33
THE RED PHONE
NSA Headquarters.
“Sir, we’ve got a bead on the flatbed truck out of coastal Pakistan!” Anne, an analyst with long brunette hair, yelled from across the room.
“What? Bring it up on screen two,” Uncle Bill said. “Whose satellite imagery is this?”
“The Aussies’, sir. The images are coming up now.”
“God, I love those people. Okay, okay. How old are these images?”
“They were captured a couple of hours ago.”
“Damn, well, we take what we can get. How sure are we that this is our truck?”
“Looks like our truck, sir,” Knuckles said. “Let’s zoom up a little closer on that. Cade, you got the controls there, pal? Yeah, look. Same make and model flatbed. And look at the bed. Looks just like what we’d expect. It’s carrying something long and tubular, covered up by a huge canvas
