thing that could top it would be to use us blacks."
"You've got a point," agreed the American.
"But color doesn't come over a fax."
"Names do, sir, and the fact that Daedalus appears twice in two top-secret ciphers nine hours apart has to mean something."
"They've already told us. The countdown's begun and they're too damned confident of its success to suit my skin." The MI-6 officer walked to the center of the large room and clapped his hands.
"Listen up, everyone!" he cried.
"Listen up, if you please."
The room went silent except for the soft humming of the computers.
"We seem to have found a significant piece of information related to this bloody Water Lightning. It's the name Daedalus. Have any of you run across it?"
"Yes, rather," replied a slender middle-aged man with a chin beard and wearing wire-rimmed glasses, quite professorial in appearance.
"About an hour past. I considered it to be the code name for a Nazi agent or agents, Son-
nenkinder, no doubt, and saw no relevance to Water Lightning. You see, Daedalus was the builder of the great labyrinth of Crete, and as we all recognize, labyrinthine connotes circuitous thought, concealed avenues, that sort of thing-"
"Yes, yes, Dr. Upjohn," interrupted the impatient MI-6 director, "but in this case it may refer to the mythological flight he took with his son."
"Oh, Icarus? No, I doubt that. As the legend has it, Icaru! was a headstrong moron. Sorry, old man, but my interpretation is far more academically valid. Where in heaven's name does Water Lightning fit in? It simply doesn't, don't you see?"
"Please, Professor, just dig the damn thing out, will you?"
"Very well," said the wounded academic, his voice resounding with superiority.
"It's here somewhere in the reject pile. It was a facsimile, I believe. Yes, here it is."
"Read it, please. From the top, old fellow."
"Its point of origin was Paris, and it was sent yesterday at 11:17A.M. The message is as follows.
"Messieurs Daedalus in splendid condition, prepared to strike in the name of our glorious future!" Obviously, either he or they are misguided zealots with functions to perform following this Water Lightning. Quite possibly assassins."
"Or something else," said the gray-haired Mrs. Graham.
"Such as, dear lady?" asked Professor Uptohn patronizingly.
"Oh, stop it, Hubert, you're not in a Cambridge classroom now," she snapped.
"We're all searching."
"You obviously have an idea," said Witkowski with sincerity.
"What is it?"
"I don't really know, I'm merely struck by the French plural.
"Messieurs," not 'monsieur'; not one but more than one. That's the first time Water Lightning-if it is Water Lightning--has been described in such a way."
"The French are inordinately precise," offered Dr. Hubert Upjohn acidly.
"They cheat so frequently, it's in their nature."
"Poppycock," said Mrs. Graham, "we've both had our share of subterfuge. I submit to you the battles of Plassy, as well as Henry Two's marriage to Eleanor of Aquitaine."
"May we please stop this all too-un enlightening colloquy," said the MI-6 director, turning to an aide.
"Gather up the materials, call Beauvais and Washington, and fax everything to them. Someone's got to make sense out of this."
"Yes, sir."
"Quickly," added the American colonel.
At the Dalecarlia reservoir in Georgetown, analysts from Central Intelligence, G-2, and the National Security Agency studied the faxes from London. A deputy director of the CIA threw up his hands.
"There's nothing we're not prepared for! I don't give a damn if the attacks come from every point on the compass, we'll blow them away. Like London and Paris, we've got the grounds covered, and our heat-seeking rockets will knock any missiles out of the air.
What the hell's left?"
"Then why are they so confident?" asked a lieutenant colonel from
G-2.
"Because they're fanatics," answered a young intellectual from the National Security Agency.
"They must believe what they're instructed to believe, that's drummed into them. It's called the Nietzsche imperative."
"It's called crap!" said the brigadier general in charge of Dalecarlia.
"Aren't those bastards in the real world?"
"Not really," replied the NSA analyst.
"They have their own world, sir. Its parameters are those of total commitment, nothing else matters or can interfere."
"You're saying they're fruitcakes!"
"They're fruitcakes, General, but they're not stupid fruitcakes.
I agree with that Consular Operations officer in Beauvais. They think they've found a way, and I can't dismiss the possibility that they have."
Beauvais, France. Zero hour minus three. It was exactly one-thirry A.M. Everyone's eyes continuously darted to wall clocks and watches, the tension growing as the minutes ticked by and four-thirty grew nearer.
"Let's go back to the photographs, okay?" said Latham.
"We've been over them and over them," replied Karin.
"Every question we've asked has been answered, Drew. What else,