"I'll be damned," he muttered.
He came to a dead stop in the middle of the street. In one sudden flash of insight, all the pieces of the case he'd been looking at for so long fell together and formed one consistent picture. The pattern was complete.
Malone blinked.
In that second, he knew exactly who the spy was.
A jeep honked raucously and swerved around him. The driver leaned out to curse and Malone waved at him, dimly recognizing a private eye he had once known, a middle-aged man named Archer. Wondering vaguely what Archer was doing this far East, and in a jeep at that, Malone watched the vehicle disappear down the street. There were more cars coming, but what difference did that make? Malone didn't care about cars. After all, he had the answer, the whole answer….
"I'll be damned," he said again, abruptly, and wheeled around to head back to the offices.
On the way, he stopped in at another small office, this one inhabited by the two FBI men from Las Vegas. He gave a series of quick orders, and got the satisfaction, as he left, of seeing one of the FBI men grabbing for a phone in a hurry.
It was good to be doing things again, important things.
Burris, Boyd and Dr. Gamble were still talking as Malone entered.
"That," Burris said, "was one hell of a quick lunch. What's Her
Majesty doing now—running a diner?"