The First Team

4

It was all that Hewlitt could do to keep his voice civil as he ordered his lunch over the telephone. Each minute that had passed since the invasion of his office had contributed to a slowly mounting rage that was building up within him. He discovered that in spite of himself his hands were clenching and unclenching as though they could not stand the inaction.

To attempt anything, he knew, would be useless. Worse than that, if it did not destroy him, it would cancel out any possible chance he might have to do something really effective at some time in the future. He told himself that he would undoubtedly have to face much worse, probably very soon, and that above all he would have to remain in possession of himself.

The food, when it came, did nothing to assuage his blackening mood; he ate mechanically while his mind raced ahead, planning things that he might do, whetting itself to seize every opportunity, no matter how minute, to begin the counterattack. He had only one solid thing to hold onto at that moment: the very brief conversation he had had with Bob Landers. That had told him that he was not alone, that there were others, and that there was hope. Hope. He had never known how magical that word was before.

To ease his frustration he turned back to the book he had been studying. It was thin comfort, but it might yield something that he could make use of and his mind, like his physical body, thirsted for action.

The summons came when he was not expecting it — a little after two when he had his mind well geared into the studying he was attempting to do. He was called on the phone as he had been before; this time the female voice seemed almost apologetic. “Mr. Hewlitt, Mr. Zalinsky would like you to report to him immediately in the Oval Office.*Bring paper and pencil.” As the line went dead Hewlitt sensed that she had wanted to say something more, but that she had not dared.

Reaching into his desk with a forced calm, he took out two pencils and a long, yellow ruled legal pad. This time he wanted to write everything down, although it would probably be unnecessary. He owed his exceptional language capability in part to his mnemonically trained mind; no one had total recall, but there were times when he could come close, and that ability had been highly useful to him in the past. The idea stabbed him that this might be a weapon, a small talent that might not be known or reported in his dossier. He took two or three deliberate deep breaths to steady himself and then went to keep his appointment.

He was ushered in without ceremony. As he entered and looked at the man who was sitting behind a desk that had belonged to three Presidents, he blocked out of his mind the idea that this was an impostor. He looked a little more formidable now — not because of the chair he was occupying, but because his physical imperfections were less visible and any uncertainty there had been in his manner the previous day was now apparently gone.

Zalinsky looked at him and said without emotion, “You will sit down.”

“Yes, Mr. Zalinsky.”

The man from overseas leaned back and contemplated him. “In which language do you wish to speak?” he asked.

“Entirely as you wish, it makes no difference.”

Was Zalinsky trying to woo him with that minor concession of courtesy? He did not have time to decide.

Zalinsky picked up a folder from the top of the desk. “I have read the files about you,” he said in English, “yours and ours. Why are you not married?”

Instantly Hewlitt knew that the answer might be in the confidential personnel evaluation which was in Zalinsky s hand; therefore the best tactic would be to tell the truth. “I wanted to be,” he said. “I expected to be. Then something intervened which was not of my choice. After that I decided to play the field for a while.”

“You are not then a homosexual?”

“I am not.” This time he let hardness come into his voice, as would be expected of him.

Zalinsky noted it as Hewlitt knew that he would. “It will do you no good to become angry, no good whatever. You are, I know, at the moment with anger because you were searched this morning. It will happen many times again.”

Hewlitt managed to say nothing.

“I will now speak with plainness,” Zalinsky said, “because it is my wish. Before we are making occupation here we made a choice of certain people for usefulness and you are one of them. You understand why.”

“Because I am familiar with the operation of the White House and I speak your language perfectly.”

“Perfectly you do not, but you are confessed to be very good. I have now massive work to do and insufficient time so I will come directly to the edge. I can make use of you if you will undertake to obey what I tell you. Loyalty I do not expect and would not belief if you pretended it. Obedience, yes. I have staffing of my own people, but many of them have not been here before. You are muchly traveled through this country; as you say — you know your way.”

Hewlitt nodded.

