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t was worth。 Men on first and second； one out。 Two strikes on Jose Canseco。
Another foul tip。
〃Guy ought to quit fouling the ball；〃 Albright said。 〃Sometimes you want them to either hit it or strike out； it doesn't matter； as long as the game goes on。〃
〃Yeah；〃 Camacho mumbled with his mouth full。 He swallowed。 〃But the guy keeps swinging to stay alive。〃
The Baltimore pitcher swung around and threw to second。 Too late。
〃Now the pitcher's doing it。〃 Albright helped himself to another Fig Newton。
Camacho finished his milk and set the glass in the sink。
〃Here's the pitch；〃 the radio blared。 The crack of the bat started the crowd roaring。 〃Through the hole； looks like it's going to the wall。 Man rounding third is trotting home。 And that's it； folks。 The A's win it in the eleventh inning on an RBI double by Jose Canseco。〃 Camacho nipped the radio off。
〃A good player；〃 Albright told him。
〃Good kid；〃 Luis agreed。
〃Gonna be a superstar。〃
〃If he lasts。〃
〃Yeah。 They all gotta last。 Everyone has high expectations； then for some reason； sometimes the kid sorta fizzles。 Know what I mean？〃
Camacho nodded and put Albright's glass in the sink。
〃We had high hopes for you…〃
〃Why don't you go home and swelter at your house； Harlan。 It's two…thirty in the morning and I have to work tomorrow。〃
〃I don't。 Got the air conditioner guys ing in the morning。 I'll call in sick。 Tomorrow night my place is going to be like Moscow in winter。〃
〃Terrific。〃
Albright heaved himself off the stool and reached for the sliding glass door。 As his hand closed on it； he paused and looked at Camacho。 〃Anything new？〃
〃Yeah。 One or two little things； since you mentioned it。 The Soviet ambassador got a letter several weeks ago。 For some reason there was a stain on it； a jelly stain。 We analyzed it。 Looks like a French brand of blueberry。 Imported。 We have a dozen agents on it。〃
〃Amazing。〃 Albright shook his head like a great bear。 He brightened。 〃That might lead to something； eh？〃
〃It might。 You never know。〃
〃Amazing。 All those letters； over three and a half years！ The Minotaur has never made a mistake； not even one tiny slip。 And now he sends a letter with a jelly stain on it？ It's too good to be real。〃
〃You take your breaks where you find them。 If it is a break。 We'll find out if I can keep enough people working on it。 Another development just cropped up。〃
〃Like what？ Peanut butter on the envelope？〃
〃Nothing to do with the Minotaur。〃
〃What？〃 Albright was no longer amused。
〃Crash of the navy's ATA prototype。 Augered in yesterday out in Nevada。〃 He glanced at the wall clock。 〃Day before yesterday； actually。 Seems somebody has been peddling erroneous information to a defense contractor。 AeroTech。 So the smelly stuff has hit the fan； so to speak。〃
〃Keep your people on the Minotaur。〃 His tone was flat。
〃What am I supposed to do now？ Salute？〃
Albright slid the door open。 〃I'm not kidding； Luis。 We need some progress。〃 He stepped through the door and pulled it shut behind him。 Then he disappeared into the darkness。
A minute or so later； Luis Camacho locked the door and pulled the drapes。
After Jake Grafton and the rest of the staff left for Washington； the atmosphere at the base at Tonopah took on the ethereal silence of a graveyard； or so it seemed to Toad Tarkington。 He divided his time between the hangar； where a TRX crew was mocking up the remnants of the airplane he and Rita had abandoned； and the hospital； where Rita remained in a a。
Toad drove the two miles back and forth between the two locations in an air force sedan that one of the manders had assumed he would return to the motor pool。 He would； eventually； but he was in no hurry。 After all； the mander had signed for the car and hadn't really ordered him to return it。
The lounge in the VOQ was empty。 The other guests apparently were too busy to hang around the pool table and bet dimes and swap lies while the TV hummed in the background； as the naval aviators had。 The camaraderie was an essential part of naval aviation。 Those who flew the planes gave and demanded this friendship of each other。
That first evening alone Toad tossed the cue ball down the table and watched it carom off the rails。 He looked at the empty seats and the blank TV screen and the racks of cue sticks； and trudged off to his room to call Rita's parents yet again。 He was talking to them twice a day now。 He was also calling his own folks out in Santa Barbara once a day； keeping them updated on Rita and talking just to hear their voices。 Likely as not his parents were slightly baffled and secretly pleased by this attention from the son who usually phoned once a month and never wrote because he had said everything in the phone call。
