He noted that agent Lyle Brock was due to stand post number seven, the yacht itself, while agent Karl Polaski was slated for post number six, which was the pier.

He pressed the transmit button and spoke into the tiny microphone attached to his headset. "Attention all stations. Time zero two hundred hours. Move to your next post. Repeat, move to the next Post on your schedule." Then he changed frequencies and uttered the code name of the shift leader. "Cutty Sark, this is Control."

A veteran of fifteen years in the service, agent Ed McGrath answered almost immediately. "Cutty Sark here."

"Tell posts numbers six and seven to keep a sharp watch on the river."

"They won't see much in this slop."

"How bad is it around the dock area?"

"Let's just say you should have issued us white canes with red tips."

"Do the best you can," Blackowl said.

A light blinked and Blackowl cut transmission to McGrath and answered the incoming call.

"Control."

"This is River Watch ' Control. Whoever is screwing up our radar signals seems to be transmitting continuously now."

"You read nothing?" asked Blackowl.

"The geographic display on the oscilloscope is forty percent blanked out. Instead of blips we receive a large wedge shape."

"Okay, River Watch, let me pass the word to the special agent in charge. Maybe he can track the interference and stop any further transmission."

Before he apprised Oscar Lucas at the White House of the radar problem, Blackowl turned and gazed curiously at the television monitors. They reflected no discernible image, only vague shadows wavering in wraithlike undulation.

Agent Karl Polaski refixed the molded earplug of his Motorola HT-220 radio receiver and wiped the dampness from his Bismarck mustache. Forty minutes into his watch on the pier, he felt damp and downright miserable. He wiped the moisture from his face and thought it odd that it felt oily.

His eyes wandered to the overhead floodlights. They gave out a dim yellowish halo, but the edges had a prismatic effect and displayed the colors of the rainbow. From where he stood, about minpoint on the thirty-foot dock, the Eagle was completely hidden by the oppressive mist. Not even her deck or mast lights were visible.

Polaski walked over the weatherworn boards, occasionally stopping and listening. But all he heard was the gentle lapping of the water around the pilings and the soft hum of the yacht's generators. He was only a few steps from the end of the pier when the Eagle finally materialized from the gray tentacles of the fog.

He called softly to agent Lyle Brock, who was manning post seven onboard the boat. "Hey, Lyle. Can you hear me?"

A voice replied slightly above a whisper. "What do you want?"

"How about a cup of coffee from the galley?"

"The next post change is in twenty minutes. You can get a cup when you come onboard and take my place."