“True. He’s checked out six books, all of them novels, but—” Travis paused to give emphasis to his next sentence. “While he’s at the library, he has not been in the fiction section. According to the librarian, he spends most of his time in the psychology section, asking for books on the physiology of the brain.”

“Maybe it’s not significant that all of a sudden he has a great interest in the human mind.” The Major pulled a face. “But we find the coincidence of interest.”

“Okay,” Travis continued. “The Museum of Remembrance. He first visited it on his day off three weeks ago. His tracking report shows he wandered throughout the various rooms, spending roughly the same amount of time in each. A very normal first visit. But he returned last Monday. He spent over twenty minutes in the World War Two Room. He returned on Tuesday, on Friday, and again yesterday. In each instance he goes quickly through a room or two, probably to maintain the appearance of a normal visitor, then makes a beeline for the World War Two Room, where he spends up to half an hour.”

He let the words sink in for a moment. Then, obviously saving the best for last, he added, “And in every visit since the first, he has spent almost the entire time in front of one large display case.”

“Ah,” Clayne breathed softly. “And what does that case contain?”

“We were just there. Numerous items, but the most significant would be an M-1 rifle, a Thompson submachine gun, a bazooka, and three or four hand grenades.”

“But surely none of that stuff is still useful,” Nicole said with a frown. “I mean, are the hand grenades still live?”

“No, of course not,” said the Major, “but have you forgotten? Eric’s father was a leading chemist. They made their own explosives in the village.”

“And loaded their own ammunition,” Travis added.

“Oh,” she said, her eyes widening.

“But he’s implanted,” Clayne said, his brow furrowing as he worked through the information Travis had given them. “Even if he gets it, he can’t possibly use it against us. And why steal a rifle? He can get a hunting rifle at any sporting goods store. Or for that matter, why not take a stun gun from supply?”

“He can’t do either of those,” Travis responded, “because he knows we’re tracking his every movement. A visit to the museum is innocent enough, but if he walks into a store and buys a rifle, we’ve got him immediately.”

Clayne’s expression was still dubious. “I don’t know. It doesn’t quite fit. He’s smarter than that.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” the Major said. “If he’s so obsessed with breaking loose, who knows what twisted logic he’s laboring under.”

Silence prevailed in the office as each of them considered Eric Lloyd. Finally Travis spoke up. “So what now?”