“It is not that you will be my assistant,” Zalinsky went on. “I will not allow that. You will have certain necessary permits to your convenience… what is the word I want?”

“Advantage,” Hewlitt supplied.

“Correct — advantage. This is not a…”

“Bribe.”

Zalinsky stiffened slightly. “I have the acquaintance of that word,” he said.

“I expect that you would.” Hewlitt hated himself the moment the words were out of his mouth; he had been unable to resist the temptation to be glib. He looked at Zalinsky and was almost terrified by the penetrating look in the man’s eyes.

“After this, you will not correct me unless I made a definite ask — is that clear?”

Hewlitt retreated rapidly. “Yes, Mr. Zalinsky.”

“I will then trial you at this new function. You will keep yourself where you are at the same office for the same times of day. If I demand you in the evening, you will be called.”

“Do you wish me to always be at home, sir?” It was a gamble, because if the men answered “yes,” he would be all but a prisoner in his apartment. He took the chance because a “no” would carry with it automatic permission to be out as much as he liked; it would lift the cloud he had lived under the night before.

“No. Except that I may tell you.”

Hewlitt nodded again to indicate that the arrangement was agreeable with him. He was minutely careful to be entirely respectful this time; another ill-advised outburst could be the end of everything.

“Once more,” Zalinsky said. “You have read in the paper the instruction to the people of this country?”

“Yes, Mr. Zalinsky.”

The man behind the desk leaned forward and planted his elbows firmly. “Believe this,” he said. “For the people at large it is a warning — for you it is much more. You comprehend this?”

“Fully, Mr. Zalinsky.” It was a tiny thing, but he might be able to “Mr. Zalinsky” him to death. He had asked for it — he would get it.

“It is good. You are intelligent, we know this. Do as instructed and you will be to your advantage. But!”

That same trick again!

“If you for any moments at all believe that you can betray us I will be without bending. You will pay the price at once. Is this clear to you?”

Hewlitt’s blood froze but he did not allow his face to betray him. “Yes, Mr. Zalinsky.”

“It is good. Do not believe that you can fool us, it is impossible. You are children at this; we have just taught this to you. From this hard lesson — learn!”

Hewlitt opened his mouth to say, “Yes, Mr. Zalinsky,” but thought better of it in time. “I will,” he answered instead.

“Good,” Zalinsky said. “You will go.”

Hewlitt went back to his office, his mind full of the interview he had just had. On the surface it appeared not too bad; for the time being at least his life could continue relatively undisturbed. His only continuing frustration was the lack of anything significant to do. He ached for action, but there was nothing immediately available except to continue with his reading and to wait for a communication of some kind from Landers. He had a considerable degree of confidence now in the young Air Force major; his experience in Washington was limited, but in his strictly military capacity his performance had been superb.

He returned to his book and tried to apply himself in order to make the time pass if nothing else. Through pure determination he succeeded; he was so deeply engrossed he was hardly aware of it when Landers did come quietly into his office. The officer held a magazine in his hand, which suggested that his visit was a casual one.

Hewlitt came to and motioned toward a chair. Landers ignored it, preferring to stand next to the desk. “I just came by to return your magazine,” he said. “I think you were right, the piece on the Alaskan Air Command was probably written by an Air Force man under another name. But it was carefully done and under other circumstances I’d say that it didn’t do us any harm at all.”

Hewlitt had never seen or heard of the magazine before, but he responded promptly. “I thought that you ought to see it,” he said.

He was rewarded when the major nodded almost imperceptibly to show his approval.

Hewlitt felt a light flush of satisfaction; he looked up, lifting his eyebrows slightly, to see if Landers had more to say to him.

“Have you received any orders yet?” the major asked.

“Nothing definite.”

“Me either. I’m sure that Mr. Zalinsky will send for me when he wants me. I’m practicing the ‘mister’ since he so definitely wants it that way. You remember.”

Hewlitt nodded. “I do. Thanks for the magazine.”

