It was nearly one in the afternoon when I woke up.

I was also a little disoriented - there were too many legs in this bed. Five to be exact.

Applying my deductive processes, I eliminated four of them - they were too pretty to be mine. The remaining leg I disengaged from the tangle and maneuvered myself to the bathroom.

It had been a lovely evening - particularly the torture part.

When we'd left Magic Carpets, Helen and Mary had returned the van to Viscount. I'd followed them across town until we'd approached the cleaning agency, then I'd driven on to Fisherman's Wharf. I had no intention of setting off any alarms by showing my face anywhere around Viscount Services.

Instead, after dropping their van and clocking out, Helen and Mary had collected Helen's car and then joined me at the restaurant.

The tortures had begun with phase one: oysters - Helen had ordered, then she and Mary had taken turns feeding them to me. It was an insidious plot to undermine my resistance ... and I loved it.

They tried brandy as well but here I resisted. There's a scene in the Scottish play where the drunken porter bemoans how strong drink increases desire but decreases performance. In my case, any increase in desire was pointless - the ladies' own excited interest was all the aphrodisiac I needed - and as for decreasing performance ... well, I figured I was better off staying sober.

Phase two had begun when we returned to my condo - the water torture. I had a large tub - with a seat for the shower, a necessity for a one-legged man.

With the seat up and two ladies to support me, the shower was plenty large enough for three.

By phase three, in the bedroom, I'd definitely been ready to talk ... except that I'd been too busy to get a word out. It was just as well - they'd been too busy to listen.

I finished my shower, extracted George from under the bed - I was glad to note that I'd had the presence of mind to plug it in last night - and dressed quietly. I wasn't sure if I wanted to disturb the sleeping beauties - last night's performance had left me drained and even my libido was limiting itself to a restrained whimper. After last night, unlike my robotic limb, I simply needed more than eight hours sleep to recharge - there are physical limits and men just aren't build with the same equipment as bulls.

In the kitchen, I put on a pot of coffee, pulled a rasher of bacon from the icebox and hunted through the cupboard for a box of pancake mix. Maybe I wasn't a great chef but some things even an idiot can handle.

According to researchers, some smells - such as frying bacon and freshly brewed coffee - bypass the conscious brain entirely and are sent directly to the rhinocephalus - the ancient hind-brain inherited from our earliest mammalian ancestors.

My guests were indisputably mammalian.

When I heard signs of life from the bedroom, I turned the griddle on to heat and called: "Coffee and bacon are ready, pancakes on demand."

The response was more muttered than intelligible but I heard the bathroom door open and close.

While I waited for one or both to make an appearance, I laid the table with plates and flatware. I wasn't the housekeeper Helen was but neither was I a stereotypical bachelor. I didn't have fancy crystal and a linen table cloth but my china was clean, however plain. The napkin's were simply folded paper towels.

The syrup, however - warming in the microwave along with a dish of butter - was real maple, not ersatz synthetic. And the coffee was a Jamaican blend ... with real caffeine as well as flavor.

"Smells great, Mac," a pair of arms slipped around my waist and pulled me back in a warm hug.

"So do you," I responded. It was Mary and she did. "Pancakes?" I offered.

"Lovely," she agreed, squeezing me gently. "And thanks for a lovely night."

"Thank you," I replied. "I've never been tortured so lovingly before. How many?"

"Um, a full stack," Mary considered. "I'm ravenous."

"How about me?" I felt another pair of arms attacking. "Do I get some too?"

"Unless the pair of you make me spill the batter," I cautioned, "there's plenty for all. Good morning, Helen."

"Thanks, Mac. You were wonderful," she nuzzled my ear.

"It was mutual," I assured her. "And the griddle's ready."

I poured pancakes, letting the ladies help themselves to coffee and bacon.

I was flipping the pancakes when Mary spoke again. "Uh, Mac," she started hesitantly. "Last night was a lot of fun. And we both enjoyed it."

"A lot," Helen added.

"But Helen and I have been friends for a long time and ..."

"And a threesome isn't exactly our scene," Helen finished the sentence. "We'd both like to see you again it's just ..."

"You'd prefer one on one?" I suggested with more than a minor feeling of relief. Last night, I'd risen to the occasion ... but I wasn't sure I could do that with any regularity.

"Something like that," Helen admitted. "It was interesting but ..."

"Hell, it was a blast," Mary corrected. "I mean, your being a private investigator and all was part of it ..."

"If you say anything about 'hard boiled'," Helen interrupted. "I'll pour coffee on you."

"I wasn't going to say 'detective'," Mary protested.

"That's what I mean," Helen amplified. "I know what you weren't going to say."

I couldn't help it - I had to laugh. "If I burn the pancakes," I gasped for breath, "it's all your fault. Please, let me finish serving."

"Oh, you served very well," Helen assured me. "It's just ..."

"I'll call you," I suggested. "But separately. Okay?"

"That would be lovely, Mac."

