I reached into my pocket and produced the palmed badge. A very official-looking one in gold with blue lettering that spelled out Health and Security Police. They stared at it as though it were a poisonous snake and trembled with fear. Bolivar punched a number into his phone; there was only dumb silence among the electrical employees as he spoke.

          "Yes, general, we have the evidence. The security on the island was easily penetrated, just as you feared. Inspector Kidogo easily eluded the so-called guards here. He actually entered the nuclear enclosure and photographed everything. And there is more than that, sir. The rumor that we heard, about the scientists here using forced labor for nuclear cleanup is true. They won't be able to hide that spill any longer. We have the evidence! Yes, sir, thank you, sir. They are all under arrest? Of course. They have no place to run to." He hung up and glared a very impressive glare.

          "The Security Police choppers on their way. If you attempt to leave this building you will be shot at once. Nowclear out your desks because none of you will ever be coming back here! "

          They turned and staggered off, their careers in ruins and only prison awaiting them. It was very nice to see. When the last trembling back had disappeared, Bolivar and I went out the front door and walked towards the waiting ferry.

          "Congratulations," I said. "That was very neatly done."

          "You can thank James. It was his idea-and he fed it all into the computerized files. The psychology was perfect because they knew that they were all guilty of breaking a number of laws. Now, while they are waiting for the ax to fall we will make our getaway. And I think that I will phone the authorities as soon as we are clear, to report this lot. They are criminals and deserve what they will get. I'm afraid that the only copter here is the one I came in, so they will have a long wait. We'll take the copter and be clear of this place as soon as possible."

          "We can't." I dropped into a chair in the empty cabin as the ferry got under way. "I still have to pull off the demolition job for Chaise. And that will be impossible now with everyone in this place stirred up and waiting for the police."

          "Don't worry about it. We'll do the job before we leave."

          I gaped, openmouthed, shook my head in disbelief. Said, "What, what?"

          "Just a matter of putting two and two together. You told me that Chaise had given you the explosive. Which, I assume, you have left in a safe spot."

          "Bar. On shore."

          "Good. As I flew in I had that explosive in my mind. As I dropped down for a landing I saw how easy it would be to do."

          "Easy? Excuse me if you think that I am acting like a moron this morning. That is only because I feel like one. What did you see when you were landing this morning?"

          He grinned mightily-and pointed up into the sky. I followed his finger-and my face broke into an echoing grin even bigger than his.

          There was the answer in the sky.

          The great cables that carried the electricity from the island!

          "The only vessel that uses this channel is the ferry. The tower is sited on the rocky headland just above the shore. There are no roads or buildings near it or below it. If the tower is dropped correctly it-and the cables-will fall into the sea without injuring a soul."

          "And it will hit the water with an immense sizzling that will be heard all the way to the stock exchange. All the lights will go out and all the maglev trains will be stopped in their tracks. I'm glad that we are flying!"

          Once ashore we headed directly to the bar. We enjoyed a beer and a bearburger before I retrieved my bag. And a cup of chicken soup as well, for my face, so it wouldn't fall off from fatigue. Bolivar was driving a rental runabout from the copter field. There was little traffic on the road out of town. We waited until there was none before we took the service road that led to the electricity tower. We parked halfway there behind a jumble of large rocks, then went the rest of the way on foot.

          I looked up at the great steel mass of the tower and shook my head. "I am forced to admit that I know nothing at all about demolition."

          Bolivar gently took the explosive from my hands. "I never heard you say that before. I grew up believing that you could do anything."

          "Well, I am forced to admit, almost anything."

          "Demolition is the first thing I learned when I started lunar exploration. This baby is going to make some mark when it comes down."

          A fence topped with razor wire ringed the base of the tower. Now this was something I did know about. I unlocked the gate while Bolivar measured the steel structure with his eyes.

          "See how the four legs are embedded in the rock? Solid and just about immovable. But as they rise up higher they thin down so that eventually the four legs form a single lattice that supports the cross bar and the cables."

          I leaned back, looking up, farther and farther, until I almost fell over backwards.

          "That is one awfully high tower."

          "Nice, isn't it? Almost as good as rock climbing. See you in a bit."

          The explosive was slung in the bag over his shoulder, and he was off before I could say another word. Warn him to be careful? Wish him luck?

          He was a good and experienced climber. I would have stopped for breath by this time. He just went at it hand over hand at a steady pace. Reached the junction of the four legs. That should be it. But no, he went on until he appeared to be as high as the cables pendant from their immense insulators. Then he stopped. A dark smudge against the bright metal of the tower.

          And seemed to remain there for an awfully long time.

          I don't know much clock time passed before he started back down. Subjective time seemed to last and last. And then I could see that he was moving back down, surely and steadily. He jumped the last few meters, smiling and wiping the grit from his hands.

          "A piece of cake. Timed to blow in two hours."

          "We'll have a front seat for the show."

          "We will indeed."

          He drove the rental runabout back to the heliport. Which had a neat little robobar that did a fine line in hooch. I washed away some of the fatigue with internal lubrication. Bolivar had a mineral water and looked at his watch. "After you finish knocking that one back, Dad, we are up and away."

          The sun was behind us we flew over the dark beaches. Everything on the ground had been washed clear by the night's rain. Our copter passed low over the thick cables, turned in a lazy circle.

          "Ferry is still tied up," I said. "No one below-no traffic on the road either."

          "Just about time-" Bolivar said when the ball of flame flared out. Changed to dark billows of smoke.

          For long moments nothing happened. The copter bumped a bit when the sound of the explosion reached us.

          "Now," Bolivar said.

          And it was going. The top of the tower was bending, falling almost gracefully. Then the giant insulators began to turn and twist, the immense cables stirring and writhing. Falling.

          I could see lightning spear out as the falling cables broke, twisting as though in pain. Twisted and fell, faster and faster, followed by the ruined tower. Splashing down into the sea in great furrows of waves that stretched across the width of the channel.

          "That will give those criminals back on the island something to think about," Bolivar said with great satisfaction. "Normally I wouldn't enjoy doing something like this. But anyone who drafts holidaymakers into clearing up atomic debris deserves no less."

          I am pleased to say that I was in complete agreement.

CHAPTER 21

          Before we parted at the heliport we called James one last time. Still no news, still no luck in finding Kaia's elusive living quarters. It had been easier to crack into the government records than it was now to get past the privacy barriers of that exclusive city. When Bolivar was gone I picked up my bag and trudged wearily back into Fetorrscoria. I was too tired to go very far. When I came to a liquor store, with a bench out in front of it for the alcoholics, I knew I had reached journey's end. Popping a cold beer I settled back in the sun and called Chaise.

          "Pretty good job if I say so myself."

          "Where are you?"

          I told him and hung up. By the time I had finished the beer his car rolled up. The door opened and I climbed in. I threw the fake ID he had supplied me with onto the back seat. Took off my face and heard one last plaintive "chicken soup?" as I threw it back there as well.

          "Plenty of people saw me in Swartzlegen. And I had to use the face and ID to rent a copter. Since the maglev train pretty obviously wasn't running. Did you like the job I did?"

          "I would be more pleased if you hadn't seen fit to cut off all communication."

          "If you mean all the bugs you planted on me-of course I got rid of them. I do value my privacy."

          "You will be going to the depository tonight."

          "No thanks? No day off? No pat on the back?"

          "Don't be tiresome, diGriz. This will be your last assignment, as I promised. I should think that you would be very pleased that our relationship will soon be over."

          I would be pleased when it really was over. I did not trust him in the slightest. Once back at the warehouse he got right down to business.

          "Igor. Bring the large box from the car and then go away."

          Igor scuffled back with it, dropped it onto the table and went out. Chaise took a photograph from the box and passed it over to me.

          "This man is known as Iba Ibada, nicknamed Iba-illfavored for obvious reasons."

          Too true! A man of average, height and schlumpy build. He wouldn't have looked that bad had it not been for the jagged scar that ran down from his forehead, across his nose-leaving a deep dent-and down his cheek. It had been coarsely stitched up, so roughly that the scars of the sutures still showed.

          "Industrial accident," Chaise said. "Machine caught him. He was sewn up by the first-aid assistant, who obviously had little experience. Then Iba was fired from the job for taking the rest of the day off from work. He was very grateful to me when I found him employment on the cleaning squad at the depository. In addition to his salary I pay him very well, to enable him to indulge in his repulsive vices. He is appreciative and does me favors. You will take his place tonight."

          "Won't anyone notice?"

          "No. I have planned this down to the last detail."

          And so he had. The artificial scar that he brought out was identical to the original. Waterproof as well, and could only be removed by a special solvent. Shaped wedges went inside my cheeks and puffed them out to match Iba's photograph. His work clothes were baggy and ugly enough to cover any differences in build. The heavy boots suitably scuffed.

          "How about ID?" I asked, scowling in disgust at my image in the mirror. Chaise passed over a small case. "A contact lens, right eye. Do not lose it. It is expensive and irreplaceable. It has his retinal patterns. And four sets of plastic gloves with his palm pattern on them. That should be enough, since you will only be in the repository twice. Once to see for yourself the layout and the alarms, particularly those on the bearer-bond vault, in order to plot out the theft. Then the theft on the next night. I have a specialized security-trapper kit that is also expensive and irreplaceable. Do you know how to operate it?"

          I took it, opened it-and sneered. "I was making better kits than this before I learned to shave. And what makes you think that I will be able to do to the job on the second night?"

          "You have to. There will not be a second chance. A ticket has been bought for Iba and he has been paid a large bonus. He will be going offplanet today. And don't forget-remember the video you looked at-that you are what might be called a hostage to fortune."

          And I was, surely enough.

          "Look at this," Chaise said, breaking into my thoughts, passing over another memory card. I plugged it into the computer. "This is Iba on his nightly round. The route he takes, the cleaning he does. You will note that he is not a very fast worker. So you can do his job-and still have time to complete yours."

          "How do I get to work?"

          "Igor will drive you there and will leave you close by. He will pick you up at the same spot when your shift is over. Do you have any questions before I go?"

          "None that I can think of now."

          "There will be no opportunity later. I will not see you again until after you have returned here."

          If there is anything more boring than mopping floors and emptying out shredding machines-it is watching someone else doing it. Including an extraordinary amount of standing about, nose and bum scratching, since the workbots did most of the cleaning. I had some fun when I speeded the film up, but even that grew tiresome. I memorized everything I needed then, since I would not be leaving until close to midnight, I lay on my cot and dozed off in front of the television.

          "Time go," was my chauffeur's shouted suggestion.

          We went. Trundling through the dark and empty streets. The contact lens in my eye itched and I had to strongly resist the temptation to scratch it. My palm print gloves were pulled on and the trapper kit was in my pocket. Igor stopped the truck finally and pointed ahead. "Around corner."

          To work. A few other night workers, also in uniform, were climbing the steps to the depository. I ignored them just as lba had done in my training film.

          "How's your girlfriend?" one of them shouted, a question that promoted great glee among the other mental giants. I answered, as did Iba in the film.

          "Bowb off."

          These were the only words I ever heard him speak. Quite often. A bored guard held open an outer door: I walked slower in order to make sure that I would be last one in. If my fake identification did not work I wanted to get out of this place just as quickly as I could. As I walked towards the glowing eye of the retinal pattern detector I blinked inadvertently, my eye irritated by the contact lens. Which slid out of position.

