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32 {p. 36} "T'd give a lot to know Steele's angle," I said. "If you hear anything more on him, give me a buzz." "Foo fighters?" he said. "Sure, I remember those stories. You think those are your flying saucers?" classified." "Sure, I know--sorry," I said. I had a notion to ask him if he knew John Steele, but hung up instead. There was no use in banging my head against the Air Force wall. The next day I decided to analyze the Mantell case from beginning to end. It looked like the key to one angle: the question of an Air Force secret missile. Unless there was some slip-up, so that Mantell and his pilots had been ordered to chase the disk by mistake, then it would be cold murder. I couldn't believe any Air Force officer would give such an order, no matter how tremendous the secret to be hidden. We argued it back and forth without getting anywhere. Jack nodded. "I'll see what I can do. But I can't dig too hard, or he'll hear about it." On the way out, I found a phone booth and called Splitt. I could hear him snicker. "Just checking angles," I said. "Didn't the Eighth Air Force investigate the foo fighters?" "Yes, and they found nothing to back up the pilots' yarns. just war nerves, apparently." "How about a look at the Intelligence report?" I asked. "Wait a minute." Splitt was gone for twice that time, then he carne back. "Sorry, it's ote "Tf all this stuff is bunk, why keep the lid on it?" I demanded. I was getting sore again. "Look, Don," said Splitt, "I don't make the rules." But I was going to find out, if possible.