I could hear a giggle in Mary's voice, barely concealed under a demure facade. Helen was silent.

I turned, holding a plate of pancakes, in time to see Helen stifling a laugh behind two interlinked hands. "But, remember," I reminded them in my most serious voice, "you tortured me but you didn't make me talk."

That was the breaking point. They both burst into laughter

* * *

Once the pancakes and bacon were finished - there was nothing wrong with either lady's appetites - I loaded the dishes in the machine, then poured a second cup and joined Mary and Helen in the living room.

"You still owe us some explanation," Helen insisted.

"Even if you can't tell us everything," Mary seconded.

"So why don't you tell us about the equipment you were installing," Helen requested.

That, at least, was one request I could satisfy.

"Basically," I explained, "I installed a video surveillance rig so that we could see exactly who it was that's gaining access to the roof."

"And that's who left tracks on the carpets upstairs?"

"That was one of their mistakes," I answered. "I'll tell you about a couple of others later. For the moment, the job is to catch the intruders and the easiest way to do that is to video tape them. Of course, video taping everything would take too much tape, aside from taking forever to look at it.

"Instead, the surveillance camera takes a snapshot every two to three seconds. That way, a single eight-hour VHS tape is good for ten days or more. On the other hand, when someone is present, I installed two motion detectors - one aimed at the stairs and one targeting the area below the roof hatch. As long as things are quiet, the recorder continues at one frame every two or three seconds but, if there's any motion in the area, recording switches to the standard 30 frames per second.

"However, since there's a lot of legitimate traffic during the day and I don't need to record everyone, I put a timer in the circuit to disable the motion detectors during business hours. Instead, the detectors switch on at eight in the evening and go off at ten in the morning."

"You mean," Helen asked, "that everything happening after eight at night is recorded? Like if we're vacuuming?" The two ladies exchanged glances and smiled.

"Don't even think about," I interrupted their thoughts - I had a pretty good idea what notion had crossed their minds. "These tapes are likely to be used up in court. And they can't be edited."

"And you hung them from the ceiling so they wouldn't be noticed," Mary returned to the immediate.

"That's right," I agreed. "First, because people have a habit of not looking up and, second, because the florescent strips keep the ceiling in dark shadows. Third, of course, the bare rafters in the ceiling provide an excellent place to attach things. All quite simple."

"So," Helen thought about it, "why do they - whoever they are - want to get up to the roof?"

"That's part of what I can't tell you at the moment," I responded. "Sorry - maybe later."

"But you suspect someone from Viscount?" Mary jumped on the idea. "And that's why you asked us not to mention your presence to anyone? Not even the people we worked with. Why didn't you suspect us?"

"Is that why you had us meet you at the restaurant?" Helen queried. "Instead of waiting for us?"

"Which one do I answer first?"

"Start with why you didn't suspect us," Mary suggested. "Don't we look like spies? Or whatever?"

"Frankly, my dears," I protested. "Neither of you is dumb enough to be responsible for most of the things which have been happening in this case. Quite aside from the fact that you were both in Florida last week. And, yes, I did check."

"Not dumb enough?" from Mary. "Is that a compliment?" was Helen's response.

"I'll explain that later, too," I offered. "Let's just say that suspecting either of you would be an insult which neither of you deserve."

"But you do suspect someone at Viscount," Helen returned to her query.

"Yes," I left it at that.

"And you aren't going to tell us who? Or why?"

"Not now," I agreed. "Maybe later."

"We're going to hold you to that," Helen assured me. "We're definitely going to hold you to your promise."

Hey, I thought I'd said 'maybe'.

* * *

After Helen and Mary left - Helen's car was downstairs in guest parking - it was time for me to tend to business. I'd told Ted and Jane to meet me around four - which left me two hours free.

That was time enough. I took the elevator down to parking, then drove over to Magic Carpets.

Mr. Parajan was delighted to see me. "The carpets," he explained. "Again, they are tracked and dusty. But," he assured me, "I say nothing. It is not serious and Mrs. Grady and Mrs. Platt, they will clean, no? But maybe we put a cheaper carpet on that stack? Something not so old. Perhaps I replace the Kasvin with a newer Kirman on that stack? This is okay?"

"Certainly," I agreed. "You change carpets around all the time, don't you."

"But of course," Mr. Parajan assured me. "But the system ... it will not - how do you say - tip someone off if I put the wrong carpet there?"

"I doubt that they'd notice if you put astroturf on that stack," I suggested. "Go right ahead. Have you seen what I did upstairs?"

"Some dirt on the carpet?" he protested. "That I notice. What else is there to see?"

The dirt on the carpet wasn't mine - besides, Mary had vacuumed when I'd finished. But it was nice to know that my handiwork was as well concealed as I had thought it was.

I led Mr. Parajan upstairs and pointed out the additions I'd made the night before. "Two motion detectors," I cataloged, "to tell us when someone is moving around. And the camera," - I played the light on the small device - "covers most of this floor. This will tell us who. And," - I pointed out the suspended video recorder - "this keeps a record of everything - even you, me and your employees - that moves in here."

