Sacred Stone (Oregon Files 2) - Page 43
“Just before he died, the archaeologist started talking about the Ghost,” Cabrillo said, “as if he were a man and not a disembodied apparition.”
“I’m on it,” Overholt said.
“This is turning into an episode of Scooby-Doo,” Cabrillo said. “Find out who the Ghost is and we solve the caper.”
“I don’t seem to remember a Scooby-Doo episode dealing with nuclear weapons,” Overholt said.
“Update it for the twenty-first century,” Cabrillo said before disconnecting, “it’s a much more dangerous world now.”
THE FREE ENTERPRISE was steaming through the frigid ocean water on a course toward the Faeroe Islands. The team was starting to relax—after they delivered the meteorite they’d have a break for a while. Once they repositioned the ship to Calais, they would simply wait for a call if needed. The mood aboard the ship was light.
They had no idea a greyhound of the sea disguised as an old cargo ship was following.
Nor did they know that both the Corporation and the might of the U.S. government would soon be aligned against them. They were in ignorant bliss.
“IT’S
IMPORTANT,” TD Dwyer explained to the receptionist.
“How important?” the receptionist asked. “He’s preparing for a White House meeting.”
“Very important,” Dwyer said.
The receptionist nodded and buzzed Overholt. “There’s a Thomas Dwyer here from Theoretical Applications. He claims that he needs to see you immediately.”
“Send him in,” Overholt said.
The receptionist rose and walked over to Overholt’s door and opened it. Overholt was sitting behind his desk. Closing a file, he swiveled around and slid the file into a slot in a safe behind his desk.
“Okay,” he said, “come in now.”
Dwyer slid past the receptionist and she closed the door behind him.
“I’m TD Dwyer,” he said. “I’m the scientist tasked with the analysis of the meteorite.”
Overholt walked from behind his desk and shook Dwyer’s hand, then motioned him over to a pair of chairs around a seating pit. Once they were both seated, he spoke.
“What have you got?”
Dwyer was less than five minutes into his dissertation when Overholt stopped him.
He walked over to his desk and spoke into the intercom. “Julie, we need to schedule Mr. Dwyer to accompany me to the meeting at the White House.”
“Could you ask him his clearance, sir?” Julie asked.
“One-A critical,” Dwyer answered.
“Then we can go in the front,” Overholt said to Julie, “as planned.”
“I’ll call over, sir.”
Overholt walked back to the chair and sat down. “When it’s our turn I want you to deliver your findings without hyperbole. Just lay out the facts as best you know. If you are asked for an opinion—and you probably will be—give it, but qualify it as such.”
“Yes, sir,” Dwyer said.
“Good,” Overholt said. “Now, just between us, lay out the rest of it, harebrained theories and all.”
“The gist of the theory is this: There is a possibility that if the molecular structure of the meteorite is pierced, a virus could be released that might have dire consequences.”
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