As soon as Landers had left Hewlitt played the conversation back in his mind. The major had been ultracautious, assuming that the office had been wired. The need for security had been drilled deep into everyone who had been assigned to the White House, now that preparation was about to pay off in a new way.

Hewlitt forced himself to continue his reading for a while just in case, through some devilish technique, he had been placed under visual observation. When he had allowed enough time to pass he put the book down, stretched his limbs without getting out of his chair and then picked up the magazine. It was elementary that Landers had left it for some reason; it only remained to find out what the reason vfas.

The solution was so simple that Hewlitt felt he had been cheated out of an opportunity to use his brain. He turned to the story on Alaska and there found a bit of flimsy inserted in the pages. The message on it was brief: Be home at 19:30 tonight.

Hewlitt continued to turn the pages, wondering if it was actually possible that he was under observation and trying to decide if the enemy would consider a full-time watch over him worthwhile. His judgment told him that it was most unlikely. A bug, quite possibly yes, but an optical device was almost impossible. He played it safe nonetheless. First he opened the center drawer of his desk and propped the magazine open on it. Then he spread the pages until the bit of paper fell out and dropped down on top of the pencils and other material he kept at hand.

He was sure that no one was watching, but it was a rehearsal. The time might well come when he would have to do something like this under scrutiny and he wanted to know how. After some time he put the magazine down and made a pretext of straightening out the contents of the drawer. While he was doing so he contrived to roll the flimsy into a tiny ball. When his pretended housekeeping was finished he took out a roll of Life Savers, peeled open the package, and put one of the candy discs into his mouth. With it went the message. He was not entirely satisfied with the way that he had performed the maneuver, but he felt sure that if anyone had been watching he would not have noticed anything amiss.

His mind was too full to talk to Frank on the way home; he was grateful that the Negro driver understood this and left him alone. When he was back in his apartment he showered and stepped on the scale. He had gained one pound, but the reading was not entirely accurate and if the added weight was there he would have it off before morning. He ate lightly while he watched the TV news program that he found most reliable at that hour. The announcer had almost nothing to say; it was obvious to Hewlitt that he had been muzzled and was trying to walk a tightrope in the dark. Somehow, with the practiced skill of a professional, he managed to stay on the air for fifteen minutes without reporting anything beyond neighborhood fires and a shake-up in the staff of Georgetown University. It was totally sterile, but Hewlitt was quite accustomed to hearing newscasts which included none of the real events of the day because the facts were classified and had not been made public. However, there had always been something to talk about before; tonight the evidence of enforced, near-total restraint had been blatant. Perhaps the announcer had intended it that way — as a warning. It could have been his way of fighting back; if so, that made him another member of the team.

Almost on the minute of seven-thirty Hewlitt’s doorbell rang. When he answered it Landers was there in civilian clothes with two girls, both of whom Hewlitt recognized as being on the White House staff. “Hi,” the major said, “you didn’t forget, did you?”

“Of course not.” Hewlitt picked up his cue smoothly this time while he evaluated his two unexpected guests. One of them was a Barbara somebody who was probably Landers’ date, since she was considerably the more attractive of the two. She was a raven brunette who had sense enough to wear her striking hair long, something which accentuated the ripe, rich promise of her body.

As she walked in, her motions were quietly potent, and Hewlitt appreciated them to the full.

The other girl he knew by sight, but if he had heard her name, he could not remember it now. She was somewhat smaller, auburnhaired and built along less dramatic lines. But she had a sense of possession about her and also a visible aura of restraint. She was attractive enough, Hewlitt decided, and she probably danced very well.

“I’ve got the car outside,” Landers said. “So far, at least, we can have all the gas we want, so we might as well take a drive.”

“I’d like that,” Barbara said. She would probably like a lot of things, Hewlitt thought, and Landers was a man to be envied.

He excused himself long enough to put on a sports coat and check that his wallet was adequately filled, then joined the others. Not for a moment did he believe that this was intended purely as a social engagement; Landers’ opening remark had established that. The girls would be cleared in the normal sense, but whether they were qualified to play in the dangerous game that Landers had proposed was open to serious question. Until he knew a great deal more than he did at the moment, the only course open to him was to keep his mouth firmly shut.

