Ee microfilm was old. It had been buried in

CIA archives for more than twenty years.

Pendleton removed the film spool from its plastic

case and slipped it onto the spindle of the film reader.

He was probably the first to read the report since it

had been transferred to microfilm and filed away.

Pendleton switched on the reader and turned off" his

desk lamp, plunging his office into darkness. Work-

ing by feel and the stray light spilling from the

projection-lamp housing, he threadedthe film through

the guide path and onto the take-up spool.

Pendleton liked darkness, and he had an affinity

for the night; but because he could not complete all

his work at night, his office had been designed to

shut out the day. The room was fully soundproofed,

and the windows were sealed with black, lighttight

drapes. It had the cloistered, secretive atmosphere of

a medieval chamber.

Another man with Pendleton s idiosyncrasies might

have been labeled an eccentric, but the more bizarre

aspects of Pendleton s character only added to his

mystique. Within the CIA, Pendleton, Chief of Coun-

terintelligence, was a legend.

Pendleton pressed the film-advance button, and a

series of introductory file codes flashed across the