I checked the tape, replacing the cassette with a new one. According to the telltales - and the dust on the carpet - it had been activated last night but I'd have to wait until I got home to look through it and see what - or who - we'd caught.

"Maybe," Mr. Parajan suggested, "when this is completed, you will talk to me about security. Maybe we should have newer burglar alarm?"

"I'll be happy to," I agreed. There were motion detectors downstairs - both front and back - as well as magnetic reed switches on all doors and breakage detectors on the windows. Of course, none of these were any guard against someone who had the combination to shut off the alarms.

Still, there was one area where I thought their system could use improvement - the smoke detectors and fire alarms. The current equipment was good but, considering the nature of the merchandise, a better system could save a lot of money if a fire did occur. For one, the water sprinklers could be replaced by a halogen system which wouldn't harm the carpets. On the other hand, costs were always a trade-off.

But we could talk about that later. It wasn't something which could be done overnight and I'd need time to check on costs as well.

* * *

According to the tape, the intruders appeared a few minutes after 1 AM - about a half-an-hour after Helen and Mary had returned their van to Viscount and clocked out. About the same time we were arriving at the restaurant.

The lighting wasn't perfect but it was good enough. There were two invaders, both female and both young and both dressed in levis. One was a blonde, wearing a dark sweater. The other, dark haired, was taller and wore a jacket and a backpack.

Between them, they were carrying an A-frame ladder.

I watched while they placed the ladder on top of the carpet stack, climbed up and disappeared though the hatch.

Once they were out of range, the recording resumed time-lapse mode so it was only a second of viewing time before the first reappeared through the hatch. According to the time marks, they'd been on the roof less than five minutes.

Once the hatch was closed and the ladder removed, one of the girls used a whisk broom to erase the impressions from the nap of the carpet, leaving no marks to show where the ladder had stood. But it hadn't been enough to remove the dirt they'd tracked down from the roof.

Of course, at night, only one row of lights were left on and the visibility wasn't really that good.

I watched while the two figures left, then noted the time when the system resumed time-lapse surveillance mode. Less than fifteen minutes in and out - all very smooth.

I picked up the phone to call Toya.

"Raymond Toya," he answered promptly.

"MacPherson," I identified myself. "Are you where you can talk?"

"Uh, sure," he agreed. "Is it something major?"

"No, not drastic. But this is your cell phone and there are scanners out there. Would you like to ring me back?" I didn't give him a phone number. Precautions were probably unnecessary but, in this business, it wasn't a question of being paranoid - it was a question of are you being paranoid enough?

"Five minutes," he agreed and broke the connection.

* * *

"H. D. Agency," I answered. The call was on our business line.

"Toya here," Raymond responded. "What's up?"

"Just wanted to tell you that we've got some video. Last night, around one."

"Then they've probably found out that the data was trashed. What I'm wondering - worrying, really - is how long they've been collecting. Any evidence?"

"Circumstantial only, sorry. But this may be their first pickup. We'd have to watch for a few days to figure out a pattern."

The equipment and hook-up could have been put in place in a couple of hours some night - and probably had been. But the fact that they'd gone to a lot of trouble to give themselves a week of uninterrupted access argued that they needed the time for something. Such as setting up their decoder? Or finding the right way to tap the transmission? Or the computer?

That wasn't something I could answer - but it was obvious that they'd arranged a week's time for the setup. Which meant that they'd needed it. You don't go to that kind of trouble just for the fun of it.

And then there were the attempts to keep me from investigating. I had a feeling that their little scam hadn't gone as easily as they'd have liked.

All in all, it was strange mixture of great brilliance and utter stupidity. Like something a bright child might do. A bright, homicidal child, I reminded myself. Fires, muggings and bombs weren't exactly child's play.

"Do we have enough for an arrest?" Ray queried.

"Probably," I agreed. "I'd imagine that there are fingerprints as well. But, if you can wait, establishing a pattern is stronger and will give you a better threat assessment. Is your, ah, trojan horse in place?"

"We got it up and running early this morning," Ray agreed. "It took a few hours but we faked a computer glitch to account for down time - we included some memo traffic about the glitch and blamed it on a programmer error in a upgrade package. We kept the tap off line until we had the trojan ready to go, then squirted everything out through a spare transmitter into a dummy load.

"From their end, it should look like the real thing.

"And we've got a steady stream of traffic - only difference is that all card cross to non-existent accounts. For the moment, we're also setting up dummy accounts for those numbers with watchdogs to alert us if any of them show up on the system.

"We're also putting a special watch on all accounts which had any activity through this center in the past seven days. Any unusual activity will set off a high priority alarm immediately. You realize that's a lot of accounts to watch?"

"Sure," I agreed. "But, if it hadn't been caught early, think about how many accounts it could have been."

"But you're sure nothing goes back more than seven days?"

"Probably less and they may not have gotten anything yet. But seven days is on the safe side. Sounds like you worked all night."

