“Well, write up everything you have on it, and we’ll lay out further experimental work,” MacLeod said. He glanced around the table. “So far, we can’t be entirely sure. The shrinkage may be all in the crystalline lattice: the atomic structure may be unchanged. What we need is matter that is really collapsed.”
“I’ll do that,” Kato said. “Barida, I’ll have all my data available for you before noon tomorrow: you can make up copies for all Team members.”
“Make mine on microfilm, for projection,” von Heldenfeld said.
“Mine, too,” Sir Neville Lawton added.
“Better make microfilm copies for everybody,” Heym ben-Hillel suggested. “They’re handier than typescript.”
MacLeod rose silently and tiptoed around behind his wife and Rudolf von Heldenfeld, to touch Kato Sugihara on the shoulder.
“Come on outside, Kato,” he whispered. “I want to talk to you.”
The Japanese nodded and rose, following him outside onto the roof above the laboratories. They walked over to the edge and stopped at the balustrade.
“Kato, when you write up your stuff, I want you to falsify everything you can. Put it in such form that the data will be absolutely worthless, but also in such form that nobody, not even Team members, will know it has been falsified. Can you do that?”
Kato’s almond-shaped eyes widened. “Of course I can, Dunc,” he replied. “But why—?”
“I hate to say this, but we have a traitor in the Team. One of those people back in the dining room is selling us out to the Fourth Komintern. I know it’s not Karen, and I know it’s not you, and that’s as much as I do know, now.”
The Japanese sucked in his breath in a sharp hiss. “You wouldn’t say that unless you were sure, Dunc,” he said.
“No. At about 1000 this morning, Dr. Weissberg, the civilian director, called me to his office. I found him very much upset. He told me that General Nayland is accusing us—by which he meant this Team—of furnishing secret information on our subproject to Komintern agents. He said that British Intelligence agents at Smolensk had learned that the Red Triumph laboratories there were working along lines of research originated at MacLeod Team Center here. They relayed the information to Western Union Central Intelligence, and W.U. passed it on to United States Central Intelligence, and now Counter Espionage is riding Nayland about it, and he’s trying to make us the goat.”
“He would love to get some of us shot,” Kato said. “And that could happen. They took a long time getting tough about espionage in this country, but when Americans get tough about something, they get tough right. But look here; we handed in our progress-reports to Felix Weissberg, and he passed them on to Nayland. Couldn’t the leak be right in Nayland’s own H.Q.?”
“That’s what I thought, at first,” MacLeod replied. “Just wishful thinking, though. Fact is, I went up to Nayland’s H.Q. and had it out with him; accused him of just that. I think I threw enough of a scare into him to hold him for a couple of days. I wanted to know just what it was the Komintern was supposed to have got from us, but he wouldn’t tell me. That, of course, was classified-stuff.”
“Well?”
“Well then, Karen and I got our digestive tracts emptied and went in to town, where I could use a phone that didn’t go through a military switchboard, and I put through a call to Allan Hartley, President Hartley’s son. He owes us a break, after the work we did in Puerto Rico. I told him all I wanted was some information to help clear ourselves, and he told me to wait a half an hour and then call Counter Espionage Office in Washington and talk to General Hammond.”
“Ha! If Allan Hartley’s for us, what are we worried about?” Kato asked. “I always knew he was the power back of Associated Enterprises and his father was the front-man: I’ll bet it’s the same with the Government.”
“Allan Hartley’s for us as long as our nose is clean. If we let it get dirty, we get it bloodied, too. We have to clean it ourselves,” MacLeod told him. “But here’s what Hammond gave me: The Komintern knows all about our collapsed-matter experiments with zinc, titanium and nickel. They know about our theoretical work on cosmic rays, including Suzanne’s work up to about a month ago. They know about that effect Sir Neville and Heym discovered two months ago.” He paused. “And they know about the photon-neutrino-electron interchange.”
Kato responded to this with a gruesome double-take that gave his face the fleeting appearance of an ancient samurai war mask.
“That wasn’t included in any report we ever made,” he said. “You’re right: the leak comes from inside the Team. It must be Sir Neville, or Suzanne, or Heym ben-Hillel, or Adam Lowiewski, or Rudolf von Heldenfeld, or—No! No, I can’t believe it could be Farida!” He looked at MacLeod pleadingly. “You don’t think she could have—?”
“No, Kato. The Team’s her whole life, even more than it is mine. She came with us when she was only twelve, and grew up with us. She doesn’t know any other life than this, and wouldn’t want any other. It has to be one of the other five.”
“Well, there’s Suzanne,” Kato began. “She had to clear out of France because of political activities, after the collapse of the Fourth Republic and the establishment of the Rightist Directoire in ’57. And she worked with Joliot-Curie, and she was at the University of Louvain in the early ’50s, when that place was crawling with
