of the 〃inner core。〃
Playing by the rules； he picked up the phone and punched the Pattenden Lab operator； requesting an open line and promising to record all his calls。 The hour was late； and most of the list showed area codes of numbers in the Middle West or in the East Coast。 Their time zones were two or three hours ahead and they had likely shut down for the day； but he doggedly began calling anyway。
〃Centennial Supply；〃 announced a male in a bored tone。
〃Yes； hello； is anyone in this evening？〃
〃The office is closed。 This is the twenty…four…hour order desk。〃
〃My name is judge； and I'm with the federal government；〃 said Hagen； using his cover in case the phone was tapped。 〃We're doing an audit of the Pattenden Physics Laboratory in Bend； Oregon。〃
〃You'll have to call back tomorrow morning after the office opens。〃
〃Yes； I'll do that。 But can you tell me exactly what kind of business Centennial Supply conducts？〃
〃We supply specialized parts and electronics for recording systems。〃
〃For what applications？〃
〃Mostly business。 Video for recording executive meetings； laboratory experiments； security systems。 And executive audio for secretaries。 Stuff like that； you know。〃
〃How many employees do you have？〃
〃Around twelve。〃
〃Thank you very much；〃 said Hagen。 〃You've been most helpful。 Oh； one more thing。 Do you get many orders from Pattenden？〃
〃Not really。 Every couple of months they'll order a part to update or modify their video systems。〃
〃Thanks again。 Goodbye。〃
Hagen scratched that one and tried again。 His next two calls reached answering machines。 One was a chemical lab at Brandeis University in Waltham and the other an unidentified office at the National Science Foundation in Washington。 He checked the latter for a follow…up in the morning and tried an individual's number。
〃Hello？〃
Hagen looked at the name in Mooney's diary。 〃Dr。 Donald Fremont？〃
〃Yes。〃
Hagen went through his routine。
〃What do you wish to know； Mr。 Judge？〃 Fremont's voice sounded elderly。
〃I'm making a spot check of long…distance telephone calls。 Has anyone from Pattenden called you in the last ninety days？〃 Hagen asked； looking at the dates of the calls and playing dumb。
〃Why； yes； Dr。 Earl Mooney。 He was a student of mine at Stanford。 I retired five years ago； but we still keep in touch。〃
〃Did you by chance also have a student by the name of Leonard Hudson？〃
〃Leonard Hudson；〃 he repeated as if trying to recall。 〃I met him on two occasions。 He wasn't in my class； though。 Before my time； or I should say before my tenure at Stanford。 I was teaching at USC when he was a student。〃
〃Thank you； Doctor。 I won't trouble you further。〃
〃Not at all。 Glad to help。〃
Scratch four。 The next name from the diary was an Anson Jones。 He tried again； well aware it never came easy and that making a gold strike was 99 percent luck。
〃Hello？〃
〃Mr。 Jones； my name is judge。〃
〃Who？〃
〃Thomas Judge。 I'm with the federal government； and we're running an audit on Pattenden Physics Laboratory。〃
〃I don't know any Pattenden。 You must have the wrong number。〃
〃Does the name Dr。 Earl Mooney ring a bell？〃
〃Never heard of him。〃
〃He's called your number three times in the last sixty days。
〃Must be a phone pany foulup。〃
〃You are Anson Jones； area code three…zero…three； number five…four…seven
〃Wrong name； wrong number。〃
〃Before you hang up； I have a message。〃
〃What message？〃
Hagen paused； and then leaped。 〃Tell Leo that Gunnar wants him to pay for the airplane。 You got that？〃
There was silence on the other end for several moments。 Then finally； 〃Is this a crank call？〃
〃Goodbye； Mr。 Jones。〃
Pay dirt。
He called the sixth listing just to be on the safe side。 An answering service for a stock brokerage firm answered。 A dry hole。
Elation； that was what he felt。 He became even more elated as he added to his notes。 Mooney was not one of the 〃inner core；〃 but he was connected one of the subordinate officers under the high mand。
Hagen tapped out a number in Chicago and waited。 After four rings； a woman answered sweetly。 〃Drake Hotel。〃
''My name is Thomas Judge and I'd like to confirm a room reservation for tomorrow night。〃
〃One moment and I'll connect you with reservations。〃
Hagen repeated the request for confirmation with the desk clerk。 When asked for a credit card number to hold the room for late arrival； he gave Anson Jones's phone number in reverse
〃Your room is confirmed； sir。〃
〃Thank you。〃