"I didn't get home until two hours ago," Raymond admitted. "And my kids are upset because I was suppose to take them sailing this afternoon."

"Remind them it was too foggy today for sailing. Would you prefer that I hadn't mentioned this?" I asked.

"No, sorry. Just that I'd like to go back to bed and get a few hours more sleep."

"It's your call," I reminded him. "We'll play it however you like."

"As long as we're paying you as a consultant," Ray decided. "I guess we'll play it your way."

"Go back to sleep," I counseled. "I'll call you Monday. I doubt that anything will happen before then. But, if anything breaks on your end, you can always call."

"Thanks. And good night." I heard the handset clatter as he tried to hang up and missed the cradle. His night had definitely been worse than mine.

* * *

Ted had showed up while I was on the phone with Raymond Toya and was sitting across from me, his feet up on the coffee table and his hand wrapped around a can of Pepsi. When I hung up the phone and looked across at him, he returned a grin that threatened to split his face.

"Okay," I said. "I'll bite ... what's up?"

"Just wondering if you enjoyed yourself," he responded. "You look relaxed."

I paused for a moment, replaying his actions since he'd entered. He'd been carrying a paper bag when he'd entered the kitchen. Then he'd gone through to the bath. Then he'd returned to the kitchen for a moment before settling with the can of Pepsi.

"Yes," I agreed, "I did and I am." Ted was showing off. But it was also lesson time. "So, just how much have you figured out?" I challenged. "Come on, guesses don't count."

"My first guess," Ted kept grinning, "would have been one of the ladies I met last night at Magic Carpets. They both looked interested in you. And they both looked pretty good for a cleaning crew. Plus, you don't generally make the bed as neatly as it is now. Not your style either. You don't tuck the bedspread in at the corners."

"And?"

"You also don't fold your bath towel when you're finished. But there are three neatly folded towels in the bathroom ... but they're folded like they'd been used - where they'll dry. So, I checked the dishwasher. Pancakes and bacon for three. Now, since I know how late Jane and I worked, she wouldn't have come over ... ergo, I deduced that you had two guests last night ... Right?"

"Essentially correct," I admitted. "You realize some people might react unfavorably to such personal assessments?"

"Hey," Ted protested, "I know when to keep my mouth shut. Just one thing I'd like to know."

"Yes?"

"Uh, well, uh, ... what's-it-like? I mean, Allie wears me out and ... and two ladies?"

"Try 'exhausting'," I growled but softened it with a smile. "Now, you want to hear the rest of the news? The public part?" I gave Ted a rundown on the other events of the evening.

The letter of agreement was tucked in a small fire safe concealed by the end table next to the couch. The video tape was still in the VCR, I keyed it to show the intruder segment, then gave Ted a brief account of the counter-measures which were in effect.

"So," I concluded, "this job is mostly done. Now it's just a matter of wrapping up the package."

"Why wait," Ted queried. "I mean, what's all this about damage assessment?"

"By waiting," I explained, "we get an idea of how often they're visiting the data trap and, therefore, how much information they might have stolen. It will also make it easier to convict them if we can show repeated visits. Remember, the only real evidence at the moment is one B&E. If they were clever about fingerprints, we might not even be able to tie them to the equipment. But, by giving them a little rope, why then we can hang them for grand larceny instead of petty theft or illegal entry."

"What about the bomb, the fire and the attack?"

"Probably can't pin any of those down," I replied. "Maybe the fire - since there is evidence on that - but the bomb didn't show much and the attack - well, we've got the actual thugs. Tying them to this is pretty difficult to prove. Besides, if they go down for conspiracy to defraud, they're also facing charges for each and every credit card number they attempted to steal. Make sense?"

"Just one more thing," Ted asked. "What kind of a deal did you make with TredData?"

I told him ... and watched his eyes glaze over as he calculated the potentials.

"But that means ..." he started. "Shit, that's better than the lottery!"

"Not necessarily," I laughed. "But it's not bad. Don't get your hopes up too high."

"Uh, Boss? We could really use 17" monitors on the new computers ..."

* * *

"Everything went just fine, Mac," Jane reported. "The cameras and equipment are in and Madame Lu's is ready to open for business Monday. I've arranged a phone line and an answering machine and passed the word to everyone that I'm available from eight to twelve."

Jane had also done some shopping. Today, she was dressed in a beige pants suit over a light green silk blouse and matching shoes. Nothing flashy but all very elegant. She also looked much more assured than she had as a street person.

"I trust you kept a receipt for the outfit," I smiled.

"This old thing?" she returned the smile, then added: "Actually, it is. I sold most of my clothes through upscale resale shops but I kept a few in storage with a friend. Things I couldn't bear to part with but weren't suitable for the street. I thought this might be appropriate for Madame Lu. I bought this right after I closed my first million dollar real estate deal. I never did collect the full commission on that but ..."

"You look like a million dollars," Ted offered. "But won't that get messed up wearing it around the warehouse?"

