Free The Deep Zone by James M. Tabor Page B

science was being done—
dangerous
important science, at that.
    “Friends in high places.”
    “But … even after what happened?”
    “I couldn’t stop that at the time.” Barnard’s voice tightened with anger every time the subject came up. “But now that we have a
situation
, they were more willing to listen to reason.”
    “You put your career on the line for me, in other words. Again.”
    “And I never had a better use for it, Hallie.”
    “Hear, hear.” Lew Casey reached up to pat her shoulder reassuringly.
    They passed through an unmarked door that opened onto a sparsely furnished anteroom with another inner door, guarded by a U.S. Army Special Forces sergeant wearing a crisp uniform and a green beret. He carried a sidearm and had a Heckler & Koch MP7 submachine gun slung across his chest.
    Barnard said his own name out loud, pronouncing the syllables carefully, and a green LED light came to life on a panel on the sergeant’s desk.
    “Good evening, ma’am, sirs.” The sergeant nodded to each in turn. “Please go right in.”
    They walked through the inner door into a rectangular conference room. White ceiling, beige carpet, big flat-screen monitors on sky-blue walls. On a long mahogany table sat pitchers of water, juice, coffee, and plates filled with sandwiches and cookies. Five men sat at the table, and among those was her old research partner, Albert Cahner.
    “Hallie!” He jumped out of his chair and came around the table to give her a hug, which she returned, laughing.
    “Al! I’m so glad to see you again!” She thumped him on the back.
    “It’s wonderful to see
you
, Hallie.”
    They stood there grinning. He was as she remembered, though perhaps with a little more gray in the comb-over now, the circles under his eyes darker. Otherwise, he was the same old Al, wearing a wrinkled blue shirt with a flyaway collar and a skinny tie that had gone out of fashion ten years earlier. He gave her shoulder a final pat and went back to his place at the table.
    She took an empty chair and poured herself more coffee. Don Barnard leaned against a wall. Lathrop addressed them.
    “I know that you all have traveled hard and must be tired. So let me make a few things clear right away. My name is David Lathrop.Officially I work for Central Intelligence, but for now I report to the secretary of Homeland Security, Hunter Mason. Directly. He reports to the president. Directly. They both know we’re here.”
    Lathrop introduced Barnard and Casey, then turned back to those seated at the table.
    “We thank each of you for responding to our requests, which must have seemed strange, to say the least. We are grateful beyond measure for your presence here.”
    While Lathrop spoke, Hallie eyed the three men at the table she did not know. She pegged them in her own mind as Blond Man, Dark Man, and Big Man.
    “More introductions are in order.” Lathrop gestured toward Blond Man. “Dr. Haight”—he pronounced it
height
—“is a medical doctor from Tennessee. Emergency medicine specialty. An accomplished technical climber, caver, and diver.”
    Hallie had thought he looked familiar, and now realized why. “You’re
Ron
Haight!” she blurted. “You were on the cover of
National Geographic
last year. They called you ‘the caver saver.’ ”
    “Well, yeah, I was.” Haight looked down at the table, grinning and shaking his head.
    “Dr. Haight is justly famous for his rescue work,” Lathrop said.
    “Please call me Ron.” Haight looked uncomfortable with all the attention, which Hallie found positively endearing.
    “You were all muddy, with a helmet and dive mask on. It took me a minute to recognize you,” she said.
    “Hard to believe they’d put an ugly mug like this’un on the cover of such a fine magazine, I know.” Haight’s accent was Tennessee thick, his words flowing softly and slowly.
    But Hallie thought he had a right nice mug. Haight’s hair was almost as light as hers, worn in a ponytail.