An Absence of Light

“See, they’re standing there facing the Frisbee players, but the woman is actually looking away toward Dean,” Arnette went on. “Now she’s looking back along the west side of the lawn. Here she’s looking on the east side. Guy she’s with is looking toward the fountain now. Dean circles the north end. Couple splits up. She walks to the north end; he stays at the fountain, and they mill around, watching the place from both vantage points. Here, the woman pretends to be watching some kids down in the sunken lawn. Now, Dean comes along the east side of the lawn, and when he gets to the fountain the Unknown joins him, and they step up to the fountain. Man at the fountain hangs around inside with them. He looks at the water falling. He looks at the arches, probably through them at the grassy mall beyond. Woman joins him after having come up the east side.”

Arnette picked up several other photographs she had set aside. “Now, here, my photographer really goes close up.” She put the point of the pencil on the man’s left ear. “See this? I think this is an earpiece. There’s disagreement here about this, but I think that’s what it is. The couple stay a while in the spray of the fountain looking out through the arches, out to the sides. After a while they split up again and head to opposite sides of the grassy mall where they stay, just looking around as before, until Dean and the Unknown finish talking and split up.”

Arnette put down the last picture and the pencil, took a sip of coffee and looked at Graver.

“In these photographs the couple do not appear to speak to each other even once. They don’t lounge around on the grass, sit on the benches, go up to the waterfall, up close and look up and laugh about it-people always go up to the water and look up and laugh for some reason. The perspective gives you a weird feeling. But what’s most important is that they do not look at what’s in front of them. Ever. They’re always looking somewhere else.”

Graver was motionless, studying the pictures.

“We’re seeing this all the time, now,” she said, sitting back, cradling her coffee cup. “Everybody’s a spy. The dope traffickers, the computer chip bandits, the stolen car rings, you name it Business associates; business competitors. And middle-class America? Everybody’s bugging everybody. Everybody’s tapping into everybody else’s modem, and eavesdropping on their portable telephone conversations. It’s the technology. Radio Shack has turned America on to a new game… keeping up with the Bonds, the James Bonds.” She smiled. “When the stakes get past who’s cheating on whom, countersurveillance is a given. We automatically look for it.”

Graver didn’t say anything for a second.

“Do you think they picked you up?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“What about the audio?”

“They worked on it late last night, but when they quit just after two o’clock, they hadn’t recovered anything.”

“Do you mean ‘not much’ or ‘anything’?”

“I mean zip. Nothing.”

“And Tisler’s tapes?”

“Nothing. I told you those could be hard to crack. Again it’s the technology. It’s a two-way street The computer chip has made it easier for us to maneuver through the mazes of cryptography, but at the same time it’s made it easier for the other side to design ever more complex ciphers too. It’s a constant struggle of one-upmanship. Sometimes they’re ahead of us; sometimes we’re ahead of them. It’s a toss-up.”

Graver sipped the last of his coffee. It was too cold to drink. He looked at the pictures scattered in front of him. He looked at Burtell, standing in profile facing the unknown man under one of the Roman arches with the waterfall shimmering behind him.

“He looks pretty calm, doesn’t he,” he said.

“Yeah, as a matter of fact I thought so too. They said last night he seemed completely relaxed. Do you think he knew about Besom when these were taken?”

“I hope not,” Graver said. “I really hope not.”

Arnette sipped her coffee too, waiting for him.

“Westrate was beside himself last night,” Graver said, idly matching up the corners of several photographs. “He’s thinking conspiracy; he’s thinking corruption, but he doesn’t want to be the first one to say it I’m guessing that’s the way they’re all going to react, the administration. The emperor’s new clothes will be greatly admired.”

“What do you expect? Hell, take advantage of it While they flap around in confusion, push ahead. It’s got to be done, and by the time they get around to realizing that you’ll be way out front It’s going to put you ahead in more ways than one.”

Graver pushed away the photographs. “I don’t see much here,” he said. “Am I missing something?”

“No, I don’t see much either. But the countersurveillance makes me think Dean’s dealing with people who are bigger than local racket operators.”

“Why?”