"Coffee?"

"Please."

"I feel like I look," Jan said, having already fixed on the lie when he awoke. "Slipped on the ice, think I loosened a tooth. Came home and drank too much to numb the pain. d.a.m.n car wouldn't even let me drive."

"The curse of automation. Have it looked at yet?"

"No. No need. Just a bruise. I feel the fool."

"Happens to the best of us. Elizabeth wants you over to dinner tonight, can you come?"

'Anytime. Best cook in London. As long as it is not one of her matchmaking sessions." He looked suspiciously at Thurgood-Smythe who pointed a finger and smiled.

"Just what I told her and although she protested that the girl was one in a million, she finally agreed not to have her. Three for dinner."

"Thanks, Smitty. Liz won't face the fact that I'm not the marrying kind."

"I told her that you will probably be sowing wild oats on your deathbed and she thought I was being vulgar."

"I only hope that it will be true. But you didn't come all the way across the city when a call would have done as well."

"Of course not. Got another gadget for you to look at." He took a flat package out of his pocket and pa.s.sed it over.

"I don't know how well my eyes will focus today. But I'll give it a try."

Jan slipped a metal case out of the envelope and opened it. There were a number of tiny readouts and controls inside. It was beautifully made. Thurgood-Smythe had brought other extracurricular work to Jan in the past. Electronic instruments that Security was testing, or techni-cal problems that needed expert advice. It was in the family and Jan had always been glad to help. Particularly when there was a cash bonus if he had to devote any time to the work.

"It looks very nice," he said. "But I haven't the slightest idea of what it does."

"Wiretap detection."

"Impossible."

"That's what everyone thinks, but we have some origi-nal people in the lab. This device is so sensitive that it a.n.a.lyzes every element of a circuit for basic resistance and loss of strength. Apparently if you eavesdrop on a wired signal the act of detection causes a measurable alteration of the signal which in turn can be detected. Does this make any sense to you?"

'A lot. But there are so many random losses in a transmitted message, through switches, connections and such that I don't see how this thing could possibly operate."

"It's supposed to a.n.a.lyze every loss, find out what it is, see what its true value should be, and if it is correct go on to the next interruption of signal."

'All I can say is wow. If they can pack that much circuitry and control into something this big then your boys know what they are doing. What do you want from me?"

"How do we test it outside the lab to see if it works?"

"Simple enough. Put it on a lot of phones, yours and some other people in your shop, and run it for awhile. Then put taps on the lines and see if it does its job."

"Sounds simple enough. They said that all you have to do is use it with the microphone input. Any problems?"

"None. Like this." Jan went to his phone and fixed the device over the microphone. The ready light came on. "You just talk into the mike it has as you would normally."

"Let's try it. I'll tell Elizabeth you'll be coming tonight."

It was a brief call and they both watched the rapid signals flashing from the VDU. It seemed to be doing its job. Thurgood~Smythe broke the connection and the ran-dom flickering stopped. The readout lit up.

TAP ON THIS LINE IN EXCHANGE.

"It seems to be working," Thurgood Smythe said mildly, looking at Jan.

"Working... Do you think it found a tap on my phone? Why on earth..." He thought for a moment, then pointed an accusing finger. "Out with it, Smitty. It was no accident you came today and hooked that thing up there. You knew that my line was tapped. But why?"

"Let's say I 'expected' something, Jan. I couldn't be sure." He walked to the window and looked out, tapping his hands together behind his back. "My business is full of uncertainties and suspicions. I had hints that you were under surveillance from a certain department, but I couldn't very well ask or they would have denied everything." He turned about and his face was very cold. "But now I know and a head or two will roll. I will not have routine-minded blockheads interfering with my family. This will be all taken care of and I wish you would forget about it."

"I would love to, Smitty. But I'm afraid I can't. I'll have to know what is going on.

"I thought you would." He raised his hand in resigna-tion. "You were just in the wrong spot at the wrong time. That can be enough to cause these low-level bureaucrats to swing into action."

"I haven't been any place unusual~ther than the ship accident."

"That's it. I wasn't exactly truthful with you about what you saw. I'll tell you more, but it can't leave this room.

