The admiral raised his eyebrows, and Canning felt himself smile almost naturally as he continued.

“We’ve set up a fallback lab that uses its own hydro generators, and if they do find this one, it won’t tell them much—unless they pick up some of our personnel, of course. But even if they do, none of the equipment was made in the Republic. In fact, most of it was built by… a certain Manticoran merchant cartel, shall we say?” He paused, and this time it was the admiral’s turn to smile faintly in understanding. “More importantly, the local security man and the techs operating it are also Manticoran, and they have no idea they’re working for us. They believe they’re working for a domestic criminal syndicate. We’ve had to bring in some of our own people to operate the backup lab if it comes to that, but even there, almost all the equipment was manufactured in Manticore. Finally, we’ve had our Manticoran fall guys maintaining a meticulous set of books for their fictitious employers. If the NPA hits the lab, they’ll find records the people working in the lab fully believe to be genuine and which point directly away from us.”

“I see,” the admiral repeated. His finger drew idle patterns on the map, and his smile faded as he frowned down at it. Then he tapped a spot far south of the vast plateau. “And the main site?”

“Completely secure, Sir,” Canning said confidently. “Every bit of it’s underground, and there’s never been any direct contact between it and either of our lab facilities, even by air. Every shipment’s routed through this staging area—” his own finger tapped a spot well to the west “—and shipped in from there on the ground using Stilty caravaneers. In addition, Colonel Westerfeldt’s on-site personnel were all very carefully chosen for deniability, even if the NPA should stumble right over them. Unlike our backup lab techs, all of them are Manticorans with long criminal records, and none of them knows exactly whom the colonel is working for.”

“Indeed.” The admiral cocked his head, then allowed a fresh smile, much stronger than the first, to cross his own face. “I may, perhaps, have been overly pessimistic, Mr. Canning. You seem to have built in more security than I’d anticipated.”

“It wasn’t all my doing,” Canning replied. “As I say, Colonel Westerfeldt’s our field man here, and your own people, picked an excellent cover for Coglin’s presence. And, of course, Ambassador Gowan has actually coordinated most of the operation from Manticore.” He hid an inner smirk as the admiral nodded. Gowan was a very big fish, a retired Dolist manager with powerful friends back home on Haven. It never hurt to spread the credit (and any potential blame) over broader shoulders than one’s own, and even NavInt would hesitate to antagonize Gowan.

“So,” the admiral said after a moment, crossing back to his chair to reclaim his drink. He sipped thoughtfully, staring out the office windows into the night and the floodlit brightness of the consulate’s grounds. “Your ground-side security is in better shape than I’d feared, but that still leaves the orbital side wide open, and that’s where this Harrington can hurt us worst.”