“Come to your senses, Colonel. What good would dredging up old memories do them? The crew’s parents are probably long since dead. Wives have remarried. Children raised by new fathers. Let all concerned go about their present lives in peace.”

“There’s still the cargo,” Steiger said. “The possibility exists that Vixen O3’s cargo included nuclear warheads.”

106 VIXEN 03p>

“We’ve been all through that,” snapped O’Keefe. “A thorough computer search through military-storehouse records confirmed that there are no missing warheads. Every piece of atomic hardware beginning with the bomb dropped on Hiroshima can be accounted for.”

“Are you also aware, sir, that nuclear material was, and is still, shipped in stainless-steel canisters?”

“And did it also occur to you, Colonel,” said Burgdorf, “that the canisters you say you found might be empty?”

Steiger sagged in his chair, beaten. He might as well have been debating with the wind. They were treating him like an overimaginative child who claimed he’d seen an elephant in a Minnesota cornfield.

“And if that actually is the same aircraft that was supposed to have vanished over the Pacific,” added Burgdorf, “I think it best to let sleeping dogs lie.”

“Sir?”

“The grim reasons behind the aircraft’s tremendous course differential may not be something the Air Force wishes to publicize. Consider the probabilities. To fly a thousand miles in the opposite direction takes either the total malfunction of at least five different instrument systems aided by the blind stupidity of the crew, a navigator who lost his marbles, or a plot by the entire crew to steal the airplane, for what purpose God only knows.”

“But somebody must have authorized the flight orders,” said Steiger, puzzled.

“Somebody did,” said O’Keefe. “The original orders were issued at Travis Air Force Base, in California, by a Colonel Michael Irwin.”

Steiger looked at the general skeptically. “Flight orders are seldom kept on file more than a few months. How is it possible the ones in question were retained for over thirty years?”

O’Keefe shrugged. “Don’t ask me how, Colonel. Take my word for it: Vixen 03’s last flight plan turned up in old files at the Travis administration office.”

“And the orders I found in the wreckage?”

“Accept the inevitable,” said Burgdorf. “The papers you pulled out of that Colorado lake were too far gone to decipher with any degree of accuracy. You simply read something into them that wasn’t there.”

“As far as I’m concerned,” O’Keefe said resolutely, “the explanation for Vixen O3’s course deviation is a dead issue.” He turned to Burgdorf. “You agree, General?”

“I do.”

Salvage I 107

O’Keefe stared at Steiger. “Do you have anything else you’d like to put before us, Colonel?”