There was a brief silence. Then a woman's voice inquired softly,
"Quillan?"
"Right here, doll! Where--"
"Seal the ComWeb, Quillan."
He reached down to the instrument, tapped the seal button, said, "All
right. We're private."
"Probably," the woman's voice said. "But better scramble this, too. I
want to be very sure no one's listening."
Quillan grunted, slid his left hand into an inner coat pocket, briefly
fingered a device of the approximate size and shape of a cigarette,
drew his hand out again. "Scrambling!" he announced. "Now, what--"
"Mayday, Quillan," the soft voice said. "Can you come immediately?"