The only red flag tonight from Interpol had been a set of fingerprints that apparently belonged to
Teabing's servant. The chief PTS examiner was reading the report in a comfortable chair across the
room.
Collet looked over. "Anything?"
The examiner shrugged. "Prints belong to Rémy Legaludec. Wanted for petty crime. Nothing
serious. Looks like he got kicked out of university for rewiring phone jacks to get free service...
later did some petty theft. Breaking and entering. Skipped out on a hospital bill once for an
emergency tracheotomy."
He glanced up, chuckling. "Peanut allergy."
Collet nodded, recalling a police investigation into a restaurant that had failed to notate on its menu
that the chili recipe contained peanut oil. An unsuspecting patron had died of anaphylactic shock at
the table after a single bite.
"Legaludec is probably a live-in here to avoid getting picked up." The examiner looked amused.
"His lucky night."
Collet sighed. "All right, you better forward this info to Captain Fache."
The examiner headed off just as another PTS agent burst into the living room. "Lieutenant! We
found something in the barn."
From the anxious look on the agent's face, Collet could only guess. "A body."
"No, sir. Something more..." He hesitated. "Unexpected."
Rubbing his eyes, Collet followed the agent out to the barn. As they entered the musty, cavernous
space, the agent motioned toward the center of the room, where a wooden ladder now ascended
high
into the rafters, propped against the ledge of a hayloft suspended high above them.
"That ladder wasn't there earlier," Collet said.
"No, sir. I set that up. We were dusting for prints near the Rolls when I saw the ladder lying on the
floor. I wouldn't have given it a second thought except the rungs were worn and muddy. This
ladder gets regular use. The height of the hayloft matched the ladder, so I raised it and climbed up
to have a look."
Collet's eyes climbed the ladder's steep incline to the soaring hayloft.
Someone goes up there
regularly? From down here, the loft appeared to be a deserted platform,
and yet admittedly most of
it was invisible from this line of sight.
A senior PTS agent appeared at the top of the ladder, looking down. "You'll definitely want to see
this, Lieutenant," he said, waving Collet up with a latex-gloved hand.
Nodding tiredly, Collet walked over to the base of the old ladder and grasped the bottom rungs.
The ladder was an antique tapered design and narrowed as Collet ascended. As he neared the top,
Collet almost lost his footing on a thin rung. The barn below him spun. Alert now, he moved on,
finally reaching the top. The agent above him reached out, offering his wrist.
Collet grabbed it and
made the awkward transition onto the platform.
"It's over there," the PTS agent said, pointing deep into the immaculately clean loft. "Only one set
of prints up here. We'll have an ID shortly."
Collet squinted through the dim light toward the far wall.
What the hell? Nestled against the far
wall sat an elaborate computer workstation—two tower CPUs, a flat-screen video monitor with
speakers, an array of hard drives, and a multichannel audio console that
appeared to have its own
filtered power supply.
Why in the world would anyone work all the way up here? Collet moved toward the gear. "Have
you examined the system?"
"It's a listening post."
Collet spun. "Surveillance?"
The agent nodded. "Very advanced surveillance." He motioned to a long project table strewn with
electronic parts, manuals, tools, wires, soldering irons, and other electronic components. "Someone
clearly knows what he's doing. A lot of this gear is as sophisticated as our own equipment.
Miniature microphones, photoelectric recharging cells, high-capacity RAM chips. He's even got
some of those new nano drives."
Collet was impressed.
"Here's a complete system," the agent said, handing Collet an assembly
not much larger than a
pocket calculator. Dangling off the contraption was a foot-long wire with a stamp-sized piece of
wafer-thin foil stuck on the end. "The base is a high-capacity hard disk audio recording system
with rechargeable battery. That strip of foil at the end of the wire is a combination microphone and
photoelectric recharging cell."
Collet knew them well. These foil-like, photocell microphones had been an enormous breakthrough
a few years back. Now, a hard disk recorder could be affixed behind a lamp, for example, with its
foil microphone molded into the contour of the base and dyed to match.
As long as the microphone
was positioned such that it received a few hours of sunlight per day, the photo cells would keep
recharging the system. Bugs like this one could listen indefinitely.
"Reception method?" Collet asked.
The agent signaled to an insulated wire that ran out of the back of the computer, up the wall,
through a hole in the barn roof. "Simple radio wave. Small antenna on the roof."
Collet knew these recording systems were generally placed in offices, were voice-activated to save
hard disk space, and recorded snippets
of conversation during the day, transmitting compressed
audio files at night to avoid detection. After transmitting, the hard drive erased itself and prepared
to do it all over again the next day.
Collet's gaze moved now to a shelf on which were stacked several hundred audio cassettes, all
labeled with dates and numbers.
Someone has been very busy. He turned back to the agent. "Do
you have any idea what target is being bugged?"
"Well, Lieutenant," the agent said, walking to the computer and launching a piece of software. "It's
the strangest thing...."
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