Ee microfilm was old. It had been buried in
CIA archives for more than twenty years.
Pendleton removed the film spool from its plastic
case and slipped it onto the spindle of the film reader.
He was probably the first to read the report since it
had been transferred to microfilm and filed away.
Pendleton switched on the reader and turned off" his
desk lamp, plunging his office into darkness. Work-
ing by feel and the stray light spilling from the
projection-lamp housing, he threadedthe film through
the guide path and onto the take-up spool.
Pendleton liked darkness, and he had an affinity
for the night; but because he could not complete all
his work at night, his office had been designed to
shut out the day. The room was fully soundproofed,
and the windows were sealed with black, lighttight
drapes. It had the cloistered, secretive atmosphere of
a medieval chamber.
Another man with Pendleton s idiosyncrasies might
have been labeled an eccentric, but the more bizarre
aspects of Pendleton s character only added to his
mystique. Within the CIA, Pendleton, Chief of Coun-
terintelligence, was a legend.
Pendleton pressed the film-advance button, and a
series of introductory file codes flashed across the
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