Of course we did. Half of Milan heard you, Annarita thought. Her father only nodded. "We did," he agreed. "We're glad he's back. We're gladder than we know how to tell you."

"Is he all right?" Annarita asked.

"He seems to be," Comrade Mazzilli answered cautiously.

"I'm fine." Gianfranco came to the door. He was grinning from ear to ear. "I couldn't be better."

"How was it?" Annarita talked to him right past his parents.

"Amazing," he answered. "Just amazing."

"How did you get away from the villains?" Gianfranco's mother said. "I was so glad to see you, I didn't even ask yet."

"Oh, they let me go," Gianfranco said. "That was all a bluff to make sure nobody started shooting at them." He made it sound as if Eduardo and his friends hadn't done anything worse than knock on the wrong door.

"How did you-all of you-get away from the Security Police?" Comrade Mazzilli asked. "They swore up and down that there was no way out of the shop."

Gianfranco winked at Annarita. His parents didn't notice- they were out of their minds with joy to have him back safe and sound. But Annarita knew the answer, and they didn't. Gianfranco had had a ride in a transposition chamber. She hadn't imagined she could be so jealous. He couldn't tell his mother and father about the chamber, though. What would he say?

He didn't say anything at first-he let out a wordless, scornful snort. "The Security Police aren't as smart as they think they are, then," he declared. His parents both nodded. Everybody liked to believe the Security Police was nothing but a bunch of fools. That mostly wasn't true, but people wanted to believe it was, because it made the Security Police seem less dangerous than they really were. "They must have missed the trap door set into the basement wall," Gianfranco went on. "It opened into a secret room with a tunnel. They put a blindfold on me so I couldn't see where the tunnel went, but we got away."

Annarita had all she could do to keep a straight face. Her father's expression looked a little strained, too. Gianfranco was stealing big chunks of the plot from a TV thriller that was on a couple of weeks before. He'd seen it, and so had the Crosettis. His mother and father evidently hadn't.

"Well!" his father said. "I'm going to tell those bunglers a thing or two-you'd better believe I am. And the first thing I'm going to do is tell them you're here and you're safe, and no thanks to them." He stormed off toward the telephone.

"I'm glad they didn't keep you." Again, Annarita talked past Gianfranco's mother, who would think she meant the kidnappers. Gianfranco would know her they included everybody in the home timeline.

He spread his hands. "I couldn't do anything about it any which way."

Her father wasn't just talking on the phone. He was shouting: "Comrade Mazzilli here. What? I woke you up? Too bad! I've got news worth waking you up for, you lazy good-for-nothing. Gianfranco's home!… What do you mean, am I sure? You blockhead, he's standing right here in front of me. And a whole fat lot of help getting him back you people were, too!"

He listened for a moment, then slammed the phone down. "That's telling them, Father!" Gianfranco said.

"Those idiots said they'd send somebody over to take your statement," Comrade Mazzilli said. "I think they're ashamed of themselves for not knowing what's what. They've got plenty to be ashamed about, too."

"I think we'd better go back to bed," Annarita's father said. "Gianfranco, I can't tell you how glad I am to see you again." That was bound to be nothing but the truth.

"Me, too," Annarita said, which made Gianfranco's face light up in a way her father's words hadn't. "Good night."

"Good night," Gianfranco said with a wry grin. "At least you get to go back to sleep. Me, I've got to talk to the Security Police."

"You're right! I should have told them to come in the morning," his father said. "I'll go call them back."

"Never mind. I'll deal with it now, and then I'll sleep for a week," Gianfranco said.

"Good night," Annarita said again. She and her parents went back to their own apartment. She wondered if she would be able to fall asleep again after the excitement in the middle of the night. As it turned out, she had no trouble at all.

The man trom the Security Police scowled at Gianfranco. "Where exactly in the wall was this stinking trap door?" he demanded.

"I don't know," Gianfranco said.

"What do you mean, you don't know? What kind of answer is that?"

"It's the truth," Gianfranco lied.

"How can it be the truth? You went through the miserable thing, didn't you?"

"Sure. Of course."

"Well, then?" the Security Police officer said triumphantly.

"Well, then-what? This guy had an arm around my neck. I was backwards to the wall when I went through the door. If I had eyes in my rear end, I could tell you more."

"Plenty of people keep their brains there." The officer yawned. It was half past three in the morning. He looked like a man who wanted to be asleep in bed, not grilling a kidnapping victim who'd appeared out of thin air. With a sigh, he went on, "So where did you go from there?"

"I don't know, not really," Gianfranco answered. "I already told you, they put a blindfold on me after that."

"Why didn't they just knock you over the head?" No, the officer wasn't happy about being here in the middle of the night.

"Beats me," Gianfranco said. "You could ask them yourself if you'd managed to catch them."

"As far as we can see, they might have disappeared by magic, not by your stupid trap door," the man from the Security Police grumbled. He was righter than he knew. One of Crosstime Traffic's biggest advantages was that nobody from this alternate really believed in other worlds. Travel from here to the home timeline might as well have been magic. With another sigh, the officer asked, "When did they let you go?"

"This morning. Yesterday morning, I mean." Gianfranco yawned. His mother had brought espresso for the Security Police officer and for him. Despite the strong coffee, he was still very tired. Too much had happened with not enough sleep.

"You should have let us know you were free as soon as they did," the officer said.

Gianfranco just looked at him. The officer turned red and made a production out of lighting a cigarette. The Security Police called on you. If you were in your right mind, you didn't call them. Everybody knew that-even Security Policemen. The only reason Gianfranco's father, a loyal Party man, had told them Gianfranco was back was to let them know what a bunch of blundering idiots they were.

After blowing out a long plume of smoke, the man from the Security Police asked, "How did you get back to Milan?"

"I stuck out my thumb," Gianfranco answered. "One truck took me as far as Bologna. I got another lift there, and it took me here." Hitchhiking was against the law. That didn't mean people didn't do it, even if it was dangerous. And if he said he'd taken the train, they could ask who'd seen him at the station and find out if there were records of his ticket. Thumbing a ride didn't leave a paper trail.

The officer tried his best: "What were the names of the men who picked you up? What were they carrying?"

"I think one was Mario and one was Luigi." Gianfranco pulled ordinary names out of the air-or out of what the Crosstime Traffic people had told him while he was under their drugs. "One of them said he was carrying mushrooms. The other guy didn't talk much. He just smoked smelly cigars."

"Right." The Security Policeman sucked in smoke himself. He scribbled notes. Would people start checking to see if a trucker named Luigi-or maybe Mario-who smoked cigars was on the road yesterday? Did Crosstime Traffic have men who looked like Mario and Luigi? He wouldn't have been surprised.