THE PENTAGON

Rear Admiral Elliott Pierce was studying an intelligence brief, on the continuing withdrawal of Iranian armor divisions from the border with Iraq, when a knock sounded at his door. He summoned the person in and was given a note.

“This just came in from Signal, sir.”

Pierce took the note from the young signalman and excused him. As he read the communication, his face fell. He immediately picked up the phone and called a number at the White House. The president’s national security advisor picked up on the first ring.

“Ambrose,” the voice said.

“We have a problem,” Pierce said softly, for no other reason than he felt deceitful.

“What?”

“The Red Flag we placed on the National Archives file that Professor Zachary used, which is cross-referenced with our database, has just been activated.”

“Jesus Christ, by whom?”

“It says terminal 5656, but there is no terminal 5656, according to our intelligence records.”

“So, maybe it’s a glitch,” the national security advisor said in an annoyed tone.

“I don’t believe that much in coincidence, do you?” Pierce asked smugly.

“Well, what can you do?”

“My signals team was able to track the terminal’s location; you won’t believe it.”

“We don’t have time for this. Where is it?”

“Arlington National Cemetery—the mansion’s maintenance facility, of all places.”

“Goddammit, what in the hell is going on here?”

“I don’t know, but we’d better get someone over there or this could get rather sticky.”

“Do you have access to outside nonmilitary people for this?”

“Yes, and they’re right down the road. They can be onsite in twenty minutes with equipment that could trace this phantom computer terminal. Are you going to say anything to him about this?”

“Hell no, just take care of it, he’s got enough on his mind already. He has a meeting with the president about an appearance at a fund-raiser for his campaign tonight. Just eliminate this problem any way you can, understand?”

“This is getting to be too costly. We’re going to hang for this if we’re caught.”

“Then the object here is—what? Not to get caught. And don’t inform the others about this development, they’re getting cold feet enough as it is. Eliminate whoever is snooping into that file.”

The director of Naval Intelligence hung up the phone and removed a small black book from his desk drawer. Whoever had accessed that unlisted computer terminal wouldn’t live long enough to benefit from it.