"You sold me," Scott said holding his hands up in surrender. "Just a little high is fine by me. Two grams, please," he said to Chris pointing at the less potent bag. "Thanks for the warn- ing," he said to the American. "Where you from?" Scott asked. "Oh, around. I guess you could call Washington my home." "D.C.?" "Yeah," the American nodded. "And you?" He leaned over the back of his chair to face Scott. "Big Apple. The 'burbs." "What brings you here?" "To Europe?" Scott asked. "Amsterdam. Sin City. Diamonds?" "No, I wish," Scott laughed. "News. A story brought me here for a couple of days." Chris finished weighing Scott's purchase on a sensitive digital scale that measured the goods down to the nearest hundredth of a gram. Scott handed Chris $10 in Guilders and pocketed the pot. "Um, where can I get some papers?" Scott asked. Chris pointed to a glass on the bar with a complete selection of assorted paraphernalia. "Hey, why don't you join me," the American asked. "I've been to Amsterdam before." "Is it all right to smoke in here?" Scott asked looking around. "Sure, that's what coffee shops are. The only other thing you can buy in here is sodas. No booze." The American spoke confi- dently as he lit up a joint and passed it to Scott. "Thanks," Scott coughed as he handed it back. "Oh, I don't think I caught your name. "Oh, just call me Spook." THE Spook? thought Scott. What incredible synchronicity. Scott's body instantly tensed up and he felt the adrenaline rush with an associated rise in pulse rate. Was this really the leg- endary Spook? Is it possible that he fell into a chance meeting with the hacker that Kirk and his friends refer to as the king of hackers? Spook? Gotta stay cool. Could he be that lucky? Was there more than one spook? Scott momentarily daydreamed, remembering how fifteen years before, in Athens, Greece he had opened a taxi door right into the face a lady who turned out to be an ex-high-school girl friend. It is a small world, Scott thought tritely. "Spook? Are you a spy?" Scott comically asked, careful to dis- guise his real interest. "If I answer that I'll have to kill you," the Spook laughed out loud in the quiet establishment. "Spy? Hardly. It's just a handle." Spook said guardedly. "What's yours?" "Mine? Oh, my handle. They call me Repo Man, but it's really Scott Mason. Glad to meet you. Spook," he added handing back the intoxicating cigarette. BINGO! Scott Mason in hand without even a search. Landing right in his lap. Keep your cool. Dead pan poker face. What unbe- lievable luck. Don't blow it, let's play this for all that it's worth. Your life just got very simple. Give both Homosoto and Mason exactly what they want with no output of energy.