Chapter 2

THE STENCILED LETTERS on the translucent glass door read Lieut. (jg) Tom Smith, USN, Missile Security Section. Then, in larger letters, it proudly stated Office of Naval Intelligence.

“I just don’t get it,” Lieutenant Smith said. He sat at his desk in full uniform, scratching his bright red hair.

The phone rang beside him, but he ignored it. He couldn’t afford to be distracted at this crucial moment as he studied the missile plans, trying to fathom how this design was different from the thousand similar plans he had approved for massive funding requests.

Two well-dressed civilian contractors fidgeted in front of him, looking at each other through narrowed eyes, as if afraid Smith might catch them at a prank. Both contractors carried other blueprints tucked under their arms.

“It’s perfectly simple, Lieutenant Smith,” one contractor said, seemingly perplexed that Smith did not grab the phone as it rang a second time. “The design is exactly the same as all the other ones you approved, only different.”

“Then why do we have to fund new development, if this one’s exactly the same?” Smith asked in confusion.

“It’s substantially modified,” the second contractor answered smugly.

“I don’t know, gentlemen,” Smith told the contractors, smoothing the curled edges of the blueprints spread out on his neat, military-issue gray desk. A List of Things to Do Today sat next to the IN box; very few of the items on the list had been checked off.

As if miffed at being summarily ignored, the phone rang a third time.

“There are so many new developments that I can’t keep them straight.” He gestured toward the corner of his office, where a drawing board groaned under the strain of heaped plans for new missile systems. The blueprints awaited his approvals, or revisions, or signatures, before they could be filed.

The first contractor reached forward to point at intricate lines scrawled on the blueprint. “Lieutenant Smith, you must admit this missile system is secure.”

The second contractor exulted with an eager grin, “This modified design is so complex, it takes twelve years of college for anyone to operate it! The new concept is a testament to how much respect we hold for the education and intelligence of our proud men in uniform.”

Smith shook his head and looked up at them, bewildered. “But I can’t make head nor tail of it.”

“Exactly, that’s the point!” the first contractor said. “Completely secure. You’re one of our most capable men, and if this system baffles you, imagine how it will confound our enemies! No enemy agent will ever be able to thwart this system, and our nation will be safe.”

Smith continued to look up at the first contractor. “Then how can we use it, if nobody can understand it?”

The first contractor said patiently, tucking additional rolled blueprints under his arm, “You just push this red button, and the system handles the rest! Look, Lieutenant Smith, nobody is asking you to understand it. As a Naval Intelligence officer, all you have to do is stamp it approved!”

Smith frowned down at the plan, shaking his head. “If only the instructors at the Naval Academy had talked about these missiles a little more . . .”

He sighed deeply and picked up a rubber stamp, flipping it over to read APPROVED in reverse letters. Then he rummaged in his desk drawer for an inking pad, before finally banging the stamp haphazardly on the blueprint.

Jubilant, the two contractors whisked away the plan. Without bothering to roll the blueprint they rushed out the door, heading down the hall to the next office, where they would go through the same process with another set of plans and another Naval Intelligence officer with another rubber stamp.

Smith stared after the contractors, sighed deeply again, then finally noticed the incessantly ringing phone. He snatched up the handset, pressing it to his ear. “Yes? How may I help you?”

“Is this Lieutenant Smith?” a woman’s voice asked. He thought he heard a crisp Cuban accent in her words.

“Yes,” Smith answered.

“Lieutenant Tom Smith?” she continued. “Junior grade?”

“Yes.”

“Office of Naval Intelligence?”

“Yes.”

“Missile Security Section?”

“Yes, yes. Is this a sales call?” He looked forlornly down at his List of Things to Do Today.

“We just wanted to be absolutely certain, Lieutenant Smith. This is your lucky day — we have some exciting news for you, señor.”

Brightening, Smith pulled himself closer to his desk. “What is it? Who’s calling?”

“This is Maria calling from, uh, Pan-Latin Airways. Congratulations! You have just won our contest.” Despite her attempts to sound like an American professional public relations specialist, the singsong quality of her voice carried an underlying coldness.

