were stacked in the hallway outside the modified corner room. The
three builders opened each box in turn and carried the material into
the room. Then they stacked it carefully into the wide spaces behind
the new softwood framing. The unloaders generally paused for a moment
and watched them, grateful for a moment of rest.
The process lasted most of the afternoon because of the amount of
material and the care they took in moving it. When the last of the
four loads was stacked upstairs, the eight volunteers dispersed. Seven
of them headed for the mess hall. The eighth stretched in the last of
the afternoon sun and strolled off. It was his habit. Four or five
times a week, he would take a long walk on his own, especially after a
period of heavy work. It was assumed to be his way of relaxing.
He strolled in the forest. There was a beaten path running west
through the silence. He followed it for a half-mile. Then he paused
and stretched again. He used the weary twisting motion of a tired man
easing a sore back to glance around a complete circle. Then he stepped
sideways off the path. Stopped strolling. Started an urgent walk. He
dodged trees and followed a wide looping course west, then north. He
went straight for a particular tree. There was a large flat rock
bedded in needles at its base. He stood still and waited. Listened
hard. Then he ducked down and heaved the rock to one side. Underneath
was a rectangular shape wrapped in oilcloth. He unfolded the cloth and
took out a small hand-held radio. Pulled the stubby antenna and hit a
button and waited. Then he whispered a long and excited message.
When the old building was quiet again, the employer stopped by with
some strange new instructions. The three builders asked no questions.
Just listened carefully. The guy was entitled to get what he wanted.
The new instructions meant a certain amount of work would have to be
redone. In the circumstances, not a problem. Even less of a problem
when the employer offered a cash bonus on top of the bid price.
The three builders worked fast and it took them less time than it might
have. But it was already evening by the time they finished. The
junior man stayed behind to pack tools and coil cables. The crew chief
and the other guy drove north in the dark and parked exactly where the
employer had told them to. Got out of their truck and waited in the
silence.
“In here,” a voice called. The employer. “All the way in back.”
They went in. The place was dark. The guy was waiting for them,
somewhere in the shadows.
These boards any use to you?” the employer asked.
There was a stack of old pine boards, way in back.
“They’re good lumber,” the employer said. “Maybe you can use them.
Like recycling, you know?”
There was something else on the ground beside the stack of boards.
Something strange. The two carpenters stared. Strange humped shapes.
The two carpenters stared at the strange humped shapes, then they
stared at each other. Then they turned around. The employer smiled at
them and raised a dull black automatic.
The resident agent at the FBI’s remote satellite, station was a smart
enough guy to realize it was going to be important. He didn’t know
exactly how or why it was going to be important, but an undercover
informant doesn’t risk a radio message from a concealed location for no
reason. So he copied the details into the FBI computer system. His
report flashed across the computer network and lodged in the massive
mainframe on the first floor of the FBI’s Hoover Building in
Washington, DC. The Hoover Building database handles more new reports
in a. day than there are seconds, so it took a long moment for the FBI
software to scan through and pick out the key words. Once it had done
so, it lodged the bulletin high in its memory and waited.
At exactly the same time, the system was logging a message from the FBI
Field Office in Chicago. The bureau chief up there, Agent-in-Charge