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"He told us he has a device on that phone which transmits the message up to fifty kilometers. And if he ever takes a trip beyond that, he'll make other arrangements."
"Like what?"
"Two chaps here in London who were also in Dad's Oman brigade.
Both are retired but Coley said they were really qualified. One's a retired constable, second class, the other worked for Scotland Yard."
"Rather splendid credentials."
"I thought so."
"What changes did Coleman want in the alarm system?" continued Pryce.
"Something about television cameras that could be seen in his flat.
He wanted to study the plans with Rog and see what was possible, I think."
"Did he say why?" asked Waters.
"Most of it was mumbo jumbo that I didn't understand, but Rog seemed to, unless he was faking, which he sometimes does."
The front-door chimes rang; the man from MI-5 spoke quickly.
"That's probably the team from our office," he said.
"I called them from the car and asked them to get here as soon as possible."
"What team?" Angela was surprised, anxious.
"What's the hurry?"
"We don't want to alarm you, dear," answered Leslie, glancing at both men, who understood, "and it may be nothing, but there's an outside possibility that a bug was placed in your house."
"Oh, my God!"
"I'll let them in."
"Deactivate the alarm," cried the young girl rapidly as Waters approached the door.
"The small panel on the right, press two, one, three, and wait a few seconds."
"Right." The Englishman did as he was told, admitting three men, two carrying electronic equipment not unlike the materials used by electricians and television-repair people, the third holding a large black bag.
"We'll start in the garage," continued Waters, leading the unit toward a door at the far end of the great hall.
"It's where a particular conversation took place; there's an entrance back here.. .. Coming along, you three?"
"At your heels, Geof," replied Cameron, escorting Angela Brewster and Montrose.
"How could anybody do it?" asked Angela.
"Get inside to leave one of those things, a bug, I mean?"
"If there's one, there's probably more than one," said Pryce.
"How disgusting! It's worse than reading someone's diary. I keep mine locked up. On my tenth birthday, Dad got me a little wall safe, and I can change the combination anytime I want to."
"When I was your age, I kept a diary, too," said Leslie.
"My brother was always trying to find it and read it."
"You had an older brother?"
"Younger, dear, and it's far worse. You have to kind of look after them and they sabotage you at every turn."
Quiet laughter followed all of them down the staircase to the large garage.
"I didn't know you had a brother," whispered Cam on the steps.
"I thought you read my dossier."
"I scanned your qualifications, not your life history."
"Thank you for that."
"Does your brother know what's happened?"
"Emory's a dear, a really sweet guy, but he's not the sort of person you run to when you're in trouble."
"Oh?"
"My brother has a short beard and more degrees than a thermometer.
He's the youngest tenured professor at Berkeley, and he and his wife backpack through the mountains carrying their tapes of Mozart, Brahms, and English madrigals. Got the picture?"
"He sounds interesting. Any kids?"
"They haven't decided, decisions being a big problem with them, usually resolved by procrastination."
"Now I get the picture."
The three intercept specialists from MI-5 went to work in the garage.
Two walked slowly around the space next to the walls under the guidance of the third man, waving what appeared to be miniature telephone poles with dual antennae shooting out from the sides. Dials were attached to the instruments, and the supervisor of the team kept checking the readings and taking notes on a clipboard.
"There's a lot of iodized metal in here, Sir Geoffrey," said the unit's leader as short bursts came and went from the poles. Finally, after eight minutes, there was a rapid, steady stream of beeps from the instrument held close to the back wall of the workbench. It was a PegBoard panel with numerous tools suspended on the hooks.
"Take the whole thing down, chaps," ordered Waters.
The three men removed the tools, placing them on the bench. They then proceeded to pry the Peg-Board from the wall, where it was anchored at the four corners and the center with heavy Molly bolts. Once it was loose, they propped the panel against the red Jaguar and thoroughly examined the wall beyond. And then examined it again and again.
"There's nothing here, Sir Geoffrey."
"There has to be," responded the MI-5 chief.
"Your instruments don't lie, do they?"
"No, sir, they don't."
"The tools," said Pryce.
"Scan the tools, bless each one."
With
in minutes the bug was found. It was embedded in the handle of a large hard-rubber hammer, a tool rarely if ever used, as the jobs that entailed it would be done by a repair shop.
"Ian," said Waters, addressing the supervisor, "did you bring along your magic machine?"
"Certainly, Sir Geoffrey." The team's director knelt down, opened his black bag, and pulled out an electronic instrument the size of a thick book. He placed it on the garage floor, returned to the bag, and withdrew a metal-framed grid divided into squares, tiny lightbulbs in the middle of each square. A thin wire with a small plug attached curled out of the top of the frame.
"What's that?" asked Leslie.
"A tracing instrument, miss," replied the supervisor.
"It's not perfected to the point where we would like it to be, but it can be of assistance. You see, this grid here represents roughly twelve hundred square meters, say three blocks circumference, which is the usual range. I plug the frame into the searcher, press the intercept, or bug, into the receptacle, and the lights skim over the areas and settle on where the receivers are located. Not specifically, of course, but within a reasonable distance."
"That's remarkable," said Leslie.
"I'm surprised you don't know about it," said Ian.
"We've shared the technology with your intelligence service."
"We run a tight ship," said Cameron quietly.
"Sometimes too tight."
"Proceed, please, old chap." The supervisor lifted the machine and the frame to the bench and did so, inserting the small, circular intercept into the orifice and turning on the equipment. The tiny lights flickered clockwise in sequence twice around the grid, finally settling on a square in the upper left-hand corner.
"What does it show us?" asked Montrose, Angela at her side.
"How do you read it?"
"It's angled to the four points of the compass," replied Ian, the team leader.
"Actually that's a built-in, metal-rejecting compass in the lower center," he added, pointing to a glass-encased floating needle at the sixo'clock spot.
"Just picture what's outside as if this were a map."
"You mean the streets, the blocks, around Belgrave Square?" said Angela Brewster.
"That's right, miss," continued Ian, indicating several squares adjacent to the lit one.
