"It happens to be true-but true or no it will make no difference to our relationship. From this moment on you are a free man with all the privileges that go with that status. Your criminal record has been expunged from the files and your own record returned to the computer banks. Your absence from Earth for these last years has been explained as a matter of Security. For anyone with first priority identification, the record also shows that you have always been a high Security officer and that all of your other work has been a front for your operations. You are now very rich and your bank account is full. Here is your identification card. Welcome back, Jan. There's a bar here and I have had the foresight to stock it with champagne It was all some kind of s.a.d.i.s.tic trick, Jan knew that. His body, his neck, ached where he had been kicked, but he had no time to consider the pain, he ignored it, fought it away so that he could order his thoughts. He had to use intelligence, not raw emotion. Though he had no regrets over the anger that had hurled him at his brother-in-law; how he had enjoyed the animal pleasure of actually laying his hands on the one person that he hated the most! But what was the man up to now? This had to be a plot of some kind; Thu rgood-Smythe was incapable of any straight-forward action. But whatever he was planning could not be uncovered at the present moment. Should he play along? Pretend to believe him? Did he have any choice? If the identification were real then there might be a chance to escape from the Security net. So it did not matter what he said if he managed to leave this room alive. He had no compunction about lying to his brother-in-law; it was almost an obligation. Therefore it was of no importance what he promised, but what he did. Promise anything, get away to safety. That was a good deal better than the certain death that awaited him if he refused. Jan watched with unbelief as Thurgood-Smythe carefully levered the cork out of the bottle, then poured two gla.s.ses of cham-pagne without spilling a drop. He turned and smiled as he crossed the room and handed one to Jan. Who repressed the desire to smash in that smile now that the gun had been laid aside for the moment.

"That's a good deal better," Thurgood-Smythe said. "Just resist the urge for violence and you will stay alive. You are not the suicidal type."

'All right. I'll work along with you. Do what you ask. But ~ will betray no one, give you no information."

"Very good. I ask no more. So we can drink to the future and hope that it will be a bright one for mankind."

He raised his gla.s.s in salute; they drank.

"What must I do?" Jan asked.

"Go on a mission for me. To Israel. Now do you see the trust and faith behind my offer? If you doubt what I say, why you can defect and simply stay there-and none the wiser."

"I can't believe that. You proved to me that you had liaison with the Israeli government, to keep track of their agents."

"Liaison, yes. But I have no say over what happens in that sovereign state. As you will discover, they are a very strong-willed people. And now I will tell you a secret, one that is proof of my sincerity in this matter because it puts my life in your hands. Under the code name Ca.s.sius, I have been supplying the Israelis with cla.s.sified Security information. They are very grateful, since I have asked nothing in return other than the knowledge that I am working for the benefit of the human race. They think very well of Ca.s.sius, so will trust you implicitly when you reveal that you are Ca.s.sius. I will give you the identifica-tion code, also a copy of all the information I have sent them in the past few years. What happens next is up to you. If you reveal this fact in the right quarters here, you will find that there are any number of Security people who would love to topple me and take my place, to destroy me. Or you can go to Israel and pa.s.s on what could be the most important message you ever carried in your entire lifetime. The choice is yours, Jan."

Choice? Jan could not believe that there was one. He was sure that any attempt to convey information to an-other Security officer here would only end in his instant destruction. Thurgood-Smythe was incapable of allowing a thing like that to happen. No. He had to go along with the plan. Take the message to Israel and let them decide what his brother-in-law was up to. The world was turning upside down. A portion of Thurgood-Smythe's story might be true. He might very well be deserting the sinking ship for his own benefit. Jan knew that he was out of his depth.

'All right," he said. "Tell me what I have to do."

"Good man. You'll not be sorry.

Thurgood-Smythe went to the desk and took up a thick plastic envelope. He handed it to Jan.

"I'm going to put you on a plane to New York now. You're not very safe here since everyone in California and Arizona is still on the lookout for you. But I did not let the alarm go out nationwide. A room has been booked for you at the Waldorf-Astoria. Get some rest, buy some clothes, eat a few good meals. Then, when you feel up to it, open th~~ package and memorize the basic material it contains. No need to be word perfect, you just want to be aware of everything here. It contains the security information I pa.s.sed on to the Israelis. Very incriminating for me, so don't leave it lying about. You'll have about eight hours to read it before the paper disintegrates. Then phone me at the number on the outside of the envelope so I can take the next step. Any questions?"

"So many that I wouldn't know where to begin. This all takes a bit of getting used to."

"I realize. Welcome aboard, Jan. It's nice to have someone to help me, to confide in after all of the years of working alone." He extended his hand.

Jan looked at it and, after a long moment's hesitation, shook his head.