Landers’ car was a sleek convertible of precisely the right caliber to fit with his job, as well as his reputation acquired when he had been a totally efficient, almost nerveless test pilot at Edwards Air Force Base in the Mohave Desert. Hewlitt was the last to climb in; he was surprised, and pleased, to find that the place reserved for him was in the back seat next to Barbara. He settled himself, smiled agreeably at his companion, and then tried his best to suggest that he had nothing on his mind but the pleasures of the evening that lay ahead.

They crossed the Potomac into Virginia and then headed westward toward the low mountains which were still faintly visible. The conversation was limited; once they were more or less by themselves there was no attempt on the part of any of them to pretend a relaxation that they did not feel.

When the twilight had gathered halfway into night, Landers pulled the car over to the side of the road. He stopped the engine and then turned around in his seat so that he could talk to the others without raising his voice.

“First of all,” he said without preamble, “if anyone comes by and wants to know what we’re doing here, we’re deciding where we’d like to go to dinner. We can talk safely here. I went over the car very carefully after work tonight with a bug detector. Even if it were wired in some way, we’re well beyond the range of the best equipment we have and I don’t believe that theirs is any better. In fact, I know it isn’t. Do you girls know Mr. Hewlitt and what he does?”

“Yes, of course,” Barbara said. Her voice was calm and very businesslike. Hewlitt understood that she spoke for them both.

“Hew,” Landers said, “both of these girls hold top secret and beyond. They’re not civilians; Barbara is in the Air Force, Mary is in the Army but works for the Agency. They’ve been handling highly sensitive material for some time and you can trust them absolutely.”

“Good,” Hewlitt said. He was not able to rid himself entirely of a feeling that as a breed, females had trouble keeping their mouths shut, but he knew that there were exceptions and that some of the best agents that the CIA had were women.

As Landers continued, his voice too became quiet and unemotional, but there was no questioning his seriousness. “We are organizing ourselves according to their system — because it works. It was all set up some time ago, and we know what we are going to do. I’ve been assigned to be the leader of our cell. You know how it works: I’ll be your one and only contact with the rest of the organization. If anything happens to me, then you will be contacted by someone else, who will identify himself. Clear so far?”

Silence answered his words, which Hewlitt highly approved.

“You understand that the cell system doesn’t mean that you aren’t totally trusted. But when we get going on a larger scale there will be a lot of people involved and we could take in a bad apple. If we do, he or she can blow the cell, but no more; the rest of the organization will be protected.”

“That’s only sensible,” the girl in front said. “I think every intelligence organization uses some variation of the same plan.”

“Thanks, Mary. I’ve been instructed to go over certain rules with you, although you know them already. First, whatever you pick up you feed to me only; in turn I’ll keep you informed as much as I can about what’s going on — you’ll just have to trust me in this.

Try never to write anything down. I had to break that rule today, which reminds me — you got rid of that note, I take it?” He looked at Hewlitt.

“Of course.”

“This is elementary, but don’t trust anyone, no matter who it is, without checking with me first. If I need to, I can check with the person who is controlling me and so on as far as is necessary. For example, I won’t send you any messages by persons you don’t know personally to be with us.”

Barbara leaned forward a little. “I think we’re wasting time, Bob,” she said. “We all know this very well.”

Landers changed the tone of his voice. “Of course you do. I’m following my orders and I believe in them, because this is damn serious business. Now I want to tell you something else: the three of you were all preselected some time ago when our planners saw possible trouble ahead and set up the organization at that time. I didn’t just pick you up off the top of my head. You’ve been checked in ways that you wouldn’t believe, with the result that we feel that we can trust you completely and that you can trust each other. They’ve been particularly careful because this will be one of the key cells in the country.”

“Will we have meetings?” Hewlitt asked.