"So I'll get reimbursed for the dry cleaning," she suggested. "The point is to look impressive. To look like clothes are so unimportant that I can afford to disregard the surroundings. Isn't that's right, Mac?"

"Absolutely," I agreed. "The whole point is to present a very prosperous front - to be a successful fence, not a shabby back-alley pinch-penny who retails at swap meets. The look is perfect."

"There's one thing bothering me, Mac."

"Go ahead," I invited.

"What do I do if I get offered some real hot merchandise? Buy it? What?"

"You'll have to play it by ear. You can find fault with what's offered, suggest that it's too hot or too hard to move, offer a really low price. In a pinch, you may have to buy. If you do, keep track of it just like the rest."

"Suppose somebody wants to buy something," Ted suggested. "What then?"

"That's easy," Jane laughed. "It's already sold. Besides, people don't generally go shopping with a fence. Only wholesalers as a rule. No, don't laugh," she stopped Ted from protesting. "it's true. You can learn a lot of strange things living on the street."

"She's right," I confirmed. "Fences have their regular outlets. It's safer that way. What they accept may pass through two or three hands before it appears for sale again. Usually in another city or even another state. In some cases, the traffic channels stolen goods straight out of the country before they surface again."

"So," Jane recapped. "For my 'regulars' I pay top dollar - ten percent of retail. Any odd walk-ins gets offered a pittance or shown the door but I buy if I have to keep the front up. And, if it's too expensive?"

"That's a good excuse right there," I suggested. "You don't keep that kind of cash on hand. Make them a low price, then tell them to come back tomorrow. What else?"

"I've met Ted's friends," Jane announced. "They came by to look over the setup. I've agreed to meet them there tomorrow so they can set up their weights." She smiled at a thought, then continued: "I've promised them fifty a day for four hours workout. Extra if there's overtime. They're pretty intimidating with all those muscles. Girls didn't look like that when I was young.

"It's quite exciting, actually. Playing a high-class fence with a couple of gay weight-lifters for body guards. Like something out of the movies."

"Nope," I disagreed. "For the screen, they'd have to tone it down - and add a lot of shooting and car chases."

"Don't forget ..." Ted started to comment and then broke off in mid-sentence.

"Don't forget what?" Jane queried.

"Oh, nothing," Ted looked uncomfortable.

"You were going to suggest a couple of blondes?" I hazarded a guess.

Jane giggled, then suggested. "There's always Allison."

Ted blushed but kept his mouth shut.

It was just as well. I didn't want to explain last night. Not that I thought it would shock Jane - just that I liked to keep a few things about my life private.

"We'd better get moving, Ted" I suggested. "We've got a lot of carpets to clean this evening."

* * *

I couldn't say that the coveralls supplied by the carpet cleaners were a bad fit but nether did I find the tailoring very satisfactory. Still, mine was a better fit than Ted's. Parts of him looked lost in the gray coveralls while other parts - such as his legs and arms - protruded unexpectedly. His long hair was tucked up, under the ball cap with the Chem-Clean logo.

"Cheer up," I offered. "It's a great disguise - bad fit or no. Anybody looks at you, they see the uniform, not the person."

"I still say I look like a klutz," Ted protested.

I didn't argue - besides, he did look pretty klutzy.

We'd arrived at DSS in a van along with a four other coveralled workers. Two more were in a second panel truck with the shampoo machines and other equipment. The most important equipment - and the reason all of this charade was being staged - was in a pair of nylon gym bags which Ted and I carried at our feet.

Unloading the larger van, Ted and I each took charge of a pair of ungainly-looking shampoo machines, wheeling them in with a gym bag and a small step ladder resting on top of each.

The cleaners were expected and the single man at the desk - Leon Trask, I hoped since that was who we were supposed to expect - waved us past while he chatted casually with our crew leader and forewoman.

It wasn't the greatest security ... but then I assumed Mr. Trask had been told not to be too critical in checking on the cleaners. Or, prehaps, it was simply that DSS didn't feel the need for such stringent internal security - it was a point we'd have to discuss ... later.

For one thing, an alert guard should have wondered why carpet cleaners were carrying two small folding ladders. The ceiling wasn't carpeted.

Once inside - and out of immediate view of the man on duty - we abandoned the heavy machines to the attention of others who actually knew how to use them.

I took a quick look around, checking all the offices to make sure that there were no excessively ambitious employees putting in overtime. Except for Mrs. Zappa - who smiled briefly as I poked my head in her door - and the man on duty, the place was deserted as promised.

Once past the reception area, the offices proper consisted of one large open space with glass-fronted, private offices arranged around three sides with the fourth side windows looking out over the parking lot. The open space surrounded by private offices was subdivided into cubicles by fabric-finished, padded partitions standing a bit under five feet high.

It was a typical office maze. The partitions provided sound-deadening and a measure of privacy and personal space while still remaining open. The private offices - with floor to ceiling glass facing into the larger common space - had doors which the cubicles lacked.