“I have?” Smith asked. “But I don’t even enter contests. I never gamble.”

“This is a contest you don’t have to enter,” Maria said. “You were the millionth person to enter the World Trade Center this month.”

“There must be some mistake,” Smith said, flipping back through the calendar on his desk. “I’ve never even been to the World Trade Center.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You should go there — I hear it’s a wonderful place.” He heard Maria shuffling papers. “Ah, sorry, you were the millionth person to enter the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine.”

“I’ve never been there either. What city is that in?”

Maria’s voice became deeper, colder, very deadly. “You were the millionth person to pass Forty-Second and Broadway.”

“Look, I—”

“Señor, you won, do you hear? You won!” Her voice began to rise and become more frantic: “I don’t know how you won, I’m just trying to do my job. Why are you giving me such a hard time? Do you want me to cry or something?” She sounded close to hysterics. “Oh, my God, now my supervisor is looking at me! Are you trying to get me fired?”

“Oh,” Smith said, finally coming to his senses. “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble. I’m so sorry.”

“Look, Mr. Smith, just be happy. You’re name is at the top of the list. You won a trip, and everyone else won little marshmallow candies shaped like skulls to help them celebrate the day of the dead. You’re the big lucky winner, okay? The big man. Everybody is going to envy you!”

Smith seemed taken aback. “Uh, okay, what did I win? I’ve never won anything before.”

Maria’s voice became bright and happy again. “You have won an all-expense-paid three-day tour to the beautiful country of Colodor in South America. The finest hotels, the best cuisine. Three marvelous days in the beautiful capital city of Santa Isabel! You lucky, lucky boy! So just pick up your tickets at Pan-Latin Airways and away you go!”

Smith looked at the phone, excited but then curious. “Colodor? Santa Isabel? I’ve never heard of it.”

“Ah, señor, Colodor is the pearl of South America! Lovely, lush, full of scenery and culture. And Santa Isabel has much history and interesting architecture.”

“If you say so, but it still doesn’t even sound like a real country. In fact, it sounds like something made up for a pulp-fiction adventure story.”

“Now, now, don’t be ridiculous,” Maria said, her voice soothing. “How could you win a trip to a country that doesn’t exist? It is a very important country in South America. I should know: My brother runs the Department of Education there — and also the Department of Plumbing and Insect Control!”

He swiveled in his chair and squinted closely at the large map of the world on his wall. Smith had joined the Navy to be more like his hero, Admiral Nelson, exploring the vast world on majestic sailing ships, defending the British Empire. Smith hadn’t really anticipated sitting at a desk and stamping blueprints for his entire career.

“I’m looking at my map right now, miss, and I don’t see Colodor anywhere in South America.” He was more perplexed than suspicious.

“It is near Colombia and Ecuador,” Maria answered smoothly, “but unfortunately the mapmakers’ union has been on strike. You won’t find Colodor shown on many charts. A very messy situation with the Ministry of Mapmaking. My family has nothing to do with that, I swear!”

“Oh, that explains it,” Smith said, relieved. He jotted down the information he needed to pick up his prize tickets, thanked Maria politely, and then hung up the phone.

In a blessed moment of silence, Smith stared over at the stack of incomprehensible blueprints on his drawing board. Then, with a wistful glance over his shoulder, he focused on the map of South America again, imagining where the mysterious Colodor might be located.

He threw the whole pile of blueprints off his drawing board, stood up, and straightened his uniform jacket before walking out the door. He would just have to see the place for himself!

* * *

Back in the Operations Office deep in Morro Castle, Maria narrowed her dark eyes and gave a deadly nod to the Russian and Cuban colonels. “Lieutenant Tom Smith has fallen right into our clutches.”

Colonel Enrique let out a whoop. “Ai! Plan G is at last underway!” He clapped a congratulatory hand on his bearlike comrade’s broad shoulder. “Make sure Bolo is ready to do his part.”

Colonel Ivan beamed, raising his bushy eyebrows. “Da, the switch will be a success.” He snapped shut his briefcase. “Now, about those cigars, Comrade Enrique?”