"I can't forget that easily. There is too much blood on that hand for me to touch."

'Aren't you being a little over-dramatic?"

"Perhaps. I'll work with you since I have no choice. But that doesn't mean that I have to like it~r like you. Understood?"

Thurgood-Smythe's eyes narrowed slightly, but when he spoke there was no anger in his voice.

"Whatever you say, Jan. Success is more important our personal feelings. It's time for you to leave now.

Ten.

During the night the thudding of distant explosions had woken Jan, he had clearly heard them here, on the thirti-eth floor, despite the soundproofing and the double-glazed windows. He had opened the door and stepped onto the balcony outside. Something was burning brightly across the city. Sirens and warblers wailed as police and lire equipment tore by in the streets below. The fire burned for a long time.

It was muggy and hot outside the air-conditioned room and he did not watch long. He was still tired and fell asleep again as soon as he was back in bed.

Bright sunshine poured through the windows in the morning when he touched the b.u.t.ton to open the cur-tains. An apparently original Rembrandt painting hanging on the far wall became a screen as he switched the televi-sion on. Jan scanned the news headlines, punched for LOCAL NEWS, then brought up EXPLOSION AND FIRE. The list vanished and was replaced by a scene centered around a park bench. There were green gra.s.s and trees behind the bench, while a few pigeons pecked on the path before it. A man and a woman sat at opposite ends of the bench, both radiant and healthy, good-looking and suntanned. All over, for they were both nude. They smiled at him with glowing white. teeth.

"Good morning," the man said. "I'm Kevin O'Donnell."

'And I'm Patti Pierce. Would you like me or Kevin to bring you the news today?"

Then they waited, frozen and unmoving, the pigeons motionless as well, even the breeze-tossed leaves were still. The computer control waited for him to decide.

"Patti, of course," Jan said, and the camera moved in slowly on the girl who stood and smiled in his direction. Whether she was real or only a program in the computer was unimportant. She was both beautiful and desirable and certainly made the news more interesting. Though he could not understand what nude announcers had to do with the news.

"The Apple was busy last night," Patti said, standing and pointing over her shoulder. The park vanished to be replaced by a burning building, flames billowing high against the black sky. Fire equipment was drawn up in the street before it and men with hoses were fighting the blaze. Patti, rotating her behind sweetly, walked over and climbed into the driver's seat of a hook and ladder.

"This warehouse caught fire in the early hours and burned like a house on fire, yes sir! Four companies were called out and it took until dawn to damp down the blaze and keep it from spreading. Paint and chemicals had been stored in the building which kept things mighty hot for our helmeted heroes, yes sir!

No one as yet knows how the hlaze started, but arson has definitely been ruled out."

One of the helmeted heroes ran up and unclipped a piece of equipment from the truck near Patti. He never noticed her. The computer simulation was perfect; she could really have been at the fire rather than recording in the studio.

Someone knocked on the door. Jan turned off the TV and smiled at himself for feeling guilty; everyone else would be watching the nude announcers as well. "Come in," he called out, and the door unlocked.

"Good morning, sir, lovely morning," the waiter said, carrying in Jan's breakfast on a tray. He was young, white, and slightly adenoidal; a wispy moustache struggled for existence on his upper lip. He bowed as he put the tray down on the bedside table.

"That was quite a fire last night," Jan said.

"Jigaboos done it," the waiter answered, breathing hard through his open mouth. "None of them come to work in the kitchen today, not one. Shows they done it."

"You think they started the fire? The news said the cause was unknown "They always say that. It had to be the spooks. This time they oughta let Harlem burn to the ground."

Jan was uncomfortable in the presence of the raw hatred. He poured some coffee; the waiter bowed again and left. He had never before rCahzed how divided America was by racial barriers. It must always have been there, below the surface. War fever was bringing it out now. There was nothing he could do about it, nothing at all. He turned the news on again and watched Patti prance through the scenes while he gave his attention to the scrambled eggs and bacon.

When he got out of bed, Jan noticed the sealed envelope on the sideboard where he had dropped it. He wasn't ready to open it yet-was not even sure if he should open it. Because when he did so he knew he would have to join Thurgood-Smythe in his mad scheme. He realized suddenly that his head was fuzzy, that he had trouble coming to grips with reality. It was not surprising. The changes had been too abrupt.

After the years of dull t6il on Halvm6rk, everything had been turned upside down.

First leaving that planet on the s.p.a.cer, then being cap-tured, escaping, capture again-and finally his brother-in-law's revelation that everything was all going to turn out right after all. Jan was very suspicious of sudden happy endings. He went into the marble-and-gold luxury of the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. Red eyes with dark circles around them, and gray in the stubble on his chin.

Whatever he dedded to do next would be done in a leisurely fashion. He was not going to rush into anything for some time.