And, of course, it was the private offices I was most interested in.

The first thing, however, was to locate the restrooms - not that it required any detective skills. The restrooms were immediately behind the reception area - to the right and left of the hallway leading into the common area. There was a conference room to the left of the reception area but that was one room I wasn't particular interested in.

Taking Ted, we started with the Men's restroom.

Inside, it was spotless and odorless. The walls were a gold-tan tile with dark green marbled formica on the counters to contrast the lighter gold sinks. A full span of mirrors finished the wall behind the sinks. The ceiling - like the rest of the building - consisted of sound-deadening tiles supported by a suspended frame.

There were four commodes - in private stalls - toward the back of the restroom. The fourth and last stall was extra-large, handicapped accessible.

"We'll use the rear corner," I directed Ted. "It's against the outside wall and, if we have an problems, we can always drill a small hole through and run a wire outside for an antenna. Shouldn't need to though - it's only a curtain wall, the structural support comes from the interior frame and that won't block a signal." I extracted the recorder / transmitter from my bag. "Why don't you start by setting this up. I'll start in the target offices and we'll decide where to place the connector in a minute."

What I was asking Ted to do was simple. He'd lift up one of the back tiles, place the recorder / transmitter on top of the corner tile and locate a junction box - one which was not tied to the light switch - to supply power. For some things, batteries are fine - but not for long term surveillance. Tapping into the building's power grid was much simpler than worrying about battery life.

But, before I installed anything, there were a couple of things I wanted to check.

I started with Mrs. Zappa's office, entering with a finger across my lips.

She was surprised but took the hint without commenting and continued working at her desk as if I wasn't there - which was exactly what I wanted.

A quick electronic sweep of the office picked up a number of things ... except that they were all either innocent or unlikely. There are simply too many electronic circuits - including Mrs. Zappa's wristwatch, her desk clock, her computer, the CD player in her desk and a micro-cassette recorder for taking notes. All the sweep did was eliminate some of the more obvious possiblities.

My next step was to bring a phone from one of the cubicles outside and swap it for hers.

When I did, Mrs. Zappa started to protest but caught herself before saying anything.

I used my free hand to flash ten fingers - meaning wait a few minutes - and took the phone out to the common area where I could open it up for a eyeball check. One of the easiest ways to tap a room - or a house - is to put an infinity transmitter on the phone. This is a device which uses the phone's own microphone and sends the signal out over the phone line to a waiting receiver. The receiver may be in the same building or may be a half-a-mile away ... or further.

More important, a good infinity transmitter does not interfere with normal operation of the telephone ... particularly if the extra connector pair in virtually every phone line is used for the tap signal.

In this case, the offices had their own switching system, allowing called to be placed from one extension to another automatically while providing separate numbers for each phone for incoming calls. In many ways, a good PBX system is a wiretapper's best friend - if they have access.

Sure enough, Mrs. Zappa's phone had an addition which the manufacturer had not included.

I returned the phone to Mrs. Zappa's office and replaced the borrowed unit where I'd found it. I also showed Mrs. Zappa a note reading: "CONFIRMED - PHONE AND OFFICE BUGGED." When she nodded comprehension, I tucked the note in my back pocket, smiled and exited.

It had always been a possibility and Mrs. Zappa had been aware of the fact. And we had discussed the matter but I had suggested that - even if a tap was found - it should be left in place. There was no point in tipping our hand by letting anyone know that the phones and offices had been checked.

The advantage lies in knowing exactly what the enemy does and doesn't know ... and in being able to control what they find out. Being able to providing the right misinformation - and knowing it is received - is a valuable tool in a lot of circumstances.

And, at the moment, that was most of what I wanted to know.

Just as a check, I did stop by Ms. Chen's office - with my recorder in hand. I didn't have to step inside. The anti-recording signal was still there ... and strong enough to register some distance from the office. I checked from several positions around the office - enough to be relatively sure where the center of the jamming was.

I wondered if anyone had noticed problems with personal recorders in the vicinity - the jamming was pretty indiscriminate. Of course, it wouldn't interfere with playback devices, stereos or CD players which meant that it wasn't that obvious ... but it wasn't subtle.

I'd also used the time to look around and pretty well knew where everything needed to go.

In the restroom, Ted was finishing up. As I entered, he was easing the ceiling tile back into place.

"No sweat, Boss," he assured me. "I laid an antenna wire along the outside wall with a bit of wax. Easy to spot if anyone looks but why would they?"

And that was one of the biggest secrets to surveillance - do things where people don't look.

For example, if you're going to tap your neighbor's phone, don't do it in his house. Go to the splice block where his phone line is connected to the local truck - as is yours. Then, instead of splicing to the front of the 66-block, make your connections on the backside. It's called back strapping. Most important, even the phone repairmen don't look there ... just as nobody was going to notice a fine wire and a bit of bee's wax against the gray cinder-block wall above the false ceiling.

