scoonts.theminotaur-第34节

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owing　women　as　he　did；　he　knew　he　had　a　while　to　wait。
　〃Who's　the　hunk？〃　Harriet　demanded　of　Rita　in　the　bedroom。
　〃A　friend。〃
　〃What　about　Ogden？　He's　called　twice　this　week　wanting　to　know　when　you'd　be　home。　I　told　him　you'd　call　him　this　evening。〃　Ogden　was　an　attorney　at　a　large　Washington　law　firm　whom　Rita　had　been　dating。
　Rita　opened　her　suitcase　on　the　bed　and　began　to　empty　it。　She　separated　her　dirty　clothes　from　the　clean　ones；　working　quickly。
　〃I'll　call　Ogden　tomorrow。〃
　Harriet　eased　the　bedroom　door　open　and　peeked　at　Toad　sprawled　on　the　couch。　〃He's　a　live　one；　all　right。〃　she　said　after　she　had　eased　the　door　shut　again。　〃Navy？〃
　〃Yep。〃
　Harriet　sat　cross…legged　on　her　bed。　〃Are　you　sure　about　this；　Rita？　Ogden's　a　pretty　great　guy。　He's　athletic；　rich　parents；　good　future；　madly　in…〃
　〃He　wasn't　the　one。　I'm　sure。〃
　Harriet　pounced。　〃And　this　guy？　Is　he　the　one？〃
　〃Maybe。〃　Rita　removed　the　pins　that　held　her　hair　against　the　back　of　her　head　and　shook　it　out。　〃He　might　be。　He　almost　got　away。〃　She　grinned　and　attacked　her　hair　with　a　brush。　〃Reeled　him　in　on　the　plane　this　afternoon。〃
　〃This　afternoon？〃
　〃And　I'm　going　over　to　his　apartment　to　spend　the　night。〃
　Harriet　flopped　back　on　her　bed　and　pointed　her　legs　at　the　ceiling；　toes　extended。　〃Well；　no　one　can　say　you're　just　jumping　right　into　bed　with　him。　My　God；　you've　stifled　your　hormones　and　female　appetites　for　an　entire　afternoon。。。　it's　positively　Victorian。　This　will　set　the　sexual　revolution　back　a　hundred　years　if　it　gets　out。〃　She　lowered　her　legs　and　propped　her　head　on　one　arm。　〃Why　not　let　it　cool　off　a　quarter　of　a　degree；　Rita？　A　week。。。〃
　Rita　Moravia　shook　her　head。
　〃You've　got　it　bad；　huh？〃
　〃Yep。〃
　
　〃Luis；〃　his　wife　called　from　the　top　of　the　stairs。　〃Harlan　is　here。〃
　〃Send　him　down。〃
　Mrs。　Camacho　smiled　at　her　next…door　neighbor　and　said；　〃He's　in　the　basement　watching　a　basketball　game。　As　usual。〃
　〃I　thought　he　might　be；〃　Harlan　said；　smiled　and　descended　the　staircase。
　〃Hey；　Harlan。　Great　game。　Boston　College　and　West　Virginia。　BCs　ahead　by　a　bucket。〃
　〃Do　you　men　want　a　beer？〃　Mrs。　Camacho　calling　down　from　the　kitchen。
　〃Thanks　anyway；　honey。〃　They　heard　her　close　the　door　at　the　top　of　the　stairs。
　Harlan　Albright　sank　into　a　chair　near　Camacho。　He　extracted　a　pack　of　Marlboros　from　his　pocket　and　lit　one。　〃Catching　any　spies？〃
　〃Got　Matilda　Jackson's　photos　back　from　the　lab　yesterday　afternoon。　She's　got　one　of　Vasily　Pochinkov；　the　assistant　agricultural　whosis　at　the　embassy。　So　we've　burned　him。　I'm　trying　to　get　surveillance　approved。　And　sure　enough；　Mrs。　Jackson　had　Franklin's　drop　message。　The　puter　guys　should　decide　it's　the　Pentagon　by　tomorrow。〃
　〃Better　tell　me　all　of　it。〃　Albright　stared　at　the　television　as　Camacho　went　through　the　initial　interview　with　Mrs。　Jackson　and　her　attorney；　the　lab　report；　the　interview　with　Mrs。　Jackson　today　at　her　house。　When　Camacho　was　finished；　Albright　lit　another　cigarette。　〃Is　there　a　crack　house　across　the　street？〃
