position to see the overall picture, and that means playing two roles.”
“You have a lot of people experienced in domestic operations. Why me?”
Gil smiled. “Your record in data analysis and tech evaluation is top-notch. We have to be sure we’re being fed accurate information because we’re dealing with three factions, and two of them are resistant to giving us anything. You’ve spent over a decade in Eastern Europe, and you know how they love anarchy in their private business dealings. The technology is important to us; you need to find out if it’s real, accurate, and who the hell is trying to keep us from getting it. The bad guys might include American business interests who want it for their own. That’s enough challenges, even for you. Security prevents us from giving you much help. We have one man inside, and that’s all you’ll get. You’ll have to recruit your own allies without dropping your cover.”
“What about command-chains?”
“Once you’re settled, we’ll contact you regularly, but you run your own day-to-day operation.”
Eric’s eyes narrowed. “And what if it becomes necessary to neutralize someone?”
“That we will have to talk about,” said Gil firmly. He opened a lower-left drawer, withdrew a manila envelope stuffed tightly by its contents, and pushed it across the desk for Eric. “This is for starters: local cultural material, maps, and some bios of key people you’ll be dealing with. The rest will be waiting for you in Phoenix. You’re flying out this evening.”
“I’d like to get a few things from home to take with me.”
“Give me a list. You’re staying here until the plane is ready. All that you need is packed and ready. Your apartment is being cleaned and secured. You could be gone for several months this time.”
Eric thought of Gia’s wedding, and frowned. Gil seemed to read his mind.
“Sorry about your daughter. I didn’t see my kids much either while they were growing up, but I was lucky enough to have a wife who stuck with me.”
“You heard the recording?”
“We heard it when it came in; you know that. Time heals a lot of things, so for now just let her be happy. Do your job; it’s what you have. Okay?”
“Yeah, it’s okay—for now.” Eric took the envelope from the desk and looked at Gil darkly. “Not for much longer, I think.”
Gil nodded. “We’ll talk about that. It happens to all of us. It happened to me. Don’t worry about it. Just do the job this time, and then we’ll talk.”
Eric nodded. “What now?”
“Coffee, lunch, and a quiet room where you can read. You leave in four hours. Good hunting.”
They shook hands, and a security agent arrived to take Eric away again.
CHAPTER FOUR
WARNINGS
The office of World Arts was always closed and locked during business hours, its occupant coming and going at all times. Leon Newell was said to be computer-linked with business partners who did acquisitions and shipping in Phoenix, New York and San Francisco. His concern was setting up domestic and foreign markets for fine and cultural arts from the U.S., Europe, and Asia. Like many other entrepreneurs in Sedona, he preferred to live and work in a lovely small-town setting and commute one or two days a week to his regional office in Phoenix, doing much of his business by computer. At art openings he appeared in thousand-dollar, tailored suits, but otherwise was seen publicly in jeans, silk shirts and alligator-skin boots.
Leon was a small man, slim, a chiseled face with green, piercing eyes and carefully trimmed, red hair. He was meticulous about his appearance: clean-shaven face, nails cleaned and polished, and every hair in its place with fashion purpose. It was said his academic training was in art education, but he demonstrated a wide knowledge of history, anthropology and physical science, and had deep interests in all aspects of new-age culture. This made him a welcome guest among the socially elite in town and the target of more than one sophisticated and available woman there. Leon’s somewhat affected speech and gestures only charmed them, and suspicions of the men about Leon’s sexual preferences quickly evaporated as they got to know him better.
He lived in a two million dollar Santa Fe-style adobe on two acres west of town. The house was nearly invisible a hundred yards off Dry Creek Road, hidden by a forest of cactus, shrub mesquite and juniper. It was owned by World Arts Corporation, and paid for in cash, no specific names on the title. The property was surrounded by a rail fence in metal painted olive green, and was entered through an electronically controlled gate. A security system included floodlights activated by the motion of something as small as a mouse, it was said, but the neighbors were also wealthy, and understood the privacy of the rich. They did not complain. Leon came and went in his yellow Humvee, gave a few, lavish parties for the chosen among them, and otherwise lived an unobtrusive life.
He was regarded as an important member of the community, and so people were naturally excited when they learned that one of his business partners would soon join him in their little town.
Leon, on the other hand, had been given the news earlier at home, and was not so much excited as he was disturbed by it.
The news had come to his home via satellite in the regular morning’s transmission from Washington. Eric Price was both a program and technology analyst with the highest credentials from operations in Europe and Asia. The man’s extensive file was attached. All the man’s work was with the military, and there was no mention of direct links to CIA or NSA. A Pentagon operative, perhaps, career military. Gil had simply countersigned the order, and forwarded it without warning. Perhaps he hadn’t had any. The Pentagon was reacting to the security problems, and slow progress at the base. They were taking steps to speed things up. Perhaps. Leon had received the notice indirectly, since he was not a link in the military chain of command.
There was a way to check the information flow. Leon picked up his cell phone and dialed the private number of Colonel Alexander Davis, linked to him by military satellite. The call was answered on the second ring.
“Davis.” The voice was low, and soft.
“Leon. I just got word about the new analyst they’re sending out for Shooting Star. I suppose you know about it.”
“Yesterday morning. How did you find out about it?”
“NSA Phoenix sent me a copy of the Pentagon order. We’re providing his cover in town.”
“I saw that. I asked for this help months ago. I don’t see why they can’t house him at the base. Everything he needs is here.”
“He’s not just a tech analyst. Half his record is for restructuring programs and rebuilding security networks. Didn’t you get his file?”
“I got it. He smells like a CIA operative to me. When I asked the Pentagon about it I was told the question was not relevant. Isn’t he one of yours?”
“No. His record is military. I have nothing to do with his operation except to provide his civilian cover while he’s here. I’ll probably learn more when he arrives tomorrow. We’re putting him up in a house close to mine, and he’ll have a place in my office in town. I’ll let you know anything new that comes up.”
“I
