He took her across the street to the Weather Vane after work. A great many of the area’s office workers hung out there, but Felix Method had never been seen to drink in public, and Frazer was reasonably certain they wouldn’t encounter him. “How do you like working at Sky-Eye?” Frazer asked her when the drinks arrived.
“I really find it fascinating. It’s like being a spy but without any of the risks. In a way, we’re offering a spy for sale.”
“I never thought about it in quite that way,” he admitted.
“Do you know that one of the biggest customers for our satellite photos is an organization of retired CIA agents? What do you think they do with them?”
“Keep their hand in, I suppose. They like to know what’s happening.”
She took a sip of her vodka and tonic. “Sometimes I fantasize that the three of us are spies — you and Method and me. Did you ever realize that our names contain the letters x, y, and z? Felix Method is X, Cynthia Raymond is Y twice over, and Frazer is Z. Isn’t that something? It’s like a Hitchcock movie!”
“You’re not old enough to remember Hitchcock movies, are you?”
“I see them on television all the time.”
“I don’t think Hitchcock would understand spying from four hundred miles straight up. His plots needed human contact, interplay between agents from different sides.” He added, “And as for your X, Y, and Z, what about Jack Sergeant? He doesn’t fit.”
Sergeant was the fourth member of the Sky-Eye staff, though he was often on the road selling the service. “I hardly know him,” Cynthia admitted. “He’s only been in a couple of times since I’ve been there. Are he and Method former spies like you?”
Frazer had to chuckle at the description. “I was a photo analyst for the Air Force, but hardly a spy. I think Felix Method had an office-equipment business of some sort. He found some backers and happened to be in the right place at the right time, when NASA was forced by law to turn over the Landsat and Sky-Eye satellites to private commercial companies. It’s a growing business with great potential, as soon as they figure out exactly how to exploit it. Jack Sergeant wants us to advertise more, but Method is against that. He feels it would attract the wrong type of client.”
“What would the wrong type be?”
“Only America and Russia have photographic spy satellites. If any other nations want satellite photos, they have to buy them from one of the private suppliers, like us. Naturally, the government doesn’t want us dealing with certain unfriendly Communist or Arab nations.”
“What would they use the photos for?”
“To check troop buildups and defenses along their borders, mainly. Satellite photos would be invaluable to a country planning to invade its neighbor, or to guard against such an invasion. But Method must have told you all this when he hired you.”
“He told me next to nothing. It all sounded like a dull science class in college. I almost quit the first week.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
After two drinks he suggested dinner, but she had another engagement. “I’d like to do it sometime, though. Maybe next week.”
“It’s a date,” he said with a grin.
They parted in the parking lot, and Frazer drove home alone. He lived in a three-room apartment in an older, middle-class section of the city. It was a place he’d located under pressure after his separation and he’d kept it through the divorce, letting Maggie have the house without protest. He still viewed it as something of a transition, though he didn’t quite know where his next home would be.
He’d parked the car around back and headed for the rear door of the building when he became aware of another presence nearby. Jack Sergeant emerged from the shadows and spoke to him. “Didn’t mean to startle you, Frazer. I’ve been waiting for you to get home.”
“Jack! I thought you were in Chicago or someplace.”
“I just got back. Can we go inside and talk?”
“Sure, I suppose so.”
Frazer led the way up to his apartment, switching on a few lights and offering his visitor a beer. He’d never been on close terms with Jack Sergeant, and he knew very little about the man. Sergeant was in his forties, balding, and wore thick horn-rimmed glasses that gave him something of an academic appearance. His background was in sales, according to Felix Method, but Frazer knew nothing more about him.
“I’ve had a very interesting journey,” Sergeant began, accepting the beer from Frazer but not tasting it immediately. “Lots of new clients for Sky-Eye.”
“I’m sure Method will be pleased to hear about it.”
Jack Sergeant looked down at his beer. “Maybe not. You know how nervous he gets about the Defense Department regulations.”
Frazer perked up, wondering what Sergeant was getting at. “Who’s the client, Jack?”
“It’s a Middle Eastern country. The name doesn’t matter. They’re willing to pay a premium price for satellite photos of the Mediterranean and Persian Gulf regions.”
Frazer nodded. “Aircraft carriers and oil tankers. They’re both easy to spot, even from four hundred miles up.”
“And we can give them pictures twice a week, right? That’s frequent enough to keep pretty good track of ship movements in the region.”
“I can see why Method would be nervous. Did you tell them we can’t do it?”
“Not exactly,” Sergeant replied. He slipped a hand into his inner pocket and brought out a thick plain envelope. “Look inside.”
Frazer opened it and took out a wad of hundred-dollar bills, all new. “My God! How much money is here?”
“Twenty grand. That’s the down payment. There’s five times that much.”
“Method—”
“Not Method. Us, Frazer. Us — you and me! Are you in?”
“That’s crazy! What are we supposed to do for that sort of money? You know our price schedule.”
“Method would never sell them what they want. They have to work under the counter, and it’s worth the money to them.”
“Exactly what is it they want?”
“I told you — twice weekly photos of the Mediterranean and the Persian Gulf, plus occasional photos of Israel. That’s all.”
“That’s enough!” Frazer placed the envelope of money on the coffee table. “I don’t think I want to get involved in this.”
“Hell, if we don’t do it they’ll buy ’em from the French. Their SPOT satellite is probably better than ours anyway. I figure it’s best for everyone if we sell them the pictures.”
“Best for us, certainly,” Frazer said, eyeing the envelope.
“I need you, Frazer. You know Method doesn’t give me access to the pictures except for recognized clients. You see them when they come in, and you can command Sky-Eye to shoot anything we need. Method trusts you.”
“I’m only an analyst.”
“He still trusts you. And you know how to fudge the records so it looks like we’re shooting Alpine forests.”
“I don’t know—”
“This is our big chance for some easy money. They’ve promised another twenty grand at the end of the first month, if they like the results. That’s ten each. I do all the contact work. You give me the pictures, and you never have to see anybody.”
“Let me think about it, Jack. Give me a day or two. That’s the best I can tell you.”
“That’s good enough for me.” Sergeant stood up and shook hands. He hadn’t touched his beer.