Vanishing Point - Marc Cerasini [44]
Palmer nodded. "I'm impressed that you're thinking ahead, Dr. Reed. But I find it a little presumptuous, as well. Or wouldn't you agree?"
Dr. Reed frowned. "I don't think I understand, Senator."
"Your research seems to be farther along than anyone on my Committee imagined. I'm even more eager to see this non-lethal technology demonstrated." Palmer glanced at his Rolex. "Shouldn't we proceed with the demonstration?"
"Of course, Senator," Dr. Reed replied, still smiling. "I understand your eagerness and share it. I merely wanted to show you the Blackfoot, and let you know that if my team is given the green light, we can immediately proceed to the next level — deployment of the Malignant Wave technology under simulated battlefield conditions."
Senator Palmer frowned. "It's nearly five thirty now. Is there a problem?"
Corporal Stratowski, who'd been standing quietly on the sidelines, stepped forward. "I'm sorry to report it's a matter of security, Senator. The Chinese have taken a special interest in Area 51 in the last few days. Their last space-based surveillance satellite of the day won't pass over Groom Lake for another ten minutes. After it's out of range, we can proceed with the demonstration."
Palmer nodded. "Sorry for my impatience, Corporal. I wasn't aware of the facts."
Then the Senator faced Megan Reed. "Well Doctor, in the mean time, perhaps you can introduce me to the rest of your team..."
* * *
5:24:02 p.m. PDT
Mirabelle's French Dry Cleaners
Monitor Street, Las Vegas
Ignoring signs that promised "guaranteed two-hour service," and proclaimed that all cleaning was "done on the premises," Yizi checked the address on the store front against the card she clutched between manicured fingers. Satisfied she'd arrived at the correct address, Yizi pushed through the glass door.
The tiny shop seemed empty, but an electronic buzzer sounded somewhere out of sight. The atmosphere inside the dry cleaners smelled of bleach. Behind the counter, hundreds of shrink-wrapped garments hung on a large circular rack.
A young Chinese man appeared at once, stepping through a curtained door in the wall. He wore nondescript pants and a crisp white shirt with a plastic nametag that identified him as Mr. Hsu. He smiled politely, though he'd never seen the woman before.
"May I help you," Mr. Hsu asked in perfect English.
"This is an urgent job. My boss wants this cleaned at once," Yizi replied, also in English. She slid the garment across the Formica table top. Then her dark eyes met his. "Jong Lee wants you to know there is a stain in the right sleeve, Mr. Hsu."
Still smiling, Hsu nodded. "I understand completely. Tell Mr. Lee that the jacket will be ready in two hours."
"Good afternoon, then," Yizi replied. Without another word, she spun on her heels and left the shop immediately.
Mr. Hsu, jacket in hand, once again stepped through the curtain. He set the garment down on a stainless steel table and began his search. It didn't take long for Hsu to locate the instructions tucked into the sleeve, exactly as the woman promised.
It took the man a few minutes to read and memorize the handwritten instructions. Then he dropped the message into a document shredder, along with his Green Card and plastic nametag.
"Yee! Uhr!" Hsu cried. Two young Chinese men with thick necks and close-cropped stubble on their heads hurried from the depths of the roaring, windy cleaning plant.
"Yes, Captain?"
"Alert the team. Make final preparations. The mission is on for tonight."
A flicker of emotion crossed their faces. "At once,"
they replied smartly. Uhr and Yee returned to the bowels of the cleaning plant, while Hsu hurried to the front of the shop and locked the door. He turned out the lights and hung the closed sign in the window. Behind him, he heard the dry cleaning machines power down and the steady