Breaking point - By Tom Clancy & Steve Perry & Steve Pieczenik Page 0,21

of his sport coat. “Beginning when?”

“Immediately,” Morrison said.

Ventura took a small phone from his pocket, touched a button, and said, “We’re on,” then put the phone away.

Morrison couldn’t help but look around. The restaurant was not all that crowded, but he couldn’t see anybody who looked like a bodyguard lurking about.

Ventura smiled. “You won’t see them.”

“Them?”

“There are two ops in here with us, two more outside. Now, I need some information if I am going to protect you properly. Let’s start with the level of threat and the reason. Who might be wanting to kidnap or kill you, and why?”

Morrison nodded. Here’s where it got tricky. He could offer a good story and probably have the man buy it. Or he could tell the truth. Since his life was going to be on the line, he did not want to make a misstep here.

“I’m not certain of the ‘who’ yet. Probably the Chinese, but it could be the Russians or maybe the Israelis. The ‘why’ is because I am in possession of certain, ah, highly useful information they would like to get their hands on.”

“From HAARP?”

Morrison blinked, taken aback for a moment. Well. Of course, the man would have checked him out. And it really wasn’t all that much of a leap to that assumption. Still, his estimate of Ventura’s abilities did go up a notch.

Morrison considered his response, and while he was doing it, Ventura said, “Doctor, I don’t much care what it is you are doing, but if I am going to keep you alive, I want to know what I am apt to be dealing with. It makes a big difference in how we proceed, you understand? If you boinked somebody’s wife and he wants to beat you to a pulp, that’s one thing. If we are going to be dealing with the secret police of a major foreign country, that’s something else. I’ll take the job either way, but I need to know everything. We’re talking about your life, and the lives of my crew.”

Morrison nodded. Yes. He understood. He took a deep breath. “All right.” And for the next fifteen minutes, he laid it out, answering questions as he did so. Ventura did not take notes. He also did not seem disturbed to hear what Morrison had to say.

When he was done, Ventura said, “All right. I’ll need your itinerary. Anywhere you go, I will make the travel arrangements. In matters of security, I am God. If I think a situation is too risky, I will tell you, and you will follow my recommendations without question—is this a problem?”

“No, no problem.”

“Fine. The situation probably isn’t hot yet, but we have to assume that somebody might be able to figure out who you are, so from this point on, we’re on alert. What are your immediate plans?”

“I have to go up to the project. We’re on hiatus, officially, but I am running some, ah, ‘calibrations.’ Over the next couple of weeks, I need to do at least two more of these. Possibly three.”

“What is the situation with security at the facility? Can I bring my people in?”

“No. I can get you in as an observer from one of the universities—we can fabricate enough background to pass the Navy and Air Force checks—but that’s it. There are armed guards patrolling the perimeter of the project, gates, guards at the door, and so forth. It’s not exactly a worry that somebody is going to drop by and steal the antennas or the generators.”

Ventura nodded.

“There is one complicating factor you should know about. The facility and its computers are being investigated by Net Force.”

“Net Force. The FBI suspects what you’ve done?”

“No. They are being guided down a path I’ve provided for them.”

“Ah, I see. Smart. But they will suspect the messenger, you know, they always do. That’s standard procedure.”

“I expected they would. I’m covered.”

Ventura shrugged. “I hope so. I might be able to keep you from being shot by the Chinese, but I can’t keep you out of jail if you have the feds after you—unless you are willing to go completely underground—and leaving the country would be better.”

“I understand.” Morrison felt a cold hand clutching his bowels. He had started down a dangerous road. He wasn’t some absentminded professor who thought about the universe only in abstract theory; he knew that the world was not always a nice place. He had taken this into account, had made the assumption that the people with whom he would be dealing