Cyclops One Read Online Free Page A

Air Force general who heads the National Aerospace Development and Testing Corporation, which is NADT,” whispered Kowalski. “The big boss of the project. NADT’s a contract agency with serious clout. They’ve developed a half-dozen weapons including the modified F/A-22s, and they’re responsible for testing and refining a bunch more, including Cyclops. Part of the drive to privatize non-warfighting military functions and save some cash. Bonham’s the main man.”
    “Yeah, but get to the good stuff. What kind of underwear?”
    “That’s more your department, but I’d guess boxers.”
    “What about the little boss?”
    “You mean Howe?”
    “Sure.”
    “Almost bought it in the chase plane.”
    “Prime suspect.”
    “Yeah, right.”
    “Who else is important?”
    “Guy named Williams in the other chase plane. Gone. Air Force. Never heard of him.” Kowalski stopped to look at his notes. “Lady named, uh, Megan York.”
    “Air Force?”
    “Contract test pilot. Works directly for NADT, like just about everybody else here. She’s about thirty. Supposed to be a dish. Haven’t seen the photos yet.”
    “Put me in for the eight by ten. What kind of underwear does she wear?”
    Gorman frowned severely in their direction, then looked back to her groupies in the front row. “I’m in the process of requesting more people for the monkey work. Again, I remind you: Everywhere you go on this base, you go with security. You know the drill. Questions?”
    “I have one,” said Fisher quickly. “Where’s the smoking lounge?”
    “For those few of you privileged not to know Special Agent Andrew Fisher, that is him in the rumpled gray suit. He is our lone representative from the FBI, assigned to be as annoying as possible. Obviously the Bureau does not believe this is a very important case. Agent Fisher likes to play class clown, though fortunately today he has left his red nose and floppy shoes at home. He will act as FBI liaison and attempt to grab as much glory as he can, while at the same time doing nothing more than drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes, though not in that order.”
    “I thought grabbing glory was your job,” said Fisher innocently.
    Gorman gave him some dagger eyes, then turned to answer other questions from the assorted teacher’s pets. The only one that interested Fisher was the one she shrugged in answer to: Why hadn’t the emergency locator beacons on the downed planes been picked up yet?
    The answer was, there were no locator beacons. Because of the nature of the project, the planes flew without ident gear that would identify them if properly queried. They didn’t have black boxes or any of the otherwise useful gear that would, presumably, have made them easier to find. In fairness, all the monitoring gear they were carrying for the trial exercises would ordinarily be more than enough to supply pinpoint positions in the case of an emergency. But whatever had blanked the systems in all the planes had made them impossible to track as well.
    As the questions faded, Fisher got up to leave. A few people nodded at him, but with the exception of Kowalski and Gorman he didn’t know anyone here very well. Probably just as well: It would make it easier to bum cigarettes the first few days.
    “Hold on, Andy,” said Gorman as he started toward the door.
    “Hey, Gorgeous.”
    “Knock off the crap. This is my show.”
    “I saw your name in lights outside.”
    “Just do your job.”
    “And save your ass like in Italy?”
    “There are two opinions on that.”
    “Yours and everyone else’s?”
    “Oh, you’re a master comedian.”
    “Yeah, I’m doing Vegas next week,” said Fisher. “Look, I’d love to trade bon mots with you, but I’m dying for a smoke. Where do I find the pilot of the F/A-22. Howe, right?”
    “Who says you’re talking to Colonel Howe?” Gorman’s cheeks not only colored red but seemed to rise on her face. “I just went through the various assignments.