          I cursed, walked even slower, trying to push it back into position, watched the last man before me walk away from the detector.

          "Move it, big-butt," the guard helpfully suggested. "I ain't got all night."

          Thus encouraged I pressed the contact lens hard, hoping it was in the right place, bent and looked into the opening. There was a brief flash of light.

          I stood up, holding my breath, waiting for the alarm bells.

          The entry light flashed green. I walked slowly towards the locked door. Pressed my palm on the plate next to it.

          The door clicked open and I walked in.

          The other night workers fanned out and disappeared in the dark and silent building. I pushed open the door to the service steps and went down two flights. The lights came on when I entered the battery room, illuminating the peaceful ranks of silent robots.

          "Bowb off," I said, as my double always did. Hanging by the door was my lightning prod, fully charged. I unplugged it and jabbed the nearest robot. "Bowb off."

          A great spark snapped into the thing's receiver plate, closing a relay and bringing it to robotic life. Its charging cable disconnected and slid back into its container. The robot turned and exited the room as I danced about my charges, goosing them electrically, until they were all under way.

          Through office after office. The rattle and thud of shredders being emptied, clatter of ashtrays. Behind us was the swish of mops cleaning the floor as we went. Occasionally one of the brainless robots would freeze in a feedback cycle, picking up and emptying a container over and over. A quick spark in the right place would jolt it back to work. I imagined doing this job for the rest of my life and shuddered. I had been at it for a little over an hour and was bored to stupidity. I stuck with it. Sparking and cursing monotonously until we reached the vault level.

          "All stop. Take a ten-minute break."

          They kept going and I cursed again. What was the correct order?

          "Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop." On the fourth repetition they did. I leaned my lightning prod against the wall and trotted down the dimly lit hall. Counting the entrances as I went past them, rewalking in reality the virtual reality that I had walked through so many times before. There it was.

          The outer door had an uncomplicated lock and no alarms; I opened it easily. The inner, metal-barred gate, would not be that simple. Thank goodness all of the alarms were antiques. More suitable for a museum than their guardian function.

          First a length of wire to short the alarm on the electronic lock. There were supposed to be millions of combinations possible on this ancient mechanism, making it impossible to open without hours of computer time. My machine broke the code in less than three minutes. I punched the numbers into the thing's memory and relocked the gate.

          The alarms built into the door frame would not be a problem; I had passed through their type often in the past. However, when I put on infrared goggles the room beyond lit up with a pattern of interlaced beams. Break one beam and all the alarms would sound.

          But if I put a beam generator of the correct frequency in front of the receiver lens I would be able walk around the room undetected, no matter how many beams I cut.

          That was it. I could get into the room. I could remove the bonds from their shelves. Load the robots down and take the bonds away. To where? And, even more important, how could I get them out of the building?

          "Bowb off!" I said, with some feeling this time, as I sparked my robots back to life. I had until the end of my shift to figure out a way.

          Time dragged. Time crawled its sluggish track. Robots mopped, dumped, clattered, sparked and, eventually, my midshift break came. I zapped my horde into frozen silence and looked for a pleasant place to dine. The office of some major executive seemed fine. Seated in his leather chair, gazing across many square meters of glistening desktop, I looked out through his crystal window at the light-sparkled bulk of a bank building. And tried not to taste what I was eating. For some perverse reason Iba had a passion for pickled and smoked porcuswine tails, and always brought a container to work. For verities' sake I had to do the same. I chewed and gagged on the gristly bits, pulled a quill from a piece of attached skin, used it to dig horrible fragments from between my teeth.

          But, even as I suffered through my grisly repast, my subconscious was at work. Analyzing, plotting, scheming, working.

          I finished quickly, threw the porcine remains into the contraterrene disposal unit-where they flared into cosmic rays-and stood to leave.

          Then sat down again as the solution to my problems surfaced in my brain and bobbed about in my cerebral cortex.

          Yes, it could be done. Not easily, and there were some very risky factors involved. I was probably the only person in the known galaxy, I thought humbly, who could even imagine a crime like this, much less pull it off.

          And all for no profit. There must be a way to get out of Kaia's clutching grasp.

CHAPTER 22

          Dawn was lightening the western sky when I exited the repository. I shuffled off to our meeting place where Igor was already waiting. We rode in silence back to the warehouse where I saw, as the door swung open, that Kaia's car was there already. He strode out and stopped the truck with the upraised palm of his hand. I climbed wearily down.

          "Igor," he commanded. "Machine empty. Go buy beer." "No money."

          "Here money. Go."

          I was sure that it was privacy he wanted, not beer.

          "How did it go?" he asked as soon as the door was closed. "A piece of cake. I can get into that vault and have those bearer bonds out of there within ten minutes. Most of that time will be spent in carrying them away."

          "Splendid."

          "It is, isn't it? However there is one slight problem in this otherwise most successful robbery plan."

          "Problem? What do you mean?"

          He looked worried. I turned the knife in the wound.

          "Although I can get the bonds out of the vault-there is no way to get them out of the building the same night."

          "I don't know what you are taking about." He spoke the words slowly through tight-clamped teeth:

          "It is really so simple that Igor could understand it. Take bonds out room, no out building."

          He was flushed with rage; I was making a big mistake in taunting him at this stage. I hurried to make amends.

          "It can be done, I can get the bonds out of the vault, and eventually out of the building, that I can assure you. It is just that it will take more time. You'll have your bonds, do not fear. But not on the morning after the theft. I toured that building and checked every entrance. They are all locked from the outside. So I would need an accomplice outside to open the door. And there would have to be a truck waiting there as well to carry away the loot."

          "There is a possibility that could be arranged."

          "But not easily. The street gates for vehicles are locked at night as well. There is no nighttime traffic. The truck would be too easy to see, the risk too great. But there is another way the job can be done with no risk at all. And I can do it alone, so no one else will need to be involved. And I must give you all credit for the plan. It is a variation of the scam you used to rob your own bank. You have a genius for this sort of thing."

          He preened a bit; there is a rule that no egotist can recognize false flattery.

          "If I were not a genius I would not be the richest man in the galaxy. Go on."

          "Follow closely. Before I empty the bond vault I go to storeroom number eight zero three. This is where the stationery supplies are kept. Bureaucracies thrive on paperwork so, as you can well imagine, this is a very large room. I will go to the rear of the stacks, which won't be touched for months-if not years-and remove a volume of paper equal in size to the bonds to be stolen."

          "Why?"

          "Stay with me for a bit longer. After opening the bond vault I stack the paper in the middle of floor, then I remove the bonds. Next I put a time-fused thermite bomb-I do love thermite-on the piles of paper. Next I place, a stroke of genius if I may say so, some of the stolen bonds, half-burned and scorched, about the rom. As though the heat of the flame blew them there . . ."

          "Let me finish! " Chaise shouted enthusiastically. "You take the stolen bonds to the stationery storage room! Where you bury them in the back, in the empty space were you took the paper earlier! Then you leave the building at the usual time in the morning-and the thermite goes off after you are gone. You leave the bond room locked?"

          "Of course."

          "Then there is a mystery. Did the bonds light spontaneously? Who piled them up? What happened? A sealed-room mystery? Investigation and suspicion. Theft not considered at the time. Certainly not a theft that leaves the bonds still in the building."

          "May I add a few facts to your masterful reconstruction?" I smarmed. He nodded condescendingly. "Orders for stationery are forwarded from the various departments to the central ordering room. Which sends it to the supplier. Who brings the ,supplies once a week." He leaned forward expectantly as I played out my story for all it was worth.

          "The next delivery will be in three day's time. The driver, accompanied by one of the building guards, takes it directly to the storage room. But this time I will be the driver. After delivering the stationery the guard will fall asleep. The bonds will be loaded onto the handcar, the sleeping guard left in their place. Exit the building. The crime of the century."

          He sighed and leaned back in his chair, smiling, contemplating this perfect crime. Igor came in and Chaise grabbed one of the beers, opened it and took an immense swig. Then looked at me speculatively. "You can do this?"

          "I can. But I'll need some more equipment."

          "Give me the list. You will have it before you leave tonight."

          "Fine. Now I am going to get something to eat, then get me some sleep."

          He did not try to stop me. Knowing that he had absolute power over me as long as Angelina was his prisoner. I slowly strolled the streets among the wage slaves hurrying to work. Entered the now familiar environs of the mechomart and buried myself in its depths. If I were being followed I wanted to lose my tail. I entered the first office building I came to. Up the elevator alone. Down the stairs and out the rear door-did this sort of thing a number of times until I was sure I wasn't being followed. Only then did I go and buy a cheap telephone. After I first threw mine away. Chaise had had the entire night to bug this phone-and to plant more of his bugs on me.

          "Waiter. Come here," I said as soon as Bolivar answered it. "Let me remember what I ate the last time I was here. Yes, a bearburger and some beer."

          I hung up and strolled away. And dropped the phone in the nearest waste receptacle. Hoping that Bolivar would catch on that I was still probably bugged, and letting him know I would be at the restaurant we had met in before. I knew I had not been followed. But I also knew that I was undoubtedly still bugged.

          I moved about, never staying in one place very long-in case there was a tracker on one of my bugs. It was on my third pass that I saw Bolivar sitting in a corner booth. I made a wide circle, then went back and moved as quickly as I could to the restaurant. I came up behind him and held up a card when he turned. Which read:

          SEARCH ME FOR BUGS

          Which he instantly did-after one shocked look at my face. Whipping out the detector and passing it down my body. Three coins, the usual, but one of my metal fly buttons turned on the red light as well. Chaise was getting trickier all the time. I tore off the button and handed it to Bolivar along with the coins. He took the insulated pouch from his pocket and tipped all the miniature transmitters into it, then sealed it shut.

          "They're shielded now and can't transmit," Bolivar said. "I barely recognized you-great makeup. And I have some good news. Bolivar has found Kaia's house."

          "But you are Bolivar!"

          "James, Dad. You'll never get it right."

          "Is she there?"

          "We don't know. But it is a very big place, and there is a prime-class robot in the house."

          Prime class. Intelligent and expensive. We would have to be very careful before we tackled it.

          "While you and Bolivar were holidaying in Swartzlegen I finally cracked into the local government files in Sunkistbythe-Sea. I had to do it physically."

          "You've lost me."

          "I mean that their anti-hacking programs were unbeatable without leaving signs of forced entry. So I did a little burglary one night and stole some office machines as a cover. Since I had planted a transceiver inside their main computer bank. The computer is now wide open. I left Bolivar tracking down the construction details in the government files. Planning permission and such should tell us everything about the house that we need to know."

          "I've had a long night," I said and punched for the drinks menu. I ordered double eye-openers for both of us. "Let me tell you all about it."

          "Wow!" he said when I had finished, took too big a slug of his drink and started coughing. I slapped him on the back, which worked. "That is the most ambitious caper I have ever heard of," he wheezed.

          "Thank you. I am proud of it. But I am afraid that I was a little untruthful to my employer about one detail."

          "Which is?. . . "

          "The stationery delivery will be in two day's time-not three."