Hell, against the outside wall and with a dark gray cloth covering it, it was very unlikely that anyone would notice the recorder / transmitter ... even if they were working above the ceiling.

"Let's get the pickups in place first," I suggested.

I led the way back to the common area, then pointed to a location in easy reach of the target offices. "Lift this one up," I directed, "and get your net."

I stepped into the first office on my list, slipped my shoes off and stood on the desk to do the same.

The 'net' I'd referred to was actually a collapsible loop supporting a fine-meshed nylon bag. With Ted holding it above the ceiling and playing a flashlight on it, it was a very easy target.

On my end, I was holding what they call a 'pistol crossbow'.

It's quite a bit larger than a pistol but considerably smaller than a regular crossbow and, with the modifications I'd made, it did not have a great deal of power. But, I wasn't trying to shoot small game or prove that a bolt could penetrate a 1" plank - quite the opposite. Penetration was not what I wanted.

In addition to weakening the bow, I'd also added a fishing reel - the open-ended kind which allows the line to play out smoothly when you cast. The quarrel I was using was light-weight aluminum, rather than wood or steel and, instead of a point, carried a hard rubber ball.

I cocked the bow, attached the fishing line to the quarrel and took careful aim at the highlighted net some fifty or sixty feet distant. There was one air conditioning duct between us but there was a good three feet of open space above the duct and nothing else which looked like a serious obstruction.

The first shot missed - I hadn't used this lately and was out of practice.

I reeled the quarrel back, recocked the bow and adjusted my aim. The second shot whapped into the net.

A moment later, Ted wig-wagged his light, signaling me to retrieve the line.

When I reeled the line back - sans quarrel - another line was loosely tied to the clip on the end.

With the retrieved line in hand, I took a small punch from my pocket, poked a hole in the tile not much larger than a pin hole, positioning it inside one of the patterned pits in the tile, then poked the tip of the retrieved line through from the back. From the front, even at close range, the tip was not visible.

I lowered the tile back in place, stepped down off of the desk, checked to insure that I had not left foot prints or otherwise marked or disturbed the desktop. Everything looked fine and the tile overhead showed no signs of having been disturbed.

Outside, one of the legitimate carpet cleaners was observing me with obvious interest. I waved the pistol crossbow toward him and suggested: "Rats make great targets."

"Sure," he grinned, shaking his head as he went back to man-handling his monster machine. I didn't expect him to believe me - and he was being paid to ignore me - but I figured a bit of friendly misdirection wouldn't hurt any. At least, it would give him something to think about ... and something to pass on to his fellow crewmen.

We repeated the operation with the remaining offices. One of them was badly placed and took several tries before a quarrel connected with the net but it still took less than fifteen minutes to get the thread-thin taps in place.

Last, I went back to the Men's room and fired a final shot to retrieve a slightly thicker cable - this one almost as heavy as a thin string. This last cable I plugged into the recorder / transmitter.

On the other end, Ted was plugging the several smaller fibers into a small, fan-shaped connector.

Since the connector was the largest part - about half the size of a penny - and was a mottled gray as were all of the connecting fibers, the completed installation was virtually invisible ... even if you were looking for it. Further, since there was plenty of slack in all the cables, they were unlikely to be noticed even by someone working above the ceiling.

Running a tap from the Women's restroom - since it had to go nearly the full width of the building - took one more crossbow shot but the final tap - for the Men's side - was simplicity itself.

Last, I plugged an earphone into a jack on the box and listened while Ted turned on a pocket stereo and walked from one target to the next, pausing in each for thirty seconds. Since Ted was covering each in strict order, I was able to identify which channel was covering which site and, of course, to ensure that all of the pickups were functioning.

And all were - not that Ted's choice of music made me want to listen very long.

This completed the audio taps and the hardest part of the job. All that remained was to install a few phone taps - not infinity transmitters - just plain old-fashioned line taps.

Remember what I said about the back-side of a 66-block? I hadn't picked the Men's restroom out of sexist prejudices or anything like that. The main reason, relatively public access aside, was that the patch panel for the phone system was immediately adjacent.

I only needed a few minutes to dismount the 66-block and install a small, line-powered multi-channel tap on the backside and to make connections to the desired phone lines. From there, a single thread-thick fiber-optic cable was tucked behind the bundles of wire running up into the overhead. Once above the ceiling, this cable also connected to the recorder.

With the 66-block back in place - and an envelope of dust blown over the entire board - Ted and I were finished. We'd been in the building less than a hour.

The two gym bags we'd brought in became a single gym bag for our exit.

But, before leaving, I made the rounds of the authentic carpet cleaners, thanking each for their cooperation and passing out folded $50 bills. The money was acceptable but the personal thanks were more important. A bit of legitimate courtesy goes a lot further to keep someone's cooperation than a monetary payment.

Of course, they were being paid - by Chem-Clean - for their work, the fifty was simply a 'thank you' bonus.

When I reached the man who'd been watching earlier, I added: "Keep an eye out. One of 'em I only winged and he may turn vicious."

