locations. I’m told it’s a common occurrence.”
He stopped as a soft alarm chime went off on Lockwood’s desk, and a moment later the coffee came in, the steward pushing the little coffee cart with the silver pot, tiny cups, and sugar lumps in a blue glass dish. Ford poured a cup and drank it black. Dark, powerful, fresh-brewed. Mickelson abstained.
When the steward left, Mickelson went on. “Meteoroid strikes aren’t part of our mission, so we simply filed away the information. That would have been the end of it. But—”
At this the general took a slim blue folder out of his briefcase, laid it down, and opened it. Inside was an image from space of what Ford immediately recognized as the honey mine in Cambodia.
“Then the radioactive gemstones began appearing on the market. This became a top concern of our antiterrorist people, who worried they might become source material for a dirty bomb. Anyone with a high school chemistry lab setup could concentrate the Americium-241 from these stones.”
“What about the impact in Maine? Did you investigate that?”
“Yes, but the meteorite fell into the Atlantic half a dozen miles offshore. Unrecoverable, and impossible to pinpoint the impact location.”
“I see.”
“Anyway, we knew about the impact crater in Cambodia, we knew the gemstones were coming from that general area, but we couldn’t confirm the link. That could only be proven on the ground.”
“And that’s where I came in.”
Mickelson nodded. “You were told all you needed to know.”
“General, with all due respect, you should have given me more backup, I should have been briefed, shown the satellite images. That’s what you would have done for a CIA operative.”
“Frankly, that’s why we reached beyond the CIA for this mission. All we wanted was a pair of eyes on-site. On the ground. Independent confirmation. We didn’t expect. . . .” He cleared his throat and leaned back, “that you would actually destroy the mine.”
“I still don’t believe you’re telling me the entire truth.”
Lockwood leaned forward. “Of course we’re not telling you the entire truth. For chrissakes, Wyman, when is anyone told the entire truth in this business? We wanted to examine that mine intact. You’ve created a huge problem for us.”
“There’s another drawback with hiring a freelancer,” said Ford coldly.
Lockwood sighed in irritation.
“Why was the mine so important?” Ford asked. “Can you tell me that, at least?”
“The meteoroid appears to have been highly unusual, judging from our analysis of the gemstones.”
“Such as?”
“Even if we knew, which we don’t yet, we couldn’t tell you. Suffice to say it wasn’t anything we’ve seen before. And now, Wyman, the data? Please.”
Ford had already noted the soldiers outside Lockwood’s office, and he knew well what would happen to him if he didn’t comply. No matter: he had gotten what he came for. He slipped a flash drive out of his pocket and tossed it on the table. “It’s all there, encrypted: pictures, GPS coordinates, video.” He gave them the password.
“Thank you.” Lockwood smiled grimly and took the flash drive. He slipped a white envelope out of his pocket and placed it on the table. “The second installment of your compensation. You’re expected at a full debriefing at Langley this afternoon at two o’clock. In the DCI conference room. Your assignment will then be most decidedly over.” Lockwood smoothed a hand down his red silk tie, adjusted his blue suit, touched his gray hair above his ears. “The president wanted to convey his thanks for your effort, despite, ah, your failure to follow instructions.”
“I’ll second that,” said Mickelson. “Wyman, you did well.”
“Glad to be of service,” said Ford, with a touch of irony. Then he added, casually, “One thing I almost forgot.”
“Yes?”
“You mentioned that the asteroid broke in two and that the two pieces struck the Earth.”
“Correct.”
“That’s wrong. There was only one object involved.”
“Impossible,” said Mickelson. “Our scientists are certain there were two strikes, one in the Atlantic, one in Cambodia.”
“No. The mine in Cambodia wasn’t an impact crater.”
“What was it then?”
“An exit hole.”
Lockwood stared, while Mickelson rose from his chair. “Are you suggesting—?”
“That’s right. The meteorite that struck in Maine passed through the Earth and exited in Cambodia. The data on that flash drive should confirm it.”
“How can you tell the difference between an entrance and exit hole?”
“It’s not unlike entrance and exit wounds caused by a bullet: the former is neat and symmetrical, the latter a God-awful mess. You’ll see what I mean.”
“What on God’s name could go through the Earth?” Mickelson said.
“That,” said Ford, picking up his check, “is