          He instantly assessed the importance of this fact. And smiled broadly.

          "You plan to get the bonds out-and keep them!"

          "Exactly. But before we even consider doing that we have to be absolutely sure that your mother is safe. And I have another assignment for you. This is not a casual disguise that I am wearing-I look like an employee of the depository named Iba. I'm worried about him. Chaise says that he left on a spacer yesterday, got paid off."

          "And you think differently? That is not Kaia's way."

          "Exactly. Find out who did leave the planet yesterday. And look at all the news reports as well."

          "Good as done. Any way that I can report to you?"

          "I doubt it. I think it is best if we stay away from each other. If Chaise gets any hint that I am seeing you we are in deep doodoo. I'll phone you again, early, about this time tomorrow. After the bond operation."

          "Take care of yourself," he said. He looked worried.

          "I always do," I said, putting more enthusiasm than I felt into my words. I was more than a little stressed out.

          He passed me the shielded bag and I shook out the bugs and put them into my pocket. He took back the bag and we waved good-by in silence. I made my way back to the warehouse and a bit of a rest.

          I thought. Igor looked at me when I came in, then turned away. Chaise glared at me and had other ideas. "I don't like you wandering around the city alone."

          "What harm can I get into?"

          "I don't trust you, diGriz. You are too smooth." He pointed to the parcels on the table. "Here are all the items you

          will need for tonight's operation."

          "Good."

          He reached into his bag and took out his handgun. "I want you to sit very still while Igor puts the handcuffs on you."

          There was absolutely nothing that I could do. The big thug came from behind me: the gun pointed unwaveringly. The cuffs clicked into place. And if this wasn't bad enough he locked my          ankles together with another pair. Chaise put the gun away and smiled.

          "Get some sleep," he ordered. "You have a big night ahead of you."

          They both looked on as I struggled to my feet, then turned and hopped to my cot, fell heavily onto it. Struggled about until I was lying on my back. Looked down at the handcuffs and knew why Chaise had smiled. I couldn't use a picklock on these. They had a combination lock inset so deeply that I couldn't have turned it, even if I could have reached it by twisting my fingers around. I tried. It couldn't be done.

          I was tired enough to sleep deeply despite the cramped position. I woke a bit when I heard voices, fell asleep again almost instantly. It wasn't until I felt Igor's hot breath on my cheeksmelled it as well-that I awoke fully. He was bent over and trying to work the combination lock. I opened my hands ready to throttle him, when I saw Chaise in the doorway, gun pointed.

          "Bring him in here where you can see better."

          Igor grabbed me by the ankles and dragged me off the bed. I threw myself sideways so I landed on my shoulder instead of my head. He hauled me, bumping and cursing into the other room. Then sat on me while he opened both pairs of cuffs.

          "Is this the way you treat a loyal employee?" I said as I pushed myself up from the floor and sat down in the chair.

          "Igor will take you to the depository now," he said. "I will be right behind you in my car. All of the way. I 'will also be close by when you come out in the morning. If I have any suspicion at all that you have not done exactly what you described, you can be perfectly sure that you will never see your wife again."

          I couldn't trust myself to answer him. He took my silence as assent. He looked at his watch. "Time to go. Take your lunch box. All the equipment you will need is inside it, under that repulsive food."

          The same drive to the same corner. The same walk to the front door of the repository. The only difference was the black car that drove silently behind me, waited across the street from the entrance.

          I was happy to leave it behind. My contact lens stayed in place this time. My palm unlocked the door and I walked in.

          "Hey you. Iba, I'm talking to you."

          "Bowb off," I said sullenly, not looking at the speaker. What had gone wrong?

          "Come here. Got something for you." I had to stop and look at him. At the newspaper he was holding out to me. "Some guy gave me this for you. Gave me five credits too, can you believe that? Nothing special, I looked at, just today's paper. Almost threw it away." He dropped it to the floor and walked off.

          Newspaper? Who? Certainly not Chaise. It could only have been James. But why?

          I could not look at it now. The inside guard was staring at me suspiciously as it was. "Bowb off," I called after the retreating back. Scooped up the paper and hurried to my waiting charges.

          As they surged into pseudolife I opened the newspaper. Quickly looked through it. I didn't have the time to read it now-no, wait. On the last page a tiny semicircle had been torn off the edge of the paper. Next to advertisement for a Doit-Yourself hernia repair kit. That couldn't be it. I looked at the other side, at the small news item there.

          DROWNING SUICIDE IN CENTRAL PARK LAKE

          I felt suddenly very cold. Scanned the report quickly.

          Person unknown . . . ragged clothing . . . water in lungs . . . no identification.

          And then the last line.

          Disfiguring scar on face.

          There would no need to check the passenger lists now. Iba had missed his connection. He had known too much about Kaia's business.

          So I knew exactly what was in store for me as well.

CHAPTER 23

          For the first time I was glad that this job was so brainless. My thoughts trudged in endless circles looking for a way out, but not finding it. I could steal the bonds, that was the easiest part. But after I had committed the theft, I would then be handcuffed again. Locked up for two days before the supposed delivery to bring out the bonds. Yet the delivery would be a day earlier. Should I admit that? If I did I would be forced to get the bonds and bring them to him. After that I would quickly join Iba in the lake. Or worse.

          The robots chuntered along their appointed courses and I was barely aware of them. Only if one of them stalled in a feedback cycle did I remember what I was supposed to be doing and shock it back into action. Then I would sink back into the insolvable circle of my thoughts.

          Enough! I was driving myself slightly around the bend with my brain also locked an endless feedback cycle. It was time to do something. Time for the robbery. I turned off all the robots, except for the one I needed, to keep them from wandering. Then I manhandled the bins off the largest wheelbot and jolted it into following me. To the stationery supply room, where the door wasn't even locked. Only the dim night-lights lit my way through this mausoleum of bureaucracy. Printed forms stacked almost to the ceiling, envelopes and reams of paper. We passed it all by and moved deeper into the cavernous room. There was dust on the floor here, dry and musty darkness. The very last access way just at the back wall was my goal. The air was dusty as well, the forms dry and brown-edged. They would burn fine. I loaded the robot high with them, stopping only to sneeze a few times. Finally done, and one last sneeze, and I was out of the paper room with my faithful robot grinding along after me. It then waited with metallic patience while I burgled the bond room.

          I shorted out the electronic door lock, then accessed the door frame alarms and neutralized them as well. Then came the only tricky part; sliding the infrared generator in front of the receiving lens without breaking the beam. Slowly forward, angled square on, only too aware of the sweat that was trickling down my face. There!

          And no alarms.

          After that it was just a lot of physical work that I had to do myself. I piled the paper forms in the center of the room, spreading them out so they would burn all the better. By the time I got around to loading the bearer bonds onto the wheelbot I was breathing hard. One last task. I grabbed up a handful of the bonds-worth over a million altogether-what a waste! And took them far down the hall away from any fire detectors. I lit them, one by one, with my lighter. Let them singe a bit before I put them out. When they were satisfactorily charred I went back and sprinkled them tastefully about the room. Then, the very last thing, I twisted the dial and set the thermite bomb. It would go off an hour after I left the building, a few minutes before the day workers arrived. They were going to have a far livelier time today than they expected.

          Then I stopped to take a break. Cooled down and rubbed my hands together to supple my fingers. Only then, and with infinite patience, did I trust myself to withdraw the infrared projector. Slowly, slowly-done! The rest was child's play.

          Relocking the door and then restoring all the alarms to working order.

          One last trip back in the storeroom, where I carefully hid the bonds among the stationery. I slid some ancient forms in front of them, then I was done. The bonds would be safe there until I came to retrieve them. Or, depressingly gloomy thought, they would remain concealed forever if I made any mistakes.

          The next hours dragged slowly by: I worked hard not to think about the thermite bomb. If the thing went off before it should? Don't even think about thinking about it. Then the last ashtray and the last shredder. Down to their underground lair where my metallic aides were tucked away and sucking happily on their electrical teats. I washed the traces of soot off my hands. When the shift ended I left with the others.

          There was more than a little tension as I exited the building. If I had not set the thermite timer correctly-I would have to make a run for it. My stomach stayed in a knot until I was safely in the street outside. I walked slowly to the appointed corner. The van was not there.

          Was something wrong? Before my thoughts ran away with themselves Kaia's black car pulled up beside me.

          "Get in," he said.

          "Where's Igor?"

          "That is no business of yours," he said as we drove away. "Everything go as planned?"

          "Yes."

          He smiled and licked his lips. Then drove with one hand as he pushed a notebook with a stylo attached over to me. "Write down all the details about the storeroom. Where the bonds are. The name of the stationery company and driver. . ."

          "I don't think that I should do that."

          "Don't play games with me diGriz. And you know very well why are going to give me that information."

          "I know. But my wife comes first. And your threats against her life. That is what I want to talk about. What happens to her after I bring you the bearer bonds?"

          "Why she joins you, of course."

          Joins me. In the grave.

          "And what guarantees do I have that that is what will happen?"

          "My word, of course."

          "Not good enough. You are too much of a liar, Chaise."

          He gave me a quick, cold look, but did not respond.

          "Look-let us make a deal. I'll get the bonds for you-if you release her first."

          He was quiet as he drove. Then shook his head. "No, I can't do that."

          "Then I can't give you the information that you will need if you attempt to get the bonds yourself."

          Nothing more was said after that. The warehouse door opened as we approached, swung shut behind us. Igor and his truck were not there. Chaise got out first, opened the rear door of the car and reached inside.

          "Look at this," he said.

          I looked-and desperately tried to leap aside. He was faster.

          The two metal prongs of the electric stunner slammed into my side. The high voltage washed pain through my body. My muscles spasmed uncontrollably as I fell to the floor.

          I was conscious but could not move. He dragged me through all the ancient filth and litter on the floor, then rolled me onto the cot. I still could not resist as he locked one pair of handcuffs on my wrists, then secured my leg to the metal bed frame with the other. The numbness was beginning to wear off as he dragged the bed with my limp body across the room and slammed it against the wall.

          He went into the other room and came back with another pair of cuffs. I saw what he had in mind and struggled to roll away, kick out, kick him. My free leg barely twitched as he pulled it out. Then cuffed my ankle to a metal pipe that ran along the wall. He was breathing hard, his face twisted with anger. The sophisticated multimillionaire had vanished; he punched me in the face again and again. Stopped only when he hurt his knuckles on my jaw.

          "No one goes against my will, no one." He rubbed his hand over his bruised knuckles. "You, a common criminal, seek to dictate terms to me. I will have none of this." The cruel smile was back, his heavy breathing slowed. The painful kick into my ribs was not done in anger, but was carefully calculated to drive his convincing argument home.

          "You are helpless. So I can do what I want with you. What I want to do now is to leave you here for a few days without food or water. I am sure that when I return you will be eager to tell me how I can obtain those bonds. If you talk, why then I might let you live."

          This was the real Chaise, unmasked.

          "You will let me live just the way you let lba live? In the lake in the park."

          He was turning away when I shouted this after him. Turned back, his face livid. Why had I let my own anger carry me away? I realized that I had signed my own death certificate.

          "You are lying in your grave," he said. Then he went out, slamming the door behind him. I heard the car start and the squeaking of the garage door as it opened. It closed again and I was alone.

