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"A personal experience?" she asked.

"Yes. It was my squadron. I blew at Okinawa. The burned child dreads the fire." He touched the scar with his fingers.

She ran her tongue along her lips. "I understand. But suppose the information I requested had been essential to our plans, our forecasts that were coming up? What then?"

"I don't think you'd get it."

"Why not?"

"Because you couldn't do anything with it. Our group has neither responsibility nor authority. It can't act, but there is always the possibility it might leak."

She was angry all over again. She stared down into his single, unwavering, disconcerting gray eye. She told herself that this was, after all, an unofficial discussion, and he was a guest in her house, and she must not lose her temper. "Go on," she challenged.

"What makes you think that in our echelon we are better equipped to divine the intentions of the enemy than the people right at the top, say the National Security Council?"

She was on her feet. "I'll tell you why! Because we haven't anything else to do! It is precisely because we have no responsibility or authority, or administration either, to worry about, that we can do this thing. The people at the top have a million things to do. They can't devote all their time to the enemy."