“I think so, but that’s something that hasn’t been worked out yet. Perhaps you might undertake to teach us their language. That might be an effective cover.”

“I don’t think so,” Hewlitt answered. “These people know that we hate their guts and despise them for what they’ve done to us. For us to pretend to be learning their language now would be too cooperative to be believed. It would imply that we expect them to be here a long time and no American, no real one, that is, will admit to that right now.”

“He’s right,” Mary said. She did not elaborate.

Landers agreed. “I haven’t anything else in mind, but I’ll think about it and check with my controller. You think too, unless someone has an idea right now.”

There was no response.

“Then that’s that. I’ll find a way to get in touch with each of you after something has been decided. One more item: if anything happens to me, the person who will take over will be identified by the name Asher. It could be a man or a woman. If that person is eliminated, the code name is known at the top levels and someone else will be assigned to take his place. He will use the same ID. Now let’s go through the motions of getting something to eat.”

He started the engine and moved the car back onto the main part of the road. For a moment Hewlitt wondered if they ought to go back and erase the tire marks on the shoulder where they had parked, then he dismissed the idea as unnecessary — if it came to that they had a simple explanation that would hold up.

Midway through the next morning Hewlitt was in a much heartened frame of mind. Not even the fact that the security guards at the West Gate were now all from the enemy’s camp upset him unduly, because he was convinced, or very nearly so, that as soon as things got properly organized the return to sanity would be under way. He had no doubt that American ability and ingenuity would in some way manage to reverse the disasters of the past few weeks despite the overwhelming military pressure that the enemy had been able to bring to bear. The underground, once it got going, would be able to work unimpeded with no Fitzhughs to get in the way. Even the inertia of forced inaction which now pervaded his office could not dampen the determined optimism which charged his whole being.

Then a man came in.

He was one of the enemy, a structure of human flesh and bone in a poorly designed and badly worn uniform, but inflated with the confidence of total victory. He was a soldier, conspicuously armed and with the attitude that the weapon holstered on his hip gave him total authority. His face was anonymous in its frozen expressionlessness of military conformity. It was his pride that he was one unit in a conquering army.

He entered Hewlitt’s small office holding a few sheets of paper. When he spoke it was with the voice of a not too intelligent NCO dispensing a minor order to a mechanical subordinate. “You will take this and translate it into English at once,” he directed in his own language. He thrust the document at Hewlitt and then left without ceremony.

Before Hewlitt read the material he had been given he evaluated the handwriting. It was moderately good, an educated person’s work, but he doubted that it was Zalinsky’s. He had no good reason for that conclusion, simply the feeling that it had been done by someone else. The paper was from the regular White House supply; to make sure he held it up against the lamp on his desk and checked the watermark. That minute fact upset him — they had no right, no bloody right whatever, to invade the supply closets and take government property for their own use.

When he read the text he found that it was for a speech to be delivered by some unnamed individual at a time and place not specified. It was brusk, overbearing, and rock-hard in its content. Again, it was a warning and a directive of things to be done. In particular it laid out a familiar communist tactic — that every listener could protect himself only by acting as a listening post and reporting immediately to those in charge any deviations from the rules which had been set down. As Hewlitt turned the pages a certain sense of hopelessness fought for lebensraum within his mind. The document was totally uncompromising; the enemy maintained an inflexible posture.

He fed paper into his typewriter, setting up for two carbon copies. Then he typed in a title which might apply and began the translation into English. It pleased him to make it as literal as possible by putting all of the harsh intransigence of the original into his rendition. He wanted it to be that way; perhaps it would help to educate a little more some of the members of Congress who had been maintaining, right up to the moment that the first surprise blow had fallen, that negotiation and concession over a protracted period would resolve all differences. Too strong a military posture, they had argued, would only antagonize the other side. They had been sincere, and because many of them were reasonable men they could not conceive that others could or would be any different.

They knew now.

