He checked, through the spy remotes, that there was indeed no one but this single man in the elevator, and opened the door on a security stop.

“I'd like to see your redbook, if you don't-” he began, but Thorpe had anticipated the request and was already holding it up so it could be read through the narow gap. Yes, he was who be said he was, and moreover he held the rank of substantive warden.

“Come in,” Turpin muttered. “We'll use my den-it's bug-free.”

He led the way; offered a drink-refused-and a cigarette, which was accepted. Sat down, and to his dismay found he bad to put his hands together to atop them shaking.

“Well, what can I do for you?” he said. His voice at least sounded under control. “I guess it's about this affair at the reserved area, bin?”

“Indirectly.” Thorpe was a pale man, with deep-set eyes surrounded by dark rings, as though he lived on far too little sleep and had done so for years. Like all SF executives, he wore unremarkable and inexpensive clothes: tonight, in dark green. “I believe you talked for some while with one of my brother officers, didn't you?”

“Morton Clarke?”

.,Yes..

“Well, I imagine we must have talked, on and off, over a period of-let's see-three hours. Why?”

“About . . . T”

“Well, the alarming discovery that had been made,” Turpin said. “And the implications. Wasn't that obvious?”

Thorpe looked down at his involuntary host's hands, as though scrutinising them for signs of anxiety. He said, in a matter-of-fact tone, “Of course. And I believe you are slightly acquainted with a young black named Danty Ward?”

What the hell is this leading up tot

Turpin said as levelly as he could, “Acquainted would be an exaggeration. I met him last night, because my daughter invited him to our party, and one can hardly refuse his own daughter's guests admission. Why? Has he done something?”

Thorpe ignored that question. He continued, “How long has your daughter known this-uh--person?”

“I've no idea,” Turpin snapped.

“Are you also acquainted with a woman going by the name of Mrs. Magda Hansen?”

“Not that I can recall,” Turpin said. blinking.

“Do you know a Mrs. Avice Donnelly?”

“You mean Fred Donnelly's wife--our plant security chief? Well. naturally I dol But only slightly. Lookl” He sat forward. “Will you tell me what this is about?”

Thorpe raised his eyes and met Turpin's and locked with them.

“Sabotage. Subversion. Murder. Treason. That's what it's about, Mr. Turpin. It would appear that Morton Clarke has been given what we presume to be a posthypnotic order to kill his wife, and has done so.”

“What?”

“Yes, I'm afraid that's apparently the case.” Like a good security man, Thorpe always qualified assertions of that order. “Have you any idea where your daughter is?”

“I-uh-nol” Turpin felt sweat breaking out all over his . body.

“Or Danty Ward?”

“Hell, of course notl”

“I see.” Thorpe cogitated a moment, and then rose. “Well, I'm afraid rm going to have to ask you to come with me, Mr. Turpin. To avoid the possibility of embarrassing you, of course, I came alone, but I should point out that everything we say can be overheard by colleagues of mine waiting in a car below, and I would counsel you not to decline, or it will become essential to escort you away under guard. Shall we go?”

“Night-riding,” Danty said suddenly. “Head north. Don't stop at the first or second gas-station we pass, but call at the one by the superway entrance on Sixtieth. Fill up there.”

“Now just a secondl” Sheklov exploded.

“Don't argue,” Magda said. “Do as you're told.” And, with a movement as quick as a striking snake, she snatched the dashboard gun from its socket and flipped off the safety-catch, levelling it at Sheklov.

"Oh, shit, Magdal" Danty exclaimed. "No need for thatl Put it down, will you?" "But "

In the rear-view mirror Sheklov caught a glimpse of Lora, face perfectly white, knuckles pressed to her teeth as though to suppress a scream. He felt pretty much like screaming himself.

“No buts!” Danty said angrily. “I mean, Don here wouldn't want it to be known that he's Russian, would he? Say! What's your real name, by the way? Ivan? Yuri? Nikita?” . aXrv There was a brief, terrible instant during which Sheklov found himself insanely wishing that he believed in a personal god who could be trusted to provide on-the-spot salvation for his worshippers. How long has he.known? And, worse yet: Who has he told?

He continued to go through the right motions and drive the car, mechanically, like a robot: red light, slow down; green, step on the gas; miss that idiot pulling out from that parking-bay without looking …. But that had nothing to do with his conscious mind. It was all automatic.

“I think you're out of your skulll” he husked at last. “I'm going to find a parking-bay and get out, and leave you to your-your mad fantasiesl”

“Russian?” Lora said, as though the word had been in her throat for a short eternity, building up pressure until now it came blasting out like the plug of semi-solid magma that chokes the crater of a volcano until it erupts.

“Yes, of coursel” Danty snapped. “Either that, or perhaps Polish, Hungarian, Czech-no, my guess is Russian. Well, Don?”

“You're insanel You're hallucinating or somethingl” But Sheklov's mouth was so dry he could barely speak,

“Maybe you were right after all, Mag',” Danty sighed. “Okay, put the gun back an him, but keep it well out of sight. He's missed death by inches once in the past few days, when he came ashore. And that would have spread him kind of thin and all over everywhere, so-”

“Look out!” Magda exclaimed, and seized the wheel just in time, twisting it to the left and then straightening out. Lora let go a cry of alarm. Sheklov had nearly crashed into the back of 'a truck.

“That got to him,” Danty said softly. “Don, baby, didn't you know the site was turned off when you came ashore? Didn't you know that if it hadn't been, the submarine would have been blasted less than a mile away? They weren't so careful when they left as when they approached.”

“You just figured that out?” Magda said, and in the same breath added, “Pull over, Don. You're not in a fit state to drive. You're shaking so much. I'll take'the wheel as soon as you can put us in a parking-bay-ah, there's one now.”

Dumb, Sheklov nosed the car into it.

“Well, it's how it had to be,” Danty said. “I felt something bad on the way. And I can't think of any other disaster that fits the picture. No, Donl Don't get outl Slide towards Magda and let her climb over youl”

Sheklov, numb, withdrew his hand from the doorhandle and obeyed.

As Magda took the controls: “So that's the way I see it. If the site hadn't been turned off, the sub would have registered on the detectors, and-pow.”

“But he's been staying right in our apartmentl” Lora cried. She was having to clamp her jaw to stop her teeth chattering. “A Russianl A spyl”

“You recommended the gas-station on Sixtieth, didn't you?” Magda said, glancing at the dash. “Oh, shit! Loral Loral Stop your snivelling and tell me which of these damned dials is the gas-gaugel”

“Uh . . .” Wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “Doesn't have a dial. It's sonic.”

“Just say to fill up the tank,” Danty snapped. “Nightriders usually do.”

“Yeah.” Magda slowed to make the turn on to Sixtieth, a right. “But why the hell did you leave the site turned off?”

“I guess . . .” Danty swallowed hard. “I guess so that this would happen. So that we'd be here, now, in this mess.”

“Gas-stationl” Magda said unnecessarily; it was blazing with light and huge mobile advertising figures, spotlighted, filled with helium, and tugged into a weird non-stop parody of a dance by fine wires attached to cams on electric motors, signalled drivers to pull in. “Don, you hold your tongue and behave yourself, hm? And you, Loral”