The transmission of data was simplicity itself: The rays of the sun were reflected by mirrors toward the command post. Operating the lever blocked the reflected sunlight. Momentarily removing the blocking bar sent a Morse code "dot." Holding the lever down a little longer sent a "dash."

Sending data in this manner had been, of course, a lengthy process, but it had been infinitely faster than sending a trooper galloping across the plains to report the hostiles had been located.

If the minutemen had had something like the cavalry signaling device, Colonel Davenport thought, it would have been unnecessary for Paul Revere to gallop out of Boston crying, "One if by land, two if by sea!"

He also theorized that the cavalry had probably used two, three, or an infinite number of the signaling devices in series. That is, when the scouting party's device was out of line of sight with its headquarters, devices were set up on hills in between so that sun flashes could be relayed from one signaling device to another. That would require, of course, that the data sent would have to be recorded at an intermediate station and then retransmitted.

That would take a good deal of time, of course, but it was still a hell of a lot faster than having a trooper gallop back carrying the message. And, of course, the flashing of sunlight was far faster than the Indian's means of long-range communication, holding a blanket or deer skin over a smoky fire and sending smoke in bursts into the air.

For his part, Sergeant Lewis was not surprised that all the green LEDs were up when he looked nor, twelve seconds later, when two amber LEDs flashed, telling him the message had been delivered to the designated addressee and that decryption of same had been successful.

This was pretty good goddamned gear. State of the art. Lewis knew for a fact that the Army didn't have anything like it; that Special Forces gear, while good, wasn't as good as this stuff, which only went to Delta and Gray Fox.

This stuff came right from the R amp;D labs of AFC, Inc., in Nevada. There was a story that the guy who ran AFC, and who got this stuff to Delta and Gray Fox, had once been the commo sergeant on an A-Team in Vietnam. That sounded like bullshit-God knows, half the stories you heard about stuff like this were bullshit-but it was sort of nice to think it might be true.

Thirty seconds after the amber LEDs flashed, a yellow LED began to flash. Sergeant Lewis pushed the receive voice button and, three seconds later, a blue LED flashed a few times and then remained illuminated.

"Stand by for voice, Colonel," Sergeant Lewis said as he put a small earphone in his ear.

Lieutenant Colonel Davenport put a similar earphone in place, then moved a small microphone in front of his lips.

"You reading me, One-Oh-One?" the voice of Lieutenant General Bruce J. McNab asked.

"Five-by-five, sir."

There was a delay of about seven seconds, during which time Colonel Davenport's words were digitalized, encrypted, transmitted into space, retransmitted from space, decrypted, and played in General McNab's ear, and then General McNab's reply went through the same process.

"Good show, One-Oh-One," McNab's voice said in Davenport's ear. "Pass the word. I'm working on getting you picked up at first light. So:"

The voice shut off abruptly.

Encrypting and transmitting voice communication was somewhat more difficult than doing so with data and the communications equipment had certain limits.

Seven seconds later, the message resumed.

": get Sergeant Lewis sober and out of the whorehouse by then. Bring the souvenirs. More follows in one hour. Acknowledge. Scotty out."

Sergeant Lewis was known as Gray Fox's designated driver and his devotion to his wife was regarded with something close to awe by his peers.

"Acknowledged," Colonel Davenport said into his microphone. "One-Oh- Two, I say again, One-Oh-Two out."

Sergeant Lewis looked at Colonel Davenport.

"Sir, the general knows that I don't use that stuff anymore and:"

"If I were you, Sergeant, I would take the general's comments as a compliment."

"Yeah," Sergeant Lewis said after a moment, and then he asked, "This was your one hundred and second Halo?"

"After the first one hundred, they get a little easier to do," Colonel Davenport said.

[FIVE]

Office of the Secretary of Defense

The Pentagon

Arlington, Virginia

1710 9 June 2005

Mrs. Teresa Slater, who was forty-two, naturally blond, pleasantly buxom, stylishly dressed, and who had worked for the Honorable Frederick K. Beiderman, the United States secretary of defense, for half of her life-Beiderman had brought her with him from the Ford Motor Company and, quietly, and perhaps illegally, personally made up the substantial difference between what he had made Ford pay her and what the government paid her now-put her head in his office door.

"General Withers is here, sir," she announced.

"How nice! Would you ask the general to come in, please?" he replied, loud enough for whoever was in the outer office to hear.

"Yes, sir."

She smiled at him. She was aware that the secretary of defense regarded the commanding general of the Defense Intelligence as a PB who was UN because he was VFG at what he did.

They had brought the acronyms with them from Detroit, too, where they had been used between them to describe a vast number of Ford executives. They stood, respectively, for "Pompous Bastard," "Unfortunately Necessary," and "Very Fucking Good."

Lieutenant General William W. Withers, USA, carrying a small leather briefcase, marched into the secretary's office a moment later, trailed by a lieutenant colonel and a first lieutenant. Both wore the insignia of aides-de-camp and each carried a heavy leather briefcase.

On his part, General Withers regarded Secretary Beiderman as someone who suffered from a severe superiority complex and who had proven again and again that he could be a ruthless sonofabitch. But, on the other hand, Withers had learned that Beiderman said what he was thinking, never said anything he didn't mean, and whose word was as good as gold-all attributes General Withers had seldom found in other civilian officials of government and certainly not in political appointees.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Secretary," General Withers said.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Beiderman said, gesturing for everybody to sit down in the chairs arrayed in a semicircle before his desk.

"Before we get into the briefing," Beiderman began as he opened the cigar humidor on his desk and removed an eight-inch-long, very black Dominican Lonsdale. "Personal curiosity. Did they ever find that 727 that was stolen?"

Smoking was forbidden in the Pentagon. General Withers had heard a story-which he believed-that when someone had brought this to Beiderman's attention, the secretary's response was that so far as he was concerned the vice of smoking was henceforth to be considered within the Defense Department in the same light as carnal relations between members of the same sex; that is, "Don't ask, don't tell."

General Withers waited until Secretary Beiderman had gone through the ritual of cutting off the end of the cigar with a silver cutter and then had lit it with a gold butane lighter before replying.

"Mr. Secretary, actually, that's at the head of my list."

That caught Beiderman's attention.

"Uh-oh. What's happening?"

General Withers made a waving gesture with his left hand. The lieutenant and the lieutenant colonel immediately stood up and walked out of the office.

"What the hell is going on, Withers?" Beiderman demanded. "Your people don't have the need to know?"

"This is a matter of some delicacy, Mr. Secretary," General Withers said.

"For Christ's sake, out with it."

"I regret that I don't have the complete picture, Mr. Secretary," General Withers said.