Stopping in the hallway, Lewis said, `Does all this make sense to you?'
`No,' Graves said. `Not yet. But I expect to get some help.'
Without knocking he opened the door and entered Drew's room.
Timothy Drew sat in an overstuffed chair and said, `I want to see my lawyer.' His voice was calm. The fact of his arrest, and the presence of two federal marshals standing by the doors with their hands resting on the butts of their revolvers, did not seem to disturb him at all.
Graves' eyes swept the living-room. It was an expensive hotel suite, furnished in a heavily elegant style. Altogether, not bad for a man one year out of the Army. He sat down in a chair opposite Drew.
`I want to see my lawyer,' Drew repeated. His eyes flicked once to Graves, then went back to the cops, as if he had decided Graves was unimportant.
`You'll have that opportunity,' Graves said.
Drew's eyes snapped back, fixed on him.
`In due time,' Graves added.
`I want to do it now.'
`We're in a hurry,' Graves said. His voice was not hurried at all. `We'd prefer to have a statement from you now.'
`I have nothing to say.'
Graves shrugged, and lit a cigarette. He never took his eyes off Drew. This was going to be a kind of chess game, he knew, and it was a game he could win if he kept his temper.
`I want to see my lawyer,' Drew repeated.
Graves did not reply. He just stared. That was the simplest form of pressure, and he wanted to see if it would work.
`Listen,' Drew said, `who are you guys, anyway? You haven't got the right to push me around. You haven't got a warrant -'
`Did you show him the warrant?' Graves said.
`Yeah, we showed him the warrant,' one of the marshals said.
`Show him again.'
The marshal snapped open the warrant in front of Drew, then took it away.
`Signed by a federal district court judge at nine thirty this morning,' Graves said. `All in order, all perfectly legal. You're arrested on a charge of conspiracy to steal classified information. It carries a mandatory twenty-year prison sentence if you're convicted. Parole is not granted for such charges. Do you know what that means?'
`I want to see my lawyer.'
`I'm trying to help you,' Graves said quietly. `Keep your mouth shut and listen: You were observed tampering with the computer terminals at Southern California Underwriters. You tapped into classified data banks at known times which coincide with your access to the terminals in question. We have traced back the lines. Furthermore, you utilized certain codes known to you but outdated. This gives you away. It's quite straightforward. You'll get out of prison when you're about fifty.'
Graves stood up. `Now think carefully, Mr Drew. Is it worth it?'
Drew's face went blank, neutral, composed. `I want to see my lawyer.'
Graves sighed and walked around the living-room, looking idly at details. He glanced into the bedroom and saw a packed suitcase next to the bed.-He looked back at Drew. `Planning a trip?'
`I want to see my lawyer.'
Graves walked into the bedroom and opened the suitcase. The bottom half was filled with lightweight clothing, bathing trunks, sports clothes.
The top was packed with money, neat stacks of twenty-dollar bills held tight in paper sleeves. Fresh from the bank. He counted the stacks: it came to roughly twenty thousand dollars.
In a corner of the bedroom draped over a chair was a sports coat. He found a ticket for the noon plane to Acapulco in the pocket. A first-class ticket, one-way.
He returned to the living-room. Drew watched him, wary now.
`Planning a trip, Mr Drew?'
`I want to see my lawyer.'
`That's a lot of money in there, Mr Drew.'
`I have nothing to say.'
`From your ticket, it looks like you were planning to stay down there. Not come back.'
Drew shook his head. He did not speak. He was sweating, but still in control; he showed no sign of cracking.
`Can you account for all that money?P
'No comment. I want to see -'
`All right,' Graves said. He sighed and turned to the marshals. `Okay, lock him up.'
The marshals grabbed Drew roughly, each taking an arm. For the first time Drew became excited: `What's going on?'
Graves found the reaction interesting. Was Drew afraid of jail? Was he homosexual? Did he need drugs? Graves decided to play on the jail fear. `We don't have many options, Mr Drew. I know it's not pleasant, but we've got to put you in jail. You know, there's a lot of paperwork, and sometimes people get lost. Inadvertently deprived of their rights. I mean, people have spent a day or two in jail, and their papers get mixed up. So they don't get any food, or water, or anything. But you see, nobody knows you're there. For a while.'
`Where are you taking me?' Drew's voice was strained now, very tense.
`Downtown. We'll be talking to you again in a day or so, when you're more… relaxed.'
`Downtown San Diego?'
`Yes,' Graves said. And he suddenly realized that Drew wasn't afraid of jail at all. He didn't want to stay in the city. That was what he was afraid of.
`You can't do that!'
`Just watch it happen,' Graves said, lighting a cigarette.
`I've got to leave,' Drew said. He was now openly agitated. `I have to leave. I have to leave.'
`Why?'
`It's my sister. She's sick, in Mexico. That's why I have the money, I need it '
`You don't have a sister,' Graves said. `You have one brother two years older than you, who sells insurance in Portland, Oregon. Your father is still alive and lives in Michigan. Your mother died two years ago of a heart attack.'
Drew's body sagged.
`Put him down,' Graves said to the marshals. They dropped him back into the chair. `Now listen to me,' Graves said. `You aren't going anywhere without giving us some help.'
Drew stared at him. `I want a cigarette.'
Graves gave him one.
`What time is it now?' Drew asked dully.
`Ten thirty.' Graves lit the cigarette for him and watched as Drew sat back and inhaled.
`Listen,' Drew said, `I have to catch that plane at noon.'
`Why is that?' Graves said.
`I don't know,' Drew said. `I swear to God I don't know.'
`What do you know?'
`I know I have to get out of San Diego today, because… something is going to happen.'
`How do you know this?'
`John told me.'
`John Wright?'
`Yes.'
`What did he say?'
`He said that the binary would go off today. In San Diego.'
`And what is the binary?'
`I don't know.' He sucked on the cigarette.
`Mr Drew, you're going to have to do better '
`I swear to you, I don't know.'
Graves paused. He let Drew sweat, and let him smoke. Finally he said, `How is the binary related to the information you tapped from the data banks?'
`I can't be sure. The information was in two areas. One was easy to get, the other was hard. First, John wanted supply routings. I spent a couple of days learning how to plug into the subroutines to release the information. I kept getting "no authorization" printouts, but finally I managed to plug in.'
`And extract what?'
`Supply routings for different things.'
`Things?'
`Well, John gave me the codes for what he wanted. Don't ask me where he got those codes. One of the codes was for a thing called "Binary 75 slash 76". I got a supply routing for that.'
`And you have no idea what the code represents?'
`None. Except that it's obviously Defence Department material, transported by rail.'
`How do you know that?'
`From the routings themselves. You can't be sure what's being transported, but you can tell the method - air, rail, other surface vehicle, truck convoy. You can tell the method.'