Patriot games - Tom Clancy [178]
"What about -18?"
"I don't know. We've never really tried to identify that one. The thing about the car may count against it, though."
"Remember that our ULA friends have the Provos infiltrated," Jack said.
"You're still on that, eh? Okay, it's something to be considered," Cantor conceded. "What about this pattern thing you talked about?"
"I haven't got anything to point to yet," Jack admitted.
"Let's see the graph."
Jack unfolded it from the back of the binder. "Every three months, mostly, the occupancy rate picks up."
Cantor frowned at the graph for a moment. Then he flipped through the photographs. On only one of the dates did they have a daylight photo that showed anything. Each of the camps had what looked like a shooting range. In the photo Cantor selected, there were three men standing near it.
"You might have something, Jack."
"What?" Ryan had looked at the photo and made nothing of it.
"What's the distinguishing feature of the ULA?"
"Their professionalism," Ryan answered.
"Your last paper on them said they were more militarily organized than some of the others, remember? Every one of them, as far as we can tell, is skilled with weapons."
"So?"
"Think!" Cantor snapped. Ryan gave him a blank look. "Periodic weapons-refresher training, maybe?"
"Oh. I hadn't thought of that. How come nobody ever-"
"Do you know how many satellite photos come through here? I can't say exactly, but you may safely assume that it's a fairly large number, thousands per month. Figure it takes a minimum of five minutes to examine each one. Mostly we're interested in the Russians-missile silos, factories, troop movements, tank parks, you name it. That's where most of the analytical talent goes, and they can't keep up with what comes in. The guys we have on this stuff here are technicians, not analysts." Cantor paused. "Camp -18 looks interesting enough that we might try to figure a way to check it out, see who really lives there. Not bad."
"He's violated security," Kevin O'Donnell said by way of greeting. He was quiet enough that no one in the noisy pub would have heard him.
"Perhaps this is worth it," Cooley replied. "Instructions?"
"When are you going back?"
"Tomorrow morning, the early flight."
O'Donnell nodded, finishing off his drink. He left the pub and walked directly to his car. Twenty minutes later he was home. Ten minutes after that, his operations and intelligence chiefs were in his study.
"Sean, how did you like working with Alex's organization?"
"They're like us, small but professional. Alex is a very thorough technician, but an arrogant one. He hasn't had a great deal of formal training. He's clever, very clever. And he's hungry, as they say over there. He wants to make his mark."
"Well, he may just have his chance next summer." O'Donnell paused, holding up the letter Cooley had delivered. "It would seem that His Royal Highness will be visiting America next summer. The Treasure Houses exhibit was such a success that they are going to stage another one. Nearly ninety percent of the works of Leonardo Da Vinci belong to the Royal Family, and they'll be sending them over to raise money for some favored charities. The show opens in Washington on August the first, and the Prince of Wales will be going over to start things off. This will not be announced until July, but here is his itinerary, including the proposed security arrangements. It is as yet undecided whether or not his lovely bride will accompany His Highness, but we will proceed on the assumption that she will."
"The child?" Miller asked.
"I rather suspect not, but we will allow for that possibility also." He handed the letter to Joseph McKenney. The intelligence officer for the ULA skimmed over the data.
"The security at the official functions will be airtight. The Americans have had a number of incidents, and they've learned from each of them," McKenney said. Like all intelligence officers, he saw his potential opponents