"Leonard Hudson," he repeated as if trying to recall. "I met him on two occasions. He wasn't in my class, though. Before my time, or I should say before my tenure at Stanford. I was teaching at USC when he was a student."
"Thank you, Doctor. I won't trouble you further."
"Not at all. Glad to help."
Scratch four. The next name from the diary was an Anson Jones. He tried again, well aware it never came easy and that making a gold strike was 99 percent luck.
"Hello?"
"Mr. Jones, my name is judge."
"Who?"
"Thomas Judge. I'm with the federal government, and we're running an audit on Pattenden Physics Laboratory."
"I don't know any Pattenden. You must have the wrong number."
"Does the name Dr. Earl Mooney ring a bell?"
"Never heard of him."
"He's called your number three times in the last sixty days.
"Must be a phone company foulup."
"You are Anson Jones, area code three-zero-three, number five-four-seven
"Wrong name, wrong number."
"Before you hang up, I have a message."
"What message?"
Hagen paused, and then leaped. "Tell Leo that Gunnar wants him to pay for the airplane. You got that?"
There was silence on the other end for several moments. Then finally, "Is this a crank call?"
"Goodbye, Mr. Jones."
Pay dirt.
He called the sixth listing just to be on the safe side. An answering service for a stock brokerage firm answered. A dry hole.
Elation, that was what he felt. He became even more elated as he added to his notes. Mooney was not one of the "inner core," but he was connected-- one of the subordinate officers under the high command.
Hagen tapped out a number in Chicago and waited. After four rings, a woman answered sweetly.
"Drake Hotel."
''My name is Thomas Judge and I'd like to confirm a room reservation for tomorrow night."
"One moment and I'll connect you with reservations."
Hagen repeated the request for confirmation with the desk clerk. When asked for a credit card number to hold the room for late arrival, he gave Anson Jones's phone number in reverse
"Your room is confirmed, sir."
"Thank you."