There was a drcular bathtub here that was big enough to swim in. He set the temperature to warm and pressed the FILL b.u.t.ton. It did, instantly, with a quiet rushing sound. There must be a reservoir, preheated, somewhere close by. He stepped into the tub, aware ofjust how far he was from New Watts and the Harlem that the waiter had talked about. Aware also how close he was to them at the same time.

This world where a few lived in luxury, where most existed at the brink of despair, was a precarious place. The waves of revolution from the stars were touch-ing Earth now. Would they carry the rebellion here as well?

"I hope you like the bath," the girl said, stepping forward to the middle of the room. She was dressed in a short terrycloth robe which she slowly took off; she was gorgeously naked underneath. When she dropped the robe it vanished-and Jan realized he was looking at a holograph projection.

"The management of the Waldorf-Astoria wants you to enjoy the best in comforts during your stay. If you wish I can ma.s.sage your back while you are relaxing in the tub, soap you and scrub you as w elI.

Di'y you and give you a more exciting ma.s.sage in the bed. Would you like that, sir?"

Jan shook his head, then realized that the frozen hologram image was waiting for a verbal instruction.

"No. Get thee behind me, Satan:' The girl vanished. Jan's wife was light-years away, yet she was very close still in his emotions. He finished soaping and washing and when he stepped out of the tub the water vanished behind him in a single mighty insufflation.

When he had arrived the day before no eyebrows had been raised nor any attention paid to his sleazy clothes or lack of luggage. Not when he was occupying one of the best suites in the hotel. But he would need clothes; that was the first order of business. He dressed quickly and kicked into the sandals. There was a safe set into the wall of the sitting room and he put Thurgood-Smythe's enve-lope in it, keying in a new combination so that only he could open it. With his ID card in his shirt pocket he would have everything he needed. He patted the card and went out.

The lobby of the hotel was filled with elegantly dressed guests, mostly women, who were strolling toward the doors leading to a fashion show. Jan felt decidedly scruffy as he pushed through them and out into the soggy heat of the day; When he had arrived the previous evening he had noticed that there were a number of shops along Lexington Avenue. Clothes, shoes, luggage-there was everything here that he might need.

Though some vehicles pa.s.sed there seemed to be few pedestrians. None at all he realized, just as a policeman stepped out of a doorway and stopped him by pushing his nightstick hard into Jan's chest.

'All right, stupid. You want trouble, you got trouble."

Jan's temper flared; he had seen enough of the police in the last twenty-four hours.

"I'm afraid that you are the one who is in trouble, officer." He took out his ID. "You will look at this and then you will apologize for your brt.i.tal manner."

The policeman let the stick drop slowly. Jan's refined accent and manner did not match his clothing.

When he saw the Security symbol next to the three-digit number indicating Jan's rank he actually began to tremble. He saluted and Jan felt ashamed of himself for bullying the man with his newly-attained rank and position. His ac-tions, in essence, were really the same as those of the police officers who had raided New Watts.

I didn't know, I'm sorry, but the things you're wearing...

I understand," Jan said, putting the card back into his pocket "It was an emergency. I'm going to buy new clothes now.

"I'll show you, sir, just follow me. I'll wait to take you back. You don't want to be on the streets today:'

"Is there an alert?"

"No. But people know. The word goes around. We shot the two guys what burned down the armory.

Both white. What the f.u.c.k did they think they was doing? In here. Best place on Lexington. I'll be outside." He ham-mered loudly on the sealed door with "us nightstick and it was quickly unlocked.

"Take good care of this gentleman," he told the wide-eyed clerk, spinning the stick swiftly on the end of its thong.

It was a gentlemen's outfitters, very exclusive, very expensive. Jan took a great deal of pleasure in spending a large amount of his newly-acquired money. Shirts, slacks, undergarments, suits, everything lightweight, easily packed and uncrushable. If it was hot in New York, Israel was sure to be an oven. He did not mind heat, but he liked to be dressed for it. Shoes and a better grade of sandal than he was wearing completed his outfit. His image in the mirror was greatly improved.

"Send the rest to the Waldorf," he said, pa.s.sing over his card. He pointed to his discarded clothing.

'And dispose of these:'

"Very good, sir. If you would approve the sales slip...?" Jan waved it away; it wasn't his own money being spent. The clerk slipped Jan's ID into the machine, entered the sum to be debited, then returned the card. The money had been transferred from Jan's account to that of the shop's.

The waiting policeman nodded approvingly at Jan's new clothing. The world was in order again. He led the way to a luggage shop, then found an optician where Jan could get some sungla.s.ses; he was not used to the glare of full daylight after his years on the twilight world. On impulse he bought a second pair and handed them to the policeman when he came out. The man gaped, then slowly put them on, pulling in his stomach as he looked at his image in a shopwindow.

