"What if between this and the Exchange we fell into a secret weapons program," Scott began. "Too simple. Been done before without this kind of backlash," Higgins said dismissing the idea. "Except, these weapons can be built by any high school kid with an electronics lab and a PC," Scott retorted undaunted. "Maybe not as good, or as powerful, but nonetheless, effective. If you were the government, would you want every Tom, Dick and Shithead to build home versions of cruise missiles?" "I think you're exaggerating a little, Scott." Higgins pinched his nose by the corners of his eyes. "Doug? What do you think?" Doug was amazingly collected. "I think," he said slowly, "that Scott is onto a once in a lifetime story. My gut tells me this is real. And still, we only have a small piece of the puzzle." "Scott? Get right back on it," Doug ordered. "I want to know what the big stink is. Higgins will use outside counsel to see if they dig anything up, but I believe you'll have better luck. It seems that you've stumbled on something that the Government wants kept secret. Keep up the good work." Scott was being congratulated on having a story pulled, which aroused mixed emotions within him. His boss thought it wonderful that it was pulled. It all depends what side of the fence you're on, I guess. "I have a couple of calls to make." Scott excused himself from Higgins' domain to get back to his desk. He dialed Duncan's private number. "4543," Duncan answered gruffly. "Fuck you very much." Scott enjoyed slamming down the phone as hard as he could. Scott's second call wouldn't be for hours. He wished it could be sooner, so the day passed excruciatingly slowly. But, it had to wait. Safety was a concern, not getting caught was paramount. He was going to rob a bank. * * * * * Washington, D.C. "I will call you in 5 minutes." Miles Foster heard the click of the phone in his ear. It was Homosoto. At midnight no less. He had no choice. It was better to speak to Homosoto over the computer than in person. He didn't have to hear the condescension. He turned his Compaq 486 back on and initiated the auto-answer mode on the modem through the ProTalk software package. Miles was alone. He had sent Perky home a few minutes before. He heard his modem ring, and saw the computer answer. The com- puter automatically set the communications parameters and matched the crypt key as chosen by the caller, undoubtedly Homosoto. Miles set his PRG code to prove to the computer that it was really him and he waited for the first message. WE NEED TO TALK. That was obvious, why state the obvious, thought Miles. I am listening. ONE OF THE READERS IS DEAD. HIS EQUIPMENT HAS BEEN CAPTURED. By whom?