeping　with　his　seniority。　They　might　also　know　that　he　was　vested　with　the　responsibility　of　checking　the　properties　the　Pentagon　leased　or　had　an　interest　in　throughout　the　world。　That　would　account　for　the　fact　that　one　seldom　saw　him　at　all。　In　fact　it　was　sometimes　difficult　to　say　who　or　what　Nathaniel　Klein　really　was。
　At　eight　o'clock　in　the　evening；　Klein　was　still　behind　his　desk　in　the　modest　office　that　was　identical　to　all　the　others　in　the　wing。　He　had　added　a　few　personal　touches：　framed　prints　depicting　the　world　as　imagined　by　sixteenth…century　cartographers；　an　old…fashioned　pedestal…mounted　globe；　and　a　large；　framed　photograph　of　the　earth　taken　from　the　space　shuttle。
　Although　very　few　people　were　aware　of　it；　Klein's　affinity　for　things　global　was　a　direct　reflection　of　his　real　mandate：　to　serve　as　the　eyes　and　ears　of　the　president。　From　this　nondescript　office　Klein　ran　a　loosely　knit　organization　known　as　Covert…One。　Conceived　by　the　president　after　the　horror　known　as　the　Hades　Project；　Covert…One　was　designed　to　be　the　chief　executive's　early　warning　system　and　secret　response　option。
　Because　Covert…One　worked　outside　the　usual　military…intelligence　bureaucracy　and　well　away　from　the　scrutiny　of　Congress；　it　had　no　formal　organization　or　headquarters。　Instead　of　accredited　operatives；　Klein　recruited　men　and　women　whom　he　called　〃mobile　ciphers〃…　individuals　who　were　acknowledged　experts　in　their　fields　yet　who；　through　circumstances　or　dispositions；　found　themselves　outside　the　mainstream　of　society。　Most…　but　certainly　not　all…　had　some　military　background；　were　holders　of　numerous　citations　and　awards；　but　had　chafed　under　structured　mand；　and　so　had　elected　to　leave　their　respective　services。　Others　came　from　the　civilian　world：　former　investigators…　state　and　federal；　linguists　who　were　fluent　in　a　dozen　languages；　doctors　who　had　traveled　the　world　and　were　accustomed　to　the　harshest　conditions。　The　very　best；　like　Colonel　Jon　Smith；　bridged　the　two　worlds。
　They　also　possessed　one　factor　that　disqualified　so　many　Klein　looked　at：　their　lives　were　strictly　their　own。　They　had　little　or　no　family；　few　encumbrances；　and　a　professional　reputation　that　would　stand　up　to　the　closest　scrutiny。　These　were　invaluable　assets　for　an　individual　sent　in　harm's　way　thousands　of　miles　from　home。
　Klein　closed　the　folder　on　the　report　he　had　been　reading；　removed　his　glasses；　and　rubbed　his　weary　eyes。　He　was　looking　forward　to　going　home；　being　greeted　by　his　cocker　spaniel；　Buck；　and　enjoying　a　finger　of　single…malt　scotch　followed　by　whatever　dinner　his　housekeeper　had　left　in　the　oven。　He　was　about　to　get　up　when　the　connecting　door　to　the　next　room　opened。
　〃Nathaniel？〃
　The　speaker　was　a　trim　woman　a　few　years　younger　than　Klein；　with　bright　robin's　eyes　and　graying　blond　hair　done　in　a　French　twist。　She　wore　a　conservative　blue　business　suit　accented　by　a　string　of　pearls　and　a　filigree　gold　bracelet。
　〃I　thought　you'd　gone　home；　Maggie。〃
　Maggie　Templeton；　who'd　been　Klein's　assistant　for　the　ten　years　he　had　worked　at　the　National　Security　Agency；　arched　her　neatly　sculptured　brows。
