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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 849329。002EB。〃
〃What I did；〃 Dreyfus said； 〃was to have the puter wizards in the basement assume this message came from one of those letters that have been going to the Soviet embassy。〃 Camacho nodded。 All mail addressed to the Soviet embassy was routinely examined and interesting items photocopied。 So the FBI had copies of messages from sixty…three letters that looked suspicious。
〃And sure 'nuff； it did。 This little dilly right here。〃 From a file he pulled another photocopy。 The message was a vitriolic screed on Soviet support of the Afghan puppet regime。
〃What's the code word？〃
〃Luteinizing。〃
〃What the hell kind of word is that？〃
〃Some medical word。〃
〃Will that break any of the other messages？〃
〃These four。〃 Dreyfus laid four more photocopies on the desk before his boss。 On the bottom of each was penciled the code word and the message； and the initials of the puter technician。
〃How about that？〃 Camacho said。 〃Very nicely done； Dreyfus。〃
Dreyfus sagged into a seat across the desk。 He was tall and angular and liked his pipe； which he extracted from a sweater pocket and charged。 〃We're still short a whole bunch of code words。〃
Camacho eyed his colleague as he drew deeply on the pipe and exhaled clouds of smoke。 〃So now we know how the code is constructed？〃 he prompted。
〃Yeah。 It's a matrix。〃
〃And？〃
〃And if we could tie up the mainframe for a couple weeks； we could construct a matrix for each and every word in the dictionary and pare them with every message。 Given enough time on the puter； we can crack them all。〃
〃And then we'll know what was stolen。〃 Camacho turned to the window。 There was little to see。 It was a windy； cold day out there。 〃Two weeks？ Jesus； that's a hell of a lot of puting time。 You should be able to find the Grand Unified Theory with two weeks on a Cray puter。〃
〃Well； from looking at this word he used…'luteinizing'…it's obvious that some of the words are probably verb participles； past tense； etc。 It's possible…probable； since this guy's pretty damn cute…that some of the code words are the names of persons or places。 The number of possible English codewords is in the millions； and the puter must construct a matrix for each and every one of them and test each matrix against all the suspected messages。 So what is that…a couple million repetitions of the program times sixty？ Assuming he used real words or names。 But if he made up random binations of letters； say a dozen letters。。。〃 Dreyfus shrugged。
On a scratch pad Camacho wrote； 〃26〃。〃 〃Point made；〃 he muttered。
〃Oh； I know； I know。 Even after we have all the messages cracked； we won't have the Minotaur。 But we'll have his scent。 Once we know which files he's been in； we can trot over to the Pentagon and glom on to the access sheets for those files。 Our boy has seen them all。〃
〃Maybe。 But not very likely。 Probably he got the access codes during an unauthorized peek in the main security files。 But the document key words and numbers…〃 He sighed。 〃I would bet my last penny he hasn't seen all the files he's given away。 I'll bet there isn't a man alive who's had authorized access to all those files。〃
〃It's worth a try。〃
〃Agreed。 But we'll never get the Cray mainframe for two weeks。 The fingerprint guys would cry a river。 So let's get started with what we have。 Get the access sheets for these five files we know about and let's see who's on them。 And for Christ's sake； keep your head down。 Don't let anyone know what you're after。 We don't want to spook our man。〃
〃Okay；〃 Dreyfus agreed。 〃While we're at it； why don't we just pick up Terry Franklin and sweat the little bastard？〃
〃Not yet。〃
Dreyfus' pipe was dead。 He sucked audibly； then got out his lighter。 When he was exhaling smoke again； he said； 〃I think we're making a mistake not keeping Franklin under surveillance。〃
〃What if the little shit bolts？ What then？ Is Franklin the only mole Ivan has over there？ Is he？〃
Dreyfus threw up his hands and gathered up his papers。
〃Get somebody to tackle this decoding project with the mainframe when it's not in use。 The front office will never give us two weeks； but let's see what we can do with a couple hours here and there。〃
〃Sure； Luis。〃
〃Again； nice work； Dreyfus。〃
Camacho stared at the door after Dreyfus left。 He had slipped and made a mistake； he had lied to Dreyfus。 The only way to keep two separate lives pletely； safely separate was to never tell a lie。 Never。 You often had to leave out part of the truth； but that wasn't a lie。 A lie was a booby trap； a land mine that could explode at any time with fatal results。 And this lie had been a big one。 He sat now staring at the objects on his desk with unseeing eyes as he examined the dimensions of the lie and its possible implications。 Stupid！ A stupid； idiotic lie。
He rubbed his forehead again and found he couldn't sit still。 He paced； back and forth and back and forth； until finally he was standing in front of the Pentagon organization chart。 If there were forty files or sixty…three or any number； there would be a small group of people who would have access to all of them； if you constructed just one more hypothesis…that all the files concerned classified projects in research or development。 Tyler Henry the admiral suspected they did。 Albright the spy already knew and had told him so。 Camacho the spy catcher must verify or refute that hypothesis soon； or Dreyfus and Henry and Albright and a lot of the others are going to think him inpetent； or worse。 He stood staring at one box on the plex chart。 Inside the box was printed： 〃Under Secretary of Defense for Acquisition。〃
He sat at his desk and unlocked the lower right drawer and removed a file。 Inside were photocopies of all sixty…three letters。 They were in chronological order。 All had been written on plain white copy machine paper in #2 lead pencil； which had been a wise precaution on the part of the person or persons who wrote them。 Ink could be analyzed chemically and the sellers of pens could be interviewed； but a #2 lead pencil was a #2 lead pencil。 And copy machine paper…the stuff was everywhere； in every office of the nation。