It's funny； he mused； that now； now。 with Rita in such bad shape； the sound of his mother's voice was so forting。 After the second day alone； it finally occurred to him that the problem was that he had almost nothing to do。 He was standing in the hangar watching； listening； but he had no people to supervise or reports to write or memos due； so he merely observed with his mind in neutral。 At the hospital he sat beside Rita； who was moved to a private room； and did a monologue for her or stared at the wall。 And thought。 He pondered and thought and mused some more。
That evening on the way to the hospital he stopped by the exchange and bought a spiral notebook。 In Rita's room he began to write。 〃Dear Rita；〃 he began； then sucked on the pen and looked out the window。 He dated the page。 Dear； dear Rita： 〃Someday you will wake； and when you do； I will give you this letter。〃
He wrote； sometimes for several hours at a sitting。 He started out writing about Toad Tarkington： growing up in southern California with the beach and surf just down the road； baseball and football in the endless summer； the hard…bodied bimbettes chased and wooed and sometimes conquered。 He described how he felt about his first true love； and his second and third and fourth。 He devoted page after page to college and grades and all…night parties。
Finally he decided he had squeezed the sponge pretty dry on his youth； so he turned to the navy。 Without his even realizing it； his style changed。 Instead of the light； witty； listen…to…this style he had adopted for tales of his youth； he wrote seriously now； with no attempt at humor。 Facts； impressions； opinions； ambitions； they came pouring from his pen。
In four days the TRX crew finished their work and mysteriously vanished。 Several days later a group of officers and civilians from Washington arrived unannounced。 They poked and prodded the dismembered； blackened carcass and photographed everything； then climbed back into the waiting planes parked on the baking ramp in front of base ops。 Toad was left with his solitude and his writing。
So the days passed； one by one； as Rita slept。
In Washington； Jake Grafton was also writing； though he went about it in a vastly different manner than Tarkington。 He dictated general ideas into a recording machine and gave the tapes to his subordinates； who expanded the ideas into smooth； detailed drafts which Jake then worked on with a pencil。 Flight test data and observations were marshaled； correlated and piled。 Graphs were drawn and projections made about performance； maintenance man…hours； mean time between failures and； of course； costs。 Money dripped from every page。 Every officer in the group had an input； and conclusions and remendations were argued and reargued around Jake's desk； with him listening and jotting notes and occasionally indicating he had heard enough on one subject or another。 All of it went into a mushrooming document with the words 〃top secret〃 smeared all over。
Vice Admiral Tyler Henry spent some unhappy hours with Luis Camacho。 It had been quickly established that the data contained on the E…PROM chip from the crashed prototype was identical to the erroneous data contained in the Pentagon puter file that had last been changed by the deceased Captain Harold Strong。 TRX's latest； correct batch of E…PROM data was also in the puter； but under another file number。
Three days and a dozen phone calls after he had sent Lloyd Dreyfus to Detroit； Camacho went himself。 On Thursday at noon he rode the Metro out to National Airport and was sitting in the president of AeroTech's office in Detroit at 3：50…
Homer T。 Wiggins had gotten himself a lawyer； a manicured； fiftyish aristocrat in a Brooks Brothers suit and dark maroon tie。 His stylish tan and his gray temples and sideburns made him look like something sent over from central casting。 〃Martin Prescott Nash；〃 he pronounced with a tiny nod at Camacho； then pointedly ignored the proffered hand。 Camacho retracted his spurned appendage and used a handkerchief to wipe it carefully as he sized up Wiggins； who was apparently trying his best to look like a pillar of outraged rectitude。
〃My client is one of the most respected leading citizens of this state；〃 Nash began in a tone that might e naturally to a feminist activist lecturing a group of convicted rapists。 He had it just right…the slight voice quaver； the distinct pronunciation of each word； the subtle trace of outrage。 〃He is active in over