"1 ain't gonna forget this, sir. You're a right guy. I never met a Limey before, but I think you're right guys."

There were a few more pedestrians about now and the officer looked closely at each one as they pa.s.sed. His nightstick spun faster as a black man in ragged clothing came toward them. The man kept his eyes lowered and touched a large plastic badge on his shirt as he went by; identification of some sort.

Very suddenly Jan had had en9ugh of the city and was happy to be off the street and in the cool seclusion of the hotel. The keyboy led the way to the elevator, then unlocked the door to the suite for him.

His purchases had been delivered and were waiting in a neat row of boxes on the lounge. He looked from them to the decorated door of the safe. The moment could be put off no longer. It was time to find out what he was getting into. When he pulled the tab on Thu rgood-Smythe's envelope there was a brief hiss as the air entered it. Inside was a thin file of papers. He sat down and began to read.

It was a chronicle of evil covering the past two years. Each parcel of information was dated, each statement brief and to the point. People arrested and imprisoned, people killed. Foreign agents detected and their move-ments chronicled, intelligence supplied by British agents and emba.s.sies. There were interesting tidbits of informa-tion that surely had never appeared in the news. The Lord Mayor of London, a prominent wholesaler, had apparently been deeply involved in the black market for food.

Security knew this but did nothing-until they ob-served that some German agents had uncovered the fact as well and had used it to blackmail the man. Murder, or rather a fatal accident, had eliminated the problem. There was more like this. Jan scanned quickly through the pages, then went back and memorized the names and dates of the most important events. It was boring but necessary work. After a few hours of it he realized that he was hungry, and phoned down to room service. The menu was extensive and far more interesting than anything he had eaten in the past years. He ordered a broiled lobster and a chilled bottle of Louis Martini sauterne and kept on reading.

Later, when he was turning over a sheet, the corner broke off in his hand. He quickly riffled through the stack to be sure that he could recall as much as he had need oL There were fragments of paper and ink on his hands now and he went into the bathroom to wash them off. When he came out the sheets of paper had turned into a pile of gray dust.

Jan picked up the envelope and looked at the tele-phone number on it. Thurgood-Smythe's number.

Had he any choice?

The answer was still no. This entire matter might be some devious plan of his brother-in-law, undoubtedly was. There was still nothing he could do about it. If he did not cooperate he was sure that his new status would be stripped from him as quickly as it had been bestowed. He would go along with the scheme, get out of the country-then rea.s.sess it when he was safe.

He punched the number into the phone and sat back. Seconds later Thurgood-Smythe's grim features appeared on the screen. He smiled slightly when he saw who it was.

"Well, Jan, enjoying youi stay in New York, I trust?"

"I've read the papers.

"Very good. And your decision...?"

"I'll go along with your plan until I learn different. You knew that all the time."

"Of course. Welcome aboard. If you will send for a taxi in about an hour you will be just on time for a specially chartered flight to Cairo. It is full of technicians and engineers for the reopened oil fields. Since you have been away the thermal extraction technique has succeeded in pumping petroleum from these depleted fields for the first time in four centuries. You will be joining them as a specialist in microelectronic circuitry, which of course you are. Tickets, pa.s.sport and a new ID card are waiting for you at the porter's desk. Keep your present ID for emer-gencies. Your new ID has another function as well. Your file number is also Ca.s.sius's identification code. When this number is divided by day of the month, all the digits to the left of the decimal point are the code for that day."

"So I go to Cairo. Then what?"

"You will be contacted. Enjoy your trip. And make a note of this number for later use. With it you can contact me instantly, wherever I am. Good-bye."

Jan had just enough time to pack his bags leisurely before ringing down to the desk. He wondered where it would all end. He had a certain amount of trepidation about setting his foot on this road when he had no idea of where it might lead. Yet he was not sorry to be leaving the United States.

Eleven.

For six full days, Jan lost himself in his work. The petro-leum wells in the Sinai desert were the first installation to make use of the highly complex thermal extraction tech-nique. But it was like working in the cemetery of a forgotten age, because their camp was in the center of the played-out oil fields. Ancient pumps and drilling towers stretched away on all sides, silent and still, preserved through the past centuries by the arid desert. The modern installation was as new and bright as a freshly minted coin, standing out in stark contrast to the desolation on all sides. The buildings were prefabricated and glossy, as was all of the equipment. Their techniques were new and original as well, but very p.r.o.ne to develop operational bugs.

Karaman, the petrologist, sat in the laboratory swirling a dark and tarry liquid about in a gla.s.s flask.

"It is good, very good-but pumping has stopped again, the third time in as many days," he said. "Why?"