　〃Apparently。　One　of　my　men　was　going　to　check　the　D。C。　police　mug　books。　We'll　have　names　and　rap　sheets　by　tomorrow；　probably。〃
　〃But　there's　no　way　to　tie　this　in　with　the　crack　gang？〃
　〃You　know　there　isn't。〃
　〃Did　Mrs。　Jackson　ever　see　Franklin？〃　Luis　Camacho　rubbed　his　chin　thoughtfully。　〃I'm　not　sure。　She　may　have　and　doesn't　remember。　She　said　she'd　think　about　it。〃
　〃What　do　you　think？〃
　〃How　many　times　has　he　been　to　that　drop？〃
　〃Five。〃
　He　considered。　〃I　think　she's　probably　seen　him；〃　he　said　at　last。　〃Whether　she　could　pick　him　out　of　a　lineup　or　mug　book；　I　don't　know。〃
　〃Where　will　you　be　if　your　boss　asks　you　why　you　haven't　tried　that；　once　the　Pentagon　angle　is　nailed　down？〃
　〃I'll　look　like　an　inpetent。　I'll　have　to　bring　her　in　to　go　over　the　photo　books　to　cover　myself。〃
　〃When？〃
　〃Maybe　next　week。　Maybe　the　week　after。　They'll　want　to　evaluate。　At　first　they're　going　to　be　interested　in　Pochinkov。　For　a　day　or　two。　Then　they'll　get　interested　in　Mrs。　Jackson　again。〃
　〃Pochinkov　is　a　dead　end。〃
　〃They'll　e　to　that　conclusion。　Bigelow；　my　boss；　has　no　background　in　counterespionage；　but　he's　a　smart　man。　Hell　drool　over　Pochinkov　for　a　day　or　two；　toy　with　the　idea　of　trapping　and　turning　him；　then　eventually　decide　that　we　can't　spare　the　manpower　to　watch　him　day　and　night　forever。　Of　course；　the　National　Security　Council　could　decide　to　try　to　catch　him　servicing　a　drop　just　so　we　can　kick　him　out　of　the　country；　but　you　probably　have　a　better　feel　for　that　than　I。〃
　A　wry　grin　twisted　Albright's　lips。　The　implication　was　that　Albright　knew　whether　or　not　the　Soviets　were　going　to　pick　up　an　American　diplomat　in　Moscow　anytime　soon；　knowledge　that　Camacho　well　knew　Albright　would　never　have。　So　even　here；　in　the　safety　and　fort　of　his　own　den；　Camacho　was　stroking　the　ego　of　his　control。　He　did　it　unconsciously；　without　even　thinking。　No　wonder　Luis　Camacho　had　done　so　well　in　the　FBI。
　〃How　e　you　guys　had　a　drop　in　that　neighborhood　anyway？〃
　〃It　was　on　the　approved　list。〃　Albright　shrugged。　The　paper　pushers　in　Moscow　had　no　appreciation　of　the　dynamics　of　an　American　neighborhood；　how　fast　it　could　evolve　or　erode。　The　approval　of　drop　sites　was　one　method　Soviet　intelligence　bureaucrats　used　to　justify　their　salaries；　but　Albright　wasn't　going　to　explain　that　to　Camacho。　He　had　learned　early　in　his　career　that　a　wise　man　never　plains　about　things　he　can't　change；　especially　to　an　agent　he　needed　to　keep　loyal　and　motivated。
　Still；　Luis　Camacho　wasn't　like　other　agents。　Albright　had　been　running　him　now　for　over　ten　years；　but　it　was　only　in　the　last　few　years；　when　the　source　the　Americans　called　the　Minotaur　had　surfaced　and　within　months　Camacho　had　had　the　serendipitous　good　fortune　to　be　assigned　to　head　the　Washington；　D。C。；　FBI　counterespionage　department；　that　Camacho　had　bee　a　Soviet　treasure。
