Henderson worked late that night.  The Hart building was nearly empty with most of the senators out of town.  Donaldson was there only because of personal business and to keep an eye on things.  As chairman of the Select Committee on Intelligence, he had more duties than he would have liked at this time of year.  Henderson took the elevator down to the main lobby, looking every inch the senior congressional aide—a three-piece gray suit, an expensive leather attache case, his hair just so, and his stride jaunty as he left the building.  A Black & White cab came around the corner and stopped to let out a fare.  Henderson got in.

"Watergate," he said.  Not until the taxi had driven a few blocks did he speak again.

Henderson had a modest one-bedroom condo in the Watergate complex, an irony that he himself had considered many times.  When he got to his destination he did not tip the driver.  A woman got in as he walked to the main entrance.  Taxis in Washington are very busy in the early evening.

"Georgetown University, please," she said, a pretty young woman with auburn hair and an armload of books.

"Night school?" the driver asked, checking the mirror.

"Exams," the girl said, her voice a trace uneasy.  "Psych."

"Best thing to do with exams is relax," the driver advised.

Special Agent Hazel Loomis fumbled with her books.  Her purse dropped to the floor.  "Oh, damn."  She bent over to pick it up, and while doing so retrieved a miniature tape recorder that another agent had left under the driver's seat.

It took fifteen minutes to get to the university.  The fare was $3.85.  Loomis gave the driver a five and told him to keep the change.  She walked across the campus and entered a Ford which drove straight to the J. Edgar Hoover Building.  A lot of work had gone into this—and it had been so easy!

"Always is, when the bear walks into your sight."  The inspector who had been running the case turned left onto Pennsylvania Avenue.  "The problem is finding the damned bear in the first place."

The Pentagon