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security measure。 It makes sense for the camps to be isolated from one another。 These people know about the importance of security； and even if they didn't before； the French op was a gilt…edge reminder。〃
Ryan hadn't thought about that。 The raid on the Action…Directe camp had to have an effect on the others； didn't it？
〃You mean we shot ourselves in the foot？〃
〃No； we sent a message that was worth sending。 So far as we can determine； nobody knows what actually happened there。 We have reason to believe that the suspicion on the ground is that a rival outfit settled a score not all of these groups like each other。 So； if nothing else； we've fostered some suspicions among the groups themselves； and vis…a…vis their hosts。 That sort of thing could break some information loose for us； but it'll take time to find out。〃
〃Anyway； now that we know that this camp is likely to be the one we want； what are we going to do about it？〃
〃We're working on that。 I can't say any more。〃
〃Okay。〃 Ryan gestured to his desk。 〃You want some coffee； Marty？〃
Cantor's face took on a curious expression。 〃No； I'm off coffee for a while。〃
What Cantor didn't say was that a major operation had been laid on。 It was fairly typical in that very few of the participants actually knew what was going on。 A Navy carrier battle group centered on USS Saratoga was due to sail west out of the Mediterranean Sea； and would pass north of the Gulf of Sidra in several days。 As was routine； the formation was being trailed by a Soviet AGI a fishing trawler that gathers electronic intelligence instead of mackerel which would give information to the Libyans。 When the carrier was directly north of Tripoli； in the middle of the night； a French…controlled agent would interrupt electrical power to some radar installations soon after the carrier started conducting nighttime flight operations。 This was expected to get some people excited； although the carrier group mander had no idea that he was doing anything other than routine flight ops。 It was hoped that the same team of French mandos that had raided Camp …20 would also be able to slip into Camp …18。 Marty couldn't tell Ryan any of this； but it was a measure of how well Action…Directe had been damaged that the French were willing to give the Americans such cooperation。 While it hadn't exactly been the first example of international cooperation； it was one of three such operations that had actually been successful。 The CIA had helped to avenge the murder of a friend of the French President。 Whatever the differences between the two countries； debts of honor were still paid in full。 It appealed to Cantor's sense of propriety； but was something known to only twenty people within the Agency。 The op was scheduled to run in four days。 A senior case officer from the Operations Directorate was even now working with the French paratroopers who； he reported； were eager to demonstrate their prowess yet again。 With luck； the terrorist group that had had the temerity to mit murder within the United States and the United Kingdom would be hurt by the troops of yet another nation。 If successful； the precedent would signal a new and valuable development in the struggle against terrorism。
Dennis Cooley was working on his ledger book。 It was early。 The shop wasn't open for business yet； and this was the time of day for him to set his accounts straight。 It wasn't very hard。 His shop didn't have all that many transactions。 He hummed away to himself； not knowing what annoyance this habit caused for the man listening to the microphone planted behind one of his bookshelves。 Abruptly his humming stopped and his head came up。 What was wrong 。 。 。？
The little man nearly leaped from his chair when he smelled the acrid smoke。 He scanned the room for several seconds before looking up。 The smoke was ing from the ceiling light fixture。 He darted to the wall switch and slapped his hand on it。 A blue flash erupted from the wall； giving him a powerful electric shock that numbed his arm to the elbow。 He stared at his arm in surprise； flexing his fingers and looking at the smoke that seemed to be trailing off。 He didn't wait to see it stop。 Cooley had a fire extinguisher in the back room。 He got it and came back； pulled the safety pin； and aimed the device at the switch。 No smoke there anymore。 Next he stood on his chair to get close to the ceiling fixture； but already the smoke was nearly gone。 The smell remained。 Cooley stood on the chair for over a minute； his knees shaking as the chair moved slightly under him； holding the extinguisher and trying to decide what to do。 Call the fire brigade？ But there wasn't any fire was there？ All his valuable books 。 。 。 He'd been trained in many things； but fighting fires was not one of them。 He was breathing heavily now； nearly panicked until he finally decided that there wasn't anything to be panicked about。 He turned to see three people staring at him through the glass with curious expressions。
