Thornwald made no reply. The guard continued to peer out into the
night. "Who's there?" he repeated.
As if in answer, Thornwald hurled another rock through the window. This
time the guard dashed out of the corridor, up the stairs, and out into
the courtyard--where Thornwald was waiting for him with a third rock.
"It's a good thing it wasn't my pitching arm I lost," he muttered
gratefully as the guard crumpled. Swiftly Thornwald extracted the
guard's blaster and stepped inside the building.
He edged down the corridor, blaster ready, and turned the corner. There
was the sound of laughter coming from a room at the end of the hallway.
After a moment's thought, he crashed the butt of the blaster against
a window in the corridor, then flattened himself against the wall and
waited.
A few seconds later, a man appeared from the room beyond. "What was
that noise?" he asked loudly.
Thornwald glanced down the hall. The man who approached was one of the
customs inspectors who had beaten him up that afternoon. He fingered
the blaster stud and stepped out to block the hallway.
"What--?"
"Put your hands up," Thornwald ordered quietly. "And if you say a word,
I'll roast your brains in your skull."
* * * * *