When he had finished his work Hewlitt read over the translation and was satisfied with it. It would grate on the nerves of those who heard or read it, which was what he wanted it to do. In that way the firmness and resolve of the American public, or whatever part of it was destined to endure these words, might be stiffened a little. At the same time the translation was totally accurate; there could be no question of his having reshaped the text in any way.

He laid the work out on his desk and collated the sheets. The original and one carbon he clipped together to be delivered or called for, the second carbon he put into a manila folder and placed it carefully in full view on the top of his desk.

That was on Wednesday. For the rest of that day, and for the rest of the working week, he was ignored. The translation he had made was picked up sometime overnight from his desk; the carbon in the folder was left undisturbed. Otherwise no one came to see him, he received no messages, and he had no contact with Landers. Outside the office his life was almost equally uneventful. He was already accustomed to the steady inflow of aircraft from overseas, augmented now by many of MAC’s heavy airlifters. He did not know whether they were being flown by Air Force crews acting under orders or by the enemy, but the steady flood of men and materiel continued around the clock. It had been a popular impression for some time that the enemy had not understood the full implications of airlift — that illusion, too, was now dispelled.

Frank passed on to him the rumor that the ships were on the way. According to the reports that the cabdriver had heard, they would make port all up and down the East Coast. There was one ugly piece of news which, if it was true, was grimly foreboding. Somewhere in the Carolinas a union official had dared to speak out. He had said something to the effect that if the enemy put into the port where he was in charge, the members of his local would not unload the ships; they would have to provide their own men. According to the rumor, he had been taken outside and shot against the wall of his own office, summarily and without the least question of a trial or hearing.

On Friday night Senator Fitzhugh, with permission, made a television address to the nation. He read visibly from a prepared manuscript and seldom looked up from the paper before him into the eye of the camera. He appealed for moderation and restraint. Humanity, he declared, would always prevail; the Dark Ages and the torture chambers of the Inquisition had long since been banished forever and were impossible of revival. Already, he continued, he had been in touch with several of the enemy leaders who under happier circumstances had been his personal friends. He had served the nation for many years, he reminded his audience, and he intended to continue doing so now. Congress was not in session, but he had been elected to represent the people and that mandate was still upon him. He would inform everyone soon of the progress which he had been able to achieve.

On Saturday night Marc Orberg had appeared. The usual setting for a spectacular was missing. Instead, he sat on a high stool before a simple background and sang a program of the songs which had first brought him to national fame. He was undeniably good, and despite his reputation the way in which he presented his material was effective.

When he had finished singing, he made a short speech. In sharp contrast to his usual style, he spoke with restraint and even a measure of dignity. As Hewlitt listened and watched, he found it hard to believe that this was the same man who was a national symbol of violence and militancy. His appearance and manner contrasted almost irreconcilably with his one-time conviction for attempting to throw acid into a policeman’s face.

Orberg’s speech was his own; Hewlitt knew that because the enemy could never have shaped it into the same idiom or made the same effective use of colloquialisms. There was no denying the cleverness of the man or his skill in handling his audience; he was a professional all the way.

For more than two hundred years we have lived here in this country, or on this land, under one system of government. During this time we have made enormous technical progress, but our society has been steadily going down the chute. Finally we lost a war. So here we stand now, with our rivers polluted, our land ruined in the dust bowls and strip mining areas, and our people hopelessly divided. Millions of us lost our life savings in the stock market to professional speculators while the mortgages on our homes go on and on, that is, if we’re lucky enough to have a home.

A lot of us don’t, and a lot more of us have to live in ghettos because our skins are black or we’re Jews, or just because we like to do our own thing the way we want — without hurting anyone else.

Now it’s different. We’re defeated and we’re going to be living under a different system from now on. Well, maybe it isn’t so bad. The Japanese were terrified when Mac Arthur came, but now they know that he brought with him the best turnaround that the country ever had. It could be that a year from now all of us will be glad as hell that this has happened. Anyhow, no more computers stuffing bills into your mailboxes every month and no more going to court because the baby got sick and you couldn’t make all your payments last month. So hang loose and see what happens, you might be real surprised. Maybe this is the best thing that has ever happened to us too.

