Operation Haystack
It's hard to ferret out a gang of fanatics; it would, obviously, be even harder to spot a genetic line of dedicated men. But the problem Orne had was one step tougher than that!
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e never met him." He looked to the southwest where a flitter was growing larger as it approached. "Who's my cover contact?"
"That mini-transceiver we planted in your neck for the Gienah job," said Stetson. "It's still there and functioning. Anything happens around you, we hear it."
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Orne touched the subvocal stud at his neck, moved his speaking muscles without opening his mouth. A surf-hissing voice filled the matching transceiver in Stetson's neck:
"You pay attention while I'm making a play for this Diana Bullone, you hear? Then you'll know how an expert works."
"Don't get so interested in your work that you forget why you're out there," growled Stetson.
* * * * *
Mrs. Bullone was a fat little mouse of a woman. She stood almost in the center of the guest room of her home, hands clasped across the paunch of a long, dull silver gown. She had demure gray eyes, grandmotherly gray hair combed straight back in a jeweled net--and that shocking