Free Fade Out by Patrick Tilley Page B

handwriting, was the name, address, and phone number of Lieutenant Jean Seagren. It must have got into his pocket while he was asleep. Neat. Connors folded the slip of paper in half, then slowly tore it into sixteen small pieces.
    Connors walked back to his office and found McKenna waiting. He’d arrived a few minutes earlier. JoAnne, asmooth-looking brunette with matching shorthand, had just given him a cup of coffee.
    â€˜Make that two,’ said Connors. ‘Any news of Wedderkind?’
    â€˜Yes, he just called in.from his car. Got a little snarled up in the traffic. He should be here any minute.’
    â€˜Okay.’
    JoAnne brought Connors a coffee and left.
    â€˜Are any of your staff in on this?’ asked McKenna.
    â€˜No – but I think I’ll need to pull in Greg Mitchell. He runs the office for me. He’s got a maximum security clearance.’
    â€˜This operation may require a new classification of its own.’
    â€˜I realize that.’ Connors dropped two sweeteners into his coffee. ‘The point is I’m going to need someone to run around for me, so it might as well be Greg. If you run him through your computer I think you’ll find he checks out. But then, I imagine, the Agency already knows more about the two of us than we would care to remember.’
    McKenna’s lips remained sealed. His eyes gave nothing away either. Nature had clearly intended him to run the most powerful intelligence operation west of the Iron Curtain. And faced with that steely gaze, Connors was reminded that his most noted predecessor, Heinrich Himmler, had also favoured rimless glasses.
    â€˜And if they’re not covered by you, then the FBI is bound to have files on all the scientists Arnold plans to recruit. The Air Force will process their people – and you can look after your own. Hell, we don’t need to make a big deal of this thing. All we’re looking for are people who aren’t Russian agents, aren’t psychotic – and who can keep their mouths shut.’
    â€˜Uh-huh… well, that gives us the broad guidelines,’said McKenna. ‘What kind of a deal are you planning to offer the people you recruit on to the project?’
    â€˜Mack, I haven’t even had time to think about that yet. It’ll have to cover things like compensation for dependants – all the usual junk. The CIA must already have contracts like this.’
    â€˜Do you want us to draft something for you to look at?’
    â€˜Listen, if it satisfies you, then I don’t need to see it. It would be great if you could handle all that side of it.’
    â€˜Okay, I’ll put one of our lawyers on that right away.’ McKenna pulled out a slim black notebook and jotted down a reminder in small, neat handwriting. ‘If you just let me have Arnold’s shopping list, we’ll go round and sign them up.’
    â€˜Great.’ Connors’ phone rang. He picked it up, listened, then covered the mouthpiece. ‘It’s Chuck Clayson. He’s phoning from Colorado.’
    Ent Air Force Base, Colorado. Headquarters of NORAD – the North American Air Defense Command – and also the control centre of the SPACETRACK network.
    â€˜Chuck, hi… yes, sure, go ahead. It’s a very clear line… uh-huh… uh-huh… and there’s absolutely no possibility of a mistake?’
    McKenna watched Connors’ eyes flicker nervously. ‘Trouble?’
    Connors held up his hand and frowned as he listened to what Air Force General Clayson had to say. ‘Does Fraser –?… Ah, he’s with you… Yeah, fine, okay, Chuck, keep me posted if there are any developments… Okay, g’bye.’ Connors put the receiver back and held it down with his hand – almost as if he wanted to stop it ever ringing again.
    McKenna waited. Connors let go of the telephone, put his elbows on the desk and rubbed his face with both hands.