When the show was over, Hewlitt sat back and thought about what he had seen and heard. The man could have convinced thousands, perhaps even millions, that there was no real need for concern. Unfortunately, they’d find out the truth soon enough. Or would they? It was a hard question. He doubted that the news services would be carrying the story, if it was true, about the union agent down South. Or whatever other things like that might be going on.

He had no real plans for the weekend; when it came he simply went home, called up a girl he knew moderately well, and with her took in a show. It was a war picture with the inevitable triumph of the Allied armed forces over the Wehrmacht. Once more the Nazis strutted across the screen and once more they met their downfall at the hands of the invincible Americans and their allies. He took the girl home, where they sat and had a drink or two before they made love and he went back to his apartment.

Apart from that limited excursion Hewlitt stayed close to home in the hope that Landers would call. He found it reasonable to assume that quiet private meetings were being held in secret all over the country. How even the best intended and motivated people would succeed, when the armed forces with all of their massive power had failed, was a question he did not permit himself to consider.

When Monday morning came he was almost glad to return to work, for despite everything that had happened and was continuing to happen, he was confident that Landers would contact him shortly. At the West Entrance the guards were still all foreign. Hewlitt checked through and allowed his person to be patted in various places before he made his way down to his office. He did not know very much about intelligence operations, but he did know that the search he had just submitted to would never embarrass any properly equipped operator who had a mission to accomplish. He dropped two books he had brought with him onto the top of his desk, noted that everything appeared to be untouched, and sat down with the feeling that this new week held promise, even if any action would be very limited at this stage of the game.

Oddly enough, the morning passed with no contact with any other person at all. None of the enemy intruded into his area, no one came in, the phone did not ring. He could not detect any change in the atmosphere, but that was not conclusive, since he could do precious little detecting while he sat alone and undisturbed in his cubicle. And he was prudent enough not to instigate anything on his own.

He was summoned to the Oval Office shortly after two-thirty. Zalinsky had on a different suit, a brown creation that showed signs of a slightly higher quality level. Otherwise he had not changed in the least; his manner was still exactly as it had been before.

“You will sit down,” he directed as Hewlitt came into the room. Hewlitt sat and occupied himself in looking for any visible changes in the famous office. A few personal mementos of the President’s had been removed, but nothing had been put in their places. If Zalinsky had a family, there were no pictures to give evidence of it anywhere. The man from overseas still appeared to be exactly what he was —a usurper in the office of the President of the United States. Where the President himself was Hewlitt did not know; he had been spirited away in time and the secret of his whereabouts was well kept. For a moment Hewlitt wondered if he would become the active head of the underground, then he decided that that was highly unlikely. The President was an honest and honorable man, but he owed his high office to a series of political events which had been unpredictable and which had left him at the last moment as the only acceptable candidate. He lacked a firm power of decision, which was one of the contributing reasons for the nation’s downfall. He had not believed intelligence reports which had proven to be accurate and in his honest attempt to heed the voices of all the people he had delayed too long.

“You made translation of the document that was sent to you,” Zalinsky said suddenly. “It was very strict. It has been read by experts and they agree that you made it very hard.”

Hewlitt nodded his agreement. “That was the tone in which the original was written. When I translate I do more than just go word by word from one language to the other; I also include the feeling of the original and the inner sense that it intends to convey.”

Zalinsky grunted, but said nothing. Then he twisted in his chair as though he could not accustom himself to its adjustments and looked at Hewlitt once more. “You know Amy Thornbush,” he said, making it a declaration.

Hewlitt shook his head. “I can’t place her,” he answered.

“You know Robert Landers.” He did not get the name quite right, but Hewlitt understood.

“Yes, I know Major Landers.”

“Give me your opinion of him.”

That was highly dangerous ground; Hewlitt walked it carefully. “Major Landers is an outstanding officer; his record is brilliant.”

