“Once upon a time in a dark wood there lived three little pigs”—a deep voice with a Middle European accent issued from the radio in the grass. Teller again, reading bedtime stories. “The first little pig was a poet. The second little pig was an artist. But the third little pig was a practical pig who enjoyed working with hammers and saws.”

“Go on,” Augustino urged Joe.

“I didn’t drive Oppy today, so I have nothing to report.”

“With Dr. Oppenheimer, there’s always something to report. He went all the way to the railroad station to pick up a Dr. Weiss. They came by Santiago. You met them. What did they say?”

“Nothing. Their car went off the road, I helped them out, and that was it.”

“Sergeant, it wasn’t the grace of God that got you out of the stockade; it was me. I can send you back to that hole anytime.”

“But they didn’t say anything, sir.”

“The poet was a lazy pig and made himself a house out of nothing but straw. Straw walls, straw tables and chairs and a straw door he always left open—”

“I have an FBI report that a Soviet courier is on the way to the Hill. Suddenly Dr. Oppenheimer takes the time to meet this Dr. Weiss and personally escort her here. It doesn’t make sense. You’ve seen her?”

“It was dark this morning.”

“She’s in there with the Oppenheimers right now. It could be a regular Communist cell meeting. Wouldn’t it be interesting to hear what they’re saying right now, to hear whatever they say when they think they’re alone?” Augustino pondered the possibility. He looked up at Joe. “I want you to keep an eye on Dr. Weiss. I want you to get close to her. Use your Indian charm. Next time we talk, have something for me.”

The captain started his jeep, reversed and U-turned back toward the Lodge. There were laughs in the garden.

“Or I’ll huff”—Teller’s voice rose dramatically—“and I’ll puff. And I’ll huff. And I’ll puff—”

9

Santa Fe was an hour away, but it was the shopping and social center of the Hill. People went to Woolworth’s or Sears during the day, and at night to the La Fonda hotel. On the plaza in the center of town, the La Fonda was a three-story mock-adobe fantasy with exposed beams and wooden balconies. The hotel had also become, thanks to the Hill, an outpost of the FBI.