The Cassandra Compact - By Robert Ludlum Page 0,17
or am I imagining things?"
"I was," Megan replied, leading them toward the elevators. "Actually, a friend of yours, Dylan Reed, mentioned that he'd heard you were on-site."
"Dylan... I see."
"Where do you know him from?"
"Dylan and I worked together when NASA and USAMRIID were retooling the biochem program for the shuttle. That was a while back. I haven't seen him since."
Which begs the question: how the hell would Reed or anyone else know that I was here?
Since the air space around NASA was restricted, the Gulfstream pilot would have filed a crew/passenger manifest with the NASA controllers, who would have passed it on to security. But that information should have remained confidential---unless someone was monitoring flight arrivals.
Megan slid a card key into the slot of the glass-enclosed elevator that went up to the private dining room. Upstairs, she and Smith walked past the dining room's floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a panoramic view of the center's air-training facilities. Megan couldn't help but smile when she saw a KC-135, a converted aerial tanker, lumber down the runway.
"Fond memories?" Smith asked her.
Megan laughed. "Only in retrospect. That one-thirty-five has been especially modified to pretest various experiments and equipment for the low gravity of shuttle flights. It climbs steeply until its acceleration reaches two Gs, then freefalls, creating a weightless environment for twenty or thirty seconds. When I took my first ride, I had no idea how greatly reduced gravity stresses the body's internal systems." She grinned. "That's when I discovered why the one-thirty-five has onboard a generous supply of emesis bags."
"And why they call it the Vomit Comet," Smith added.
Megan was surprised. "Have you ever ridden in that thing?" she asked.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
They took a table by the window. Megan ordered a beer but Smith, about to get back in the air, chose orange juice. When their drinks arrived, he raised his glass.
"May you reach the stars."
Megan met his glance. "I hope so."
"I know so."
Smith and Megan glanced up to find Dr. Dylan Reed standing by their table.
"Jon, it's good to see you again. I was waiting for someone on another flight when I saw your name on the arrivals roster."
Smith returned Reed's strong handshake and invited him to pull up a chair.
"Are you still with USAMRIID?" Reed asked.
"Still attached. And you've been down here for what, three years?"
"Four."
"Are you onboard the next mission?"
Reed grinned. "Couldn't keep me away. I've become a shuttle junkie."
Smith raised his glass again. "To a safe, successful flight."
After the toast, Reed turned to Megan. "You never told me how you two met."
Megan's smile faded. "Sophia Russell was a childhood friend of mine."
"Sorry," Reed apologized. "I heard about Sophia's death, Jon. I'm very sorry.
Smith listened as Reed and Megan discussed the morning's exercise in the mock-up, noting the affectionate way Reed treated her. Smith wondered if there was something more than just a professional relationship between them.
Even if there is, it's none of my business.
Smith felt heat at the back of his neck. Casually, he shifted so that he could see the entire room in the reflection of the windows. Standing by the hostess's station was a slightly overweight man of medium height, in his early forties. His head was completely shaved, the scalp shiny beneath the lights. Even from this distance, Smith could tell that the man was staring directly at him, his mouth open slightly.
I don't know you, so why are you so interested in me?
"Dylan?"
Smith gestured in the direction of the hostess's station. His motion made the watcher duck, unsuccessfully.
"Are you expecting someone?"
Reed glanced around. "Right. That's Adam Treloar, the mission's chief medical officer." He waved. "Adam!"
Smith watched as Treloar approached reluctantly, like a child dragging his feet to the dinner table.
"Adam, meet Dr. Jon Smith, with USAMRIID," Reed said.
"My pleasure," Smith said.
"Yes, nice to meet you," Treloar mumbled, betraying the remnants of a British accent.
"Have we met before?" Smith inquired pleasantly.
He wondered why the polite question would make Treloar's eggshaped eyes bulge.
"Oh, I don't think so. I would have remembered." Hastily, Treloar turned to Reed. "We have to go over the crew's last physical. And I must make that meeting with Stone."
Reed shook his head. "Things get a little hectic as we approach launch date," he apologized to Smith. "I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me. Jon, it was great to see you. Let's not leave it so long, okay?"
"Definitely."
"Megan, I'll see you at three o'clock in the biolab."
Smith watched the two men take a booth at the far end of the room.