“He is a fool,” Zalinsky said. “An idiot fool. I myself told you that you are children in some things, but you unbelieve this.” He leaned forward and became rigid with controlled anger. “You have heard, and seen, the warning given to you in all of the papers and radio stations.”

“Yes.”

“Landers did not obey. Like a little child, he tried to oppose us.”

It seemed to Hewlitt that the blood had turned cold inside his body. He did not dare to show undue interest in what Zalinsky was saying, but he was desperately anxious to learn to what extent Landers had been compromised — and how.

“What did he do?” Hewlitt asked.

Zalinsky bored through him for one quick moment. “If I tell you that, I would become a bigger fool than he is. You will come.”

As Zalinsky rose Hewlitt followed him out of the room with his mind spinning. He could not doubt any longer that Bob Landers had been blown, but he could not imagine that careful, experienced officer being as foolish as Zalinsky had depicted him. Worse, if Landers had been found out, how about the two girls and himself? His thoughts refused to sort themselves out in order; the only thing that he was certain of was that the alarm bells were ringing inside his brain and that he was for the moment highly uncertain as to what he should do next.

Zalinsky led the way outside to the South Lawn. They had advanced only a few paces when Zalinsky stopped and turned around, facing the executive mansion. Dutifully Hewlitt did the same, waiting for the next cue that he might receive. He looked at Zalinsky, but the administrator simply stood there as though he was communicating with himself and did not choose to be disturbed.

Hewlitt watched him, waiting, until he realized that they were no longer alone. He turned to discover two more of the enemy, wooden-faced uniformed troops who now made up the security guard for the White House. Between them was Bob Landers, his eyes fixed straight forward, his smartly tailored uniform seeming now only to hang from his body. Hewlitt was shocked by his appearance. Clearly he had been through some kind of concentrated hell — for a few hours or for several days — there was no way of telling.

“You will talk to him,” Zalinsky said.

Holding himself in the tightest grip of which he was capable, Hewlitt walked the few steps to where Landers stood and tried to read whatever was written on his face. “What happened, Bob?” he asked.

“I disobeyed an order,” Landers answered. “I tried to contact some of my old Air Force buddies.”

“What’s wrong with that?” He was doing his desperate best to give Landers an opening, to learn whatever he could before they took him away.

“I wanted to fight back,” the major answered. “They didn’t like that. So now I am to die for my country.”

“No!” Hewlitt could not help himself; the word was out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying.

Landers looked at him and his intelligence penetrated through the fog of whatever ghastly experience he had been through. “Goodbye, Hewlitt,” he said. “Nice to have met you.”

By the grace of God Hewlitt understood; Bob Landers was denying any close association. In a way that answered one question.

Zalinsky spoke to the guards in his own language. Upon receiving his order they led Landers up to the wall and turned him around. The man on his left drew his pistol from its holster, held it directly against the major’s head, and pulled the trigger.

The sharp report of the gun blasted through the air of the presidential garden. As Hewlitt stood frozen he saw Landers’ knees unlock; then as his body slumped to the ground, a blackened hole in the side of his head became obscenely visible.

Hewlitt’s arms quivered at his sides; his hands knotted into straining fists. He wanted to lunge forward and yank out the life of the loathsome guard with his bare hands. He forced himself to look again and saw the corpse of what had seconds before been an intelligent, dedicated human being lying like a broken, bloodied doll, the bright command pilot’s wings still, unknowingly, proudly reflecting the sunlight.

For a blinding moment Hewlitt thought that he could get to Zalinsky before either of the guards could interfere. Violent rage stormed through him, seized him, screaming for action regardless of consequences. He crouched to spring, to leap and break the vile creature’s neck with one mighty yank of its head, but at that instant Zalinsky stepped back and out of range.

“Learn from that!” He hurled the words at Hewlitt. “He is not the first. There will be many more before you learn, but learn you will!”

His eyes blazed as he stood there, watching the shock pass through Hewlitt’s body. “We are the masters, forget it not for one moment.” Venom reeked from every word. “You will go!”