Tyrone thought carefully about Scott's words. "Listen, I have to get a warrant anyway. It'll probably take till tomorrow." Tyrone paused for the subtle offer to sink in to Scott. "He's listed. Gotta go."
One hell of a guy, thought Scott. If it ever got out that Tyrone worked with the media like this, he would be immediately retired, if not possibly prosecuted. But nobody else was doing anything, and Scott had given them Foster on a silver platter. He would save the Freedom League story for the moment.
* * * * *
The Motorola STU-III secure phone rang on the credenza behind Marvin Jacobs desk. He had been Director of the National Securi- ty Agency, DIRNSA, since 1984, installed in that position because he gave the distinct impression that he didn't care about any- thing except satisfying his mentor; in this case Vice President Bush.
The STU-III phone added funny electronic effects to the voices that spoke over it; all in the interest of national security.
"Hello?" Jacobs asked.
"Homosoto is dead."
"I heard," Jacobs said. "It sounded clean."
"Very pro. Won't be a problem."
* * * * *