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〃It's been like that all day with me；〃 Toad said with a hint of despair in his voice； then sent another mouthful of food down behind his belt buckle。 〃At first I thought I had forgotten my pants； but now I think it's the hero bit。 Asked two admirers for dates this morning and got two yeses。 Not bad for a Monday。〃
〃It'll pass。 Next week you'll have to spell your name twice just to get into the men's head。 How's your leg？〃
〃Got a couple girders in it； sir。 One of them is a metal rod about a foot long。 But I passed my flight physical。 Those Israeli doctors did a good job。 Aches some occasionally。〃
〃We were damned lucky。〃
〃That's an understatement；〃 Toad said； and proceeded to fill Jake in on how he had spent the last five months。
After lunch Jake hiked back across the streets and parking lots to the Pentagon。 His temporary pass so excited the security cop that he nodded his head a quarter inch as Jake walked by。
mander Rob Knight was several years younger than Jake and had more hair； although it was salt…and…pepper。 He wore steel…rimmed glasses and beamed when Jake introduced himself。
〃Heard about your little adventure in the Med last year； Captain。 It's been pretty dull without El Hakim to kick around；〃 Knight grinned easily。 He had an air of quiet confidence that Jake found reassuring。 Like all career officers getting acquainted； Knight and Jake told each other in broad terms of their past tours。 Knight had spent most of his operational career in A…6 outfits； and had been ordered to this billet after a tour as manding officer of an A…6 squadron。
〃I came by to find out everything you know about the A…12；〃 Jake said lightly。
Knight chuckled。 〃A real kidder； you are。 I've been soaking up info for a year and a half and I haven't even scratched the surface。 And you see I'm only one guy。 The A…6 coordinator sits here beside me； and on the other side of the room we have the F…14 and F/A…18 guys。 One for each airplane。 We don't have a secretary or a yeoman。 We do our own mail。 We make our own coffee。 I spend about a third of my time in this office； which is where I do the unclass stuff and confidential。 Another third of my time is spent upstairs in the vault working on classified stuff。 I have a desk up there with another puter and safes。 The rest of my time is spent over at NAVAIR； in your shop； trying to see what you guys are up to。〃
〃Just one guy。〃 Jake was disappointed； and it showed。 He felt a little like the kid who met Santa for the first time and found he was old and fat and smelled of reindeer shit。 〃One guy！ Just exactly what is your job？〃
〃I'm the man with the money。 I get it from Rear Admiral Costello。 He's the Aviation Plans and Programs honcho。 He tells me what we want the plane to do。 We draw up the requirements。 You build the plane we say we want； you sell it to me； and I write the checks。 That's it in a nutshell。〃
〃Sounds simple enough。〃
〃Simple as brain surgery。 There's an auditor that es around from time to time； and he's going to cuff me and take me away one of these days。 I can see it in his eyes。〃
They talked for an hour； or rather Knight talked and Jake listened； with his hands on his thighs。 Knight had a habit of tapping aimlessly on the puter terminal on his desk； striking keys at random。 When Jake wasn't looking at Knight he was looking at the Sports Illustrated swimsuit girl over Knight's desk （April 1988 was a very good month）； or the three airplane pictures； or the Farrah Fawcett pinup over the A…6 guru's desk。 Between the two desks sat a flung cabinet with bination locks on every drawer。 Similar cabinets filled the room。 Twice Knight rooted through an open cabinet drawer and handed Jake classified memos to read； but not to keep。 Each was replaced in its proper file as soon as Jake handed it back。
Then Knight took Jake up a floor to the vault； where he signed a special form acknowledging the security regulations associated with black programs。 In this chamber； surrounded by safes and locks and steel doors； mander Knight briefed him on the technical details of the prototypes； the program schedules and so on。
At three o'clock Jake was back on the twelfth floor of the Crystal City plex to meet with Vice Admiral Dunedin。 His office was not quite as plush as Henry's but it was every bit as large。 Out the large windows airliners were landing and taking off from National airport
〃Do you have any idea what you're getting into？〃 Dunedin asked。 He was soft…spoken； with short gray hair and workman's hands； thick； strong fingers that even now showed traces of oil and grease。 Jake remembered hearing that his hobby was restoring old cars。 〃In a vague； hazy way。〃
〃Normally we assign Aeronautical Engineering Duty Officers； AEDOs； to be program managers。 By definition； an AEDO's specialty is the procurement business。 Harold Strong was an AEDO。 But； considering the status of the A…12； we figured that we needed a war fighter with credibility on the Hill。〃 The Hill； Jake knew； was Capitol Hill； Congress。 But who； he wondered； were the 〃we〃 of whom the admiral spoke？ 〃You're our warrior。 There's not enough time to send you to the five…month program manager school； so we've waived it。 You're going to have to hit the ground running。 Your deputy is a GS…15 civilian。 Dr。 Helmut Fritsche。 He's only been here three years or so but he knows the ropes。 And you've got some AEDOs on your staff。 Use them； but remember； you're in charge。〃
〃I won't forget；〃 Jake Grafton said。
Dunedin's secretary； Mrs。 Forsythe； gave him a list of the officers who would be under his supervision。 She was a warm； motherly lady with silver…gray hair and pictures of children on her desk。 Jake asked。 Her grandchildren。 She offered him a brownie she had baked last night； which he accepted and munched with approving ments while she placed a call to the Personnel Support Detachment。 She gave him detailed directions on how to find PSD； which was； she explained； six buildings south。 When Jake arrived fifteen minutes later a secretary was busy pulling the service records for him to examine。
He found an empty desk and settled in。
