"When our lab first developed this technology," Hood said, "we were trying to find out how to tell what kinds of gases and liquids were inside bombs. That way, we could neutralize them without getting near them. The problem was, we had to have a receiver on the other side of the object to analyze the T-rays as they came out. Then our R&D team figured out how to analyze them at the source. That's what made the T-Bird work as a surveillance tool."

Lang said, "What's the effective range?"

"The moon," he said. "At least, that's as far as we've tested it. Looked inside the Apollo 11 lander. Armstrong and Aldrin were pretty tidy guys. Theoretically, it should work as far as the laser can travel."

"My God," Lang said. "This is beautiful."

Hood had been standing off to a corner, and came closer now. "The T-Bird is going to be a vital component of the Regional Op-Center," said Hood. "But we need to make it more compact and also refine it to work with greater resolution so operatives can carry it in the field. We also need to be able to filter out extraneous images-- for example, girders inside walls."

"That's where your smaller chips come in," said Stoll. "We want it so that a guy can stand outside an embassy and read the mail inside."

"It amounts to a technology swap," Hood continued. "You get what we have in that box… we get your chip."

Lang said, "It's amazing. Is there anything the T-Bird cannot see through?"

"Metal's the big thing," said Stoll, "but we're working on the problem."

"Amazing," Lang repeated as he continued to stare at the photograph.

"And the best thing?" Stoll said. "Until we iron out our problems, think of the money we can make selling foil-lined wallets."

CHAPTER TWENTY

Thursday, 8:47 A.M.,

Washington, D.C.

"You're a seriously flawed piece of work."

Martha Mackall's bitter pronouncement hung in the air for several seconds before Mike Rodgers responded. He stopped a few steps from the doorway. When he spoke, he was temperate. Much as he hated the fact, people couldn't respond to each other simply as people. Martha was more than his equal in an in-your-face confrontation. But a white male who went toe-to-toe with a black woman was begging for legal woes. That pendulum swing was the inevitable, even necessary, but infuriating legacy of creatures like WHOA.

"I'm very sorry you feel that way," Rodgers said. "And for what it's worth, I'm also sorry I upset the Senator."

"Frankly," Martha said, "it's not worth a whole hell of a lot. You used the death of her daughter to mess her up, and then you called her an enemy. Now you've got the chutzpah to say you're very sorry?"

"That's right," he said. "Only it's not chutzpah, Martha, it's regret. I'm sorry this had to be."

"Are you really?" she asked.