cyclops-第40部分
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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 the Air Police realized what had happened。
An early snow started to fall over southern Colorado shortly after midnight。 At first it melted when it met the ground； but soon an icy sheet formed； and then a white blanket began to build。 Farther east the winds kicked up； and the Colorado Highway Patrol closed off the smaller county roads due to blizzard conditions。
Inside a small； unmarked Lear jet parked at the far end of the airport terminal； Hagen sat at a desk and studied the contents of General Fisher's briefcase。 Most of it was highly classified material concerning day…to…day operations of the space center。 One file of papers concerned the flight of the space shuttle Gettysburg； which had been launched from Vandenberg Air Force Base in California only two days before。 He was amused to find amid the slots of the briefcase a pornographic magazine。 But the champion prize was a black leather book that contained a total of thirty…nine names and phone numbers。 No addresses or notations； only names and numbers segregated in three sections。 The first section gave fourteen； the second； seventeen； and the third； eight。
None of them struck a chord with Hagen。 It was possible they were simply friends and associates of Fisher's。 He stared at the third list； the printing beginning to blur before his eyes from weariness。
Abruptly the top name leaped out at him。 Not the surname； but the first name。
Startled； shocked that he had missed something so simple； a code so obvious that no one would consider it； he copied the list on his legal pad and matched up three of the names by adding the correct ones。
Gunnar Monroe/Eriksen
Irwin Dupuy
Leonard Murphy/Hudson
Daniel Klein
Steve Larson
Ray Sampson/LeBaron
Dean Beagle
Clyde Ward
Eight names instead of nine。 Then Hagen shook his head； marveling at his slow grasp of the conspicuous fact that General Clark Fisher would hardly have included his own name on a telephone list。
He was almost home； but his elation was muted by fatigue。 He'd had no sleep in the past twenty…two hours。 The gamble to snatch General Fisher's briefcase had paid off with unexpected dividends。 Instead of one thread； he held five； all the remaining members of the 〃inner core。〃 Now all he had to do was match up the first names with the phone numbers and he would have a neat and tidy package。
All this was wishful thinking。 He had made an amateur's error by mouthing off to General Clark Fisher； alias Anson Jones； over the telephone from Pattenden Lab。 He'd tried to write it off as a shrewd move designed to goad the conspirators into making a mistake and give him an opening。 But now he realized it was nothing but cockiness mixed with a healthy dose of stupidity。
Fisher would alert the 〃inner core；〃 if he hadn't already done so。 There was nothing Hagen could do now。 The damage was done。 He was left with no choice but to plunge ahead。
He was staring blankly into the distance when the aircraft pilot entered the main partment from the cockpit。 〃Excuse me for interrupting； Mr。 Hagen； but the snowstorm is expected to get worse。 The control tower just informed me they're going to close down the airport。 If we don't take off now； we may not get clearance till tomorrow afternoon。〃
Hagen nodded。 〃No sense in hanging around。〃
〃Can you give me a destination？〃
There was a short pause as Hagen looked down at his handwritten notes on the legal pad。 He decided to leave Hudson until last。 Besides； Eriksen； Hudson； and Daniel Klein or whoever； all had the same telephone area code。 He recognized the code after Clyde Ward's name and settled on it simply because the location was only a few hundred miles south of Colorado Springs。
〃Albuquerque；〃 he said finally。
〃Yes； sir；〃 replied the pilot。 〃If you'll strap yourself in； I'll have us off the ground in five minutes。〃
As soon as the pilot disappeared into the control cabin； Hagen stripped to his shorts and dropped into a soft berth。 He was dead asleep before the wheels left the snow…carpeted runway。
The fear that the President's chief of staff； Dan Fawcett； inspired inside the White House was immense。 His was one of the most powerful positions in Washington。 He was the keeper of the sanctum sanctorum。 Virtually every document or memo sent to the President had to go through him。 And no one； including members of the cabinet and the leaders of Congress； gained entry to the Oval Office unless Fawcett approved it。
The times that someone； high…ranking or low； refused to take no for an answer were nonexistent。 So he was uncertain how to react as he looked up from his desk into the smoldering eyes of Admiral Sandecker。 Fawcett couldn't remember when he had seen a man seething with so much anger； and he sensed that the admiral was exerting every disciplined resource to hold it under control。
〃I'm sorry； Admiral；〃 said Fawcett； 〃but the President's sc