On an average day the Soviet embassy received several dozen casual cards and letters mailed from all over the United States。 Most of the messages were short and to the point。 Many were crude。 〃Eat shit； Ivan；〃 seemed to be popular。 The Chernobyl disaster and the Armenian earthquake had elicited thousands of pieces of mail； much to the chagrin of the postal inspectors and FBI agents assigned to screen it。
Over the last three years these letters in this file had been culled for further scrutiny。 All the messages' were printed in small block letters； all were long enough to contain an internal code and all of them had been written in English by someone with a fairly decent education。 Some were signed and some weren't。 Interestingly； about 80 percent of these letters had been mailed in the Washington metropolitan area。 Not a one had been mailed from over a hundred miles away。 All had been enclosed in cheap； plain white envelopes available in hundreds of bookstores； convenience stores； supermarkets； etc。； all over town。
Camacho looked closely。 It was easy to see that the same person had written them all； the penmanship was so careful and neat； the style of the writer so consistent from letter to letter。 And every now and then； maybe once in every other letter； the syntax was tortuous； not quite right。 It was as if the writer purposefully chose a difficult sentence construction。 The conclusion that these letters； or at least some of them； contained an internal code was inescapable。
The mechanics of the matrix demanded a reasonably long letter if one were going to encrypt a long message； say three dozen characters。 If it took an average of three words to signal one character； then the message must run to at least nine dozen words； too many for a postcard。
The sheer number of letters was daunting。 Some of them were probably dross。 The Minotaur knew these letters would arouse suspicion； so he wrote lots of them。 And it was impossible to tell which contained a code and which didn't。 He was hiding in plain sight。
Maybe that was the key。 Maybe the Minotaur wasn't just some career civil servant； some clerk。 Maybe he was a man in plain sight； out in the open； known to one and all。 But why？ Why was he mitting treason？ That's what the Soviets wanted to know。
Camacho picked up the phone and punched numbers。 〃Dreyfus； pull the files on all the political people in the Defense Department and put them in the conference room。〃
〃All of them？ Again？〃
〃All。〃
〃Yessir；〃 Dreyfus said without enthusiasm。
Even a blind hog finds an acorn occasionally； Camacho told himself as he cradled the phone。 And if there's an acorn in those files； this time I'm going to find it。
The youngest child； a four…year…old boy； threw a fit as Lucy Franklin drove toward Dulles。 The nine…year old； Karen； had been deviling him all morning； and apparently he decided he had had enough。 He wailed at the top of his lungs and punched at his sister。 One of his swings connected with her nose。 Blood spouted and she screamed too。 Lucy pulled off the freeway and put the car in neutral。
〃Shut up！〃 she roared。 〃Both you kids； stop it！〃 Satisfied with the oute of the battle； the boy sat back and stared at the blood dripping on ha sister's dress as she sobbed uncontrollably。 〃Look at you two。 Fighting again。 Now Karen's hurt。 Aren't you sorry； Kevin？〃
He didn't look a bit sorry； which made Karen cry harder。 Lucy got her into the front seat and held a tissue on her nose until the bleeding stopped。 She cuddled the child。 Karen had vomited twice during the night； so this morning Lucy had kept her home from school。 The traffic roared by。 〃Say you're sorry； Kevin。〃
〃I'm sorry。〃 His hand came over the seat and touched Karen's hair。 The sobbing gradually eased。 Holding a tissue against Karen's nose with her left hand； Lucy leaned over the seat and cuddled the boy。 This week had been tough on them。 Terry was so distant； saying little； shouting at the children as they ran through the house and made their usual noise。
He was a volcano about to erupt。 His tension and fear were tangible； visible； frightening to the children； terrifying to Lucy。 Even as she sat here on the freeway； the unreasoning panic that Terry caused washed over her again。 What had he done？ What would he do？ Would he hurt the children？ Would he hurt her？
〃Mommy； don't cry。〃
〃I'm not crying； sweetheart。 I just have something in my eye。〃
〃I'm okay now；〃 Karen said； casting an evil glance across the seat back at her brother。
〃No more fighting。 You two love each other。 No more fighting。 It makes me sad to see you two trying to irritate each other。〃
Now Kevin's hand touched her hair。 〃Let's go get Grandma。〃
〃Yes。 Let's do。〃 She started the engine and slipped out into traffic。
At lunch Toad and Rita shared a table： just the two of them。 From a table fifty feet away Jake Grafton watched the body language and gestures as he listened to George Wilson and Dalton Harris talk baseball。 So Toad Tarkington had fallen in love again！ That guy went over that precipice with awe…inspiring regularity。 The impact at the bottom was also spectacular。
You really had to tip your hat to the guy。 He arrives； takes in the female situation at a glance； then immediately makes a fool of himself over the best…looking woman in sight。 Jake allowed himself a grin。 The ol' Horny Toad。
Back in the office after lunch； Jake called Tarkington over to his desk。 〃I've been looking over this memo about the A…6 system。 How did it go when you turned off the radar and Doppler？〃
〃Well； sir； without the Doppler to dampen the velocities； the inertial tends to drift somewhat。 But without the radar all you have is the IR and it's tough。 When it isn't raining or snowing you can run attacks okay once you've found the target。 The nav system just isn't right enough to let you find the targets without the radar。 The IR doesn't have enough field of view。 With a global posi