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John Skow was not. Unlike Godin, who had fought as a marine in Korea as a young man, Skow was a theoretical warrior. The NSA man had never seen blood on his hands, and around Geli he sometimes acted like a man who’d been handed a leash with a pit bull on the end of it.
“Geli?” Skow said again. “Are you there?”
“Dr. Weiss went to Tennant’s house,” she said into her headset.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. We got almost none of their conversation. They’re on their way to the Fielding house now. Lu Li Fielding called him. Upset.”
Skow was silent for a moment. “Going over to comfort the grieving widow?”
“I’m sure that will be their story.” She wanted to gauge Skow’s level of anxiety before giving him more details. “Do we let them go in?”
“Of course. You can hear everything they say, right?”
“Maybe not. There was a problem with the bugs at Tennant’s house.”
“What kind of problem?”
“Tennant put putty over the mikes. And there was a video camera set up on a tripod in there. No tape in it.” She let that sink in. “Either he wanted to say something on tape that he didn’t want us to hear, or he wanted to talk to Dr. Weiss without us hearing. Either way, it’s bad.”
She listened to Skow breathe for a while.
“It’s all right,” he said finally. “We’re going to be okay on this.”
“You must know something I don’t, sir.”
Skow chuckled at the contempt with which she said “sir.” The NSA man was tough in his own way. He had the detached coldness of mathematical intelligence. “The perks of leadership, Geli. You did well this morning, by the way. I was amazed.”
Geli flashed back to Fielding’s corpse. The termination had gone smoothly enough, but it was a stupid move. They should have taken out Tennant as well. She could easily have manipulated both men into the same vehicle, and after that … simple logistics. A car accident. And the project wouldn’t be in the jeopardy it was in now. “Has Tennant actually talked to the president, sir?”
“I don’t know. So keep your distance. Monitor the situation, but nothing more.”
“He also took a delivery from FedEx. A letter. Whatever it was, he took it with him. We need to see that.”
“If you can get a look at it without him knowing, fine. Otherwise, talk to FedEx and find out who sent it.”
“We’re doing that.”
“Good. Just don’t—”
Geli heard Skow’s wife calling his name.
“Just keep me informed,” he said, and rang off.
Geli closed her eyes and began to breathe deeply. She had made the case to Godin for taking out Tennant along with Fielding, but the old man had resisted. Yes, Godin conceded, Tennant had broken regulations and spent time with Fielding outside the facility. Yes, Tennant had supported Fielding’s effort to suspend the project. And it was Tennant’s tie to the president that had made that suspension a reality. But there was no proof that Tennant was part of the Englishman’s campaign to sabotage the project, or that he was privy to any of the dangerous information Fielding possessed. Since Geli did not know what that information was, she could not judge the risk of letting Tennant live. She had reminded Godin of the maxim “Better safe than sorry,” but Godin did not relent. He would though. Soon.
Geli said, “JPEG, Fielding, Lu Li.” An image of a dark-haired Asian woman appeared on her monitor. Born Lu Li Cheng, reared in Canton Province, Communist China. Forty years old. Advanced degrees in applied physics.
“Another mistake,” Geli muttered. Lu Li Cheng had no business inside the borders of the United States, much less in the inner circle of the most sensitive scientific project in the country. Geli touched the key that connected her to Thomas Corelli in the surveillance car outside the Fielding house. “You see anything strange over there?”
“No.”
“How easily could you search Tennant’s car when he arrives?”
“Depends on where he parks.”
“If you see a FedEx envelope in the car, break in, read it, then put it back. And I want video of their arrival.”
“No problem. What are you looking for?”
“I’m not sure. Just get it.”
Geli removed a pack of Gauloises from her desk, took out a cigarette, and broke off its filter. In the flare of the match she caught her reflection in her computer monitor. A veil of blonde hair, high cheekbones, steel-blue eyes, nasty burn scar. She considered the ugly ridged tissue on her left cheek as much a part of her face as her eyes or mouth. A plastic surgeon had once offered to remove the discolored mark at no cost, but she’d turned him down. Scars had a purpose: to remind their bearer of wounds. The wound that had caused that scar she would never let herself forget.
She punched a key and routed the signals from the microphones in the Fielding house to her headset. Then she drew deeply on her cigarette, settled back in her chair, and blew a stream of harsh smoke toward the ceiling. Geli Bauer hated many things, but most of all she hated waiting.
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