"You know better than to ask."

"Sorry. Been one of those weeks. Those were crimi-nals, smugglers, in the first boat. Running drugs.

The second ship was our guard. Caught them and blew them out of the water."

"Illegal drugs? I didn't know there were such things. But if there are and they caught the people-why it sounds a good item for the evening news.

"I agree with you-but others don't. They feel that publicity would only encourage law-breaking. That's poli-cy and we're stuck with it, and you're caught in the middle. But not for long. just forget the tap and what I have told you and be there for drinks at eight."

Jan reached out and took his brother-in-law's hand.

"If I don't sound grateful it's only because of the hangover. Thanks. It's nice to know you're there. I don't understand half of what you told me and maybe I don't want to."

"That's wisest. See you tonight."

When the door had closed, Jan poured his cup of cold coffee into the sink and went to the bar. Hair of the dog was something he usually avoided, but not today. Had Smitty been acting, or was his story true?

Was there more to the story than what he had been told? The only thing he could do was act as though it were. And watch what he said on the phone.

Then came the realization that what Sara had told him on the submarine was true. The world was proving not to be the simple place he had always thought it to be.

It was snowing outside and the city of London had vanished behind a shifting curtain of white. What was to be done? He knew he was at a turning point, a branching in the road of his life. Perhaps the major branch, the one of most importance. There had been a number of shocks administered in the last weeks, more perhaps than he had experienced before in his entire lifetime. Fights in prep school, canings, exams in university, love affairs-all that had really been simple. Life had flowed toward him and he had taken it as it came. All of the decisions had been easy ones to make because they moved with the stream. Yes, this was different; this was the big one.

He cotild do nothing, of course, ignore everything he had heard and discovered and lead the life he had always led.

No~he couldn't possibly do that. It had all changed. The world he had lived in was not the real one, his view of reality not a true one. Israel, smugglers, submarines, de-mocracy, slaveocracy. They were there and he had not known about them. He had been as misled as the pre-Copernicans who thought that the sun rotated around the Earth. They had believed-no, they had known-that it did. And they had been wrong. He had known about his world-and had been just as wrong.

At that moment he had no idea where it would lead, and had the sudden depressing feeling that it might end in disaster. It might-but the chance had to be taken. He prided himself on the freedom of his thought, the ability for rational and unemotional thinking that led him to the truth, whatever it might be.

Well there was plenty of truth in the world he knew nothing about-and he was going to find it. And he knew just how to go about it. It would be simple, it might leave traces, but if he worked it right he would not be caught.

Smiling, he sat down with a pad and a pen and began to draw a flow chart of a computer program for theft.

Six.

"I can't tell you how pleased I am that you have decided to join our program," Sonia Amarigho said.

'Almost all of our microcircuits are antiques fit only for museums and I despair daily of ever having anything done about them." She was gray-haired and plump, almost lost behind the big desk. And her Belgian French accent was,,still p.r.o.nounced-her "them" sounded more like "zem ~ven after her years in London. She looked like a concierge 'or a tired housewife. She was considered to be the top communica-tions engineer in the entire world.

"It is my pleasure to be here, Madame Amarigho. I must admit that my motives are very selfish for joining your program.

"More selfishness of this order I do need!"

"No, it's the truth. I'm working on a smaller version of the nautical navigator and I'm having problems. I realized, finally, that my biggest problem was I knew very little about the circuitry at the satellite end.

When I heard that you were looking for a microcircuit engineer I jumped at the chance."

"You are a mQst marvelous man and you are doubly welcome. We go to your laboratory now."

'Aren't you going to tell me what my job is first?"

"Your job is everything," she said, moving her hands outward in a quick, all-encompa.s.sing gesture. "I want you first to understand our circuitry, ask questions, learn about our satellites. We have difficulties enough that I won't bother you with at the present. When you know your way around I will present you with a stack-so high!~~f these problems. You will be sorry you ever came.

"Hardly. I really am looking forward to it."

This was the truth. He needed to work in a very large lab, and the discovery of the opening in the satellite program had been fortuitous. He really could work on the development of his navigator. And he would be of value here if the microcircuitry was as dated as he had been led to understand.

