But he didn't. He went away with the agent in charge and didn't come back. There were at least a dozen new Bureau agents, tough ones. They were full of questions, though what they were questioning everybody about, exactly, they would not say. The first thing they did was to shuttle everybody in the Observatory up to its top floor, with Bureau agents making sure they stayed there. Phones rang unanswered, computer screens beeped impatiently for inputs that didn't come. The Observatory staff milled in the top-floor file rooms and hallways while they were taken, half a dozen at a time, down to the middle floor for interviews.
When it came Pat's turn she was conducted to her own office, where a middle-aged woman had preempted her desk. Now, that was too much! Scowling, she asserted herself: 'I protest this unwarranted-'
'Yes, yes,' the agent said without patience. 'Have a seat. What I want to know is what Janice DuPage has been doing in the last three weeks.'
'What happened three weeks ago?' Pat demanded.
'That's when the three weeks I'm asking about began. Just answer the questions, Ms. Adcock. Have you noticed anything unusual about the subject's behavior in that period?'
Pat thought. 'You mean, outside of getting run over by a car?'
'Yes.'
'Not really. Of course, she was in the hospital for some of that time, and I was away sometimes, too. What do you mean by unusual, anyway?'
'By unusual I mean anything that isn't usual,' the agent explained. 'Start with Tuesday, the twenty- fourth-'
'Oh, right!' Pat said, enlightenment coming. 'That was the day that Scarecrow spacecraft scared us all half to death.'
'That day, yes. Well?'
And so it went, day by day. The questions were thorough, but Pat was pretty sure that the agent wasn't getting anything useful-wasn't getting anything from her that she hadn't already heard from the previous interviewees.
When she was released she was told she could go home. She didn't, though. She went down to the lower floor, where the people the agents had finished with were congregating in the conference room.
Then Dannerman came in, looking worried. 'I came as soon as I got your call,' he told Pat One. 'And I talked to Jilly Hohman-she's the agent in charge here.'
'So what's it all about?' Pat One demanded.
He looked even more worried. 'It's that friend of Janices. They did a routine autopsy on her . . . and they found a bug.'
'A bug? In Janice's friend? But-but she was never out in space,' said Pat, and Dannerman nodded somberly.
'That's the problem,' he said. 'She never was.'
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The news about the bug in the cruise passenger's head caught Hilda Morrisey on the wing. She was halfway to Arlington. For a moment she thought of pulling rank, ordering the pilot to take her back to the scene of this unwelcome new glitch in New York. Reason prevailed. The New York Bureau people were dealing with it, and most of them had recently been her own people. She could leave that to them. Anyway, she could get a better picture at headquarters.
The picture refused to come clear. When all the questioning was done, nobody at the Dannerman Astrophysical Observatory had any useful information about the late Maureen Capobianco. Neither did any of her friends and family once the Bureau had tracked them down. Nor did the X rays find a bug in any of them. It wasn't until they got a passenger list from the operators of her cruise ship that the Bureau struck pay dirt.
That was a break. A checker recognized two of the names on the list as his own neighbors. When the Bureau's people descended on them they were startled but cooperative . . . and the X rays told the story. They, too, were bugged. Both of them. So, when they were tracked down, were the members of a bridge club from Baltimore who had treated themselves to the cruise, all twenty-six of them. So was a barman from the cruise ship, furloughed to his mother's home in the District itself.
So was every last one they could find of the ship's 826 passengers and 651 crew members.
That wasn't all. Hilda Morrisey got the news first and brought it to the deputy director. 'There were these six Ecuadorians from a fishing boat that had been near the splash site. They had it, too.'
'Shit,' Marcus Pell said dismally. 'It's an epidemic. We should have anticipated this, Hilda; it's what the Doc was trying to tell us, with those pictures.'
'I guess we thought he meant actual Scarecrows were coming.'
'I guess we did.' He sighed. 'All right. Take off for Camp Smelly, Hilda. See if you can get anything out of that damn Dopey.'
She stood up to go, then turned. Pell had not seemed all that surprised to hear about the Ecuadorians. 'Is there anything else?'
He hesitated, then shrugged. 'Keep it under your hat, but yes. We got a report from an asset in Vietnam. The Chinese are rounding up the whole crew of that submarine that went missing. The one where they executed the captain and the engineering officer?' He grimaced. 'You know how they execute criminals, one bullet in the back of the neck-so the organs won't be spoiled for transplant. Well, the shot hit a bug.'
'Jesus.' A thought struck her. 'I thought we had our own asset in the Chinese Navy, how come we had to get this from the Viets?'
