The Zenith Angle - Bruce Sterling [118]
The optic pipes that carried light away could also bring light in. And the mirror that brought light down from the zenith could also shine light up into the sky.
Van gave Hickok his helmet back.
“You know what chaps my ass most?” said Hickok. “That son of a bitch had the guts to build a spacewar weapon in Colorado. Hell, that’s where they train the Air Force.”
Gonzales reported. “The party is breaking up. I’m painting them with the spotter. You copy that now, Team A?”
Hickok opened his command-and-control laptop. The map on his screen was like a little military sandboard. Four blue triangles. A little cluster of unsuspecting red squares. “I copy, B.”
Two red squares veered off from the others. A blue triangle zipped after them in pursuit. “I’m gonna move in to catch these two with my parabolic mikes,” Gonzales said.
Van adjusted his earpiece.
Stolen voices swam into his head. Tony Carew.
“There were sixteen carts out here tonight,” Tony remarked. “Now there are only fifteen.”
“You counted them?” said a woman’s voice.
“No, honey. I’ve got an eidetic memory. It’s my gift.”
“It’s so cold and windy out here! Let’s take the limo. Make those stupid Chinese take these ugly little carts.”
“These delicate roads won’t hold up the weight of their big limousine,” said Tony. “That’s why we use all these carts. Anjali, it’s a sensitive matter to demonstrate the capabilities of my instrument. You don’t see nice old Mr. Liang or nice old Mr. Gupta complaining about this.”
“Your stupid clients don’t have to wear sleeveless dresses.” The cart’s tires crunched. The voices faded out of range.
Gonzales came back in. “The male and female just departed in a Facility vehicle. They are riding up toward your telescope, Team A. Okay, I am painting two more groups now. I am making . . . four men in that first party. Two men, two women in the second party. Hold on here, whoa. We have got two bodyguard types inspecting the vehicles.”
“Those bodyguards brought guns,” said Hickok knowingly.
“We don’t know that,” Van protested.
“No professional would do this sort of thing without a gun,” said Hickok. “I don’t care if they’re Chinese, Indians, or goddamned Martians.”
“I’m running this operation,” Van pointed out, “and I don’t have a gun.”
Wimberley broke in with a yelp. “Hey, I don’t have a gun either! Everybody said not to bring any guns!”
Hickok sighed. “Would it break y’all’s heart if I’d brung along one little Beretta in my ankle holster?”
“Hey, I can skip back to the truck and fetch us two MP5s and a Mossberg twelve-gauge,” said Gonzales eagerly. “Wouldn’t take me ten minutes!”
“No, no, no!” said Van. “Keep your eyes on the prize!”
“The boss man’s right,” said Hickok. “We came here to play cyberwar. Fred, you break into that party room and bug it. Kid, I want to see you break into that Network building. Get real busy with those desktop Tempest bugs. Me and the professor are gonna plant audio up here. Then we all retreat outside the structures. We hide out under our camou tarps. We just listen and we record. That is the Policy. We stick with the Policy.”
The Policy was good and sensible. The Policy did not involve any sudden trips to an emergency room. Hickok slapped his translucent Wi-Fi bugs to various discreet surfaces. Van tuned the bugs into audio channels on his laptop. Then, with time ticking for the arrival of their guests, Van and Hickok went outside to shut and lock the observatory door.
The instant Van shut the observatory door, the audio signals from within the building completely vanished.
“I thought you said this structure was made of straw,” said Hickok.
“Looks like they used some copper mesh in that straw.” Sensitive instruments needed electrical shielding.
“Then if we want to overhear ’em when they’re inside there, we gotta improvise,” Hickok