“The designers ironed out the oscillation problem that bothered the bombardiers. In addition it would have flown faster and farther than the earlier model. It was never built.”

Austin knew better than to argue with Max. Instead, he watched the statistical and performance figures roll under the picture. Something in the data bothered him.

“Wait,” he said. “Go back. See there, it says the cruising speed was five hundred and twenty-five miles per hour. How would they have known the speed if they hadn't conducted field trials?”

“It may be an estimate?” Yaeger ventured.

“Maybe. But it doesn't say that it's estimated.”

“You're right. They would have to have conducted field trials back then because they didn't have smart machines like Max to simulate flying conditions.”

“Thank you for the compliment, although it does state the obvious,” Max said. “Kurt has a point, Hiram. While you were talking I checked and found that in every instance where a plane was designed but not actually built, its speed was estimated. Except for this one.”

Yaeger knew better than to argue with Max. “It seems that maybe this plane did exist? But what happened to it?”

“This may be as far as we get for now,” Austin said. “The Northrop and Air Force records were lost. What can Max tell us about the pilot, Frank Martin?”

“Do you want the quick economy search or the full-blown probe?” Max asked.

“What's the difference?”

“The quick tour goes to the Pentagon's armed services registry, which contains the name of everyone, living or dead, who served in the armed forces. The full monte digs additional information from the Pentagon's classified files. I'll throw in the National Security Council, the FBI, and the CIA just for ha-has.”

“This is a mere technicality, but isn't it illegal to hack into those databases?”

“Hack is such an ugly word,” Max said. “Let's say I'm simply paying social calls on fellow computer systems so we can exchange gossip.”

“In that case, do all the socializing you want to,” Austin said.

“Interesting,” Max said after a moment. “I've tried to open several doors, but in every case Harry has put a lock on them.”

“Who's Harry, another computer?” Yaeger said.

“No, silly. Harry Truman.”

Austin scratched his head. “Are you saying that all the files on this pilot were sealed by order of the president?”

“That's right. Aside from the most basic information about Mr. Martin, everything else is still classified.” There was an uncharacteristic pause. “That's peculiar,” Max said. “I just got a trace. It was as if someone opened a door that was locked. Here's your boy.” A picture of a young man in an Air Force uniform appeared. “He lives in upstate New York near Cooperstown.”

“He's still alive?”

“There seems to be some disagreement on that. The Pentagon says he died in a plane crash in 1949. This new information says just the opposite.”

“A mistake?”

“I wouldn't be surprised. Humans are fallible. I'm not.”

“Does he have a phone?”