"THIS'LL REALLY WORK?" I asked the Mole. He was bent over a lab table in his workroom, a pile of gold Krugerrands spread out before him.
He didn't answer. Terry was standing next to him, his little face vibrating with concentration, nose two inches from the Mole's hands.
Michelle was perched on a stool, her sleek nyloned legs crossed, smoking one of her long black cigarettes. Heart-shaped face peaceful. She could have been a suburban housewife watching her husband teach their son how to build a ham radio.
Outside, dogs prowled the night-blanketed minefield of junked cars. Ringed in razor-wire and dotted with pockets of explosives. The safest place I know.
Time went by. The Mole's stubby paws worked tiny probes under a huge magnifying glass he had suspended over the workbench. I heard the clink of coins, saw the red laser-beam shoot from a black box. I picked up one of the Krugerrands, turned it over in my hand. It looked like it was minted yesterday.
"I thought these things weren't allowed in the U.S. anymore. No more trading with South Africa, right?"
The Mole looked up. Hate-dots glinted behind the thick lenses. "No new Krugerrands. Illegal since 1984. But it's still legal to trade in older coins if they were made before that date."
I looked at the coin in my hand. Gleaming new. "This says it was minted in 1984," I said.
"It was minted a month ago," the Mole said. "This country always looks the other way for its Nazi friends."
Michelle threw me a warning look. Don't get him started. The Mole was never far from critical mass when it came to his reason for living.
I lit a smoke, patted my brother on the back, willing him to be calm, go back to work.
Soon the Mole pushed back his chair. Pointed at a pile of a half dozen gold coins. "Which one?" he asked.
I took them in my hand. Felt their weight. Held them up to the light. Tried to bend them in half. They were all the same. I tried the magnifying glass. Nothing. Handed them back to the Mole.
He picked out the one he wanted. Handed me a jeweler's loupe. "Look around the edge- where the coin is milled."
It took me a minute, even when I knew what I was looking for. A tiny dark dot standing between the ridges. I gave it back to the Mole.
"Go outside," the Mole said to Terry. He handed me the coin. "Hide it," he said.
"Put it in your purse," I told Michelle.
Terry came back into the bunker holding a transmitter about the size of a pack of cigarettes.
"Find it," the Mole said.
The boy pulled a short antenna from the corner of the transmitter. Hit a switch. Soft electronic beeps, evenly spaced. He moved toward the far wall. The beeps separated, a full second between them. The beeping got more intense as he neared the workbench. The boy was patient, working the room in quadrants. When he got near Michelle, the transmitter went nuts. He worked around her, closing in. When he put it next to her purse, the beeps merged into one long whine. "In there," he said, a smile blasting across his face.
Michelle gave him a kiss. "You're going to take Harvard by storm, handsome."
"Will it work through metal?" I asked the Mole.
"Even through lead," Terry assured me solemnly. I lit a cigarette, satisfied.
"This is the way we're supposed to work," Michelle said. "This is us. I'll see the doctor tomorrow."