"If he knew to look for them. But that would take hours, and you'd never be sure you got them all."

A scanner. Where the hell would an internist get that? Then she knew. Fielding. "Tennant took that FedEx delivery. Do you see an envelope anywhere?"

"No."

"He must have taken it with him. What else do you see? Anything strange?"

"There's a video camera set up on a tripod."

Shit. "Tape in it?"

“Let me check. No tape."

"What else?"

“A vacuum cleaner in the backyard."

What the hell? "A vacuum cleaner? Take the bag out and bring it here. We'll chopper it to Fort Meade for analysis. What else?"

"Nothing."

“Take one last look, then get out." Geli clicked off, then said, "Skow-home." The com¬puter dialed the Raleigh residence of Project Trinity's administrative director.

"Geli?" Skow said. "What's going on?"

Bauer always thought Kennedy when she heard John Skow's voice. Skow was a Boston Brahmin with twice the usual brains of his breed. Instead of the customary liberal arts and law background of his class, Skow had advanced degrees in astronomy and mathematics and had served for eight years as deputy director of special projects for the NSA. His primary area of responsibility was the agency's top secret Supercomputer Research Center. Skow was technically Geli's superior, but their relationship had always been uncomfortable. Short of taking a human life, Geli had independent responsibility for Project Trinity's security. She held this power because Peter Godin-citing security leaks at government labs- had demanded that he pick his own team to protect Trinity.

The old man had found her just as she was leaving the army. Geli believed heart and soul in the warrior cul¬ture, but she could no longer endure the bloated and hidebound bureaucracy of the army, or its abysmal qual¬ity standards for new recruits. When Godin appeared, he'd offered her a job she had wanted all her life but hadn't believed existed.