"So we probably have a KGB RIF prowling around London still, probably with whatever information Moscow has on our Mr. Clark, and doing what, we do not know."
"Correct, Bill," Holt agreed. "I can't say that I like it either, but there you are."
"What have you turned up on KGB-PIRA contacts?"
"We have a few things. One photo of someone else from a meeting in Dublin eight years ago, and oral reports of other contacts, with physical description. Some might be the chap in the photo, but the written descriptions fit about a third of male humanity, and we're leery of showing the photos around quite yet." Tawney didn't need to be told why. It was well within the realm of possibility that some of Holt's informants were indeed double-agents, and showing them the photos of the man in the pub might well do nothing more than alert the target of the investigation to the fact that someone knew who he was. That would cause him to become more cautious, perhaps change his appearance, and the net result would be to make things worse instead of better. This was the most complex of games, Tawney reminded himself. And what if the whole thing was nothing more than curiosity on the part of the Russians, merely keeping track of a known intelligence officer on the other side? Hell, everyone did that. It was just a normal part of doing business.
The bottom line was that they knew what they didn't know no, Tawney thought. They didn't even know that much. They knew that they didn't know something, but they didn't even know what it was that they wanted to find out. What was the significance of this blip of information that had appeared on the scope?
"What's this for?" Henriksen asked innocently.
"A fog-cooling system. We got it from your chaps," Aukland said.
"Huh? I don't understand," the American replied.
"One of our engineers saw it in - Arizona, I think. It sprays a very fine water mist. The tiny droplets absorb heat energy and evaporate into the atmosphere, has the same effect as air-conditioning, but with a negligible energy expenditure."
"Ahh," Bill Henriksen said, doing his best to act surprised. "How widely distributed is the system?"
"Just the tunnels and concourses. The architect wanted to put it all over the stadium, but people objected, said it would interfere with cameras and such," Aukland answered, "too much like a real fog."
"Okay, I think I need to look at that."
"Why?"
"Well, sir, it's a hell of a good way to deliver a chemical agent, isn't it?" The question took the police officer seriously aback.
"Well… yes, I suppose it would be."
"Good. I have a guy in the company, former officer in the U.S. Army Chemical Corps, expert on this sort of thing, degree from MIT. I'll have him check it out ASAP
"Yes, that is a good idea, Bill. Thank you," Aukland said, kicking himself for not thinking of that on his own Well, he was hiring expertise, wasn't he? And this man certainly seemed to be an expert.
"Does it get that hot here?"
"Oh, yes, quite. We expect temperatures in the nineties Fahrenheit, that is. We're supposed to think Celsius nowadays, but I never did learn that."
"Yeah, me neither," Henriksen noted.
"Anyway, the architect said that this was an inexpensive way to cool the spectators down, and quite reasonable to install. It feeds off the fire-sprinkler system. Doesn't even use much water for what it does. It's been install, for over a year. We test it periodically. American company, can't recall the name at the moment."
Cool-Spray of Phoenix, Arizona, Henriksen thought He had the plans for the system in the file cabinet in his office. It would play a crucial role in the Project's plat and had been seen as a godsend from the first moment. Here was the place. Soon would come the time.
"Heard anything more from the Brits?"
"We have an inquiry in, but no reply yet." Aukland answered. "It is a very hush-hush project, evidently."
Henriksen nodded. "Politics, always gets in the way." And with luck it would stay that way.
"Quite," Aukland agreed, with a nod.
