"Well ... . those silos, for example. You said the local police had investigated them. Were they qualified? Silos can be packed with feed or hay and there can be something else entirely underneath."
"They were told what to look for, and one of my officers accompanied them," said the general.
"The ground level contents were studied."
"The more I think about missiles, the more plausible they seem."
"We are as prepared as we can be," said the general's son.
"Mobile units with launchers for heat-seeking rockets surround the reservoir, I've told you that monsieur."
Chapter Forty-Two
"Then let's go back over the stuff from London. For Christ's sake, what's a Daedalus or Daedaluses?"
"I can explain it again, sit," offered Lieutenant Anthony.
"You see, according to the myth, Daedalus, who was both an artist and an architect, studied the birds on Crete, mostly sea gulls, I guess, and figured that if man could attach feathers to his arms, feathers being close to air in density, and in motion almost as light as air-"
"Please, Gerry, if I hear that one more time, I'm going to burn every Bulfinch I come across for the rest of my life!"
"We keep returning to air, don't we?" said De Vries.
"Missiles, rockets, Daedalus or Daedaluses."
"4Speaking of air," the balding major interrupted witH a touch of irritation, "no missile or rocket or plane can penetrate our airspace without being detected far in advance and getting shot down either by antiaircraft cannon fire or by our own missiles. And as we've all agreed, to carry out the objective of Water Lightning, there would have to be several very large cargo aircraft or dozens of smaller ones, sweeping down from nearby fields to achieve the element of surprise."
"Have you checked the airports in Paris?" pressed Latham.
"Why do you think all the airlines' schedules are delayed?"
"I didn't know they were."
"They are, causing a great deal of anger among their assengers.
It is the same at Heathrow and Gatwick in England, and Dulles and National in Washington. We can't say why without risking riots and far worse, but every Aircraft is being inspected before it's given clearance to enter a runway."
"I didn't realize that. Sorry. But then why are the ncos so goddamned sure they've figured it out?"
"That is beyond me, monsieur."
London. Zero hour minus two and eight minutes. It was 1:22A.M., Greenwich Mean Time, and the MI-6 director in Vauxhall Cross was on the phone to Washington.
"Any developments over there?"
"Not a. wrinkle," answered an angry American voice. (film beginning to think this whole frigging exercise is a pile of shit!
Somebody's laughing his ass off in Germantown."
"I'm inclined to agree, old man, but you saw that tape and the materials we sent you. I'd say they were pretty convincing."
"I'd say they're a bunch of paranoid freaks, playing out some kind of Gdtterddmmerung that guy Wagner wouldn't touch, or is it Vagner?"
"We'll know soon enough,-Yank. Keep steady."
"I'll try to keep from falling asleep."
Washington D.C. Zero hour minus forty-two minutes. It was 9:48 P.m." the July sky overcast, the rain imminent, and the brigadier general in charge of the Dalecarlia reservoir was pacing back and forth across the floor of the waterworks office.
"London doesn't know anything, Paris is a bust, and we're sitting on our duffs, wondering whether we've been conned! This is one fucking joke that's costing the taxpayers millions, and we'll be blamed for it! God, I hate this job. If it's not too late, I'll go back to school and become a dentist!"
Zero hour minus twelve minutes. It was 4:18 in Paris, 3:18 in London, 10:18 in Washington, D.C. Miles away from the reservoirs of the three cities, and synchronized down to minutes, six powerful jets went airborne, instantly sweeping away from their targets.
"Activitis inconnues!" said the radar specialist in Beauvais.
"Unidentified aircraft!" said the specialist in London.
"Two blips, unknown!" said the specialist in Washington.
"Not in sync with Dulles or National communications."
Then, although separated by small and large distances, each spoke seconds later.
"Superflu," corrected Paris.
"False alarm," corrected London.
"Forget it," corrected Washington.
"They're headed the other way. Probably rich kids with their private jets who forget flight plans. Hope they're sober."
Zero hour minus six minutes. In the dark skies over the outskirts of Beauvais, Georgetown, and North London, the jets continued their maneuvers, sweeping away from the three targets, climbing at incredible accelerations, each millisecond counted off by the computers. The precomputed flight patterns were instantly activated. The jets turned, their engines cut back to minimum, and