es. The receiver fell to the floor. Harry let out a
pained groan as Boles' gun butt struck him on the temple. Thompson
replaced the receiver. Harry was on the floor. He put his hands to his
head for protection as Chase savagely kicked at him. His vision blurred
but he managed to see that Paula was still at the bar sipping a drink,
sadistically enjoying the whole show.

"He's no longer any use to us," Thompson declared. "You may do your
job!"

Harry shook his head, fighting to stay conscious. His vision cleared
long enough to see Chase and Boles standing over him, their guns pointed
at either side of his head.

There was a volley of deafening shots. There was smoke, voices, people
running in every direction. More gunfire. Glass shattering. Furniture
knocked over.

But Harry felt no pain.

When he looked again Chase and Boles were no longer to be seen. He
caught a glimpse of Thompson running for another position of cover. A
final gunshot brought him to the floor.

Harry struggled to a sitting position. Then he saw Chase and Boles dead
on the floor beyond the sofa. Half a dozen soldiers were in the process
of subduing a swearing, clawing Paula Ralston.

And in the doorway he saw Miss Conway.

She looked incongruous as hell with a smouldering revolver in her hand.
She crossed the room and knelt beside him. She pulled him around to let
his head rest on the sofa.

"Harry! Harry," she whispered, brushing his hair back, "are you hurt
badly? What did they do to you?"

He tried to get up.

"You stay right where you are, honey." Her voice was soothing and
gentle. There was a soft, compassionate light in her eyes. No longer
that dumb stare. She leaned over and kissed him. "There. You're going to
be all right."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Harry bellowed.

"Now you just sit back and relax. I'm just doing my job."

"Your jo ..." A low steady wail rolled off his lips. "Oh, no! Say it
isn't so. Tell me I'm really dead. I know I deserve to be."

"I may be the world's lousiest secretary, but I'm considered not bad in
the counter-intelligence department."

Harry repeated the wail.

"We were afraid from the time George Fisher turned himself over to the
government," she continued, "that his days were numbered. But the longer
he remained alive the more apprehensive his people would become. We
figured one day they'd make a wrong move. And that would be their big
mistake. Well, their move was to kill George Fishe