"In addition to the electrified main gate," she continued, "we've erected a gatehouse a hundred fifty feet before the main, complete with two armed guards and a steel barrier."
"What's on either side?" asked Cameron.
"The most impassable section of the marsh," she replied.
"The road was initially built on compressed landfill with stratums of concrete and wire to the depth of seven feet. Very much like an airport's runway."
"Stratums?"
"Strata, if you prefer. Blocks of high-density cement layered to conform to the configuration of the road."
"I know what 'stratums'-'strata' are, Miss .. . Miss-" "Lieutenant Colonel Montrose, Mr. Pryce."
"Oh, you know my name?"
"On a need-to-know basis, sir. Our job is to secure the compound and protect-" The woman abruptly stopped.
"I understand," said Cameron quickly, defusing the embarrassment.
"Lieutenant Colonel Montrose is my second in command," the full colonel broke in, somewhat haltingly.
"Of a commando unit?" asked Pryce skeptically.
"Commando tactics are intrinsic to our training, but we're not commandos," said the lieutenant colonel, removing her cap and shaking her ash-blond hair.
"We're RDF."
"Who?"
"Rapid Deployment Force," answered Scofield.
"Even I know that one, youngster."
"It pleases me you're so erudite, old, old man. Where's Antonia?"
"She took one of the Agency boys and went hunting."
"Whatyor?" asked Montrose, alarmed.
"Don't know. My girl's a pretty independent lady."
"So am I, Mr. Scofield! There can be no individual searches unless accompanied by one of our men!"
"Obviously there can be, Miss-Colonel. My wife studied the grounds very thoroughly. She's had to do that kind of thing before."
"I'm aware and appreciative of your backgrounds, sir, but I'm responsible for all personnel escorts."
"Come on, Colonel," interrupted Cam, "our Agency fellows may not wear uniforms but they're pretty damned handy. I know because I'm one of them."
"Your machismo doesn't interest me, Mr. Pryce. Military escorts are a priority assigned to us."
"Feisty thing, isn't she?" mumbled Bray.
"A bitch, if you like, Mr. Scofield. I'll accept that, too."
"You said it, lady."
"That's enough!" exclaimed Cameron.
"We're supposed to cooperate, not compete, for Christ's sake."
"I was merely trying to clarify our specific training and, not incidentally, our firepower."
"I wouldn't pursue that, Colonel Montrose," said Pryce, nodding ever so gently at the bleeding corpse on the ground.
"I still don't understand!" cried the RDF full colonel.
"How did he do it?"
"Well, son," said Scofield, "we know he wasn't afraid of heights, which usually means a person isn't afraid of depths."
"What the hell does that mean?" asked Pryce.
"I'm not sure, but that's what a lot of psychologists claim. Someone who skydives generally feels at home underwater. Something to do with the inverse effects of gravity. I read that somewhere."
"Thanks a bunch, Bray. So what do you suggest?"
"Check the waterfront, maybe?"
"Checked and rechecked and triple-checked constantly," said Montrose firmly.
"It was our first consideration. We not only have patrols lining the area for nearly a thousand yards on both sides of the dock, but laser trip beams inland. No one could penetrate those sectors."
"And an assassin would assume that, wouldn't he?" asked Scofield.
"I
mean kind of naturally."
"Probably," agreed the lieutenant colonel.
"Were there any signs of penetration within the past several hours?"
pressed Brandon.
"Actually, there were, all negative," she replied.
"Children of neighboring estates camping out on the lawns, several drunks who were turned back after parties, and a couple of fishermen trespassing on private property, again all intercepted."
"Did you inform the other patrols of the activity?"
"Certainly. We might have needed backups."
"So concentrations might have been interrupted, isn't that so?
Unintentionally, or perhaps-intentionally."
"That's too general a postulation and, frankly, quite impossible."
"Quite, Colonel Montrose?" said Brandon Scofield.
"Not totally."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm not saying, lady, I'm just trying to figure things."
Suddenly, from beyond the blinding wash of the floodlights, came Antonia's voice.
"We found them, my darling, we found them!" The figures of Scofield's wife and her CIA companion rushed through the diffuse, mist-filled light and ran to the circle of guards. They threw down the objects in their hands: a heavy scuba tank; an underwater, suction-pressed mask; a submersible flashlight, its beam blue; a waterproof walkie-talkie; and a pair of fins.
"They were in the mud on the bank of the marsh below the main gate," said Antonia.
"It was the only way he could have gotten inside."
"How do you know that?" demanded Montrose.
"How did you know?"
"The waterfront was covered, impenetrable. The marshes were patrolled but still open, subject only to diversion."
"What?"
"Exactly like the time Taleniekov told us about, when he was getting out of Sevastopol, right, luv?" Scofield interrupted pleasantly.
"Your memory's very accurate, my dear."
"Why 'my dear'? What did I do wrong?"
"You didn't think of it. What did Vasili do to pass through the Dardanelles?"
"Diversion, of course. A boat with a false hull designed for detection. The Soviet patrols found it, then went nuts because it was empty!"
"Exactly, Bray. Now, transfer that to land."
"Of course! Divert the obvious to the remote, then activate the obvious within a matter of seconds!"
"That's the radio, my darling."
"Bravo, luv!"
"What are you talking about?" demanded Lieutenant Colonel Montrose.
"I'd suggest you find out who the drunks were who wandered onto this property," said Cameron Pryce, "and probably the two fishermen as well."
"Why?"
"Because one or both or all had hand-held radios frequencied into the one down there on the ground. Beside our intruding corpse."
Her name was Leslie Montrose, lieutenant colonel, U.S. Army, daughter of a general, graduate of West Point, and underneath that harsh military exterior, a personable woman. Or so thought Cameron, as he, Montrose, and her superior officer, one Colonel Everett Bracket, sat around the kitchen table drinking coffee and analyzing the events of the night. The lieutenant colonel's background had been supplied by Bracket, who obviously, reluctantly, accepted her as his second in command.
"Don't get me wrong, Pryce, it's not that she's a female," Bracket had said while Montrose was outside giving orders to the Army unit. I like her-hell, my wife likes her-but I just don't think that women should be part of the RDF."
"What does your wife think?"
"Let's just say she doesn't totally agree. And my seventeen-year-old daughter's worse. But they haven't been in combat when things get rough. I have, and it's no place for a woman! Prisoners are taken, it's a realistic aspect of war, and I can't help thinking of my wife and daughter in those circumstances."
"A lot of men agree with you, Colonel."
"Don't you?"
"Of course I do, but we've never been attacked on our own ground, our own mainland. The Israelis have and there are a great many women in their military-so have the Arabs, and women are in their active and reserve combat forces, even more prominent in their terrorist cadres.
We both might feel differently if the beaches of California or Long Island were invaded
."
"I don't think I would," said Bracket firmly.
"Maybe the women would change your mind. After all, it was the women, the mothers, who got us all through the Ice Age. In the animal kingdom, the female is the most vicious in protecting her young."
"Boy, you're weird! How'd you figure that?"
"Rudimentary anthropology, Colonel.. .. Tell me, your lieutenant colonel wears the same kind of cap that you do, but the insignia's different. How come?"
"We allow it, that's why."