It was worse. The first satellite he examined in any detail was a great two-ton geosynchronous machine that hung in the sky 35,924 kilometers over the Atlantic Ocean. It had been in trouble for years, less than half of its circuits were still in operation, and a replacement was being manufactured. Jan was scanning through the dia-grams of the replacement, with an overall schematic dis-played on one screen and detailed breakdowns being shown in coLor on the larger screen before him. Some of the circuitry looked familiar-too familiar. He touched the prod to the screen and signaled for information. A third VDU lit up with a display of specification numbers.

"I can't believe it!" Jan said aloud.

"Did you call, your honor?" A lab a.s.sistant pushing an instrument-laden wagon stopped, turning toward him.

"No, nothing. Thank you. Just talking to myself."

The man hurried away. Jan shook his head in won-der. They had had this circuitry in his textbooks when he was in school; it must be fifty years old at least. There had been a dozen advances in the state of the art since its time. If there were more like this he could improve satellite construction easily enough by simply updating existing designs. Boring but easy. Which would give him enough free time for his personal project.

It was coming along well. He had already bypa.s.sed most of the seals on the Oxford University computer and was now searching for barred areas in the history sections. His years of computer circuit design were not being wasted.

Computers are completely unintelligent. Just big adding machines that count on their fingers. Except they have an incredible amount of fingers and can count awfully fast They cannot think for theniselves or do anything that they have not been programmed to do. When a computer functions as a memory store it answers any questions asked of it. The memory banks of a public library are open to anyone with access to a terminal. A library com-puter is very helpful. It will find a book by t.i.tle, by author's name, or even by subject. It will supply informa-tion about a book or books until the customer is satisfied that this is indeed the book he really wants. Upon a signal the library computer will transmit the book-in a few seconds-to the memory hank of the questioning comput-er terminal. Simple.

But even a library compt.i.ter has certain restrictions about releasing material. One is the age of the questioner and access to the p.o.r.nography section. Every customer code contains the date of birth of the customer-as well as other relevant information-and if a boy age ten wants to read f.a.n.n.y Hill he will find his request politely refused. And if he persists he will discover that the computer is programmed to inform his physician of this continuing unhealthy act.

However if the boy uses his father's identification number the computer will supply f.a.n.n.y Hill, in the color-ill.u.s.trated edition, and no questions asked.

Jan knew just how unthinking computers really were, knew as well how to get around the blocks and warnings built into their programs. After less than a week's work he had gained access to an unused terminal in Balliol Col-lege, had a.s.signed it a new priority code, and was using it to gain access to the records he wanted to see. Even if his pryings did tip off alarms the request would only be traced back to Balliol, where things like this were expected to happen. If traced further still the circuit went through the pathology laboratory in Edinburgh before reaching his own terminal. He had installed enough alarms of his own in the program to let him know long before if he were being traced, to give him enough time to break the con-nection and remove all evidence of his tampering.

Today would be the major test to see if all this work had been worth the effort. He had prepared the program of requests at home and had it with him now. The morn-ing tea break was on and most of the lab workers were away from their positions. Jan had diagrams displayed on four screens. And he was un.o.bserved. He took out a small cigar-part of this ruse involved his taking up smoking again after a gap of almost eight years-then extracted the glow lighter from his pocket to light it with. The element went white hot in an instant and he puffed out a cloud of smoke. And put the lighter on the bench before him.

Centered over the apparently accidental ink mark on the surface, that in reality had been very carefully positioned.

He cleared the small screen closest to him and asked it if it was ready to read information. It was-which meant the lighter was in the correct position over the wires in the bench. He hit the return key and the screen said ready. The program was now in the computer. The lighter went back into his pocket, along with the 64K magnetic bubble memory he had built inside it, in the s.p.a.ce left when he had replaced the large battery with the smaller one.

