tapped

or seriously ill. . . . He couldn't credit that; if he were, Francisco would have been the first person Dan and Lucille would have consulted. Drugs, maybe? Up here?
Yeah. Right. He'd as soon believe Frosty the Snowman wintered in Miami to catch a glowing tan.
When Francisco tried to call Juneau, he got the same recorded message.
"That's nuts," he muttered. "Who the hell lives up here to tie up all the circuits? Nobody for miles but the caribou and grizzlies. And the bears are asleep."
He picked up a pen and tapped it absently against the desk. All right. What else? He glanced surreptitiously toward a featureless wall, in the direction of the ugly, squat building at the far edge of the base. Francisco had no idea what went on inside that building. He didn't have the security clearance to know. He'd never crossed the threshold, never mind taken a gander at what was inside. All he knew was, a pack of civilian physicists with security clearance far higher than his