          "Someday, Jim, you will have to learn to keep your big mouth shut," I said aloud. This was sage advice. I wish I had given it to myself earlier. Now-how could I get myself out of this mess?

          Not easily, I realized, after a good deal of tugging and twisting and rasp of hard metal against soft skin. I could reach the cuffs on my legs and rotate the dials on their locks. But I was never going to find the combinations by random twisting. And the pipe along the wall was securely in place. I lay back, panting with the effort. With that, and the night's stressful events, despite my perilous position, I fell sound asleep.

          Something woke me up. How long had I been asleep? It was still morning by the light in the window. My face hurt where it had been battered. As did my ribs. A sound outside the door, a thin scratching. Someone there. I shuffled about as best I could, saw the door handle. Saw it slowly turn.

          Chaise? Igor? Nothing good I was sure. At this instant I felt just about as low as I had ever felt. Or lower. The door slowly opened. A dark figure slipped through. I started to shout, thought better of it. Waited until he had finished the traditional bug search and sealed away his trophies in the radiation-proof bag. Then I let my breath out in a rush.

          "Bolivar! "

          "No, James. Bolivar is still checking the planning permission and building records."

          "Get me out of here!"

          He pulled at the cuffs and shook his head. "Easier said than done."

          "Are you driving?"

          "Yes."

          "Tool kit. Pliers, hammer."

          "You got it!"

          The pliers were wrecked cutting the cuffs that held me to the pipe. But the bed frame wasn't that strong and Bolivar hammered it apart to free me. Helped me to my feet.

          "You don't look so great, Dad," he said. "What with the fake scar and the real bruising, handcuffs and all." He shook his head unhappily.

          "Get me to the car and your first-aid kit. Then to a shop that sells cutting tools. I guarantee that I will feel better then." I hobbled from the room, cuffs rattling and clattering. "And thanks for the sudden appearance."

          "I thought it was about time. You never phoned when you said you would. I decided to stake this place out. And that big thug who was driving the truck should be getting to Sunkistby-the-Sea by now. I followed him until he drove onto the payway headed in that direction."

          "And Chaise?"

          "He is probably still at his bank. His car is still parked in its slot there. I checked that out before I came back here. I figured that I could at least look in, find out what was going down."

          "Everything. . ."

          His phone rang and he answered it. "On the way, both of us," he said, and closed the phone. "James has the plans to the house. He wants us there as soon as possible."

          "Is there a chopper rental in this town?"

          "Absolutely. Cutting tool first-then the sunny suburbs."

          Bolivar stopped just along enough in front of Tools-R-Us to dive through the front door. He was back moments later with a molecular debinder. Threw it to me then jumped the car forward. I turned it on, pressed it against the cuffs. A thin plane of energy loosened the atomic bonds in the metal and a tiny shower of molecules ran down my arm. By the time we got to the copter field I was rubbing cream into the cuts and abrasions. I was about to throw the debinder into the back of the car with the remains of the cuffs. Then thought better of it and stuffed it into my pocket.

          An interstellar flying license, along with wads of cash and a credit card, worked wonders. I stayed inside the car until I saw the copter taxi out. Walked over quickly and jumped in.

          "Just talked to James," he said as we shot into the air. "He says that Igor's truck is outside the house. He wants to go inbut I told him to wait until we got there."

          I nodded agreement. "Three are better than one. Is this thing going as fast as it can?"

          "Needle against the peg. I told him to find a place where we can set the copter down and to meet us there."

          We were going fast, but I kept feeling that it wasn't fast enough. My brain was whizzing as fast as the copter. Why had Igor gone to the house? If Angelina were there, she might very well be the reason for the trip. He wouldn't harm her, not without Kaia's orders. But what had been his orders? My thoughts sizzled in circles, my stomach grumbled and complained. My side hurt. I dug deeper into the first-aid kit from the car and discovered a flask of medicinal brandy.

          "Not me, I'm driving," Bolivar said. "But you look like you need it."

          "Looks don't lie." The ardent spirits hurt the cuts in my mouth, but did wonders when it hit my stomach. Was I getting too old for this kind of thing? I certainly felt that way. At this moment I was well aware that I was really getting very much around the bend.

          "We're coming in over the grid reference now-and I see the field," Bolivar said into the phone. "James, is that you waving? Great-I'm setting her down."

          We ran to the car before the copter's blades stopped turning. James gave my face and all the bandages one long stare, but said nothing. We dived in and the wheels spun.

          "Bring us up to speed," I said.

          "The truck you told me about is beside the building. As far as I know Igor is alone in the house-along with the robot of course. The plans of the building are on the seat next to you."

          Large, very large. I counted ten, twelve rooms. A single story, with a penthouse arrangement on the top at one end. The side projection showed the house had been built on a slab with no basement below. I looked at this suspiciously, then tapped the plans.

          "All of these rooms have windows," I said.

          "Most rooms do," Bolivar said.

          "Chaise made a video at my insistence, to prove that Angelina was safe. The room she was in was artificially lit. And there were no windows in the shot."

          "Was it done at night?"

          "No. He left in the morning. If he came here he should have returned before dark."

          Bolivar looked at the plans. "If any room has sealed windows that's where we look first. We can examine the rooms easily enough from the outside."

          "And if the curtains are all open and we can see in?" I asked, then answered myself. "Remember the bank? How Chaise concealed the money that was supposed to have been stolen?"

          "Of course!" Bolivar said. "A secret room under the vault. If he could have that done while the bank was being built right in the heart of the city-it would be infinitely easier to do out here in the suburbs."

          James pulled the car to a stop and pointed. "The building is located just around the corner, behind that grove of trees."

CHAPTER 24

          We got out of the car and James was just locking it when we heard the grind of a starter, followed by the sound of a heavy engine turning over.

          "That's Igor's truck," James said. "It was parked beside the house. What do we do-let it go and follow it?"

          "No," I said. "Stop it. There is a good chance that Angelina is either in the truck or in the house. Igor will know one way or the other."

          "But it might be dangerous.. ." Bolivar said, worried.

          "My decision," I said. I heard the truck start forward and turn into the road. I stepped off the curb and held up my hand when it appeared.

          I was so worried about Angelina that, for the moment, I had completely forgotten what I looked like. I was literally not myself. The scar still cut across the bruised and battered face of Iba. That was what Igor saw standing in the street before him. The effect was very dramatic.

          I saw his mouth drop open, his face twisted in a mask of terror.

          Then he dropped forward over the steering wheel and the truck continued, coming directly at me.

          I dived and rolled, landing on the pavement at the boys' feet.

          "Stop the truck!" I shouted. Wincing at the feel of new bruises on top of the old ones.

          The out-of-control machine ground forward, driving right across the road and up the curb. Then it drove straight into the grove of trees beyond. Thick trunks splintered and bent-but did not break. They were immovable objects all right. But the truck was no irresistible force. The wheels spun, locked, the whole thing juddered until the engine gave out a large grating sound and died.

          James reached it first, pulled the door open. Igor's limp body slid out, would have hit the ground headfirst if James hadn't grabbed him and broken his fall. I climbed over them and into the truck.

          Angelina wasn't there. I looked through the window into the body of the truck. Empty.

          "Get him on his side, tongue out of the way," Bolivar said. "That's it. Any pulse?"

          "Yes. But very weak, rapid and irregular."

          "Heart attack?" I asked.

          James nodded and looked around. The few houses here were set back from the road. We were the only ones who had seen the accident.

          "It looks pretty bad," I said. Igor had never done very well by me. But we just could not stand by and let him die. James said it just before I did.

          "I don't want him to die on us. We better call an ambulance." He took out his phone.

          "Do that," I said. "Then I think that you should either go with him to the hospital, or follow in the car. While you are doing that Bolivar and I will check out the house. If we don't find anything you will be with him when he regains consciousness. See if you can ask him a few pertinent questions then."

          James was talking into the phone, then closed it. "On its way. I'm pretty sure that they will let me go with him. I'll claim to be a relative. I'll keep you informed of what is happening."

          "Let's think about that," Bolivar said. "Maybe it would be better if I called you. If we are doing any breaking and entering it would not be that wise to have a phone ringing at the same time. I don't want the phone sounding off while we are snooping around and possibly getting into the building."

          "We'll do it that way. Go through the house-and call me the instant you find out anything."

          I could hear sirens in the distance as we went into the grove of trees that bordered the house on two sides. We kept under their cover as we worked around to the back. As we went we could see inside the building, through all of the windows; none of them were covered. The penthouse was almost completely made of glass and we could look right through that as well.

          "I'll check the other side of the house," Bolivar said. "Best for you to wait here for me."

          He was gone before I could answer. Slipping around the large swimming pool. I stayed under the trees, watching the house. Nothing moved inside. There was a large two-car garage to the rear of the property. Locked, but that did not slow me down. But the only form of transport inside was an ancient moped with a flat tire. The floor was a solid slab of oil-stained cement. It sounded quite solid when I kicked it. I went back outside and within a minute Bolivar had returned, shaking his head. "None of the windows are covered. I think that your theory of a concealed underground room is very much in order. Do we go in?"

          "Call James first. They should be in the hospital by now. If they are not, surely the paramedic will have sent all the vital signals of the patient to the hospital. So by now he will know what has happened."

          Bolivar turned on the external speaker and phoned. "Uncle Tom here. We are all so worried."

          "With good reason, Tom. Igor collapsed and had a massive heart attack. He has had an acute posterior myocardial infarction, a major one. It knocked out a good deal of the right ventricle. He is responding to the emergency treatment and the consultants are talking about bypass surgery as soon as we reach the hospital. How is your house hunting going? "

          "It's a fine house with a fine view from every window. We're going inside now."

          "We must keep in touch. "

          "We shall indeed."

          "Poor Igor," I said. "I know I don't look great, but not enough to give someone a coronary."

          "Unless they had a guilty conscience-and had something to do with the disappearance of the original Iba."

          "That's a thought. And a particularly nasty one. If Igor was involved with that he must have thought that he was seeing a ghost-or his victim roused from the dead. Now-any idea how we should proceed?"

          "How about ringing the bell? If there is no answer we let ourselves in."

          "Good thinking, my son. That's just what we shall do. There is nothing more to be seen outside."

          We could hear the chimes go bing-bong somewhere deep in the house. The lens of a security camera projected from the door frame: I stood to one side, hopefully out of its range. I had caused one heart attack today. That was enough. I heard the door open.

          "How may I serve you?" a refined and cultured voice said.

          "I am here to see Imperetrix Von Kaiser-Czarski," Bolivar said.

          "I deeply regret to inform you that my master is not at home. Might I take a message?"

          "I'll give you a message," I said, stepping into view.

          It surely was a fine-looking robot. Taller than I was and made of highly burnished steel. Its eye facets appeared to be large and beautifully cut diamonds. And it was wearing white gloves. It looked me up and down with a most superior robotic air.

          "And what, if I may be so bold to ask, is your message, sir?"

          "It is a very simple one. Step aside. We are coming into the house." I started forward and was stopped firmly by a steel hand in a white glove.

          "I have strict orders not to permit that. You will leave now."

          "I will not leave and you cannot stop me."

