He heard her gasp. Then she began to talk hurriedly into a tiny radio
strapped about her wrist.
Vickers looked up and down through the various floors of the embassy
next door, checking the position of the guard details, the officials
and their families. It was going to be tricky, he saw, a matter of
split second timing.
He got up and examined the sleek air taxi. It was a transparent plastic
tear drop and filled a fourth of the room.
One outer wall of the room had been removed outright. It had been
simulated with cloth flats like stage props so that it looked normal
enough from the outside. But when the time arrived, the air taxi could
burst right through it into the street.
The Ring was thorough, Vickers had to admit. And ruthlessly efficient.
He said: "Get in the taxi and start the motor. Tell them we'll crack
out of here in exactly fifteen minutes."
He heard her catch her breath and wheeled on her suddenly.
"What's wrong?" he demanded sharply. "Good Lord, don't go into a funk
now!"
"Hold it!" she said, the radio to her ear. He saw the blood drain
out of her face as she listened. Then she clicked it off, turned
frightened eyes on him.
"It's your double." Her voice sounded lifeless. "The ISP has discovered
the substitution. They have the net out for you now. You couldn't get a
block without being caught."
Vickers could feel his stomach knot with shock. He stared at her, his
blazing eyes probing straight through her. Anywhere else in the system,
he might have been able to escape.
But Luna City! It was like a hermetically-sealed gold fish bowl with
the ISP blocking all the exits. Sooner or later they'd dig him out.
Sterilization and a life sentence to the Jupiter Penal Mines! There was
no leniency shown third offenders, no matter how minor the infraction.
He got a grip on himself with an effort.
"Tell them," he said to the girl, "we'll crack out of here according to
schedule."
Her mouth made a soundless O.
"Get in the taxi and start the motor," he said with a grim sparkle of
humor. "I might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb!"
"But how'll we slip through the ISP net?" Tani protested.
"Get in there," Vickers said in a voice that brooked no questions. He
swung back to the wall separating them from the Arabian embassy. The
adjoining bedroom, he saw, was still empty.
* * * * *
He drew the atomic knife from its holster beneath his burnoose, pressed
the stud. A long blade of coruscating atomic energy shot from the
handle.
The blade went into the wall as if the tough plastic had been butter.
With infinite caution, Vickers cut a four foot window into the next
building, lifted out the block.
"Don't fumble your part," he said over his shoulder. "We may be in a
hurry when we come back this way."
Without waiting for a reply, he stepped through, fitted the block back
into place.
His last glimpse of Tani revealed her crouched in the transparent
plastic air taxi, her eyes round and frightened as two new moons.
* * * * *
Vickers didn't hurry. Hope for success lay in two factors: audacity and
his peculiar vision which allowed him to see what his opponents were
doing and so keep a number of jumps ahead.
The Arabs were a mixture of the old and the new. Scientifically, they
were on a par with any of the seven great nations, but they clung with
superstitious fanaticism to the old customs, the old way of life.
The harem was still inviolate, and Vickers knew there would be a guard
outside its door.
He located him through several walls that acted like layers of
cheesecloth to his eyes, dimming the guard's figure but not obscuring
it. He found the women. There were four, and half a dozen servants
besides. But they were congregated at the pool and in two of the rooms.
He could watch them laughing and chatting or swimming in the limpid
water. Dark-eyed houris with slender waists and full hips and breasts.
It was like a silent film of the ancients. But infinitely more real.
And deadly.
There was no one in the hall. Satisfied, Vickers left the bedroom,
walked swiftly down the carpeted hall until he reached the door at the
end.
He could see the harem guard leaning against the wall, a burly bearded
figure with a hawk nose and a hawk's fierce eyes. An automatic was
belted outside his blue and white striped burnoose.
Without hesitation or haste, Vickers ran the atomic knife through the
lock, forced open the door.
The guard spun around, gaping in surprise. He caught sight of Vickers,
reached for the automatic.
"By Allah!" he began.
Vickers cut off his head.
The head hit the floor with a thump, rolled a little, came to rest on
its stump, staring at Vickers out of open, startled eyes.
It upset Vickers, made him a little sick at his stomach. He swallowed,
glanced about quickly.
Three men, he discovered, were approaching around a bend in the
corridor. He had perhaps a minute or a minute and a half before they
came into sight.
He stuffed the guard's body into a closet, threw the head in after it.
He covered the bloodstains with a carpet, welded shut the harem door
with the tip of the atomic knife. Then he ran up the corridor away from
the approaching men.
This whole wing must be the living quarters of the embassy staff. It
was preternaturally quiet like the upper floors of a hotel. He could
see a few people in their rooms, one or two in the corridors, which he
avoided automatically.
The cell block where Fralick was being held was located in the main
building. The traffic was considerably heavier there, and Vickers'
eyes were never still. They darted here, there, watching one person's
progress, judging how many seconds it would take another to reach a
certain intersection.
His ears were alerted for the first outbreak of the alarm bell.
He didn't have time to notice the antique hangings, the exquisite
decorations, though he did catch an impression of sumptuousness.
The rear of Fralick's cell butted against the back of an office. In
advance Vickers had determined to cut through the wall between office
and cell and so avoid killing the guard. If he were lucky, he would
avoid detection for precious minutes also.
He had almost reached his objective when a heavy-set bearded official
entered the office and sat down behind the desk.
Vickers could see him mistily as he set to work with some papers. He
swore furiously under his breath, but didn't pause. Throwing open the
door, he jumped into the chamber.
In the feeble gravity of the moon, Vickers' leap carried him across the
room to the top of the Arab's desk.
The official gasped, tried to rise and call out. His face was turned up
to Vickers--a long frightened face with skin like yellow leather.
Vickers kicked him on his pointed chin.
The Arab went over backwards with a crash. Vickers didn't glance at
him, but shut the door, attacked the far wall with the atomic knife.
He lifted out a four foot segment. Fralick was on the other side
staring at the opening like a startled cat.
"What--" he began, catching sight of Vickers.
Vickers said low voiced: "Shut up. Come on!" Holding out his hand, he
half-helped, half-yanked the physicist from the cell.
"Who are you?" Fralick's clothes were wrinkled and he needed a shave.
He was gaunt, pale, excited. "I know! You're Vickers!"