The Excalibur had mysteriously come to a stop!

So had the tank! Halfway over a rail!

More roars!

Fifteen tanks in a double line surged out of the highway entrance roads left and right.

Fifteen deadly muzzles cranked down and centered upon the driver of the car!

"Hatchetheimer is a genius," Bury was saying. "The aircraft-landing-arrest gear worked perfectly!"

And then I saw what he meant. The U.S.S. Saratoga had installed the trip wires and arrests they use to brake a landing plane in each lane of the highway. The Excalibur had tripped one!

Bury was clambering down.

We approached the car.

There was a huddled figure behind the wheel.

A voice! It was speaking in a dull monotone. "Banner Headline Obituary 18-point type quote MADISON DIES BEGGING FORGIVENESS unquote subhead 12-point ROCKECENTER FOREVER LAST WORDS unquote text quote Yesterday on West Side Elevated Highway comma J. Walter Madison comma misunderstood publicist comma gave up the unwilling ghost period. He will be buried in Bideawee Cemetery at 4:00 P.M. today period. Public will probably demand removal of body from consecrated ground...."

The poor man was composing his obituary notice!

Bury stood beside the car, close to where Madison could see him. "Shut up, Madison!"

The fellow looked up and went white. "Oh, my God! Bury! Hold the press. Change type size to billboard quote MADISON MURDERED exclamation point unquote subhead quote MANGLED BODY..."

Bury said, "Shut up. You're not in trouble."

Madison gaped. "But the president of Patagonia committed suicide! All Octopus holdings were expropriated– a loss of eighteen billion dollars!"

"Tut, tut," said Bury.

"But I just ran over my very own mother! I'll be up for motherslaughter!"

Bury said, "Your mother is all right. The Navy crew is right this minute treating her for shock. They just wanted to know on my radio, does she always demand canned heat when her heart acts up?"

"But... but... how about all the other jobs I've failed on? How about the time I was supposed to popularize the American Indians for Octopus and they were all exiled to Canada?"

"Pish, pish," said Bury. "Octopus has a big heart. Small errors can be overlooked. I forgive you. Rockecenter forgives you and God forgives you, which is mostly the same thing."

"You mean the headlines should read quote MADISON MIRACULOUSLY RESURRECTS unquote?"

"A last minute, motorcycle-rushed reprieve just arrived from the governor. Here." He handed Madison an envelope. "You are back on F.F.B.O. staff. You can move back into your mother's condo. Be at the enclosed address at ten o'clock tomorrow morning."

"Oh, thank you, thank you!" wept Madison. "Next time I will justify everything you have ever thought of me!"

Bury walked down an entrance road and I went with him. A New York squad car was blocking it. Bury climbed in. I sat down beside him.

"Take me home," said Bury to the driver. "And then drop this man off wherever he wants to go."

"Yessir, Mr. Bury," said the cop and quickly drove away with us.

I said to Bury, "Wasn't it pretty kind of you to forgive him after all that loss?"

"No, no," said Bury. "We never tell him the truth. You've got to see behind these things. As soon as he got the Indians driven out, we grabbed their oil lands. And on this Patagonia thing, he was sent to the republic to ruin our PR. The government there, on public demand, expropriated all Octopus properties and refineries. The Patagonian Central Bank, to preserve its international credit, had to try to pay for them. It couldn't, of course, so Grabbe-Manhattan foreclosed and we now own the whole country. He has ably created the same havoc on other jobs. But don't tell him what we really expect him to do or accomplish. Hide it. He actually believes he is a great PR man. So don't ruin his morale. Cheer him on with only a tip or two. He's a genius. I don't know how he does it!"

We shortly arrived at his West Side condo. "Thank heavens," he said, "I got home on time. I couldn't stand a real fight after tonight. Be at the office early."

He was gone.

Riding back to the Bentley Bucks Deluxe, I knew I had been right. It had taken an aircraft carrier and tanks and the whole New York police force to get this thing started.

Not even the Gods could help Heller now!

Quivering with anxiousness now to get on the job, I reported in bright and early the following morning. I wanted to really be up to handle Madison: I didn't have any office to work out of.

I made my way through the unenthusiastic throng of fellow workers on their way to work. Slow going. But I found an office labelled New Personnel Assignments and went in.

A beefy office-manager type was at a desk. He looked at me curiously.

"Inkswitch," I said. "I..."

He held up his hand to halt me. He turned to a computer and punched it. It came up blank.

"Ah," he said. "A family spy! Well, I have one word of advice for you. Don't punch any time clocks around here even if you see your name on them. It would blow your cover."

"Wait," I said. "I have work to do. Don't I even get an office?"

"Oh, no!" he said, aghast. "Somebody could find you to shoot or poison you. It's promoting crime and that's illegal."

"Hey," I said, "how do I get paid?"

"Oh, that's easy. But let me warn you. Don't endorse any checks they may give you. IRS would nail you for sure."

"No pay at all?"

He said, "Of course you're entitled to pay. It comes out of Petty Cash. That's Window Thirteen. But don't sign any voucher with your real name or they'll ask for your receipts for reimbursement."

"Well, all right," I said, "so long as I don't get in trouble with my superior."

"Oh, you don't have any boss. And don't look at me. You're a family spy."

"I do thank you for all you've done," I said.

"Well, I've never seen you so I'll forget that you weren't here."

I went at once to Window Thirteen. It was labelled Petty Cash Disbursements. A very prim old lady was sitting behind the wicket. "Name?" she said.

"Inkswitch," I said.

She pressed her computer keys. The screen came up blank. She nodded a severe nod. Must be one of the firm's most honest employees to hold such a post of trust. She said, "How much?"

I picked a number out of the air. "Ten thousand dollars," I said.

She extended a disbursement voucher in triplicate. Mindful of the advice just received, I signed it John Smith.

She took the voucher back. She reached into a drawer and counted out ten thousand in small bills. Her actions were meticulous, her mouth was prim. She gave me five thousand and put the other five thousand in her purse.

I was awed. What an efficient organization. Their spies didn't exist! And they had developed a graft system unbelievably simple! I would have to write Lombar about this! No wonder he made such a study of Earth culture!

Hurrying now, I rushed down the hall to Bury's office. His door was ajar. But to be polite, I knocked.

He came to the door. He scowled. "What the hell are you doing, Inkswitch, knocking! You scared me half to death! I thought it was some enemy that didn't know his way around!" It was only then I noticed the sign on his door:

Benevolent Association

He was putting a flat Beretta M-84, .380 Auto pistol in his shoulder holster. "We've got a date with Madison right away."

"Is that for Madison?" I said and instantly started checking the Colt Python .357 Magnum-.38 Special I was now carrying.

"No, no!" said Bury. "There isn't an ounce of violence in him. This is for the Slime-Tripe Magazine Building across the way. Dangerous place: they always have people they have featured, hanging around killing editors! Come on. That's where we meet Madison!"