What time was it？ A glance at his watch told him it was eight minutes to midnight。 He closed the briefcase and wiggled into his coat。 Taking a cigarette lighter from one pocket； he slid the interior workings from its case。 Next； he removed a thin metal shaft with a dental mirror on one end from a slit in his rear coat flap。
Hagen moved to the doorway。 Clutching the briefcase between his knees； he stopped short of the threshold and tilted the tiny mirror up and down the corridor。 It was empty。 He turned the mirror until it reflected the television monitor above the far end of the corridor。 Then he positioned the lighter until it barely protruded around the doorframe and pressed the flint lever。
Inside the security booth behind the main lobby； a screen on one of the TV monitors suddenly turned to snow。 The guard at the console quickly began checking the circuit lights。
〃I've got a problem with number twelve；〃 he announced。
His supervisor came over from a desk and stared at the monitor。 〃Interference。 The eggheads in the electrophysics lab must be at it again。〃
Suddenly the interference stopped； only to begin again on another monitor。
〃That's funny；〃 said the supervisor。 〃I've never seen it happen in sequence before。〃
After a few seconds； the screen cleared； showing nothing but an empty corridor。 The two security guards simply looked at each other and shrugged。
Hagen turned off the miniature electrical impulse jammer as soon as he stepped inside and closed the door to Mooney's office。 He walked softly over to the window and closed the drapes。 He slipped on a pair of thin plastic gloves and turned on the overhead lights。
Hagen was a master at the technique of tossing a room。 He didn't bother with the obvious； the drawers； files； address and telephone lists。 He went directly to a bookshelf and found what he had hoped to find in less than seven minutes。
Mooney might have been one of the leading physicists in the nation； but Hagen had read him like a pictorial magazine。 The small notebook was hidden inside a book entitled Celestial Mechanics in True Perspective by Horace DeLiso。 The contents were in a code employing equations。 It was Greek to Hagen but he wasn't fooled by the significance。 Normally he would have photographed the pages and put them back； but this time he simply pocketed them； fully realizing he could never have them deciphered in time。
The guards were still struggling with the monitors when he stepped up to the counter。
〃Would you like me to sign out？〃 he said with a smile。
The head security guard came over； a quizzical expression on his face。 〃Did you just e from finance？〃
〃Yes。〃
〃We didn't see you on the security TV〃
〃I can't help that；〃 said Hagen innocently。 〃I walked out the door and through the hallways until I came here。 I don't know what else to tell you。〃
〃Did you see anyone？ Anything unusual？〃
〃No one。 But the lights flickered and dimmed a couple of times。'
The guard nodded。 〃Electrical interference from the electro physics lab。 That's what I thought it was。〃
Hagen signed out and walked into a cloudless night； humming softly to himself。
THE CYCLOPS
October 25； 1989
Key West； Florida
Pitt lay with his back pressed against the cool concrete of the airstrip； looking up at the Prosperteer。 The sun pushed over the horizon and slowly covered her worn hull in a shroud of pastel orange。 The blimp had an eerie quality about it； or so it seemed in Pitt's imagination； an aluminum ghost unsure of where it was supposed to haunt。
He'd been awake most of the time during the flight from Washington to Key West； poring over Buck Caesar's charts of the Old Bahama Channel and retracing Raymond LeBaron's carefully marked flight path。 He closed his eyes； trying to get a clear picture of the Prosperteer's spectral wanderings。 Unless the gas bags inside the blimp were reinflated from a ship； an extremely unlikely event； the only answer to Raymond LeBaron's whereabouts lay in Cuba。
Something nagged at his mind； a thought that kept returning after he unconsciously brushed it aside； a piece of the picture that became increasingly lucid as he began dwelling on it。 And then suddenly it crystallized。
The flight to trace LeBaron's trail was a setup。
A rational and logical conclusion remained a dim outline in a thick mist。 The trick was to try to fit it into a pattern。 His mind was casting about for directions to explore when he sensed a shadow fall over him。
〃Well； well；〃 said