　〃When　was　the　last　time　I　left　before　you　did？　Good　thing　I　didn't；　too。　You'd　better　have　a　look　at　this。〃
　Klein　followed　Maggie　into　the　next　room；　which　was　really　one　large　puter　station。　Three　monitors　were　lined　up　side　by　side；　along　with　a　host　of　servers　and　storage　units；　all　driven　by　the　government's　most　advanced　software。　Klein　stood　back　and　admired　the　dexterity　and　proficiency　with　which　Maggie　worked　her　keyboard。　It　was　like　watching　a　virtuoso　performance　by　a　concert　pianist。
　Besides　the　president；　Maggie　Templeton　was　the　only　person　familiar　with　the　entire　workings　of　Covert…One。　Knowing　he　would　need　a　skilled　and　trusted　right　hand；　Klein　had　insisted　on　Maggie's　being　involved　from　the　get…go。　Besides　having　worked　for　him　at　the　NSA；　she　had　better　than　twenty　years　experience　as　a　senior　CIA　administrator。　But　most　important　to　Klein；　she　was　family。　Maggie's　sister；　Judith；　had　been　Klein's　wife；　taken　by　cancer　years　ago。　Maggie　too　had　had　her　share　of　tragedy：　her　husband；　a　CIA　covert　operative；　had　never　returned　from　a　mission　abroad。　As　fate　would　have　it；　Maggie　and　Klein　were　the　only　family　each　had。
　Finished　on　the　keyboard；　Maggie　tapped　on　the　screen　with　an　elegantly　manicured　fingernail。
　VECTOR　SIX。
　The　two　words　pulsed　in　the　center　of　the　screen　like　a　blinking　traffic　light　at　an　empty　intersection　in　a　country　town。　Klein　felt　the　hairs　on　his　forearms　push　against　his　shirtsleeves。　He　knew　exactly　who　Vector　Six　was；　he　could　see　his　face　as　clearly　as　if　the　man　were　standing　next　to　him。　Vector　Six：　the　code　name；　if　it　ever　appeared；　was　to　be　construed　by　Mein　as　a　panic　signal。
　〃Shall　I　pull　up　the　message？〃　Maggie　asked　quietly。
　〃Please。。。。〃
　She　touched　a　series　of　keys　and　the　encrypted　message　of　letters；　symbols；　and　numbers　shot　up　on　the　screen。　She　then　repeated　the　process　with　different　keys　to　activate　the　decryption　software。　Seconds　later；　the　message　appeared　in　clear　text：
　
　D？ner…　prix　fixe…　8　euro
　Spécialité：　Fruits　de　mer
　Spécialité　du　bar：　Bellini
　Fermé　entre　14…16　heures
　
　Even　if　a　third　party　somehow　managed　to　decode　the　message；　this　menu　of　a　nameless　French　restaurant　was　both　innocuous　and　misleading。　Klein　had　set　up　the　simple　code　the　last　time　he　had　met　Vector　Six　face　to　face。　Its　meaning　had　nothing　to　do　with　Gallic　cuisine。　It　was　the　call　of　last　resort；　a　plea　for　immediate　extraction。
　Klein　didn't　hesitate。　〃Please　reply　as　follows：　Reservations　pour　deux。〃
　Maggie's　fingers　flew　over　the　keys；　tapping　out　the　secure　response。　The　single　sentence　bounced　off　two　military　satellites　before　being　sent　back　to　earth。　Klein　didn't　know　where　Vector　Six　was　at　that　moment；　but　as　long　as　he　had　access　to　the　laptop　Klein　had　given　him；　he　could　download　and　decrypt　the　reply。
　e　on！　Talk　to　me！
　Klein　checked　the　time　stamp　on　the　message：　The　message　was　less　than　two　minutes　old。
　A　reply　flashed　across　the　screen：　Reservations　confirmées。
　Klein　exhaled　as　the　screen　faded　to　black。　Vector　Six　would　not　stay　on…line　any　longer　than　was　absolutely　necessary。　Contact　had　been　established；　an　itinerary　proposed；　accepted；　and　verified。　Vector　Six　would　not　use　this　channel　of　munications　again。
　As　Maggie　shut