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they’re there if you aren’t looking that way.”
    ‘Yes,” Taylor agreed.  “He always seems to make some sound so you know he’s there, a cough, or a misstep.”
    “He’s a pro,” his wife agreed.
    Which left Taylor wondering what misstep he could catch Alex Longknife in?  What would that old and scared man want to sell to the aliens?  Computers?  Machinery?  Most likely, but tracking any particular order among so many would be nearly impossible.
    Art work?  Food delicacies, wines and other fine spirits?  Could orders for those be traced?  They would certainly be more limited in their sales.  And if there was an order to have them all delivered by a specific date . . . ?
    Hmm, that might give us a better call on the fitting out date for those ships overhead.
    Taylor made a mental note to himself.  The theater done, they walked toward where he’d left their car.  “Just a moment, honey, I need to buy something,” he said, and ducked into a small store, specializing in off world media, various intoxicants, and, of course, discreet and disposable phones.  He paid cash.  He always carried a bit of cash for purchases he didn’t want traced.
    He was an officer of the law, but that didn’t mean he had to be dumb.
    Using his burner phone, he sent Leslie a text.  Please check orders for luxury items and art.  See if there is a pattern of specific deliver dates.  Be careful.  Some folks are playing hard ball on this one.
    His wife was waiting patiently for him when he got back on the street.
    “Be careful,” was all she said.
    “Love, I always am.”
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 10
     
     
    Next morning, Taylor got the kids off to school, then took himself off to the fishing pier.  Again, he had little luck, but he did not change his fishing lure.  He kind of liked letting the fish take his bait.  The sky was blue with some lovely fluffy clouds floating along with the wind.  The water was a clear blue and the air tasted of sun and salt and youth itself.
    At lunch, Leslie showed up, two aluminum wrapped burritos in hand.
    “You shouldn’t have come.  It’s dangerous.”
    “Yeah.  So someone told me.  Did you have to use that old acid joke?  I’m not a probie anymore.”
    “It got the message out, if not understood,” Taylor said, as gruffly as he could.  Still he put his rod aside.  He did love the burritos created by the food artist at this particular cart.
    “It was understood.  I’m a big girl and I chose to take it under consideration.  I’m considering it still.  Now, about the orders for art and high class consumer goods.  There is a pattern.  There’s a couple of tons of wine, fine cheeses and delicacies due to be shipped up the beanstalk in two weeks. Deliveries are spread over three days,” she said with a knowing smile.
    “On top of that, several art galleries are supposed to deliver pictures, paintings and sculptures those very same days.  Interesting, isn’t it?  He’s also shipping several complete library systems, audio, visual, media, and about half of the books from the Wardhaven public library.”
    “The technical sections?” Taylor asked.
    “Damned if the fool isn’t,” Leslie said with a scowl.
    “He does not pay attention to the news,” Taylor said.
    “Or at least any that he doesn’t think is right,” Leslie added.  “How much of what passes for news do you believe?”
    “I trust the comics.  Occasionally the sports section.  The rest, well, when it was real paper, it was good to wrap fish in.”
    “Oh, it’s not that bad.  The news about Kris Longknife is usually accurate.  You can trust her maid for that.  She’s on Musashi now, awaiting trial.  You should watch the one press conference she gave.  It was a hoot,” the special agent said with a most non-bureau giggle.
    “No doubt.  No one can accuse her of being a fool,” Taylor agreed.  “A fool would have lost her head long ago.”
    Leslie winched.  “She may lose her