"We need to shore up our end of things," Nimec resumed, choosing his words with care. "Those new robot sentries we're using at the Brazilian ISS plant are fine and dandy, but well-trained manpower's the foundation of any security operation. We need to beef up our force strength and tighten the organizational structure there. And that really ought to go double for the Russians in Kazakhstan." He paused. "I only wish Starinov wasn't under parliamentary heat to keep us out of the loop. You'd expect our saving his skin a few years ago would help on that front, but it's actually worked against us. Seems his government has made proving it can look out for itself a point of nationalistic pride. Typical paranoid Russkie thinking, you ask me. Give them another two centuries and they still won't have gotten over Napoleon taking Moscow."

"As if we'll ever forget it was one of their politicians who ordered Times Square leveled at the turn of the millennium."

"Not to be compared. Pedachenko was a rogue and a traitor to his own country. And last I heard, Napoleon wasn't an American--"

Megan raised her hand. "Wait, Pete. We can get into all that later if you want. But there's something you said a second ago ... were you implying that you suspect the shuttle explosion wasn't an accident?"

"No," he said. "Nor do I see any cause to be suspicious. But I like to be ready."

"And you honestly feel Tom Ricci's the best person to get things in shape?"

Nimec paused again, no stranger to her skepticism in connection with Ricci.

"I appreciate your reservations and agree he's a long shot," he said. "But you ought to keep an open mind. At least meet the guy before ruling him out as a candidate for the job."

She frowned. "Pete, I'm sure Ricci's a good man, and if I wasn't willing to give him a fair shake I wouldn't be here. But if we've learned anything from Russia and Malaysia, it's that UpLink's global enterprises can put us smack in the middle of some incredibly volatile political situations. You and Vince Scull have both insisted we need to raise our security force to a higher level of performance so we can adequately respond next time we're caught in the cross fire. I'm just agreeing with you, and proposing that someone with a less, shall we say, checkered background would be best qualified to implement the changes that have to be made."

Nimec furrowed his brow. He'd heard her argument before, and certainly acknowledged that it had a degree of merit. But ...

But what? Was he simply being mulish insisting that Ricci had what it took to help restructure a world-spanning organization that was, as Megan had suggested, increasingly coming to resemble the military in style and scope?

Surprised by his own doubts, Nimec gave the matter a rest and concentrated on his driving. The lake area behind him now, he made a left turn off Route 3 in the town of Belfast and got onto U.S.1 northbound, crossing the bridge that spanned the harbor inlet, then heading on along the coast. Here the roadside junk dealers were shuffled in with restaurants and summer resorts and had obvious upscale pretensions, their deliberately quaint shop fronts geared toward tourists rather than hardscrabble locals. Most had the word ANTIQUES hand-painted across their windows in ornate lettering. Many were closed for the winter. The motels, inns, and cottages were also battened down for the dregs of the season, their lawn signs wishing patrons a happy and joyful Christmas and inviting them back after Memorial Day.