Frobisher paid for the control board, and led the way out of the store to a dusty and dented Chrysler K-car. He told the Trouts to call him “Froby,” and suggested that they follow him to his house where the Kovacs Society had its headquarters. As the vehicles headed out of town, Gamay turned to Paul, who was at the wheel.

“Does our new friend Froby remind you of anyone?”

Trout nodded. “A tall and loud Captain Kangaroo.”

“Kurt is going to owe us after this one,” Gamay said with a sigh. “I'd rather get sucked down into a whirlpool.”

The road went higher, winding through the hills above the town. Houses became fewer and farther between. The sedan turned up a short gravel drive, bouncing like a rubber ball on its worn-out shock absorbers, and parked in front of a doll-sized adobe house. The yard was filled with electronic junk, resembling a smaller version of the Black Hole.

As they walked the path between piles of rusting rocket casings and electronic housings, Froby waved his arm expansively.

“The labs have an auction every month to sell off their stuff. Guess I don't have to tell you that I'm at every sale,” Froby said.

“Guess you don't,” Gamay said with an indulgent smile.

They went into the house, which was surprisingly well ordered in contrast to the haphazard nature of its surplus landscaping. Frobisher ushered them into a compact living room furnished with institutional leather-and-chrome office furniture. A metal desk and two metal filing cabinets were pushed against a wall.

“Everything in this house comes from the national lab,” Frobisher bragged. He noticed Trout looking at a RADIOACTIVE warning sign on the wall and gave him a horsy grin. “Don't worry. That's there to cover a hole in the wall. As president of the Lazlo Kovacs Society, I'd like to welcome you to the world headquarters. Meet our founder.” He pointed to an old photograph that hung on the wall next to the sign. It showed a fine-featured man in his forties with dark hair and intense eyes.

“How many members does the society have?” Gamay said.

“One. You're looking at him. As you can see, it's a very exclusive organization.”

“I noticed,” Gamay said with a sweet smile.

Trout gave his wife a look that said he was bolting for the door at the first opportunity. She was busy scanning the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that filled a good percentage of the wall space. Her female eye for detail had seen what Trout had not: judging from their titles, the books were on highly technical and arcane subjects. If Froby understood even a fraction of his reading material, he was a very intelligent human being.

“Please have a seat,” Frobisher said. He sat in the desk chair and swiveled around to face his guests.