Robert Bellamy pulled out his wallet and removed his 17th District Naval Intelligence ID card. The guard studied it carefully and returned it. “Thank you, Commander.”

He nodded to the guard in the booth and the gate swung open. The guard inside picked up a telephone. “Commander Bellamy is on his way.”

A minute later Robert Bellamy drove up to a closed, electrified gate.

An armed guard approached the car. “Commander Bellamy?”

“Yes.”

“May I see your identification, please?”

He started to protest and then he thought, What the hell? It’s their zoo. He took out his wallet again and showed his identification to the guard.

“Thank you, Commander.” The guard gave some invisible sign and the gate opened.

As Robert Bellamy drove ahead, he saw a third cyclone fence ahead of him. My God, he thought, I’m in the Land of Oz.

Another uniformed guard walked up to the car. As Robert Bellamy reached for his wallet the guard looked at the licence plate and said, “Please drive straight ahead to the administration building, Commander. There will be someone there to meet you.”

“Thank you.”

The gate swung open and Robert followed the driveway up to an enormous white building. A man in civilian clothes was standing outside, waiting, shivering in the chill October air. “You can leave your car right there, Commander,” he called out. “We’ll take care of it.”

Robert Bellamy left the keys in his car and stepped out. The man greeting him appeared to be in his thirties, tall, thin and sallow. He looked as though he had not seen the sun in years.

“I’m Harrison Keller. I’ll escort you to General Hilliard’s office.”

They walked into a large high-ceilinged entrance hall. A man in civilian clothes was seated behind a desk. “Commander Bellamy …”

Robert Bellamy swung around. He heard the click of a camera.