That was the trouble…in all the records of the service's personnel there was not a single flaw. Not a thing a man could point to. Not a thing on which one could anchor suspicion.
Lily-white and pure.
Yet, someone inside the service had stolen Sutton's dossier. Someone inside the service had tipped off Sutton on the gun-trap laid for him at the Orion Arms. Someone had been ready and waiting, knowing of the trap, to whisk him out of reach.
Spies, said Adams to himself, and he lifted up his hand and made his hand into a fist and hit the desk so hard that his knuckles stung.
For no one but an insider could have made away with Sutton's dossier. No one but an insider could have known of the decision to destroy Sutton, or of the three men who had been assigned to carry out the order.
Adams smiled grimly.
The tracer chuckled at him. Ker-rup, it said, ker-rup, clickity, click, ker-rup.
That was Sutton's heart and breath…that was Sutton's life ticking away somewhere. So long as Sutton lived, no matter where he was or what he might be doing, the tracer would go on with its chuckling and its burping.
Ker-rup, ker-rup, ker-rup…
Somewhere in the asteroid belt, the tracer had said, and that was a very general location, but it could be narrowed. Already ships with other tracers aboard were engaged in narrowing it down. Sooner or later…hours or days or weeks, Sutton would be found.