The moment of truth. If he had written the program well it should extract the information he needed without leaving any trace of his request. Even if the alarms did go off he was sure they couldn't track him easily. For as soon as the Edinburgh computer had the information it would transmit it to Balliol. Then, without waiting for verifica-tion of receipt, it would wipe all of its memories clean of the program, the request, the transmission, and the ad-dress. Balliol would do the same as soon as it had pa.s.sed on the information to him in the lab. If the information were not transmitted correctly it would mean laboriously building up the sequence of circuits again. It would be worth the effort. No effort was too large if it prevented his being traced.

Jan shook the ash from his cigar into the ashtray and saw that no one was even looking in his direction; no one could possibly see what he was doing. His actions were completely normal. He typed the code word ISRAEL onto the screen. Then typed RUN and hit the return key.

Seconds moved by. Slowly. Five, ten, fifteen. He knew that it would take time to get through to the memory, to penetrate the coded blocks, to seek out the right refer-ence, and then to transmit it. Through tests he had run with noncla.s.sified material from the same source he had found that eighteen seconds was the maximum time he had ever had to wait. He was allowing twenty seconds this time and no more. Now his finger was poised over the switch that would break the connection. Eighteen seconds. Nineteen.

He was about to bring it down when the screen cleared and read PROGRAM COMPLETE.

Perhaps he had something-and perhaps he didn't. But he was not going to take a chance to find out now. Grinding out the half-smoked cigar he took a fresh one from the package and lit it. And placed the lighter on the bench. It was in the right position.

It took only a few seconds to transfer the contents of the computer's memory to the bubble memory in the lighter. Once it was safely back in his pocket he cleared all traces of what he had done from the terminal's memory, put a diagram back on the screen, and went to get his tea.

Jan did not want to do anything out of the ordinary this day so he immersed himself in the satellite studies. Once it had captured his attention he forgot all about the contents of the lighter in the intricacy of the circuit design. At the end of the day.he was not the first one to leave-nor the last. In the security of his own apartment he threw down his coat and locked the door. And checked the burglar alarms he had installed. The answer was negative and it appeared that no one had been in the apartment since he had left.

The memory dumped from the core in the lighter into his computer. There was something there all right, but there was only one way to find out if his plan had succeeded. He typed RUN and hit return.

It was there. Pages and pages of it. The history of the State of Israel from biblical times to the present.

With no gaps or fict.i.tious accounts of UN enclaves. And it appeared to be just as Sara had told him, though in greater detail. The point of view was certainly different, but essentially what she had told him was the truth. Which made it fairly certain that everything else she had said was true as well. Was he a slave master? It would take more digging to find out what she meant by that remark and about democracy. Meanwhile he read with growing interest a history that was completely different from the one he had learned in school.

But it was not complete. In fact the record~broke off suddenly in~mid-line. Could this have been an accident? A glitch somewhere in the complex program that he had set up? It could be-but he did not think so. In fact he had better consider it as deliberate and rethink his whole plan. If he had missed some keying code in his gaining access to the information an alarm could have been sounded. The running program would have been cut in just this way. And traced.

There was a cold chill on the back of his neck, even though the room was warm. Now he was being foolish; the Security forces could ndt be that efficient. Yet-why shouldn't they be? It was always a strong possibility. He shrugged off the thought for the moment and went and took dinner from the deep freeze and put it into the microwave.

After eating he read through the material again, turning back quickly when he came to the truncated end.

After that he scrolled through one more time, stop-ping to read the more relevant parts, then typed SCR, and cleared it all away, returning intelligence to random elec-trons at the touch of a b.u.t.ton. And the lighter memory as well. He pa.s.sed the lighter through the strong magnetic field of the eraser-then stopped. Not good enough. It took only a few minutes to remove the bubble memory from the lighter and drop it into his spare parts box. The original battery went back in and all evidence was re-moved. It might be stupid, but he felt relieved after it was done.

On the way to the lab in the morning he pa.s.sed the library, usually deserted at this time of day, and a familiar voice called out to him.

'Jan, you're being the early bird."

His brother-in-law waved casually from the doorway.

"Smitty! What on earth are you doing here? Didn't know you cared about satellites."

"I care about everything. Give me a moment, will you. Come in and close the door."

"We're being mysterious this morning. Did you come to hear my discovery that we are still building satellites with circuitry dating back to the last century?"