The civilian files stood out from the others。 Helmut Fritsche。 Ph。D。 in electrical engineering； formerly professor at Caltech； before that on the research staff of NASA。 Publications； wow！ Thirty or forty scientific papers。 Jake ran his eye down the list。 All were about radar： wave propagation； Doppler effect； numerical determination of three…dimensional electromagnetic scattering； and so on。
George Wilson was a professor of aeronautical engineering at MIT on a one…year sabbatical。 He had apparently been recruited by Admiral Henry and came aboard the first of the year。 He would be leaving at the end of December。 Like Fritsche's； Wilson's list of professional publications was long and plicated。 He had co…authored at least one textbook； but the title that caught Jake's eye was an article for a scientific journal： 〃Aerodynamic Challenges in Low Radar Cross Section Platforms。〃
Jake laid the civilians' files aside and began to flip through the naval officers'。 Halfway through he found one that he slowed down to examine with care。 Lieutenant Rita Moravia。 Naval Academy Class of '82。 Second in her class at the Academy； first in her class in flight school and winner of an outstanding achievement award。 Went through A…7 training； then transferred to F/A…ISs； where she became an instructor pilot in the West Coast replacement squadron。 Next came a year at the Naval Postgraduate School in Monterey； California； for a master's in aeronautical engineering； and another year at Test Pilot School at NAS Patuxent River； Maryland； where she graduated first in her class。
There were three line manders： an A…6 bombardier…navigator； an F…14 pilot and an EA…6B Electronic Countermeasures Officer…ECMO。 Jake knew the A…6 BN and the Prowler ECMO。 There was an aircraft maintenance specialist； whom Jake knew； and five AEDOs； all of whom wore pilot or naval flight officer wings。 Except for the A…6 BN and the Prowler ECMO； the rest had fighter backgrounds； including Tarkington； who was one of only two lieutenants。 The rest were manders and lieutenant manders。
If the navy wanted a stealth attack plane； why so many fighter types？ The air force caned all their tactical drivers fighter pilots； but the navy had long ago divided the tactical fraternity into attack and fighter。 The missions and the aircraft were pletely different； so the training and tactics were also different。 And according to the amateur psychologists in uniform who thought about these things and announced their conclusions at Happy Hour； the men were different too。 Either their personalities were altered by the training or the missions attracted men of certain types。 According to the attack munity； fighter pukes were devil…may…care； kiss…tomorrow…goodbye romantics who lived and lusted for the dubious glory of individual bat in the skies。 The fighter crowd said the attack pukes were phlegmatic plodders with brass balls…and no imaginations…who dropped bombs because they didn't know any better。 Most of it was good； clean fun； but with a tinge of truth。
When Jake finished going through the records he stacked them carefully and stared thoughtfully at the pile。 Dunedin and Strong had assembled a good group； he concluded； officers with excellent though varied backgrounds； from all over tactical naval aviation。 The test pilot was the only real question mark。 Moravia certainly had her tickets punched and was probably smarter than Einstein； but she had no actual experience in flight…testing new designs。 He would ask Dunedin about her。
Tomorrow he would meet them。 That was soon enough。 First he had to find out what was really happening from Henry or Dunedin。
Henry spoke of minefields…a grotesque understatement。 The problems inherent in overing the inertia of the bureaucracy to produce a new state…of…the…art weapons system were nothing short of mind…boggling。 Dunedin must feel like he's been ordered to build the Great Pyramid armed with nothing but a used condom and a flyswatter。 And for God's sake； do it quietly； top secret and all。 Aye aye； sir。
In the Crystal City underground mall he found a toy store and purchased a plastic model of the air force's new stealth fighter； the F…l 17。 He also bought a tube of glue。 Then he boarded the Metro blue train for the ride to Rosslyn。
When the subway surfaced near the Key Bridge； Jake stared gloomily at the raindrops smearing the dirt on the windows as the train rocked along under a dark gray sky； then it raced noisily back into another hole in the ground and like his fellow passengers； he refocused his eyes vacantly on nothing as he instinctively created his own little private space。
He felt relieved when the doors finally opened and he joined the other passengers surging across the platform； through the turnstiles； then onto the world's longest escalator。 The moving stair ascended slowly up the gloomy； slanting shaft bearing its veterans of purgatory。 Amid the jostling； pushing； hustling throng； he was carried along as part of the flow。 This morning he had been a tourist。 Now he was as much a part of this human river as any of them。 Morning and evening he would be an anonymous face in the mob： hurry along； hurry； push and shove gently； persistently； insistently； demanding equal vigor and speed from every set of legs； equal privacy from every set of blank； unfocused eyes。 Hurry； hurry along。
Rain was still falling when he reached the sidewalk。 He paused and turned his collar up against the damp and chill； then set off for the giant condo plex four blocks away。
Most of the people scurrying past him on the sidewalk had done this every working day for years。 They were moles； he told himself glumly； blind creatures of the dark； damp places where the sun and wind never reached； unaware that the universe held anything but the dismal corridors where they lived out their pathetic lives。 And now he was one of them。
He stopped at the corner； the model in the box under his arm。 People swirled around him； their heads down； their eyes on the concrete。 Callie wouldn't get home to the flat for another hour。
He turned and walked back against the flow of the crowd toward the station exit。 Right across the street fr