He lowered the extinguisher with a shamefaced grin and gestured ically to the spectators。 The light was off。 The switch was off。 The fire； if it had been a fire； was gone。 He'd call the building's electrician。 Cooley opened the door to explain what was wrong to his fellow shop owners。 One remarked that the wiring in the arcade was horribly out of date。 It was something Cooley hadn't ever thought about。 Electricity was electricity。 You flipped the switch and the light went on； and that was that。 It annoyed him that something so reliable； wasn't。 A minute later he called the building manager； who promised that an electrician would be there in half an hour。
The man arrived forty minutes later； apologizing for being held up in traffic。 He stood for a moment； admiring the bookshelves。
〃Smells like a wire burned out；〃 he judged next。 〃You're lucky； sir。 That frequently causes a fire。〃
〃How difficult will it be to fix？〃
〃I expect that I'll have to replace the wiring。 Ought to have been done years ago。 This old place well； the electric service is older than I am； and that's too old by half。〃 He smiled。
Cooley showed him to the fuse box in the back room； and the man went to work。 Dennis was unwilling to use his table lamp； and sat in the semidarkness while the tradesman went to work。
The electrician flipped off the outside master switch and examined the fuse box。 It still had the original inspection tag； and when he rubbed off the dust； he read off the date： 1919。 The man shook his head in amazement。 Almost seventy bloody years！ He had to remove some items to get at the wall； and was surprised to see that there was some recent plasterwork。 It was as good a place to start as any。 He didn't want to damage the wall any more than he had to。 With hammer and chisel he broke into the new plaster； and there was the wire 。 。 。
But it wasn't the right one； he thought。 It had plastic insulation； not the gutta…percha used in his grandfather's time。 It wasn't in quite the right place； either。 Strange； he thought。 He pulled on the wire。 It came out easily。
〃Mr。 Cooley； sir？〃 he called。 The shop owner appeared a moment later。 〃Do you know what this is？〃
〃Bloody hell！〃 the detective said in the room upstairs。 〃Bloody fucking hell！〃 He turned to his panion； a look of utter shock on his face。 〃Call mander Owens！〃
〃I've never seen anything like this。〃 He cut off the end and handed it over。 The electrician did not understand why Cooley was so pale。
Neither had Cooley； but he knew what it was。 The end of the wire showed nothing； just a place where the polyvinyl insulation stopped； without the copper core that one expects to see in electrical circuitry。 Hidden in the end was a highly sensitive microphone。 The shop owner posed himself after a moment； though his voice was somewhat raspy。
〃I have no idea。 Carry on。〃
〃Yes； sir。〃 The electrician resumed his search for the power line。
Cooley had already lifted his telephone and dialed a number。
〃Hello？〃
〃Beatrix？〃
〃Good morning； Mr。 Dennis。 How are you today？〃
〃Can you e into the shop this morning？ I have a small emergency。〃
〃Certainly。〃 She lived only a block from the Holloway Road tube station。 The Piccadilly Line ran almost directly to the shop。 〃I can be there in fifteen minutes。〃
〃Thank you； Beatrix。 You're a love；〃 he added before he hung up。 By this time Cooley's mind was racing at mach…1。 There was nothing in the shop or his home that could incriminate him。 He lifted the phone again and hesitated。 His instructions under these circumstances were to call a number he had memorized but if there were a microphone in his office； his phone 。 。 。 and his home phone 。 。 。 Cooley was sweating now despite the cool temperature。 He manded himself to relax。 He'd never said anything promising on either phone had he？ For all his expertise and discipline； Cooley had never faced danger； and he was beginning to panic。 It took all of his concentration to focus on his operational procedures； the things he had learned and practiced for years。 Cooley told himself that he had never deviated from them。 Not once。 He was sure of that。 By the time he stopped shaking； the bell ran