Vanishing Point - Marc Cerasini [41]
Sherry nodded. "And for that information?"
"I will pay five million dollars, cash."
Sherry's mind reeled. Five million dollars would nearly double David Palmer's campaign chest. And since it was cash, the money need never be declared on any campaign budget statement or election board. It would be a secret fund, used at her discretion, if and when the need arose.
"I am always glad to help a political ally," Sherry declared. "Therefore I accept your very generous offer, Mr. Lee. In the name of my husband."
Cohen's eyes went wide and he turned beet red. But he knew better than to speak up.
Jong rose and bowed. "Here is my card," he said. "My cell phone number is there. Call me with the information I ask for, and the money is yours."
Sherry raised a manicured eyebrow. "Oh, I'll call you, Mr. Lee. But it's Mr. Cohen here who will accept the money. You understand why I can't... And why this conversation never took place."
Jong grinned. "I understand completely..."
6THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF Б P.M. AND 6 P.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME
5:04:02 p.m. PDT
Hangar Six, Experimental Weapons Testing Range
Groom Lake Air Force Base
Relentless in her pursuit of perfection, Dr. Reed kept Tony Almeida and the rest of her staff hopping all morning and into the early afternoon. Tony knew from weeks of observation that Megan Reed had gained her "people skills" at Donald Trump's School of Management. Her modus operandi was to browbeat her staff to the point of exhaustion, but never had her ham-handed managerial style been more evident than today.
Then, roughly at two-thirty, Dr. Reed hastily departed with Corporal Stratowski to meet and greet today's VIP observer at the Las Vegas terminal, and the members of the Malignant Wave team visibly relaxed. The necessary tasks still got done — now under the sensible supervision of Dr. Phillip Bascomb — but the mood was much lighter, despite the crucial, make-or-break demonstration looming over their heads.
It wasn't too long after Tony downloaded the contents of Steve Sable's cell phone into his laptop that he managed to slip the phone back into the man's lab coat pocket. A simple pat on the back and Tony smoothly returned the man's phone. It was gone, then back again before the other man noticed his cell was ever missing.
That left Tony with another urgent problem. He didn't have the tools to analyze the information he'd stolen, which meant that he had to transfer the cell phone memory to Jamey Farrell at CTU, Los Angeles, as soon as possible. But every time he tried to get back to his office, some new task arose. Finally, almost ninety minutes after Dr. Reed's departure, Tony found the chance to excuse himself when Dr. Bascomb went to the cafeteria to grab a late lunch.
"Yo, Steve, I think my laptop's winking out. I'm going to switch to the backup in my office," Tony lied.
"Take your time," Dr. Sable replied, swigging from a bottle of water. He'd found a shady corner and was playing craps for pebbles with a pair of young airmen.
"I'll be back in five."
"Hey, man, no sweat," Steve said with a laugh. "The tough stuff's done and Madame de Sade won't be back for another half hour. Have yourself a party, Antonio."
Tony shut the computer down and tucked it under his arm. He left the shade of the tent, crossed the hard-packed sand to the hangar unnoticed. Dani Welles was locked in a heated debate with Dr. Alvin Toth about which television physician was the most competent. Toth opted for someone named "Marcus Welby, M.D." — then expressed dismay to learn that no one among them had ever heard of the show. Dani was pushing for George Clooney's character in E.R.
"I said the most competent television doctor, Dani. Not the 'the one with the tightest booty,' " the elderly doctor complained.
Only Beverly Chang seemed tense. She avoided conversation with the others while silently staring