“No, I’ve just begun checking. But I’d be glad to hear what you’ve got.”
“I may be way off,” said Steele. “But I’ve always wondered about the ‘foo fighters’ our pilots saw over Europe near the end of the war.”
I thought for a second. “Wasn’t that some kind of antiaircraft missile fired from the ground?”
“No. Intelligence never did get any real answer, so far as I know. They were some kind of circular gadgets, and they actually chased our planes a number of times. We thought they were something the Nazis had invented—and I still think so.”
“Then who’s launching them now?”
“Well, it’s obviously either Russia or us. If it is the Soviet—well, that’s what’s worried me. I don’t think it should be treated like a joke, the way some people in the Pentagon take it.”
I stared at the phone, trying to figure him out.
“I’d like to talk it over with you,” I said. “Maybe you’ve got something.”
“I’ve given you about all I know,” Steele answered. “There was an Intelligence report you might try to see—the Eighth Air Force files should have it.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Give me your number, in case I find anything.”