PSTThe ESDA trace told nothing. Eleven days before Christmas, Roger Gilman sat staring at the text in the office he now occupied adjacent to Katrina Stone’s new laboratory. Three lines. That was all. And it was gibberish.WHO1315DR1630AL1800Who? Dr? Dr. Who? What? And who is Al?Gilman had been staring at the text for the better part of five days. He had read up on Dr. Who and decided that if the popular time-travel science fiction series had any connection at all to Operation Death Row, the nation was sunk. He had given the three numbers from the ESDA trace to top FBI code-breakers who had come back with nothing.It was over.Reluctantly, Gilman picked up the receiver of his office phone to call Bob Wachsman and recommend that the government prepare for the worst. The prisoner was already waiting at the small table when his visitor sat down across from him. Her black headscarf and Muslim robe had been gone for more than a month, along with the Arab alias and bogus accent. Instead, the visitor’s dark face was now obscured by long thick waves of black hair.
