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ScienceDirect - Technol Rep Tohoku Univ ... - Garryck Osborne

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Chapter 6<br />

It was still dark when I exchanged the warmth of the Holiday Inn for the<br />

damp chill of the predawn, heaved my bags into the back of the cab and<br />

hunkered down for the 30-minute ride across the river. I had around<br />

eight hours to sieve Lusty for evidence of a technology Cross maintained<br />

couldn't be substantiated.<br />

The commuter traffic was jamming the bridges, the top of the<br />

Washington Monument scraping the overcast sky, as the taxi headed<br />

across the Frederick Douglass Memorial Bridge and into a part of the<br />

nation's capital that only makes the news when the body counts from the<br />

drive-by shootings top three or four.<br />

By the time I reported to the guard at the main gate, the wind had got<br />

up, lifting sheets of spray from a choppy confluence of gray wave caps<br />

where the Potomac and Anacostia rivers meet off Greenleaf Point. The<br />

spray snaked in rivulets this way and that in front of us as the cabdriver<br />

navigated the maze of open streets looking for the address I'd been given.<br />

It took him 15 precious minutes to find it.<br />

The archive was tucked away in a forgotten corner of Boiling Air Force<br />

Base, home of the Defense Intelligence Agency and the USAF's Office of<br />

Special Investigations. It wasn't the sort of place you'd want to stroll or<br />

take the view.<br />

Boiling was a large cordoned-off military district sandwiched between<br />

the black waters of the Potomac and the badland housing projects of<br />

Congress Heights and Washington Highlands. It also bordered the<br />

grounds of St. Elizabeth's—a hospital for the criminally insane, since<br />

renamed—where John Hinckley served time for his assassination attempt<br />

on President Reagan.<br />

The reading room in the tiny Office of Air Force History was low-lit<br />

and windowless. True to her word, the senior archivist had placed a cup<br />

of coffee next to the warmed-up microfilm reader opposite the farthest<br />

row of metal book stacks. There was a clock on the wall above the door to<br />

her office. It was a little after seven-thirty. The air-conditioning had not<br />

64

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