H ackworth arrived at the pub first. He got a pint of porter at the bar, 
cask-conditioned stuff from the nearby Dovetail community, and strolled around 
the place for a few minutes while he waited. He had been fidgeting at his desk 
all morning and enjoyed the opportunity to stretch his legs. The place was done 
up like an ancient London publican house circa World War II, complete with fake 
bomb damage to one corner of the structure and taped X's over each 
windowpane—which only made Hackworth think of Dr. X. Autographed photos 
of British and American airmen were stuck up on the walls here and there, along 
with other miscellany recalling the heyday of Anglo-American 
cooperation: