"Yes," Herbert said. "If the van gets off the autobahn, give me a jingle."

"Of course," said Alberto. "Stephen knows you, Bob. He said he'll have his people keep an eye on it."

"Thank him," Herbert said, "and tell him he gets my vote for this year's Conrad. On second thought, don't. That'll get his hopes up."

"Aren't his hopes always up?" Alberto asked as he signed off.

Herbert hung up and grinned; after what he'd just been through, it felt good to smile. As he checked his map to find the roads to the east-west running Autobahn, he thought about the Conrads and his smile broadened. They were a fun, unofficial award given at a very private dinner each year by America's leading intelligence figures. The dagger-like trophy honored the government's top intelligence figure and was named in honor of Joseph Conrad. The author's 1907 novel, The Secret Agent, was one of the first great espionage tales, about an agent-provocateur who worked the back streets of London. The dinner was just five weeks away, and it was always a blast-- thanks in no small part to poor Stephen Viens.

Herbert noted the route he needed to take, then urged his wounded mechanical steed ahead. It went, albeit with some clanks and whines which weren't there before.

Viens had been Matt Stoll's best friend in college, and he was as serious as his classmate was flip. Since his appointment as assistant director and then director of the NRO, Viens's amazing technical talents had been largely responsible for the facility's increasing effectiveness and importance. During the past four years, the one hundred satellites under his command had provided detailed, black-and-white photographs of the earth at whatever magnification was required. Viens was fond of saying, "I can give you a picture covering several city blocks or the letters on a children's block."

And because he was so serious, Viens took the Conrads so seriously. He really did want one, everyone knew it, and for that reason the voting committee colluded to keep it from him by one vote, year after year. Herbert always felt bad about the deception, but as CIA Chief and Conrad Chairman Rachlin said, "Hell; we are covert operatives, after all."

Actually, Herbert intended to lie to Larry and then vote for Viens this year. Not because of his body of work but for his integrity. Since the increase of terrorist activity in the U.S., the Pentagon had launched four hundred-million-dollar-apiece satellites code-named Ricochet. They were positioned a mean 22,000 miles over North America and were designed to spy on our own country. If they knew about it, everyone from the far left to the extreme right would have a problem with Big Brother's eyes in the skies. But because those eyes were under Viens's command, no one who did know feared that they would be misused for personal or political gain.