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ce little plum for somebody。〃
〃Yep。〃
〃Good thing all the guys in our shop are honest。〃
Fritsche sat silently； weighing that remark； Jake supposed。 〃I guess our people are like everyone else；〃 Fritsche said at last； without inflection。 〃People are pretty generally alike all over。〃
〃Why was Strong killed？〃
〃Don't know。〃
〃Any ideas？〃
〃Some。 But I keep them to myself。 I try not to gossip。 There are laws against slander。〃
Jake Grafton stood and brushed off the seat of his trousers。 〃A river of money flowing along in front of a bunch of guys on middle…class salaries； a bunch of guys all humping to keep their bills paid until they get middle…class pensions and form letters of appreciation from the government。 Everybody's honest。 Nobody's tempted。 Makes me want to salute the fucking flag and hum a march。〃 He looked down at Fritsche。
〃I have no facts； Captain；〃 the scientist said。 〃None。〃
Jake looked around； trying to think of something to say。 He gave up and strolled up the hill to the trees； where he relieved himself。 Somehow aboard ship things had been simpler； more clear。 On his way back to the wooden building he saw the car returning with Harold at the wheel。
The redhead had the radar fired up in less than a minute。 With Fritsche and Jake looking over his shoulder； he flipped switches。 〃This is its target…acquisition…its search…mode。 And that blip right there is the tabernacle。〃 He pointed。 Jake stared at the return a moment； then stepped a few paces to his right and looked around the shed at the scene。 The radar in the shed made a variety of mechanical noises and he could hear the antenna banging back and forth against its stops。 Now he referred again to the radar scope； which was American； not Soviet。 Okay； there was the tabernacle； the house beyond and to the right； the trees on the left。。。
〃Now；〃 said the young Dodgers； 〃step over there again and wave your arms at my dad。 Then he'll fire up the suppressor。〃 Jake did as requested and returned to the scope。 Even as he watched； the blip that was the tabernacle faded from the screen； along with the ground return in the area beyond。 Where the blip had been was merely a blank spot with no return at all…
〃Try the frequency agility；〃 Fritsche suggested。 Harold flipped another switch and then turned a dial。 The tabernacle became faintly visible as a ghost image。 〃As he changes frequency on the Owl Screech； the puter on the suppressor is trying to keep up；〃 Fritsche explained to Jake； 〃so he sees this ghost image； which is not enough to lock on to。 And remember； this is an American scope； more sensitive than Soviet scopes。〃
〃I'm impressed。〃
〃Go to a higher PRF and try to lock on the spot where we know the tabernacle is；〃 Fritsche said to Harold。 'Try the expanded display。〃
Nothing。 The radar failed to lock。 The center of the presentation was an empty black spot。
After a long silence； Fritsche spoke softly； almost as if he were afraid of his own thoughts。 〃If we could implement this technique at optical wavelengths you wouldn't even be able to see that building down there with the naked eye。〃
〃You mean you could see right through it？〃
〃No； it would look like a black hole。 Nothing would e back from it。 But no one is going to have that kind of technology until well into the next century。〃
〃For heaven's sake；〃 said a stunned Jake Grafton； 〃let's just get the bugs worked out of this and get it to sea。 That's more than enough for you and me。〃
The phone on Luis Camacho's desk rang at noon on Tuesday as he was eating a tuna salad sandwich。 He had mayonnaise on his fingers and managed to smear it on the telephone。 〃Camacho。〃
〃Luis； this is Bob Pickering。 Could you take a few minutes now and e down to my office？ I have some folks here I would like you to meet。〃
Camacho wrapped the half sandwich that remained and stuck it in his lower desk drawer； which he locked without thinking。 Every drawer and cabinet in his office was always locked unless he was taking something out or putting something in。 It was a habit。
Camacho knew Pickering； but not well。 Pickering worked the District of Columbia and routinely handled walk…ins。 〃Luis； this is Mrs。 Matilda Jackson and Mr。 Ralph Barber。 Luis Camacho。〃 As they shook hands； Pickering added； 〃Mr。 Barber's an attorney with Ferguson and Waithe。〃 Ferguson and Waithe was one of the District's larger firms； almost two hundred lawyers； and specialized in federal regulatory matters。
Pickering summarized Mrs。 Jackson's adventures of the previous Friday evening while Camacho glanced at the visitors。 He concluded； 〃Based on past experience； Mrs。 Jackson felt that the District police may not be sympathetic to a plaint from her； so she went to Mr。 Barber； her former boss； yesterday； and he thought she should e see us。〃
Barber was in his fifties； still wearing his topcoat and white silk scarf。 Apparently he hoped this interview would be brief。 Mrs。 Jackson still had her coat around her too； but its faded cloth contrasted sharply with the blue mohair that kept the spring winds from the lawyer's plump frame。
〃The neighborhood used to be someplace a person could be proud of；〃 Mrs。 Jackson said slowly。 〃But those crack houses and dealers on the corners。。。 The police have got to do something！〃
〃We felt that the information and evidence Mrs。 Jackson has would probably receive a more dispassionate look from the FBI。〃 The counselor gestured toward the edge of Pickering's desk； upon which lay a roll of film and a clear plastic baggie containing a crumpled cigarette pack。
〃I thought you might want to send these to the lab；〃 Pickering told Luis。 〃I'll do the report and send you a copy。 We'll get back to you in a few days； Mrs。 Jackson。 One of us will。 Right now we need to get a set of your fingerprints to pare with whatever is on that cigarette pack。 Just in case； you understand。〃
Camacho jotted the report number on a piece of paper from Pickering's desk； then excused himself。 Curious about the two items he carried； he walked them straight to the lab and logged them in。 Tomorrow afternoon； he was told。 After three…
The Consolidated Technologies prototype had a hangar all to itself in Palmdale。 As Jake stood and looked about the cavernous interior； he was surrounded by engineers and vice presidents； at least twenty people all told。 The vice presidents all wore business suits； but the engineers seemed fond of short…sleeved white shirts with dark ties。 If that garb didn't announce their profession； they all sported nerd buckets…plastic shirt…pocket protectors full of pens and pencils； from which dangled their building passes。 Solar…powered calculators rested in belt holsters on engineers and vice presidents alike。
The black airplane had a conventional dual nose wheel with the nose tow bar that enabled it to be launched by catapult； but that was about the only feature Jake found familiar。 The rounded wings were situated well back on the fuselage and a canard protruded under each side of the canopy。 Two vertical stabilizers canted inboard rose from the rear of the fuselage。 The engine air intakes were on top of the plane； behind the cockpit； which seated two crewmen in tandem。
The senio