          I stepped forward and the robot removed its hand. Made a hard fist and hit me in the jaw with a right cross.

          "The Laws of Robotics!" I shouted, holding on to my sore jaw. "A robot cannot harm a human being."

          "You are not human. You're a disguised alien life-form." It said. Bolivar put his foot between the door and the frame so it could not be closed. The robot stamped hard on his foot. Then slammed the door shut when he jumped back.

          "Ouch!" he cried, hopping about on his uninjured foot.

          "Ouch indeed," I agreed, rubbing my aching jaw. "I'm not sure that I like that robot."

          With this I pulled out the molecular debinder. Turned it on and cut a quick circle around the lock. Which dropped out and fell onto the welcome mat. We went in. The robot, which had been walking away, turned back.

          "Entrance is prohibited. And you have caused an injury to this dwelling. I shall communicate with the police."

          "We are the police," I shouted. "Officer, show this thing your badge."

          Bolivar flashed the brilliant, but fake, ruby-set golden badge that he always carried.

          "We had reports of a rogue robot at this address. We're taking you in."

          "I am forbidden to leave these premises. Depart at once."

          "The law takes precedence. You struck me and you must be aware that it is a terrible crime to strike a human being. You are under arrest."

          "I am aware of the law. But you are not a human being."

          "You can see that I am! Just as you can also see that you are a construct-which indicates a constructor. You were made by humans-and you can also see that I am a human. Therefore I am a member of the human race who constructed you. And . a construct must always obey the orders of the constructor." I shook my head. Not really believing that I was having a teleological argument with a robot.

          "I can see that you are not. My master has instructed me that all the humans on this planet are imposters. Aliens in disguise. He has also told me and identified who the few real humans are in this city. You are not listed among their number. Therefore you must leave. If you do not leave I have orders to demolish all alien life-forms."

          It started forward and Bolivar moved quickly aside so we were equidistant from the thing. The robot hesitated, caught in a feedback loop, unable to figure out which of us to tackle first. "You must leave. Entrance forbidden to nonhuman humans. Death will follow quickly."

          I walked around it which had the unhappy result of breaking the feedback. "You must both leave." It turned and grabbed at me. "Strangers not permitted to enter the house. You have entered farthest so you will be made to leave first or be deconstructed." It sounded pleased by this piece of specious logic as it seized me in an unbreakable grip.

          Bolivar ran past us and shouted, "I am farthest into the house-I must be made to leave first."

          "Farthest must be made to leave first," it said creakily. Then it let go of my arm and made a grab for Bolivar. I ran in the opposite direction, shouting. "I'm farthest-you must make me leave first."

          It had Bolivar by the arm now, but its head was twisted around to look at me.

          "Farthest!" I called back. It made a strange grating sound and I hoped that it had blown its logic circuits. It seemed to have forgotten Bolivar when it came after me-pulling him along by the arm.

          "Hey!" Bolivar shouted, trying to shake the thing loose. Then it had me by the arm as well. The time for argument was past. I had no desire to be deconstructed. I took out the molecular debinder and held it up.

          "Do you know what this is?" I asked, waving the device before its diamond eyes.

          "I do."

          "Then you had better remember the rest of the robotic laws. You must prevent injury to yourself. Let go at once or I will cut your arms off. It's hard for an armless robot to get work these days."

          It uttered the grating sound again and its hands opened. It stood stock-still as a trickle of smoke rose from its head.

          "Great work, Dad. You sure do know how to win a debating contest. Particularly a robotic one. Now let's see what we can find."

          Which was very little. We searched the rooms, one by one, but they were all empty. Bolivar checked all the closets, while I climbed the steps to look into the penthouse rooms. Nothing.

          "And nothing that looks like a door or an opening anywhere down here. Not even in the wine-cellar room."

          "The robot would know."

          "It would if it hadn't blown a fuse or something."

          I kicked the floor. It felt solid.

          "There is one place that we didn't look," Bolivar said. "The enclosure by the pool with the heater and filter."

          I was opening the sliding door to the pool before he finished speaking. But other than the pool equipment the enclosure was empty. And built on a solid slab.

          "It has to be in the house," I said. "We are missing something I'm sure. I want to go over every square centimeter of the floor."

          We did it room by room. Moving furniture, kicking aside rugs, even tried shifting the refrigerator. Still nothing.

          "Last room," Bolivar said in a worried voice, looking in the door. "The master bedroom."

          We tested the en suite bathroom first. All of the plumbing was solidly fixed into place. All of the units were sealed to the walls and floor. In the bedroom the floor was made of wood, close-fitting and burnished planks. Solid. The bed was centered in the middle of the sizable room. I sat down heavily on it; fatigue and structural damage were taking their toll. I dropped my head on my hands. So weary.

          Something. What?

          Slight scratches in the wood by the leg of the bed.

          "Aha!" I aha-d, dropping to my knees and sighting along the scratches.

          "Dad! What's wrong?"

          "What's right is the answer. See them, the scratches on the floor by the legs of the bed? As though the bed had been moved aside-like this!"

          I pushed hard on the bed in the direction of the scratches.

          Nothing happened.

          At first.

          Then I heard a metallic click and the resistance stopped. I fell forward on my face as the bed moved smoothly across the room. And there, scant inches from my nose, was an inset handle. We both reached for it at the same time. Youth won and Bolivar grabbed it, turned and lifted. It was as thick as a bank vault door, but counterweighted so it opened smoothly.

          Light streamed up from the opening in the floor as we looked in.

          Angelina looked back and smiled.

          "Now that is what I call a beautiful sight," she said.

CHAPTER 25

          "Were coming down," I cried out.

          "Please do. I would much rather join you up there but I'm sort of tied up. Do you see a button or switch of any kind up there?"

          "Yes-here it is, inset into the frame."

          "Press it," she said and stepped aside.

          I thumbed it hard. There was the whine of a motor and a grind of gears as a metal ladder extended down into the chamber below. I was on it even before it touched the floor, down it in a flash and across the room. And into a tight embrace.

          "I'm . . . glad to see you too . . . even looking like that . . . but I would like to breathe as well."

          "Sorry!" I broke the death-grip and held her at arm's length. "Are you all right?"

          "I am now. But, please, how is Gloriana?"

          I followed her pointing finger. There, stretched out and motionless, was the porcuswine.

          "He gassed her," Angelina said. "Is she . . . dead?"

          Her eyes were closed, her mouth gaping open. I bent over her inert form and smoothed back her quills. There was no way I could get through them to feel for a heartbeat. "There is no way I can tell," I said. Admitting defeat.

          Angelina was digging through her purse. She produced a compact and handed it over. "Try this."

          I opened it, puzzled-but intelligence didn't strike until I had opened it and seen the mirror.

          "Of course!" I bent over the still form and held the mirror before her nostrils.

          "Nothing-no! Wait! It's fogging up-she's still alive!"

          Bolivar was down the ladder now and rooting through his pockets. "If Igor used gas it was probably sleepgas. I don't think he would be trusted with any kind of poison gas. Herethe antidote."

          I gave our favorite porcuswine a spray in each nostril. Nothing happened. But after another quick blast her eyelid quivered-and her eyes opened. She squealed weakly and stumbled to her feet. I scratched behind her ears and the world was happy again.

          Angelina gave Bolivar a motherly kiss on the cheek. "It's good to see you both. I really do feel alright. Though I will feel even better when you get this thing off me." She rattled the length of chain that was shackled to her wrist. The other end was attached to a thick eyelet set into the floor.

          "1 didn't notice! I'm sorry." The molecular debinder made quick work of it.

          "This was Igor's idea. He came down the ladder and that was when Gloriana went for his ankles. Did a nice job until he climbed back out of her reach. He went out again and when he came he was carrying a canister. Then he gassed her. After that he threatened me with the spray so I had to let him put this chain on. This was so I couldn't reach the wall where I had been working with the cutlery." She pointed at a long groove that had been hacked into the plaster to disclose an armored cable. "I was trying to cut into it-to hopefully cause a short circuit. If the electric company came around and tried to find the cause of the trouble they might even have found me.

          For the first time I looked around the prison cell where she had been kept. A single, armor-glassed light shone from the ceiling. "On all of the time," she said, following my gaze. "Makes sleeping a little difficult."

          A bed, a sink with a single faucet, a lidless toilet. A food dispenser. Spartan and harsh. My anger chilled into a hard knot of resolve. Chaise was going to pay for this, pay a great deal. And not in money.

          "Let us leave," she said, picking up her purse and turning towards the stairs. "And as soon as we can, I would like a large refreshing drink and some good food. All they left me was that machine full of dehydrated meals. Absolute slop. I was even ashamed to feed it to our sweet Gloriana." Gloriana grunted when she heard her name-her vocabulary grew daily-and then put her attention back to carefully climbing the narrow steps. We followed her out of the underground bunker.

          "Daylight!" Angelina said. "How delightful. Now you must tell me what has happened in the outside world, while I have been incarcerated in this dungeon."

          Bolivar had been busy on the phone, so that when we emerged from the house James was already pulling up the drive in his car. Another blissful reunion and we were in the car and away. While I brought her up to date, James drove us to a shaded mall. He parked as far as he could from the other vehicles, so children could not see me and get nightmares, then he hoofed it to the nearest take-away. Unhappily it was a MacAlpo outlet. But this did not seem to bother Angelina who wolfed down a Double-Doberman as I talked. Gloriana snuffled as she pigged down her double fried potatoes.

          "And that is about it. The bonds are safely hidden until I feel like going for them. I don't think Chaise even knows I'm gone yet. Now that we have both escaped Kaia's clutches we must make detailed plans of what we should do next."

          "I agree," she agreed. "As long as it involves grievous bodily harm to himself and his surly associate."

          "Igor's in the hospital, that's where James was. He saw my face and had a heart attack. If he had anything to do with Iba's murder you can easily understand why. He must have thought I was the dead man walking. How is he?"

          James shrugged. "He was going into surgery when I left. The doctor said that he is strong, and young, and that should help. I don't think that we will have to worry about him for some time yet. Meanwhile look here-I got these newspapers at the hospital. The mysterious fire is front page news. And they are still investigating the sabotage of the electricity cables in Swartzlegen." We read the reports, all except James who was sent back for more food. Between us we had missed an awful lot of meals.

          Once sated we gave thought to the future.

          "I have a great suggestion," James said, licking the last of the juice from his Dachs-burger off his fingers and trying not to bark. "Dad, even when that fake scar is peeled off your face, it is not going to look too great. It is turning an interesting black-and-blue already. And I think Mom has had the worst of it, locked in that cell not knowing what was happening. Which is why I suggest that you both head back to the holiday world of Elysium and let Bolivar and me pick up the pieces here."

          "Second that," Bolivar said, looking up from the newspaper for an instant, before diving back into it.

          "Sweet of you to offer," Angelina said. "But I have one or two things to take care of before I leave."

          "Me too. Like picking up those bearer bonds."

          "No," Angelina said firmly. "We are not broke-and it is just not worth the- risk. I have the strongest feeling that we should turn our backs and walk away from this one. After fixing Kaia's clock of course."

          I noticed that Bolivar hadn't joined the conversation. He had obviously found his perusal of the papers more interesting. I was about to ask him about it when he wadded the sheets into a ball and said, with some enthusiasm: "Got it!"