　Tonight　as　he　stared　at　the　ballet　of　black　men　on　the　television　screen；　Albright　reflected　again　on　that　chain　of　events。　After　a　high…profile　black…tie　affair　in　the　ballroom　of　a　Washington　hotel；　the　Soviet　ambassador　had　discovered　a　picture　postcard　in　his　coat　pocket　as　his　limousine　returned　him　to　the　embassy。　On　the　front　of　the　card　was　a　photo　of　the　Pentagon　at　night。　On　the　back　were　two　words　and　a　series　of　numbers　and　letters…a　puter　file　name…all　written　in　block　letters。　Below　that　were　ten　words；　not　a　message；　just　words。　Nothing　else。　No　fingerprints　except　the　ambassador's。
　It　had　been　enough。　Using　Terry　Franklin；　the　Soviets　had　obtained　engineering　and　performance　data　on　the　new　U。S。　Air　Force　stealth　fighter；　the　F…117A；　from　the　Pentagon　puter　system。　The　information　appeared　genuine。　So　who　was　the　source？　Unmasking　the　source　would　undoubtedly　reveal　why　the　information　was　passed　and　enable　the　Soviet　intelligence　munity　to　properly　evaluate　its　authenticity。　But　the　official　guest　list　for　the　black…tie　reception　ran　to　over　three　hundred　names　and　was　almost　a　Who's　Who　of　official　Washington。　The　names　of　spouses　and　girlfriends　in　attendance　were　not　on　the　list；　nor　were　the　names　of　at　least　a　dozen　officials　who　had　been　seen　there。　The　fists　of　hotel　and　caterer　personnel　were　also　inaccurate　and　inplete。
　The　upper　echelons　of　the　Soviet　intelligence　munity　were　stymied。　The　first　rule　of　intelligence　gathering…know　your　source…had　been　violated。　Yet　the　information　appeared　genuine　and　revealed　just　how　far　ahead　of　the　Soviets　the　Americans　were　with　stealth　technology。
　Three　months　after　the　ambassador　had　received　the　postcard；　an　unsigned　letter　in　a　plain　white　envelope　arrived　at　the　Soviet　embassy　addressed　to　the　ambassador。　The　letter；　in　neat　dock　letters；　was　a　mentary　on　the　rights　of　minorities　in　the　Soviet　Union。　In　accordance　with　standard　procedure　for　unsolicited　mail；　the　letter　was　sent　to　Moscow。　There　the　code　was　broken。　The　writer　had　constructed　a　matrix　using　the　first　random　word　on　the　original　postcard　as　the　key　word。　The　message　was　three　random　words；　the　first　two　of　which　proved　to　be　puter　access　words。　The　third　word　wasn't　a　word　at　all；　but　a　series　of　numbers　and　letters。　From　the　bowels　of　the　Pentagon；　Terry　Franklin　produced　a　fascinating　document　concerning　the　development　of　a　land…based　anti…satellite　laser　about　which　Soviet　intelligence　had　known　absolutely　nothing。
　Further　letters　followed；　each　encoded　on　the　basis　of　a　key　word　which　appeared　on　the　original　postcard；　the　ambassador's。　The　information　was　golden：　more　stealth。　Trident　missile　updates；　SDI　research　breakthroughs；　laser　optics　for　artillery；　satellite　navigation　systems。。。　the　list　was　breathtaking。　The　Soviets　were　seeing　hard　data　on　America's　most　precious　defense　secrets。　And　they　didn't　know　who　was　giving　it　to　them。　Or　why。
　So　Harlan　Albright　was　told　to　use　Mother　Russia's　most　precious　agent　to　find　out。　And　here　he　sat；　Luis　Camacho；　FBI　special　agent　in　charge；　Washington；　D。C。；　office　of　counterespionage。
　Camacho　hadn't　found　a　sniff。
　Damn；　it　was　frustrating。　And　now　the　Terry　Franklin　tool　to　exploit　the　unknown　source　was　unraveling。
　〃Do　you　believe　in　t