"Stop," he said. "I surrender. Stop."
Ruby took a deep breath. She was ready to deliver the second fusillade when Smith called her name sharply.
"Ruby,"
She stopped.
Smith glanced at Stantington. "I imagine you would feel better speaking to me alone."
Stantington nodded.
"Would you all mind waiting outside?" Smith said.
When the office had cleared, Dr. Smith motioned Admiral Stantington to a seat on the sofa. There were no chairs in the office but the one behind Smith's desk.
Stantington said, "Suppose you begin by telling me what this is all about."
Smith looked at him coolly, then shook his head. "You seem to have forgotten, Admiral. You wanted to talk to me."
"And you had me brought here in a plastic bag," Stantington said. "That merits me an explanation."
"Chalk it up to employee overexuberance," Smith said, "and it merits you absolutely nothing. Please state your business,"
"I've been kidnaped, you know," Stantington persisted. "That isn't exactly a laughing matter."
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"No," Smith agreed slowly. "But you would be if you ever mentioned it. Being taken out of your office in a Hefty bag. Your business, please?"
Stantington stared hard at Smith who sat, ceramic-still. Finally, the CIA director sighed.
"I ran across your name in our files," he said.
"That's right. I was once with the company," Smith said.
"This was in connection with something called Project Omega."
Smith moved forward onto the edge of his seat.
"What about Project Omega ?" he asked.
"That's what I want to know. What in the hell is it?"
"It really doesn't concern you," Smith said.
"It costs me almost five million a year out of my budget and it doesn't concern me? Agents sitting around three hundred sixty-five days a year playing cards and it doesn't concern me? One telephone call a day to a little old lady in Atlanta, Georgia, and it doesn't concern me?"
"Have you been tampering with Project Omega?" Smith asked. His eyes were narrowed and his voice was frozen.
"I've done more than tamper," Stantington said hotly. "I put those slackers out of business."
"You did what?"
"I cancelled the project. Fired the agents. Closed it down."
"You imbecile," Smith said. "You arrogant, cement-headed imbecile."
"Just a minute, Doctor," Stantington began.
"We may not have a minute, thanks to your
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bumbling," Smith said. "Did the President authorize closing- down Project Omega?"
"Not exactly."
"Weren't you aware that there is a notation in the CIA's permanent records that Project Omega can be closed down only on the specific written authoriziation of the President of the United States?"
Stantington thought about the CIA file room, the shambles of papers and records strewn about the floor.
"But that's right," Smith said in disgust. "You couldn't find anything in your files, could you? Not after you decided to make the CIA into some kind of exercise in participatory democracy and your record system was destroyed."
"How did you know about that?" Stantington asked.
"That's immaterial," Smith said, "and not germane to this conversation which involves your other most recent lunacy in dealing with Project Omega."
"Since it's been closed down," Stantington said, "two Russian diplomats have been killed. The Russians are blaming it on us. They say that both assassins were on our payroll."
"That's right," said Smith. "They were." He spun around in his chair and looked out the oneway windows toward the Sound. "And that's not the worst of it. The Russian premier is on the hit list, too."
"Oh, my god," Stantington said. He slumped back in the couch. "How can we stop it?"
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Smith turned back. His face still showed no emotion.
"We can't," he said. "Once Project Omega has been set in motion, it can't be stopped."
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CHAPTER SIX
A faint buzz seemed to come from under Smith's desk. As Stantington watched, the thin man reached under his desk to press a button. A desk drawer opened and Smith reached into it and lifted out a telephone receiver.
"Yes, sir," he said.