          Which, as you might imagine, drew our instant attention.

          "I know what Chaise is up to and what is behind this entire affair."

          Attention squared now.

          "My brief but interesting career as a banker has now reached its zenith. And shall be put to a good use before I return to lunar research. The pieces are all falling into place. To understand just what is happening we must go right back to the beginning, when Chaise made the Stainless Steel Rat an offer he couldn't refuse."

          "I could have refused it if I had wanted to."

          Angelina raised one quizzical and lovely eyebrow at that. "You? Refuse four million credits a day?"

          "Well, you must admit, it had certain attractions."

          "Chaise knew exactly what he was doing-he is an interstellar conman of the first degree. Good conmen always let the suckers talk themselves into doing what the confidence trickster wants them to do. First the money, then the data bank searches, then the discovery that all evidence pointed to Bolshoi's Big Top circus and the strongman Puissanto."

          I nodded rueful agreement. "A perfect con job. We discovered all the facts on our own, things that we thought Chaise could not have known about. We thought that, by ourselves, we had uncovered all the links that pointed to the circus. When in reality he had really planted all these facts himself. He did a rush job and a really detailed search, on the spot, would have revealed that. But of course by the time we discovered that we were being conned I was already on this planet, and skidding down a greasy slope. But why me? What did he have against me, us, the family?"

          "Nothing. But you were essential to the fruition of his plans. Which goes back to the time when he discovered that Bolshoi's Big Top was coming to Fetorr. The businessmen on this planet are most provincial. They are happy enough to make their profits here and enjoy the bucolic luxuries of life. But not Chaise. He really does have interstellar interests and knows what is going on in the big galaxy out there. I'll bet that he had some banks or corporations on another planet when the circus came to town there."

          "Interstellar interests? Planets?" I asked. I still couldn't understand how the pieces fit together.

          "He knew that the circus was a cover for interstellar investigators. I have the strong feeling that he has tangled with them once before on another planet. So he knew that Puissanto is a Galactic Inspector of Taxes. And Gar Goyle an organizer for GUU, the Galactic Union Union. I did a little digging and uncovered that Belissima, the dancing acrobat, is with FBI. The Forensic Bureau of Investigation. So Chaise knew that bad times were on the way for tax evaders, nonunion businesses, profit skimmers, crooks, privileged information investors-in short any company with dodgy bookkeeping, or any individuals who kept double sets of books. Trouble was coming-and he was going to profit by that information. The first thing he had to do was make things worse. That's where the Stainless Steel Rat came in. First you had to be there to be blamed for the crimes that Chaise did on his own-"

          "And then I was forced to go on and commit more crimes myself. A conman conned," I said with some bitterness. And blinked. "But I still don't see how he profited by all this. Yes, he got to keep the money he stole from his own bank. But the rest-"

          "Just look at the financial pages," Bolivar said, smoothing out the crinkled sheets. "Read these headlines. `STOCK FALLS AS UNION LOCKOUT CONTINUES.' And this`INVESTORS FEAR SHARP DROP IN GILTS'-those are government bonds. `DERIVATIVE MARKET BOOMING.' And this I particularly like, `FEARING RUN BANK CLOSES FOR LONG WEEKEND.' And that's Kaia's own bank. By doing that he started a panic and a run, not stopped it."

          "I used to know what a run on a bank was," I admitted. "But . . ."

          "But they don't happen much any more because of galactic interbank controls-which apparently don't exist here. You must remember that banks do not keep all of their assets in cash. Usually only a fixed percentage. The rest is out on loan to earn the interest that keeps banks in business. So if people get feeling insecure and they go to their bank in large numbers to take out their deposits-the bank doesn't have enough cash for them all. If the run continues the bank goes bust."

          I still didn't see it. "What can he gain by starting a run on his own bank? What if it goes bust?"

          "It won't. I imagine he has transferred all the cash he will need from his other holdings. But panic spreads like the plague. Other banks will have runs on them as well, and won't be able to bail themselves out. Next thing will be that the stock market will start getting worried, investors will begin to get hysterical, and all of that will lead to a single and inescapable event. Read this." He passed me the paper, tapped the headline in question.

          " `WEAKENED FETORR CREDIT HITS NEW LOW.' New low against what?"

          "The Interstellar Credit. When we first came to this planet they were at par, that is they were worth exactly the same amount. Now, with all the financial upsets, the Fetorr credit is down seventeen points. Which means you can buy a hundred of the local credits with eighty-three Galactic Credits."

          The lightbulb finally lit. "You told me something that meant nothing to me at the time. Not only does he own banksbut he has a brokerage firm as well!"

          "I hear the words," Angelina said, "but I am afraid that I don't see the results that you financial geniuses seem to be so excited about."

          "It is so simple it is almost too simple," James said. "He watched the economy start on the downhill course-and helped it along by giving it a push. More than once. First the disastrous robberies, then the power failure, which might have been the final straw. Now he will sell short and buy the credits back at a lower price."

          "He's buying fixtures!" Angelina said as we all nodded like crazy, like puppets all strung together. "He is betting all of his money that the Fetorr Credit will fall further still. And when it does, it may wreck the economy-but he will make billions!"

          "Exactly so," Bolivar our financial genius said, wiping his hands together with glee. "So now that we know his gamewe outplay him. Clean him out. Hit him where it really hurts."

          "In his wallet," Angelina said. "But while we are cleaning out his assets let us not leave sight of some personal grudges." She lightly touched my bandaged face. "You boys get the money. I'll get the man."

          There was a new excitement in the air as we drove back to the copter, took wing to Fetorrscoria. Even Gloriana seemed to be enjoying her first-ever flight. As the others elated, made plans, counted soon-to-be-acquired riches, planned vengeance, I began to be depressed. The boys didn't notice my silence but Angelina did. She look worried.

          "Do you want some painkiller? Are those bruises acting up? > >

          "No-but I could really use some liquid painkiller to dispel depression. I have been tracking down a single convoluted train of thought, and have reluctantly arrived at a single repellent conclusion. Bolivar?" He turned his head. "How long will it take you to put together your monetary trap for Chaise?"

          "A day, two days at the most. Why?"

          "Because, unhappily, it means that I am going to have to return to my incarceration in the warehouse. If he finds that I have escaped, and can pin him for robbery and murder, there is a good chance he will cut and run."

          No one had a ready answer for this one.

          "I can't let you," Angelina finally said.

          "I am afraid that I must do it. But there will be no danger. I'll eat and drink well before I go there, only put on the cuffs when he comes to the warehouse. In fact I think that I am going to enjoy this. The biter bit, the conman conned. If we do this right he won't have a clue as to what is going down."

CHAPTER 26

          Bolivar had called Chaise before we went to the warehouse, but his secretary said he was too busy to come to the phone. I'll bet he was! It is not every day that one breaks the bank of the national economy. The copterport in Fetorrscoria had a restaurant with a secluded little bar attached. We found a table and placed our orders while Bolivar checked the copter back in. The strictly nonalcoholic MoggyCola at MacAlpo's had left a bad taste in my mouth. Which was quickly washed away by a double Rotgutt on the rocks. For a rare instance Angelina joined me in one as well, before switching to white wine.

          "We need a plan and a checklist," I said as I pressed the order button for another round. James laid his palmtop computer on the table and made the entries as I listed them.

          "A makeup kit to restore my face to its former bashed self when we take these bandages off. Some new handcuffsas well as a new cot to replace the one Bolivar destroyed."

          "And one of those little eavesdropping bugs," Angelina said. "So when Chaise shows up we can listen in. James, I want you and your credit card to come shopping with me. I must outfit myself from the skin out."

          "And we are going to need an awful lot of money to invest," Bolivar said, joining us at the table. "I can handle the currency purchases and futures-but only if I have the funds."

          "That's where the Banco Cuerpo Especial comes in," I said. "Which is of course owned outright by the Special Corps. . If you have any trouble squeezing out enough credits, get on to Inskipp to authorize the funds. Feel free to use my name."

          Bolivar took a cab to the bank, while James took our shopping list. Angelina and I stayed in the warm security of the bar to await his return. I ordered another drink.

          "After we take Chaise to the cleaners," I said, "I am looking forward to a good long break in the sunshine."

          "So am I-for starters. But I am looking forward to a far longer one than that."

          "Meaning what?"

          "Meaning I think, that at our age, we ought to lead a quieter existence."

          "What! Leave show business?"

          "Yes. Leave show business, as well as all the monkey business that has kept us occupied down through the years. I'll hang up my guns if you'll hang up your lockpick."

          I laughed-then saw that she was deadly serious. I contemplated a future in the sun in my rocking chair. Or wheelchair . . . "It would be, well, you might say, perhaps slightly . . . boring.' ,

          .,Nonsense. We could travel, there are plenty of planets we haven't visited, meals we haven't eaten-"

          "Drink we haven't drunk!"

          "Now you are getting into the spirit of things." Her happy smile faded. "I don't complain, Jim, you know that's not like me. But I had plenty of time to think about the future, locked away by myself in that terrible room. It was, well, an experience I would not like to repeat."

          "Being cuffed to that bed and left to maybe die of thirst made me feel the same way."

          "That is exactly what I mean. We should never place ourselves in this kind of position again. You think about it."

          "I will, I promise. Just as soon as we have taken Chaise to the cleaners."

          "Of course. We'll tie this one up. Then walk away without looking back."

          James appeared in the doorway and waved. Gloriana woke up and stretched. We went to join him. Holding hands, which felt very good indeed.

          I will admit to feeling some hints of apprehension when we drew up before the warehouse. We waited outside until James had swept up all the bugs inside and put them in his insulated bag. Nor was I wildly enthusiastic when the cuffs clicked back on my wrists. Angelina was not happy either as she applied the makeup to my crunched face. Which looked even more crunched by the time she was through. She admired her handiwork, then frowned.

          "James, I've changed my mind about having the shopping trip now. I'll take a cab to the hotel where you and Bolivar are staying. I'll have a long bubble bath and a rest. Let Gloriana have a bath too-we both need one. I want you to stay close by in case anything goes wrong here. I want us to forget Chaise and the money, revenge, the whole works, if it means putting your father in any kind of danger. Do you understand?"

          "Loud and clear. I'll be nearby with my ear glued to the output of our pickup bug, but out of sight of the warehouse. We'll keep in touch with this." He held up what looked like a grain of rice. "Fits inside the ear and cannot be seen. Twoway talking, state of the art." He passed it over and I plugged it in.

          Angelina had done a wonder job with the makeup, bringing my face back to the ruined condition it had been in earlier. When they were all done James unwrapped the various bugs and listening devices that Chaise has planted. Angelina blew me a silent kiss as they left.

          Depression hit-but so did all the drinks-and I was asleep in seconds.

          After a timeless period of rather repellent dreams I awoke as a voice whispered in my ear. Where the tiny and invisible communicator was located.

          "Looks like Kaia's car coming towards the warehouse,"

          James said.

          "What time is it?" I shaped the words with my mouth, not speaking aloud but breathing in the lightest of whispers. James could make out what I was saying.

          "Almost dawn. He sure put in a long day at the bank "

          "And we know why. Stay in contact."

