Part 24 (2/2)

Then, from one of the techies, a wave.

”Get ready,” he said. ”Show's about to start.”

Some 2,500 miles northwest as the crow flies, Roger Gordian was in a room identical to the one in which Pete Nimec and Annie Caulfield were seated, watching, as they were, the first satellite images stream down from Hawkeye-I above Brazil. Filling the row to either side of him was the group of satellite recon specialists Nimec had mentioned to Annie, most former employees of the NRS and its PHOTINT section, the National Photographic Interpretation Center.

Over the previous twenty-four hours, Hawkeye-I had made a series of low-resolution pa.s.ses over an area describing a radius of about three hundred klicks around the ISS installation in Matto Grosso do Sul, its field of reconnaissance determined by the results of a computerized vector a.n.a.lysis seeking those areas of highest probability from which the raid of April 17th might have been staged. Entered into these calculations were wind conditions on the night of the attack, approximations of the HAHO team's point of descent into the compound, estimates of their maximum range of travel, flight controller logs from known airfields, likely sites for concealed concealed airfields, intelligence about regional criminal and political extremist enclaves, and a galaxy of other data deemed pertinent by Sword's electronic surveillance experts. airfields, intelligence about regional criminal and political extremist enclaves, and a galaxy of other data deemed pertinent by Sword's electronic surveillance experts.

After reviewing the computer a.n.a.lysis and initial flyby imagery, the photo interpreters had systematically narrowed their interest to two geographic areas: the alluvial plains and savannah of the Panta.n.a.l, and an overlying region of rocky, semiarid escarpments called Chapada dos Guimaraes.

It was the highlands that came to attract their most intense scrutiny. Magnification of the images registered what appeared to be an ad hoc runway in a ma.s.sive table formation at the Chapada's western edge--some fifty kilometers from the ISS facility, and well within the bounds of a radar-eluding aircraft launch and HAHO drop. Further examination revealed the snaking, deliberate track of a roadway winding up the precipitous sandstone walls of the plateau. Light reflection patterns in the visible spectrum showed the definite earmarks of mechanical objects on the formation's broad, flat top and in a narrow draw cut into the base of the slope--guessed to be fixed-wing aircraft and wheeled vehicles from their shapes and dimensions.

These initial evaluations, coupled with a studied look at infrared bandwidth patterns coming from the grotto that distinctly showed human heat signatures, the long-wave IR ”hot spots” of motorized activity, and the contrasting emissions of camouflage and growing vegetation, led to a rapid decision to target the area for the high-res, full-spectrum scan now in progress.

Gordian watched as Hawkeye-I telescoped in on the flattened plateau and relayed its digital eye-in-the-sky shots from communications satellite to ground station at trillions of bits per second, a computer-generated map grid projected over the image on the display.

”Right over there, you see those planes?” a photo interpreter beside him said. He switched on his headset and mouthed a set of coordinates into it. ”What's our res?”

”We're in at slightly under a meter,” a tech replied in his earpiece.

”Get us in closer, we need to see what kind they--”

”One of them is a Lockheed L-100, same d.a.m.n transports we use,” Gordian interrupted. ”The other's an old DC-3 workhorse.”

”Lots of hustle and bustle around them. I'd say a total of thirty, forty individuals.”

The a.n.a.lyst on Gordian's opposite side sat up straight and pointed. ”The vehicles lined along the slope look like quarter-ton Jeep 'Mutts,' supply trucks ... some heavy-duty rigs.”

Gordian leaned toward the edge of his seat.

”They're pulling up stakes,” he said.

”Those guys in desert fatigues around the plane, how close can you zoom in on them?” Ricci said into his computer's mike.

”Give us a minute, you'll know if any of them have acne scars,” a techie replied via his earphones.

He waited, his attention rapt on the screen.

It took less than a minute.

The man at the foot of the L-100's boarding ramp had short-cropped hair, an angular face with a strong, square jut of chin, and wore aviator gla.s.ses and a drive-on rag-type headband. He was clearly calling out orders, directing the upload of personnel and cargo.

”You see that one?” Thibodeau said. Hands gripping the tubular safety rail of his bed, he hoisted himself painfully up from his pillow, leaning closer to the notebook computer on his hospital tray. ”You see see him?” him?”

”Rollie, maybe you'd better take it easy--”

”Le chaut sauvage, ” he said. ” he said.

”What?”

”Got the look of a wildcat.” Thibodeau's eyes were alight under the brim of his battered campaign hat. ”He's in command. An' not just of gettin' stuff onto the planes.”

Megan studied the screen from the chair beside his bed.

”You think we've got the top man in our sights?”

”Don' know if he's the brains ... but combat leader, oui,” oui,” he said. ”I tell you, I know.” He paused. ”From the looks of 'em, the people he's orderin' around ain't no drug runners or guerrillas neither. They're mercenaries, for sure. Got to be the ones who hit us the other night.” he said. ”I tell you, I know.” He paused. ”From the looks of 'em, the people he's orderin' around ain't no drug runners or guerrillas neither. They're mercenaries, for sure. Got to be the ones who hit us the other night.”

Megan turned her attention back to the face on-screen.

”We better find out who he is,” she said.

Thibodeau looked at her.

”Cherie, I think it's more important that we find out where he an' his boys are goin' ... an' if we can, stop them from gettin' there.”

”The question is why why they're clearing out,” Nimec said into his mouthpiece. they're clearing out,” Nimec said into his mouthpiece.

Ricci from across the globe: ”Agreed. And if they're mobilizing, what for?”

”How long before we have Hawkeye-II transmitting optical images from over Kazakhstan?” Gordian asked over the voice link.

”There's some cloud cover over the region right now,” a tech said. ”Weather readings indicate a slow-moving front.”

”How long?”

Listening in, Annie turned from the face being close-upped on the wall and stared at Nimec.

”Kaza--” she mouthed silently.

Nimec cut her off with a motion of his hand as the satellite techs gave Gordian his answer. Then he briefly switched off his headset.

”Sorry,” he said. ”I wanted to hear what--”

It was Annie's turn to interrupt. ”You think those people are out to stop the Russian shuttle launch? Cause the same sort of thing that happened to Orion?” Orion?”

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