Cyclops (Dirk Pitt 8)

"Is this possible?" asked the President incredulously.

Alan Mercier nodded. "Providing the Soviets have local transmitters with the capacity to overpower the shuttle's internal electronics and jam all signals from Houston Control."

The President exchanged grim looks with Brogan.

"Cayo Santa Maria," Brogan muttered miserably.

"An island north of Cuba containing a powerful transmission and listening facility with the necessary muscle to do the job," the President explained to the others.

"Maybe they haven't caught on that

our colonists have left the moon," Fawcett said hopefully.

"They know," replied Hudson. "Once their eavesdropping satellites were aimed toward Jersey Colony, they've monitored every one of our transmissions."

"We'll have to come up with a plan to neutralize the island's equipment," suggested Post.

Brogan smiled. "Just so happens there is an operation in the works."

Post smiled back. "If you're scheming what I'm thinking, all I'd like to know is when."

"There is talk-- purely a rumor, mind you-- that Cuban military forces are going to launch an attack-and-destroy mission sometime after midnight tonight."

"And the departure time of the shuttle for home?" asked Alan Mercier.

"0500 tomorrow," Post answered.

"That settles it," said the President. "Inform the commander of Columbus to hold Gettysburg on the docking platform until we can guarantee its safe return."

Everyone around the table seemed satisfied for the moment, except Hudson. He had the look of a boy who had just lost his puppy to the county dogcatcher.

"I just wish," he muttered to no one in particular, "it was all that easy."

Velikov and Maisky stood on a balcony three levels above the electronic listening center and looked down on a small army of men and women who manned the sophisticated electronic receiving equipment.

Twenty-four hours a day, giant antennas on Cuba intercepted United States civilian telephone calls and military radio signals, relaying them to Cayo Santa Maria, where they were fed into the computers for decoding and analysis.

"A truly superb job, General," said Maisky. "The reports on your installation have been far too modest."

"A day doesn't go by when we don't continue the expansion," Velikov said proudly. "Besides the business end of the complex there is a well-supplied dining room and a physical conditioning center with exercise equipment and a sauna. We even have an entertainment room and a barber shop."

Maisky's gaze rose to two screens, each ten by fifteen feet, on different walls. The left screen contained computer-generated displays while the right showed various data and intricate graphs.

"Have your people discovered the status of the moon colonists yet?"

The general nodded and picked up a telephone. He spoke a few words into the receiver while looking down on the busy equipment floor. A staff member at a console looked up and waved a hand. Then the two screens went dark for a brief instant and returned to life with a new data display.

"A complete rundown," said Velikov, pointing to the right screen. "We can monitor almost everything that is transmitted between their astronauts and Houston Control. As you can see, the moon colonists'

lunar transporter docked three hours ago at the space station."

Maisky was fascinated as his eyes traveled over the display information. He could not bring himself to accept the fact that American intelligence undoubtedly knew as much if not more about Soviet space efforts.

"Do they transmit in code?" he asked.

"Occasionally, if it is a military mission, but NASA usually talks to their astronauts quite openly."