A month ago, a short, scholarly-looking man named Jack Lewis rented a shabby basement apartment on Manhattan's West 74th St. He and his wife were a quiet couple who had few callers and got no mail except for one lone postcard. It was from "Joe" in Haiti and said only, "Having a swell time." Lewis told the landlord that he was a statistical engineer, that he was gathering material for a book on mathematics. Henna-haired Mrs. Lewis, 42, never spoke to the neighbors.
One morning last week FBI agents knocked at the apartment door. When they left, they took Mr. Lewis...
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