          "You bet. "

          In an emergency I could open the handcuffs; I hoped that I would not have to. If I played along, just for a short time more, our counterplot against his plot would surely work. I heard the outer door open and close. Then the footsteps approaching the door. A rattle on the knob as he opened it. I turned to look.

          "Getting thirsty, Jim?" Chaise said. His eyes were surrounded by darkened shadows. Working night and day on his crooked schemes. But he still had enough energy left for some gratuitous sadism. I didn't answer, but tried a dry cough instead.

          "You are going to get those bearer bonds for me?"

          "Water . . ."

          "Of course."

          He returned with a mug of water. Held it out to me-then poured it onto the floor. I was all method acting now, gasping and mewling. He liked that.

          "The bonds?"

          "I'll . . . get them. . ." Cracking and husking of course.

          A half a cup of tepid water was my reward. Just enough to keep me alive if I really had gone without. He looked at me coldly.

          "I don't believe you," he said. "Jim diGriz does not give in that easily. I am going to be busy the next few days. So I think that we will wait for next week's delivery to pick up the bonds." I fell back and gasped dryly, which made him smile.

          "Maybe a little water now and then-but no food. I want you weak but I don't want you to die on me. I think another week will bring you around to my side. If not-why then another week. Then perhaps I can supply some interesting interviews with your wife." I writhed realistically at that. "Even you will break, Jim, I guarantee that."

          "Rot-in hell," I managed to gasp out as he left. Oh how much he must be enjoying my sadistic theatricals. I dug out the handful of eavesdropping bugs and sealed them once again in their soundproof bag. Then took them out again and spread them out on the bed. He would get suspicious if they stopped broadcasting for any length of time.

          "Come and get me, James," I breathed into earphone. "I think that the stage is now set for the last act!"

          James opened the hotel-room door as quietly as he could, but Angelina was already awake. Sitting on the couch, very fetching in a man's bathrobe, looking out at the pollution-tinted dawn.

          "There is fresh coffee there on the table."

          "Wonderful!" I poured two cups, passed one over to James. "Chaise has come and gone. He is sadistically going to leave me locked in there to stew in my own juices. Before he gets around to thinking about me again-he is going to discover that he has a lot more to think about than he ever realized." I rubbed at my fake scar, which was beginning to come loose. "I'm going to wash off the makeup, and maybe this scar as well, if enough palisade cells on the skin of my face have sloughed off. Will someone kindly call down for lots of breakfast?"

          Gloriana, washed and blow-dried, was snoring away happily in her basket. She did not wake up as I cleansed my wounds and put on a matching bathrobe. I emerged to stare at the table laden with food. I am afraid that after that I talked with my mouth full.

          "Mrungle . . ."

          "Swallow first, talk later," Angelina wisely advised. I finally came up for air and sighed with satisfaction.

          "The only thing missing is a cigar."

          "I know all of your filthy habits," James said as he passed over a pocket humidor.

          "We've raised them right," Angelina said.

          We certainly had. Raised them, or dragged them up, right. Sons to be proud of. Not to say daughters-in-law.

          "Is the game afoot?"

          "Fleet of foot and galloping towards the finish line. The bottom dropped out of the Fetorr Credit when the market and the exchange opened this morning. Everyone is panickingother than our lot and Chaise. By the time everything closes tonight he will be the richest man on the planet."

          "He thinks," Angelina said. "What happens then?"

          "Bolivar is setting it up now." He looked at his watch. "We have some hours yet before the curtain comes down. Shall I pick you up here?"

          "Please do." I scratched at a last remaining shard of scar. "I'll need some clothes."

          "I'll take care of that," Angelina said, standing up. "Remember that the police are still looking for the face you are wearing now. I'll shop for you as well as myself. James, are you coming with me?"

          "Sorry, but as much as I would like to help you spend money, I have more pressing business. Computer problems at the bank. But I've opened a no-limit account for you at Sharrods departmental store."

          "That should be enough." She looked sharply at me. "Don't smoke and drink too much while I'm out."

          "Never! A single cigar, a sip of wine. The sweet liquor of success is what we will all quaff together."

          "That's more like it," James said and left.

          I was grateful for the solitude. I was tired and sore in a number of places. But inordinately happy. An emotion that I was sure I shared with Angelina; shopping, shopping to her heart's content. The boys too, happy in their skilled work. Extracting vast amounts of money from reluctant crooked capitalists. And gently slipping the noose around Kaia's unsuspecting neck. I turned on some soulsoothing music, then found some even more soul-soothing bottles in the bar.

          And thought about our holiday to come. I was looking forward to some lazy months in the sun. And the minimum amount of exercise every day, just enough to work up an appetite for dinner.

          But how much of that could I take before I got bored to tears? I was not really one who enjoyed just sitting around. Of course we could go the theater more often, even the opera. Maybe not; I shuddered at the thought of one shrill soprano too many. Would I start getting twitchy for some action? Maybe start sneaking out at night with a lockpick to open a safe or two? I must have dozed off at this point because loud snores woke me up. My own. I refreshed my drink and decided not to think any more about the future at this point. Wait, Jim, wait until the job is done.

          Angelina was back by midday, leading a squadron of carrybots. The purchases were piled high, the carrybots dismissed, and very soon discarded wrapping littered the room while she displayed her purchases. Not only clothes for herself, but some cheery sports outfits for me.

          We were dressed, eager and waiting when the door opened. James was back at last.

          "How is everything going?" I called out.

          "Everything is going according to plan," Chaise said, coming through the door, large gun steady and pointed.

CHAPTER 27

          This sort of thing has happened so often to me that my reflexes are completely trained to take action, even while my conscious brain was still taking in the new and thoroughly unhappy situation. These well-conditioned reflexes keyed in the commands jump for the sofa, dive out of the room, tackle the gun, throw the floor lamp at him, shout "LOOK BEHIND YOU!" The usual thing in this kind of situation. But, even as my muscles tensed for action, my conscious brain intervened and put all action on hold. I spasmed into the air, then dropped back into the chair.

          Because he was not pointing the gun at me at all. Oh, yes, he was looking at me with that chill smile of his-but at the same time he was pointing the gun at Angelina. He had killed before and would have not a moment's hesitation to kill again.

          "Very smart," he said. "It would be a dreadful waste, but I would certainly shoot her if you make any dubious moves. Fire first in order to scar her beauty, then shoot to kill, if you continue to persist in your folly. Now if you both will stand slowly and walk to the couch. That's it. Seat yourselves, good."

          Angelina sat stiffly, her hands folded on her purse. I slumped, hands in my pockets, scratching about for anything to fight with. The trousers were brand new. All I came up with was a slip of paper labeled PACKED BY MOSHI LAINI.

          Chaise stepped forward and closed the door behind him. Eyes and gun never wavering. He circled us, felt for the armchair, then seated himself carefully into it.

          "What have you done with Igor? He has failed to contact me."

          So he didn't know everything. I had to play for time. The longer I kept him talking the longer I had to find a way out of this impasse.

          "We never touched him. He must still be in Sunkist-bythe-Sea as far as I know." Truthful enough. But he didn't like it.

          "No games, diGriz. He went there because she was causing a disturbance of some kind. He hasn't reported back. I can maim as well as kill." The gun made a muffled phutt and the cushion next to Angelina burst out its stuffing through a large hole. "That is the last warning. Speak!" I spoke, quickly. "I was there and I saw him leave the house. You will remember I was still wearing my Iba disguise. He saw me and reacted badly, even wrecked the truck. Possibly because he had something to do with the disappearance of the real Iba." Chaise remained impassive and did not rise to the bait. "My sudden appearance was a bit of a shock. So much so that he had a massive heart attack."

          "You killed him!" He raised the gun.

          "No! He is alive. He has been operated on, a quadruple bypass, and is doing well in intensive care. Call the hospital if you don't believe me."

          He didn't believe me. But he did after he made the call. Which was most interesting.

          "Yes, admitted today. Doing well. Good. Me? I'm his brother. Give him the best treatment and send the bills to me."

          "Brother?" I asked when he hung up.

          "Yes. Our mother was an X-ray technician. Got her genes well zapped on the job. Radiation leakage. Some of the genes made for genius. Others for Igor."

          "Shouldn't you be in your bank making money?" Angelina said. "Instead of here playing the hoodlum."

          "If you think I am not aware of your machinations at the Banco Cuerpo Especial-you are wrong. If you have done anything, you have succeeded in helping me. You will be quite safe as long as you obey my orders."

          "If we obey your orders you will certainly kill us," Angelina said. He nodded.

          "Yes, that is possible. But as long as you are still alive you will hope that that possibility will never arise. Now let me think now about the best way to do this. You are a loving couple. But you, Angelina, are of the female persuasion and surely more emotional. You will follow your emotions. Therefore you will keep hoping that you will emerge alive from this dilemma. You will call your son James and give him my instructions. You will use this phone because it cannot be traced." He took it from his pocket and threw it onto the couch. She ignored it.

          "Why should I do what you say?"

          The shot was her answer. Searing pain tore through my upper arm. I clapped my hand over the wound, watched the blood ooze from between my fingers.

          "The phone," he said.

          She placed the call, never taking her eyes off me. She was calm and composed although quite pale.

          "James diGriz. Yes, I know that he is in a meeting. Tell him that it is his mother calling and it is an emergency. Of course you can interrupt him. What do you mean it is as much as your job is worth? Young lady, if you don't call him now I will personally come down there and tear your eyes out."

          She waited. Cold and silent. She had never talked like this to anyone before. Although she was icy calm outside, I knew that she was screaming inside.

          "Yes, James, most important. . ."

          "Tell him to be ready to make the following transfer of funds to my bank.''

          "I have some instructions for you. Chaise is here with a rather large gun and, for reasons I can't go into now, I know that he will use it. He wants you transfer some funds. . ."

          It all happened at once. A single loud explosion and there was suddenly a great hole blown in the hall door. Chaise jumped, the gun muzzle wavered.

          I was diving towards him as Angelina threw the phone and her purse at him, at the gun.

          He fired just once before I had him by the wrist with my blood-soaked hand. The gun went off, again and again, plaster rained down from the ceiling. Then he screamed in pain as Angelina's sharp shoeheels ground down on his arm. Wakened by the noise Gloriana came hurtling into the room and began chewing on his ankle.

          The scream was muffled by James's arm around his neck, pulling him backwards. While his hand twisted the gun from Kaia's limp fingers.

          In scant seconds the scene had changed completely. James had launched himself in through the ruined door. He now held the gun and twisted his foot on the back of the neck of the writhing figure on the floor. Gloriana had had enough chewing, he must have tasted fairly repulsive, and was wiping her snout on the rug. Angelina pulled me gently back onto the sofa and dug her thumb hard into the pressure point on my arm to stop the flow of blood that was dripping from my fingertips. She had the telephone in her other hand and was talking with great calmness. "Everything is fine, Bolivar. James is here and took care of the intruder. We'll call you back in a few minutes."

          "How did you know?" I asked James.

          "That transceiver in your ear. It's still working fine. I came here the second I heard his voice. I didn't alert you. I thought that surprise was the best option in this emergency."

