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The spacious room held a dozen people, half of
them sitting before banks of computers with flashing
readouts and indicators. Kane strode over to Morales
at the outer field station. "What's the most recent
report about the Roamer movements around Mount
Rushmore?"
Morales looked up from his computer work sta-
tion, his swart face impassive. "One came in a few
minutes ago, but it's being decrypted."
"Who has it?"
"I do, Major," a throaty, female voice said from
behind him.
Kane turned and saw a woman standing in the
doorway of an adjacent room, a sheaf of printouts in
her hand. She gazed at him with a hesitant, slightly
challenging smile on her lips, and Kane felt the rise
of the short hairs at his nape.
She wore the same black-and-silver uniform as he
did, the tunic slightly longer than his, reaching the
tops of her thighs. Her tall, willowy figure filled out
the uniform in a manner he had never noticed before.
A wide belt spanned what appeared to be about a
twenty-two-inch waist.. Snugged into a holster above
her right hip was a compact Walther TPM automatic
pistol.
Her long tawny hair was swept up on top of her
head and fastened there in a sort of braided bun. It
framed a well molded face with big, slightly tip-tilted
eyes the color of cold emeralds.
Kane stepped toward her, hand outstretched. "I'll
take that, Captain Baptiste."
Chapter 15
Their fingers brushed momentarily, her touch a soft,
yet electric caress. Kane felt his heart suddenly flutter
wildly within his chest, like the wings of a captured
bird.
Surprise, quickly veiled, flickered in Baptiste's
eyes. It was so brief Kane nearly didn't catch it. His
reaction to the woman startled and mystified him. He
knew she had come to work as a decrypter in the
Chancellery some eight months earlier, and Kane
doubted he had exchanged more than three perfunc-
tory nods with her. Baptiste was certainly attractive,
but she had struck him as no different than any other
intel officers he had met: guarded, shallow and de-
voted to their duty.
He cleared his throat. "You've decoded the trans-
mission?"
"Using Key 12." Her lips pursed in disapproval.
"That code key is in danger of being deciphered. It's
at least a year old."
"In that case, work on developing Key 13 should
take priority."
Baptiste nodded. "I advised that in my last report.
So far, Field Marshal Thrush hasn't responded."
At the sound of the name, Kane felt his jaw mus-
cles bunching reflexively. Captain Baptiste noticed
and crooked a curious eyebrow. Kane did his best to
smooth his features.
"Where is he?" Kane asked, striving for a casual
tone.
Her eyebrow acquired a steeper angle. "I really
couldn't say, Major. I don't keep tabs on him." An
undercurrent of suspicion ran through the woman's
tone. "I've only spoken to him once, the first day I
was posted here."
Kane didn't know why he had acted on the impulse
to ask about Thrush's whereabouts, or what had
prompted the impulse. He covered his confusion by
pretending to study the decoded printout. He saw the
words without comprehending them.
Intelligence Division, Reich Chancellery/Dulce/
New Thule
Re: Mt. Rushmore. A number of Roamer
bands are congregating within the territory.
Though their numbers appear to be less than five
hundred, they appear to be well-armed (see re-
port #01039, looting of Bismarck munitions de-
pot) and it appears the monument itself is their
intended target of terrorism. Surveillance contin-
ues, will advise of further movements.
He read the report over again, struggling to re-
member what he knew about Mount Rushmore. A
long time ago, it had housed an ambitious Continuity
of Government facility known as the Anthill, so
named because of its similarity in layout to an anthill.
He remembered Lakesh telling him that-
No! his mind snarled. Lakesh never told you any-
thing about it. Mount Rushmore is a national trea-
sure, dedicated to the five greatest leaders of Amer-
ica-Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, Roosevelt and
Hitler.
"Major?"
Kane looked up from the paper, meeting Baptiste's
quizzical, slightly ironic gaze. He realized his hand
trembled. "Yes?"
"Is there something wrong with the report?"
"No, it's-" He groped for something reasonable
to say. "It's disturbing news, that's all."
"It is?" A hint of mockery lurked in the back of
Baptiste's question. "I wouldn't think that a knight
in the Rapier Legion and the hero of the Calgary
Front would find a bunch of ragbag Roamers and
brushwooders very disturbing."
The woman's attitude came very close to insub-
ordination, but after the first jolt of anger passed,
Kane felt a distant wonder that his overriding emo-
tional reaction was akin to comfort, as if it were all
too familiar.
He tried to suppress the amused smile he felt tug-
ging at the corners of his mouth. "Really? What
would you say I find disturbing, Captain?"
"Paperwork," a lionlike voice rumbled.
Kane glanced swiftly around and with an irrational
surge of relief he saw a unifonned, clean-shaven
black man swaggering into the room. Major's bars
glittered on his tunic collar.
"Good thing you're here," Grant continued, hook-
ing a thumb over his shoulder. "There was an in-
truder alert at the Foundation. Field Marshal Thrush
is already out there and he's requested our presence.
They have a suspect in custody."
Kane started to hand the printout back to Baptiste,
then hesitated, giving her an appraising look. "Care
to join us, Captain?"
He appreciated the flicker of surprise in the green
depths of her eyes. She hadn't expected the invita-
tion. "I don't have the security clearance-for the fa-
cility."
"It's about time you received one. Come with us."
Grant frowned uncertainly but said nothing. Kane
marched toward the door and after a moment, Cap-
tain Baptiste fell into step beside him, first grabbing
her cap from a wall hook.
Kane, Grant and Brigid strode down the corridor,
and for the first time since the onset of the head pain,
he did not feel out of sync with his surroundings.
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