He would have been astonished to learn that the men who finally succeeded used instruments a million times more powerful than binoculars. Binoculars were worthless to see into that town and uncover its secrets. He could not have known the futility of this action. He would be forced to pause to wipe them frequently, using a stubby gloved finger. His breath, hissing out into the moonlit air, would have fogged the lenses. The metal would be cold, and he would be clumsy in his fir parka and heavy gloves. Lieutenant Roger Shawn must have found the binoculars difficult. That is how it began: with a man standing by the side of the road, on a crest overlooking a small Arizona town, on a winter night.
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