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ss 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 the entropy principle？〃 Camacho asked。 There was a mercial on the television。
Albright shifted his gaze and tried to dear his thoughts。 〃Entropy？〃
〃Disorder always increases in a closed system。〃
〃I suppose。〃
〃Will Franklin hold up？〃
〃I don't know。 I doubt it。 And he knows too much。〃 He felt a chut as he contemplated the wrath of his superiors if Franklin should ever list his thefts for the Americans。
〃Can you get him to the Soviet Union？〃 Albright shrugged and stood。 〃I'd better go home and get some deep。〃
〃Yeah。〃
〃Drop over tomorrow evening。〃
〃Sure。〃
Rita Moravia's worst moment came when she preceded Toad into his apartment。 〃I've only been here a month or so；〃 Toad said behind her。 Open cardboard boxes brimming with books and towels and bric…a…brac sat everywhere。 She stepped into the kitchen。 The sink was full of dishes。 Something hideous was growing in a saucepan on the stove。 The refrigerator contained half a case of beer and a six…pack of Coke…nothing else。 At least it was clean。 But how in the world had this man managed to get all these dishes dirty？ Aha； the freezer was chock…full of frozen vegetables and TV dinners。 Even some meat。
She dumped the contents of the saucepan into the sink and ran the pan full of water； then let the water from the faucet flush the putrid mixture past the trap。
Toad was fidgety。 〃I'm not much of a housekeeper；〃 he mumbled。 〃Been trying to get unpacked and all but I've been so busy。〃
Rita went into the bedroom and snapped on the lights。 The bed was a rumpled mess。 She ripped away the spread and blanket and tossed them on the floor； then began stripping the sheets。 〃Get out dean sheets。〃
〃Uh。。。 y'see； that's the only set I have。 Why waste money on extra sheets when you can only use one set at a。。。〃 He ran out of words when she glanced at him as she removed the pillows from their cases。 〃Why don't I take the sheets and pillowcases down to the basement and run them through the washer。〃 He grabbed them from the floor where Rita had thrown them and charged for the door。 It closed behind him with a bang。 Rita Moravia smiled and shook her head。
She tackled the bedroom first。 Dirty clothes were piled in one corner of the closet。 She used a T…shirt for a dustrag。 No cleanser in the bathroom。 He had never cleaned the mode。 She was swabbing it when she heard the apartment door open。 In seconds he appeared。
〃Hey； Rita； you don't…〃
〃Is there a convenience store nearby that's still open？〃
〃I suppose。。。〃
〃I want cleanser； dishwashing liquid； something to clean these floors with。。。 a mop and some sponges。 And an air freshener。〃
〃Tomorrow I…〃
〃Now； Tarkington。〃
He turned and left without a word。
In twenty minutes he was back with a bag full of supplies。 She handed him the laundry from the closet。 〃You go wash these and then clean up the living room and kitchen。〃
When she got the sheets back on the bed she locked the bedroom door。 Toad was making noises in the kitchen。 She washed her face； brushed her teeth and hung up her clothes from the overnight bag。 She put on a frilly negligee Harriet had given her for Christmas when it looked as if her anemic romance with Ogden might finally blossom。
Poor Ogden。 His town house always looked as if the maid just left five minutes before you arrived。 Appearances were so important to him。 He would be devastated if he could see her in this slum。 Oh well。 Toad had something that Ogden would never have。 She thought about it as she brushed out her hair again。 Tarkington had guts as well as brains； and he knew what was important and what wasn't。 He believed in himself and his abilities with a profound； unshakable faith； so he wasn't threatened by what she was； what she acplished。 Any way you looked at it。 Toad Tarkington was a man。
And a man was precisely what Rita Moravia wanted in her life。
She turned off all the lights except the one on the nightstand； then opened the bedroom door。
Toad was up to his elbows in soapsuds in the sink。 He had used too much dishwashing liquid。 Too much water too。 Water and suds were slopped over half the counter。 Damn。 He shouldn't have brought Rita here with the apartment in such a mess。 He had been meaning to unpack and clean it up； but the chore always seemed one that could wait。 He had been seeing that secretary over in Alexandria but they always went to her place。 It just hadn't occurred to him how Rita might react until it was too late…like when he was fishing for the key to open the door。
Doggone； Toad； you find a really nice girl for a change and you screw it up right at the start。 More water slopped over the edge of the sink。 He felt it soaking the front of his pants。 Oh poop。
He heard a laugh and turned。 Rita was standing in the kitchen door laughing with her hand over her mouth。 He grinned at her and worked blindly on the dishes。 He couldn't take his eyes off her。
〃You used too much water；〃 she said。
〃Uh…huh。〃 With her hair down around her shoulders she looked like a pletely different woman…softer； more feminine。 And that fully little nothing she was wearing！
〃Do you have any dish towels？〃
〃Of course I have…〃
〃Where？〃
〃Where？〃 He forced his eyes to look at the likely places while he considered。 〃Oh yeah； in that box over there behind the table。〃
She swabbed the counter while he hurriedly finished the dishes and stacked them in the drainer。 He pulled the plug in the sink and she wiped his hands and arms。
〃I'm sorry this place is such a mess。 I…〃
She put her arms around his neck and kissed him。 He never did get to finish that apology。
〃What's your first name？〃
〃Robert。〃
〃Why do they call you Toad？〃
〃Because I'm horny all the time。〃
〃Umm；〃 Rita Moravia said。 〃Oh yes； I see。 Lucky me。〃
11
〃We got something；〃 Dreyfus said with a grin as he leaned in Luis Camacho's office door…
〃Well； don't keep me waiting。〃
After entering and closing the door； Dreyfus approached the desk and handed Camacho a photocopy of the message from the cigarette pack that Mrs。 Jackson had supplied。 〃Interest Golden。TS