Free The Minotaur by Stephen Coonts Page A

the ground and in flight.”
    Jake eyed the older man. He had this sinking feeling in the pit of
his stomach. There was a hell of a lot he wasn’t being told. “So
how do you know Fritsche?”
    “He was a professor at Caltech when I was there for a master’s.
We became good friends. He did some consulting work for the
inventor on some theoretical problems. He saw what the guy had
and came to help. That was three years ago. It was coincidence that
there was a deputy project manager job opening in the ATA’pro-
gram. I talked Fritsche into taking it. He wants to be a part of
Athena. The theoretical problems intrigue him.”

The Minotaur
    “You said you didn’t know all the players.”
    Henry took this opportunity to look around again. “Yeah. I
don’t. Your predecessor, Harold Strong? Great guy, knew naval
aviation from catapult to tailhook, everything there is to know, but
he wasn’t a politician, not a diplomat. He was a blunt, brilliant,
take-no-prisoners kind of guy. Somebody killed him.”
    “Why?”
    “I wish I knew.” Henry described how he personally drove to
West Virginia on Saturday morning after the Friday-night automo-
bile accident. He summarized the conversation he had had with the
West Virginia state trooper who investigated the accident. The
trooper had served four years in the marine corps and by a stroke
of fortune Henry bad been in uniform. The trooper had been good;
he knew murder when he saw it. He had taken the admiral to see
the local prosecuting attorney, who had been splitting firewood in
his backyard when the two of them arrived in the police cruiser.
After two hours of talking. Henry induced the prosecutor and the
trooper to agree to a wording of the accident report that did not
mention homicide and yet would not preclude a homicide prosecu-
tion if the identity of the murderer could ever be established.
    “My theory”—Henry shrugged—“I got no evidence, you under-
stand—my theory is Harold found out something, teamed some-
thing somebody didn’t want him to know—so he got rubbed out.”
    The navy Ford pulled up to the curb, but Henry put a hand on
Jake’s arm. “This is big, Jake. Real big. You don’t understand how
big. The Russians will figure out we’re going to do something dif-
ferent and wonderful with the A-12 and they’ll pull out all the
stops to get Athena. And five billion dollars in development money
is on the line, plus twenty to thirty billion in production money—
that much shit will draw every blowfly and bloodsucker in the
country. A lot of these people would kill for this technology.”
    “Maybe someone already has.”
    “Just don’t trust anybody.”
    “I’ve figured that out, sir. I think there’s a hell of a lot here you
haven’t told me. So I don’t trust you.”
    Henry threw back his head and guffawed. “I knew you were the
right man for this job.” He became instantly serious. “I don’t give
a damn whether you trust me or not. Just do your job and keep
your mouth shut and we’ll get the navy a good airplane.”
    “By the way, did Strong know about the active system?”
    “Yes.”
    The admiral’s driver dropped Jake at his office building. One of
the few benefits of working a black program was that he could
come to work in civilian clothes.
    Vice Admiral Dunedin was finishing a conference, so Jake vis-
ited with Mrs. Forsythe. In fifteen minutes the door opened and
people streamed out, in a hurry.
    “Good morning. Admiral,” Jake said.
    “How’d your talk go with Admiral Henry?”
    “Very well, sir.”
    “Don’t lie to me. Captain. I’m your boss.”
    “Yessir.” Jake found a seat and looked straight at the blue-eyed
Scotsman behind the desk. “He told me what he wanted me to
know and that was that”
    “How long you been in the navy?”
    Long enough to know how to take orders, Jake thought. “Yes-
sir.”
    “Let’s talk about the A-12. It’s now your baby.”
    An hour later the admiral rose from his chair.