with eight missing--including Hank and
Loo who had wandered off to get a beer.

The idea of the KGB putting tails on the tens of thousands of tourists
that swarmed Moscow and Leningrad, became a little on the ridiculous
side. Besides, what secret does a tourist know, or what secrets could
he discover?

At any rate, Hank found no interference in his wanderings. He
deliberately avoided Red Square and its spaceship, taking no chances
on bringing himself to attention. Short of that locality, he wandered
freely.

At noon they ate at the Grand and the Intourist guide outlined the
afternoon program which involved a general sightseeing tour ranging
from the University to the Park of Rest and Culture, Moscow's
equivalent of Coney Island.

Loo said, "That all sounds very tiring, do we have time for a nap
before leaving?"

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Motlamelle," the guide told him.

Paco shook his head. "I've seen a university, and I've seen a sport
stadium and I've seen statues and monuments. I'll sit this one out."

"I think I'll lie this one out," Loo said. He complained plaintively
to Hank. "You know what happened to me this morning, just as I was
napping up in our room?"

"Yes," Hank said, "I was with our Argentine Casanova when he picked
her up."

* * * * *

Hank took the conducted tour with the rest. If he was going to beg off
the next day, he'd be less conspicuous tagging along on this one.
Besides it gave him the lay of the land.

And he took the morning trip the next day, the automobile factories on
the outskirts of town. It had been possibly fifteen years since Hank
had been through Detroit but he doubted greatly that automation had
developed as far in his own country as it seemed to have here. Or,
perhaps, this was merely a showplace. But he drew himself up at that
thought. That was one attitude the Western world couldn't
afford--deprecating Soviet progress. This was the very thing that had
led to such shocks as the launching of the early Sputniks.
Underestimate your adversary and sooner or later you paid for it.

The Soviets had at long last built up a productive machine as great as
any. Possibly greater. In sheer tonnage they were turning out more
gross national product than the West. This was no time to be
underestimating them.

All this was a double interest to a field man in Morton Twombly's
department, working against the Soviets in international trade. He was
beginnin