The transmission of data was simplicity itself: The rays of the sun were reflected by mirrors toward the command post. Operating the lever blocked the reflected sunlight. Momentarily removing the blocking bar sent a Morse code “dot.” Holding the lever down a little longer sent a “dash.”
Sending data in this manner had been, of course, a lengthy process, but it had been infinitely faster than sending a trooper galloping across the plains to report the hostiles had been located.
If the minutemen had had something like the cavalry signaling device, Colonel Davenport thought, it would have been unnecessary for Paul Revere to gallop out of Boston crying, “One if by land, two if by sea!”
He also theorized that the cavalry had probably used two, three, or an infinite number of the signaling devices in series. That is, when the scouting party’s device was out of line of sight with its headquarters, devices were set up on hills in between so that sun flashes could be relayed from one signaling device to another. That would require, of course, that the data sent would have to be recorded at an intermediate station and then retransmitted.
That would take a good deal of time, of course, but it was still a hell of a lot faster than having a trooper gallop back carrying the message. And, of course, the flashing of sunlight was far faster than the Indian’s means of long-range communication, holding a blanket or deer skin over a smoky fire and sending smoke in bursts into the air.
For his part, Sergeant Lewis was not surprised that all the green LEDs were up when he looked nor, twelve seconds later, when two amber LEDs flashed, telling him the message had been delivered to the designated addressee and that decryption of same had been successful.
This was pretty good goddamned gear. State of the art. Lewis knew for a fact that the Army didn’t have anything like it; that Special Forces gear, while good, wasn’t as good as this stuff, which only went to Delta and Gray Fox.
This stuff came right from the R&D labs of AFC, Inc., in Nevada. There was a story that the guy who ran AFC, and who got this stuff to Delta and Gray Fox, had once been the commo sergeant on an A-Team in Vietnam. That sounded like bullshit—God knows, half the stories you heard about stuff like this were bullshit—but it was sort of nice to think it might be true.
Thirty seconds after the amber LEDs flashed, a yellow LED began to flash. Sergeant Lewis pushed the RECEIVE VOICE button and, three seconds later, a blue LED flashed a few times and then remained illuminated.
“Stand by for voice, Colonel,” Sergeant Lewis said as he put a small earphone in his ear.
Lieutenant Colonel Davenport put a similar earphone in place, then moved a small microphone in front of his lips.
"You reading me, One-Oh-One?” the voice of Lieutenant General Bruce J. McNab asked.
"Five-by-five, sir.”
There was a delay of about seven seconds, during which time Colonel Davenport’s words were digitalized, encrypted, transmitted into space, retransmitted from space, decrypted, and played in General McNab’s ear, and then General McNab’s reply went through the same process.
“Good show, One-Oh-One,” McNab’s voice said in Davenport ’s ear. “Pass the word. I’m working on getting you picked up at first light. So . . .”
The voice shut off abruptly.
Encrypting and transmitting voice communication was somewhat more difficult than doing so with data and the communications equipment had certain limits.
Seven seconds later, the message resumed.
“. . . get Sergeant Lewis sober and out of the whorehouse by then. Bring the souvenirs. More follows in one hour. Acknowledge. Scotty out.”
Sergeant Lewis was known as Gray Fox’s designated driver and his devotion to his wife was reg
arded with something close to awe by his peers.
“Acknowledged,” Colonel Davenport said into his microphone. “One-Oh-Two, I say again, One-Oh-Two out.”
Sergeant Lewis looked at Colonel Davenport.
“Sir, the general knows that I don’t use that stuff anymore and . . .”
“If I were you, Sergeant, I would take the general’s comments as a compliment.”
“Yeah,” Sergeant Lewis said after a moment, and then he asked, “This was your one hundred and second Halo?”
“After the first one hundred, they get a little easier to do,” Colonel Davenport said.
[FIVE]
Office of the Secretary of Defense The Pentagon Arlington, Virginia 1710 9 June 2005
Mrs. Teresa Slater, who was forty-two, naturally blond, pleasantly buxom, stylishly dressed, and who had worked for the Honorable Frederick K. Beiderman, the United States secretary of defense, for half of her life—Beiderman had brought her with him from the Ford Motor Company and, quietly, and perhaps illegally, personally made up the substantial difference between what he had made Ford pay her and what the government paid her now—put her head in his office door.