scoonts.theminotaur-第40章

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　After　entering　and　closing　the　door；　Dreyfus　approached　the　desk　and　handed　Camacho　a　photocopy　of　the　message　from　the　cigarette　pack　that　Mrs。　Jackson　had　supplied。　〃Interest　Golden。TS　849329。002EB。〃
　〃What　I　did；〃　Dreyfus　said；　〃was　to　have　the　puter　wizards　in　the　basement　assume　this　message　came　from　one　of　those　letters　that　have　been　going　to　the　Soviet　embassy。〃　Camacho　nodded。　All　mail　addressed　to　the　Soviet　embassy　was　routinely　examined　and　interesting　items　photocopied。　So　the　FBI　had　copies　of　messages　from　sixty…three　letters　that　looked　suspicious。
　〃And　sure　'nuff；　it　did。　This　little　dilly　right　here。〃　From　a　file　he　pulled　another　photocopy。　The　message　was　a　vitriolic　screed　on　Soviet　support　of　the　Afghan　puppet　regime。
　〃What's　the　code　word？〃
　〃Luteinizing。〃
　〃What　the　hell　kind　of　word　is　that？〃
　〃Some　medical　word。〃
　〃Will　that　break　any　of　the　other　messages？〃
　〃These　four。〃　Dreyfus　laid　four　more　photocopies　on　the　desk　before　his　boss。　On　the　bottom　of　each　was　penciled　the　code　word　and　the　message；　and　the　initials　of　the　puter　technician。
　〃How　about　that？〃　Camacho　said。　〃Very　nicely　done；　Dreyfus。〃
　Dreyfus　sagged　into　a　seat　across　the　desk。　He　was　tall　and　angular　and　liked　his　pipe；　which　he　extracted　from　a　sweater　pocket　and　charged。　〃We're　still　short　a　whole　bunch　of　code　words。〃
　Camacho　eyed　his　colleague　as　he　drew　deeply　on　the　pipe　and　exhaled　clouds　of　smoke。　〃So　now　we　know　how　the　code　is　constructed？〃　he　prompted。
　〃Yeah。　It's　a　matrix。〃
　〃And？〃
　〃And　if　we　could　tie　up　the　mainframe　for　a　couple　weeks；　we　could　construct　a　matrix　for　each　and　every　word　in　the　dictionary　and　pare　them　with　every　message。　Given　enough　time　on　the　puter；　we　can　crack　them　all。〃
　〃And　then　we'll　know　what　was　stolen。〃　Camacho　turned　to　the　window。　There　was　little　to　see。　It　was　a　windy；　cold　day　out　there。　〃Two　weeks？　Jesus；　that's　a　hell　of　a　lot　of　puting　time。　You　should　be　able　to　find　the　Grand　Unified　Theory　with　two　weeks　on　a　Cray　puter。〃
　〃Well；　from　looking　at　this　word　he　used…'luteinizing'…it's　obvious　that　some　of　the　words　are　probably　verb　participles；　past　tense；　etc。　It's　possible…probable；　since　this　guy's　pretty　damn　cute…that　some　of　the　code　words　are　the　names　of　persons　or　places。　The　number　of　possible　English　codewords　is　in　the　millions；　and　the　puter　must　construct　a　matrix　for　each　and　every　one　of　them　and　test　each　matrix　against　all　the　suspected　messages。　So　what　is　that…a　couple　million　repetitions　of　the　program　times　sixty？　Assuming　he　used　real　words　or　names。　But　if　he　made　up　random　binations　of　letters；　say　a　dozen　letters。。。〃　Dreyfus　shrugged。
　On　a　scratch　pad　Camacho　wrote；　〃26〃。〃　〃Point　made；〃　he　muttered。
　〃Oh；　I　know；　I　know。　Even　after　we　have　all　the　messages　cracked；　we　won't　have　the　Minotaur。　But　we'll　have　his　scent。　Once　we　know　which　files　he's　been　in；　we　can　trot　over　to　the　Pentagon　and　glom　on　to　the　access　sheets　for　those　files。　Our　boy　has　seen　them　all。〃
　〃Maybe。　But　not　very　likely。　Probably　he　got　the　access　codes　during　an　unauthorized　peek　in　the　main　security　files。　But　the　document　key　words　and　numbers…〃　He　sighed。　〃I　would　bet　my　last　penny　he　hasn't　seen　all　the　files　he's　given　away。　I'll　bet　there　isn't　a　man　alive　who's　had　authorized　access　to　all　those　files。〃
　〃It's　worth　a　try。〃
　〃Agreed。　But　we'll　never　get　the　Cray　mainframe　for　two　weeks。　The　fingerprint　guys　would　cry　a　river。　So　let's　get　started　with　what　we　have。　Get　the　access　sheets　for　these　five　files　we　know　about　and　let's　see　who's　on　them。　And　for　Christ's　sake；　keep　your　head　down。　Don't　let　anyone　know　what　you're　after。　We　don't　want　to　spook　our　man。〃
　〃Okay；〃　Dreyfus　agreed。　〃While　we're　at　it；　why　don't　we　just　pick　up　Terry　Franklin　and　sweat　the　little　bastard？〃
　〃Not　yet。〃
　Dreyfus'　pipe　was　dead。　He　sucked　audibly；　then　got　out　his　lighter。　When　he　was　exhaling　smoke　again；　he　said；　〃I　think　we're　making　a　mistake　not　keeping　Franklin　under　surveillance。〃
　〃What　if　the　little　shit　bolts？　What　then？　Is　Franklin　the　only　mole　Ivan　has　over　there？　Is　he？〃
