To The Stars

Thurgood-Smythe shook his head, expression as gloomy as a hound dog. “No. It’s more serious than that. There’s some hanky-panky going on here and I prefer to have you out of the way while we track it down.”

“Hanky-panky? Is that all you’re going to tell me?”

“For the moment. Elizabeth has another girl she wants to hurl at your head. This one is an heiress, which she thinks might attract you.

“Poor Liz. She never stops trying. Tell her that I’m really a homosexual and have finally come out of the closet.”

“She would start finding you boys.”

“You’re right, you know. As soon as mother died she began trying to take care of me. I suppose she will never stop.”

“Excuse me,” Thurgood-Smythe said as his radio buzzed. He took it out of his pocket and listened for a moment before he spoke. “That’s good. Bring the tape and the photos here.”

A few moments later there was a discreet knock at the door. Thurgood-Smythe opened it just enough to get his hand through; Jan never saw who was on the other side. He sat down and rummaged through the envelope he had been given.

“Know this man?” he asked, passing over a color photograph. Jan nodded.

“I’ve seen him around, just to say hello to though. Other end of the lab from me. Don’t know his name.

“We do. And we’re keeping an eye on him.”

“Why?”

“He has just been observed using the laboratory computer for access to the commercial channels. He taped a complete performance of Tosca.”

“So he likes opera — is that a crime?”

“No. But illicit recording is.”

“You can’t tell me you’re worried about the few pounds fee coming out of the lab’s pocket, not his?”

“Hardly. But there is a far more serious matter of unauthorized access to classified material. We have traced the signal to one of the computers in this laboratory, but couldn’t pin it down any closer. We have now.

Jan felt suddenly very, very cold. Thurgood-Smythe had his head lowered, his attention on the cigarette case he had taken from his pocket, taking out a cigarette. He would have noticed something if he had been looking.

“We have no real evidence, of course,” he said, closing the case. “But this man is now high on our suspect list and will be watched closely. One slip now and we have him. Thanks.”

He inhaled deeply as Jan held out his glow lighter and lit the cigarette.

Seven

The pavement along the Embankment had been swept clear, but there were still white mounds up against the wall and snowy circles around the trees. Floes of ice moved swiftly on the black surface of the Thames. Jan walked through the early evening darkness, from pool of light to pool of light, head down and hands jammed into pockets, unaware of the sharp cold and needing the solitude. Ever since that morning he had looked forward to being alone, to ordering his thoughts, to checking the flow of emotions that possessed him.

Time had passed begrudgingly this day. The research had not gone well because, for the very first time, he could not bury himself in his work. The diagrams did not make sense and he went through them time and time again with the same results. Yet the hours had passed and, to his knowledge, he had done nothing suspicious. Not that he had to worry; suspicion of guilt had already been fixed on the wrong man.

Until he had seen Thurgood-Smythe in the library he had not appreciated the force of the Security procedures. He liked his brother-in-law and helped him when he could, all of the time with the knowledge that his work had something to do with Security, but the reality of what Security did was far removed from normal experience. No more. The first lightning bolt had hit very close to home. Despite the cold bite of the north wind Jan could feel a filming of perspiration on his face. Damn, but Security was good! Too good. He had never expected efficiency of this kind.

It had taken skill and knowledge on his part to get through the blocks that concealed the computer memory he had wanted. But he realized now that these barriers had been there only to prevent accidental and casual access to the information. It would take a determined and resourceful person to get past them — and their only function was to make sure that this was not done easily. Once passed, a greater danger lay in wait. National secrets were meant to be kept secret. The instant he had penetrated to that information the trap had been closed, his signal detected, recorded, traced. All of his elaborate safeguards had been instantly penetrated. The thought was a frightening one. It meant that all of the communication lines in the country, public and private, were being monitored and controlled by the Security forces. Their powers appeared to be limitless. They could hear any conversation, tap any computer memory. Constant monitoring of all phone calls was of course physically impossible. Or was it? Monitoring programs could be written that would listen for certain words and phrases and record anything that contained them. The possible scope of the surveillance was frightening.