          "It was," Angelina said. "After you hush that thing you are standing on, would you be so kind as to get me a sheet from the bed?"

          The single cry of pain gurgled away into silence.

          "Yeah team," I said. It came out rather feebly. Angelina touched my face delicately with her free hand.

          "Don't worry, darling. Everything is going to be all right now."

          Surprisingly enough she was right. James tore the sheet into strips and Angelina made a tourniquet to stop the flow of blood.

          "I'll help you into the bedroom," he said. "It is going to be busy around here pretty soon."

          "Don't need any help," I said as I leaned on his strong arm, walked slowly out of the room. Gloriana trotted in after us. The bed was soft. Angelina bandaged the wound which was now beginning to throb and ache. "You need some antibiotic and a painkiller."

          "There's a bottle of painkiller in the bar outside, which will do until the real stuff comes around."

          Loud voices sounded from the other room. When she went out she opened the door quickly then closed it behind her. She was back in a moment with glass and welcome bottle.

          "Not too much," she said.

          "Never," I said, knocking back a quick one. "What's up?"

          "Lots of excitement. The house detective showed up and James told him to alert the police and get the doctor on call. Said that Chaise had broken in and tried to rob us. All the blood was caused by the wound on the burglar's leg." I knew better than to ask how that had happened. "The people in the room above us sounded the alarm when the shot came through floor. Fortunately missed them. The fire department was here but we sent them away. I'll get some better painkiller from the doctor when he arrives. Meanwhile, be a dear and put Bolivar into the picture."

          "Right, good as done." A few more sips while I was waiting for him to come to the phone. He sounded worried.

          "Don't be. We had an armed intruder, who is no longer armed and I am sure very sorry that he intruded. James tool him out."

          "Who was it?"

          "Chaise, would you believe it? Somehow he followed u here."

          "Impossible. We have an undercover agent in his bank. HE has been there since yesterday, he has never left."

          "But. . ." I was at a loss for words. Luckily Bolivar was still in possession of his wits.

          "There must be two Kaizis! That would explain a lot o things. Could be twins, like Bolivar and me. I have to go now I must get back to destroying the economy. Keep me in touch."

          Angelina came in and carefully closed the door behind her cutting off the sound of even more voices. "Police, an insurance investigator, the doctor-I bribed him to get these-anc even Puissanto has shown up."

          "Chaise is still in the bank-yet he is lying on the floor out there."

          "Lift your arm." She shook antibiotic onto the wound.

          "Bolivar thinks that there are two Kaizis."

          "Very possible. That would explain how he put me into that cell while he was working on you back here. I always thought that there was something suspicious about him."

          "Suspicious? Like his being twins? You never told me!"

          "Just feminine intuition. I was waiting to make sure." She tied the compression bandage around the wound, then held the ultrasound injector against my forearm. It blasted painkiller through my skin; everything became quite rosy quite soon. I frowned as she took the bottle and glass away. I was relaxing in the golden glow when the door opened again and she came back in. Only it wasn't her but the muscle-bound figure of Puissanto instead.

          "Got yourself into quite a bit of trouble," he said. Looking at the bandage and the blood on my clothes.

          "A flesh wound. You should have seen the other guy."

          "I have. A good job. But his career is just about at an end. He and his brother's."

          "Twins?"

          "No. This one's the older brother. He had a little surgery to make them look alike. It helps them in their interstellar con games. We in GIT have been after them for tax evasion for a long time. I'm glad you finally smoked them out."

          "What's going to happen to them?"

          "A lot. My department of Galactic Tax Inspection has been working closely with the local tax authorities and the police. Their simple-minded brother in the hospital has already been fingered for assisting in the murder of a worker named Iba. Igor will get medical and psychiatric treatment. But the wounded brother in the next room goes down for murder. No death sentence on Fetorr. But a life sentence here really does mean life."

          "Two down and one to go."

          "They want the other Chaise on this planet for bank robbery-Igor's confession will help there. They'll put him in the slammer for a good long time for that crime alone. If he ever gets out they will turn him over to us for sentencing for interstellar tax evasion."

          "Well done," I said as he turned to leave. "The good guys seem to have won. But what about that wanted criminal who has been in all the papers? The superthief, the Stainless Steel Rat?"

          He turned back. "The feeling among the honest policeand there are very few of them-seems to be that he was pretty well framed by Chaise. They would like to interview him, and they still have some charges outstanding against him. But, unhappily, it has been reported that he fled the planet and is now in hiding well beyond their jurisdiction." He rooted in his pocket, took something out. "Anyway-they never had much evidence." He threw it onto the bed and left.

          I picked it up and ran my fingertips over the burnished surface. A metal cutout of a stainless steel rat. I sighed. And fell asleep holding it.

CHAPTER 28

          Some things I remember, others I had to be told about. The mixture of painkillers, booze, fatigue, shock, you name it, kept me out of the picture for a bit. We must have left the hotel safely because the next thing I knew I was in a hospital bed recovering from surgery.

          "Went absolutely fine," Angelina said. She was sitting by the bed holding my hand. This was the first thing that I saw when I opened my eyes. And not a bad sight at all.

          "Fine?" I muttered.

          "The operation on your arm. You had a nasty flesh wound right through your biceps. The medicos cultured a fine new chunk of muscle cells from a couple of cells that you donated. Planted the new muscle, then covered the wound with a skin culture of the same kind. The pain should be gone by now."

          "It is!" I flexed my arm. Gloriana put her front trotters up on the bed and snuffled my hand. I managed to give her a good scratch or two. "Oh, the miracles of modern medical science." I looked around. "Where am I?"

          "In the medical facilities of the Banco Cuerpo Especial. Which in addition to being the bank of the Special Corps is also an official embassy. It also happens to have its own hospital as well. We are here and safe until the Corps spacer arrives. Soon now."

          "We?"

          "Bolivar is here as well. The Fetorr police are still looking for him for escaping from their jail. But they are not looking too hard since they have so much else on their hands. James will be here soon. He is finishing the last computerized transfers of all the financial shennanigans. A great profit he says, mostly for the Corps, but a good bit for us for setting the whole thing up."

          "How do you feel?"

          "Perfectly fine. After all it was you who got shot."

          "But it was you who had to sit there and watch it." I thrashed about and managed to sit up in the bed. "I'm getting up.

          "Of course. Your clothes are folded on the chair there."

          I was a little woozy at first, but that soon passed. Angelina led the way down the hall to a relaxing sort of lounge room with attractive-looking food and drink dispensers against the wall. Bolivar was there drinking a beer and it was reunion time all over again.

          "I hear that all of your financial gamesmanship has paid off."

          "It certainly has. We have turned a good profit without bankrupting the planet, as Chaise planned to do. Aside from our money-market profits, I am happy to report that you are also well-off financially."

          "Who, me? Chaise told me that he had cleaned my account out of all the money he had paid to me."

          "He did. I was sure from the very beginning that is what he planned to do-and there was no real way to stop. him. However, as the money was being transferred from bank to bank I saw to it that over five percent was deducted as bank charges. The total sums transferred were so large that even that amount is really impressive. That money is safely buried."

          "Buried? I have the feeling that I am missing something."

          "It's very simple. The percentage of the money, that we slipped out as it was being transferred, was taken out as cash. Untraceable. With it we bought chips of nanomemory from James's firm. Those chips hold so many nanobytes of memory that one of them the size of your fingernail is worth hundreds of thousands of credits. I buried them in the garden under the roses."

          "Well I never..." And I hadn't.

          "I'm looking forward to picking some of those roses," was Angelina's practical suggestion.

          Our happiness was intense, and our pleasure squared when James came in.

          "All done!" he announced. "The Fetorr operation has ended most satisfactory for all concerned."

          "Not for all I hope," said I. "Have Chaise, Kaizi-2, and Igor met their just deserts?"

          "Justice is swift here, particularly when you try to pinch all of the planetary assets. The gruesome twosome are tucked away where the sun does not shine, with numbers on their chests and bars on their window. Their younger brother is recovering his health and is singing like a bird. He was mentally-if not physically-abused by his older brothers. He is institutionalized and under treatment. Now that he knows that he is beyond the reach of his brothers he appears to be happy for the first time in his life."

          "I was feeling guilty about causing him that heart attack," I said. "I guess I shouldn't be." I smacked my lips dryly. "If Angelina is as thirsty as I am she needs liquid aid."

          "Good as done. A wine and a beer in that order?" Bolivar asked as he went to the bar. We nodded agreement. James joined him and poured a beer for himself.

          Then we all raised our glasses on high.

          "Can anyone think of a toast?" Angelina asked.

          There was silence until I coughed. They all looked at me.

          "Of course. It is a quite simple one. To my family. To missing wives soon to be joined with their distant husbands.

          Then-a long life and a happy one for each and every one of us."

          We drank to that.

          "And a year's vacation for your mother and I," I added.

          "I don't believe it," James added.

          "Nor do I," James added.

          "But it is true," Angelina said. "We had a long talk about it. No work and plenty play. All calls from Inskipp go unanswered. The Special Corps can take care of itself. We live off of our savings and resist all schemes, honest or dishonest, to add more credits to our kitty."

          Both boys were dumbfounded. James gurgled and spoke for them both.

          "And-at the end of the year. . ."

          "Why we start another year of doing exactly the same thing," Angelina said, smiling sweetly.

          The twins looked at me and I nodded patient agreement. "Look, boys, I have saved the universe just once too often. I have been elected president, traveled in time, defeated alien races, robbed countless banks. The time has come, I do believe, to rest on my laurels." I thought a moment. "There is of course one bit of work I might do . . ."

          "You never!" Angelina said, quite angrily.

          "Don't misunderstand! Not crookery. I meant I might write down my memoirs. No one will believe me of course."

          "Then disguise them as fiction!"

          "Of course-what a splendid idea. And I even have a title. The first volume shall be titled-The Stainless Steel Rat. With plenty more volumes to come."

          Bolivar rubbed his jaw in thought. "You know, I have always had a secret ambition. After lunar exploration, that is. My newfound expertise in banking will be of great help. I have always felt, deep down, that-I wanted to be a publisher. Can I start with your book, Dad?"

          "Of course. Draw up the contract and make sure that the advance on signing is a big one."

          "Good as done!"

          He began to enthusiastically punch contract details into his pocket computer. James collected the empty glasses and went to get another round of drinks. Angelina leaned over and took my hand.

          "You do mean it, Jim, about retiring?"

          "I certainly do. If I had any doubts before, this mess with Chaise has washed them away. There are lots of worlds out there. Let us go out and enjoy them."

          "Those are the most beautiful words that I think I have ever heard." Then she dug into her purse and took something out and passed it over to me.

          "Found that in your pocket. Want to keep it?"

          I looked at it and shook my head. "What in the world would I do with a stainless steel rat?"

          "Then I'll have it," she said, and put it away. "I'll lock it in a box and keep it handy. Then, whenever I am feeling depressed, or out of sorts, or worried or just anything except just plain happy, I will take it out and look at it. To remind myself of all the fun that we have had." She smiled around at her family, leaned over and gave Gloriana a little scratch between the ears.

          "And to also remind myself that we are all so very lucky that we came out of all of our various adventures and escapades without permanent damage."

          We drank to that as well.

          At peace.

THE END?