"Right," he agreed, shaking his head again. "I'll do that."

Remuneration distributed and our appreciation expressed, Ted and I stacked the two step ladders and the gym bag on top of the extra shampoo machine, wrapped a piece of cord around the axle by one wheel - to make it roll roughly as the wheel stuck - and exited. As we passed the duty guard, tugging at the recalcitrant machine, we exchanged a few comments about shoddy maintenance.

Once we'd reached the elevator and the doors had closed, Ted knelt and used his knife to cut the cord loose, jamming the fragments in his pocket.

From there, the machine rolled with much less effort as we exited the building and loaded our decoy - along with the two ladders - in the waiting truck.

That done, Ted shouldered the near-empty gym bag and we walked away.

A block and a half distant, we found a service station and called a taxi.

* * *

Back at the condo, there was one more task before we were finished.

Ted loaded the receiver and modified video recorder into the back of my van, then took the passenger seat while I drove back to DSS. This time, however, instead of parking in the main lot, I stopped on a side street, about two hundred yards from the men's restroom on the third floor.

Ted slipped into the back and opened the suitcase containing the equipment, pulling out a power cord and plugging it into the 12 volt receptacle in the camper's cabinet.

"We have a signal," he informed me a moment later.

Another minute and he added: "Squirt transmitter's fine. Of course, there isn't much yet. Want to hear it?"

"Not really," I answered honestly. "As long as it's working, that's fine. We'll do a dump twice a day - seven A.M. and six P. M."

The listening device inside was a multi-channel, voice activated recorder using a standard video cassette for storage. While one video cassette can hold better than 240 hours of continuous voice - 10+ days worth - we had seven audio pickups and five phone taps being recorded. Thus, if someone was talking continuously in every office and using the phone, we could record on all twelve channels for twenty hours.

More realistically, we could expect about 10 to 20% of the time to contain some sort of recordable information. Therefore, in theory, we could simply come back in a few days and retrieve the tape, replacing it with a second cassette.

In practice, however, the purpose was to find out what was happening as quickly as possible.

Therefore, the recorder included a multi-frequency transmitter, capable of playing back an entire tape in about an hour using frequency skipping - to prevent detection - and squirt compression. The matching receiver was sitting in the suitcase in the back of the van.

By dumping the contents twice daily, we had two advantages. First, transmission times would be relatively short, thus reducing the chances of anyone else detecting our activity. And, second, the recording would only be interrupted for two brief intervals - at seven in the morning when it was unlikely that many people would be in the office and at six in the evening when any late workers would probably be taking a dinner break.

As for inside detection, the possibilities existed but were minimal. The audio taps consisted on very thin fiber-optic cables - about the thickness of a very fine thread - with a small reflective diaphragm at the tip. Any sound in the area where the audio taps were installed would cause the diaphragm to vibrate while the recorder directed light from a very low power laser down each fiber, reading the vibrations of the diaphragm from the reflected light carried back by the fiber.

For the phone taps, a set of tiny, infrared LED diodes were matched to fiber-optic cables. Voice and line signals at the 66-block were translated directly into light pulses and carried by the cable to the recorder.

The point of using fiber-optics was simple. Not only were the cables so small as to be almost impossible to spot but also there were no detectable electromagnetic signals for a sweep device to recognize. There are, of course, laser detectors on the market but, in this setup, the laser light never left the fibers, being reflected by the aluminum/mylar diaphragms at the end.

Anyone who found this tap was wasting luck they should have used to buy a lottery ticket. That or they were a hell of a lot better than I was ... and I'm an expert.

Tomorrow was Sunday and we knew the offices were empty for the night. "We'll check it tomorrow at six," I decided. Ted and I could both sleep late in the morning.

"Sounds good to me, Boss," Ted confided. "Allie and I are heading for a rave down the Embarcadero."

"Hot date?" I wasn't really fond of raves. "Or are you on stage?"

Raves were held in empty warehouses or any other large vacant structures where permission - legitimate or otherwise - could be obtained for the occasion. A rave meant a collection of heavy-metal and gunge bands, lots of amplifiers, lasers and neon and all kinds of chemicals from balloons filled with nitrous oxide to organic 'brain vitamins' to grass to acid to coke and designer drugs. About the only thing you couldn't buy were ear plugs.

For the promoters staging and advertising these 'underground' events, raves were a gold mine.

For the police, raves were a major headache ... even when they were legitimate and properly staged.

For me, they were a place to stay away from - I was the wrong generation ... aside from not being able to dance, George wasn't that well coordinated and trying was a real pain, literally.

"Hey, business, Boss," Ted managed to sound hurt. "Going head hunting." Meaning he was going looking for runaways and to check with his contacts among the constantly reorganizing bands who appeared at various of these events.

Of course, he was also combining pleasure with business ... but, if we're lucky, we all do, given the chance.

"Have fun," I suggested. "And good hunting."

For myself, I was trying to decide if it was too late to make a dinner date ... and which lady to call.