　Dreyfus　threw　up　his　hands　and　gathered　up　his　papers。
　〃Get　somebody　to　tackle　this　decoding　project　with　the　mainframe　when　it's　not　in　use。　The　front　office　will　never　give　us　two　weeks；　but　let's　see　what　we　can　do　with　a　couple　hours　here　and　there。〃
　〃Sure；　Luis。〃
　〃Again；　nice　work；　Dreyfus。〃
　Camacho　stared　at　the　door　after　Dreyfus　left。　He　had　slipped　and　made　a　mistake；　he　had　lied　to　Dreyfus。　The　only　way　to　keep　two　separate　lives　pletely；　safely　separate　was　to　never　tell　a　lie。　Never。　You　often　had　to　leave　out　part　of　the　truth；　but　that　wasn't　a　lie。　A　lie　was　a　booby　trap；　a　land　mine　that　could　explode　at　any　time　with　fatal　results。　And　this　lie　had　been　a　big　one。　He　sat　now　staring　at　the　objects　on　his　desk　with　unseeing　eyes　as　he　examined　the　dimensions　of　the　lie　and　its　possible　implications。　Stupid！　A　stupid；　idiotic　lie。
　He　rubbed　his　forehead　again　and　found　he　couldn't　sit　still。　He　paced；　back　and　forth　and　back　and　forth；　until　finally　he　was　standing　in　front　of　the　Pentagon　organization　chart。　If　there　were　forty　files　or　sixty…three　or　any　number；　there　would　be　a　small　group　of　people　who　would　have　access　to　all　of　them；　if　you　constructed　just　one　more　hypothesis…that　all　the　files　concerned　classified　projects　in　research　or　development。　Tyler　Henry　the　admiral　suspected　they　did。　Albright　the　spy　already　knew　and　had　told　him　so。　Camacho　the　spy　catcher　must　verify　or　refute　that　hypothesis　soon；　or　Dreyfus　and　Henry　and　Albright　and　a　lot　of　the　others　are　going　to　think　him　inpetent；　or　worse。　He　stood　staring　at　one　box　on　the　plex　chart。　Inside　the　box　was　printed：　〃Under　Secretary　of　Defense　for　Acquisition。〃
　He　sat　at　his　desk　and　unlocked　the　lower　right　drawer　and　removed　a　file。　Inside　were　photocopies　of　all　sixty…three　letters。　They　were　in　chronological　order。　All　had　been　written　on　plain　white　copy　machine　paper　in　#2　lead　pencil；　which　had　been　a　wise　precaution　on　the　part　of　the　person　or　persons　who　wrote　them。　Ink　could　be　analyzed　chemically　and　the　sellers　of　pens　could　be　interviewed；　but　a　#2　lead　pencil　was　a　#2　lead　pencil。　And　copy　machine　paper…the　stuff　was　everywhere；　in　every　office　of　the　nation。
　On　an　average　day　the　Soviet　embassy　received　several　dozen　casual　cards　and　letters　mailed　from　all　over　the　United　States。　Most　of　the　messages　were　short　and　to　the　point。　Many　were　crude。　〃Eat　shit；　Ivan；〃　seemed　to　be　popular。　The　Chernobyl　disaster　and　the　Armenian　earthquake　had　elicited　thousands　of　pieces　of　mail；　much　to　the　chagrin　of　the　postal　inspectors　and　FBI　agents　assigned　to　screen　it。
　Over　the　last　three　years　these　letters　in　this　file　had　been　culled　for　further　scrutiny。　All　the　messages'　were　printed　in　small　block　letters；　all　were　long　enough　to　contain　an　internal　code　and　all　of　them　had　been　written　in　English　by　someone　with　a　fairly　decent　education。　Some　were　signed　and　some　weren't。　Interestingly；　about　80　percent　of　these　letters　had　been　mailed　in　the　Washington　metropolitan　area。　Not　a　one　had　been　mailed　from　over　a　hundred　miles　away。　All　had　been　enclosed　in　cheap；　plain　white　envelopes　available　in　hundreds　of　bookstores；　convenience　stores；　supermarkets；　etc。；　all　over　town。
　Camacho　looked　closely。　It　was　easy　to　see　that　the　same　person　had　written　them　all；　the　penmanship　was　so　careful　and　neat；　the　style　of　the　writer　so　consistent　from　letter　to　letter。　And　every　now　and　then；　maybe　once　in　every　other　letter；　the　syntax　was　tortuous；　not　quite　right。　It　was　as　if　the　writer　purposefully　chose　a　difficult　sentence　construction。　The　conclusion　that　these　letters；　or　at　least　some　of　them；　contained　an　internal　code　was　inescapable。
　The　mechanics　of　the　matrix　demanded　a　reasonably　long　letter　if　one　were　going　to　encrypt　a　long　message；　say　three　dozen　characters。　If　it　took　an　average　of　three　words　to　signal　one　character；　then　the　message　must　run　to　at　least　nine　dozen　words；　too　many　for　a　postcard。
　The　sheer　number　of　letters　was　daunting。　Some　of　them　were　probably　dross。　The　Minotaur　knew　these　letters　would