The Project 04 - Black Harvest

anything. He can't act without it."
    "But you and I know Lodge is, how do you say, over the line. There are obvious solutions."
    "This is America. I can't remove Lodge the way you removed Gelashvili. Besides, there's Dansinger. There are others. It's a conspiracy. It has to broken open."
    "What do you propose?"
    "Perhaps we can work together." She thought about what to say.
    "This man is head of your CIA. You say you would work with us against him. Forgive me, I find this difficult to believe."
    "Whoever sent us that video believes it."
    "How do you see it, this working together?"
    "I need a secure line of communication to Vysotsky. I want cooperation if my operatives have to enter Russian territory or spheres of influence. A guarantee nothing will be done against Lodge. Time to deal with this."
    "You are asking for a lot, Director."
    "I am in a much better position to do this than you are. If you practice your style of removal against Lodge it will complicate things. Leave him to me. Anything I learn about Demeter I will pass on to you."
    "Your Pentagon may be involved."
    "That remains to be seen. I want to be clear about something. I will do nothing to compromise our security. Be certain of that."
    Lamont had stopped feeding the birds. Now he appeared to be taking a nap. He had heard every word of the conversation on his earpiece.
    Yakov stood. "I will pass your proposal to General Vysotsky, Director."
    As if he didn't already know, she thought. Yakov is probably wired right to Vysotsky's office in Moscow.
    She took a card from her pocket and handed it to him. "This number is secure. It will reach me at any time."
    "You will hear from us." Yakov made a slight bow and walked away.
    Lamont got up and walked over.
    "You think they'll cooperate?"
    "I don't know. It's in their best interests."
    "Never thought we'd get in bed with the Russians."
    "Bad analogy, Lamont. It's a chess game, not a one night stand."
    "Whatever you say, Director. As long as we're not the ones who end up getting screwed."

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

    A silver and blue Lear Jet turned at the end of Dansinger's private runway and taxied toward a sun-baked hanger. A white limousine waited near the hanger doors. DCI Lodge gazed out the port window. The Texas panhandle stretched away into shimmering, hazy distance.
    Dansinger's research compound took up several hundred acres. It was surrounded by a tall metal fence topped with razor wire. Signs picturing a red lightning bolt marked the fence at regular intervals. Rows of large, identical one story buildings marched along one side. Each was painted light tan. Each had a rounded green metal roof. A perfect grid of paved roads separated the buildings. A black security vehicle patrolled between them. It reminded Lodge favorably of a concentration camp, except the buildings concentrated plants, not people.
    Harold Dansinger waited by the limo as Lodge descended from the plane. He looked tan and fit under his white Stetson.
    "Wendell, good to see you. Smooth flight?"
    "Very smooth, Harold, thanks. I'm looking forward to our meeting."
    "I think you'll be pleased."
    A driver held the door for them. They got in the back of the car. Dansinger pushed a button. An opaque partition rose behind the driver.
    "We can talk freely."
    "Demeter?"
    "We're waiting for the spring planting to take hold. Another week or so should be about right. We monitor the area daily."
    Lodge nodded. "Efficient. It's one of the things I appreciate about you, Harold."
    The limo drove toward one of the buildings. Each was the length of a football field and half again as wide. The car turned right and then left. It continued toward the back of a building with a large number 1 painted on the side. The car stopped by a plain door. Lodge and Dansinger got out. Dansinger slid a card through a slotted reader and opened the door.
    They entered a room like executive boardrooms everywhere, except there were no windows. A long, polished table of wood. Comfortable leather chairs. An overhead projector mounted on the ceiling. Lighting that illuminated without being intrusive. Walls papered in soothing tones. Thick carpet on the floor. A remote control rested on the table.
    Dansinger walked to a large sideboard of polished oak. It was set with decanters and glasses of cut crystal.
    "Drink?"
    "Single malt, if you've got it. Neat."
    "I'll join you." Dansinger poured the drinks. The two men sat down.
    "I've prepared a short presentation for you. I thought