lo swore and started calling on his reserves on one of the
handphones.

"Wait a moment, sergeant," Prestonby stopped him. "Don't commit any of
your reserves down there. We're going to need them to hold the
executive country, up here. This is only the start of a general riot."

"Who are you and what do you know about it?" Coccozello challenged.

"Listen to him, Guido," Claire said. "He knows what he's doing."

"Claire, you have some way of keeping a running count of the number of
customers in and out of the store, haven't you?" Prestonby asked.

"Why, yes; here." She pointed to an indicator on Chester Pelton's
desk, where constantly changing numbers danced.

"And don't you have a continuous check on sales, too? How do they
jibe?"

"They don't; look. Sales are away below any expectation from the
number of customers, even allowing for shopping habits of a
bargain-day crowd. But what's that got to do--"

Prestonby was back at the TV, shifting from pickup to pickup.

"Look, sergeant, Claire. That isn't a normal bargain-day crowd, is it?
Look at those groups of men, three or four to a group, shifting
around, waiting for something to happen. This store's been
infiltrated by a big goon gang. That business in Chinaware's just the
start, to draw our reserves down to the third door. Look at that,
now."

He had a pickup on the twelfth floor, the floor just under the public
landing stages, and at the foot of the escalators leading to the
central executive block.

"See how they're concentrating, there?" he pointed out. "In that
ladies' wear department, there are three men for every woman, and the
men are all drifting from counter to counter over in the direction of
our escalators."

Coccozello swore again, feelingly. "Literate, you know your stuff!" he
said. "That fuss in China is just a feint; this is where they're
really going to hit. What do you think it is? Macy & Gimbel's trying
to bust up our sale, or politics?"

Prestonby shrugged. "Take your choice. A competitor would concentrate
where your biggest volume of sale was going on, though; political
enemies would try to get up here, and that's what this gang's trying
to do."

"He's absolutely right, Guido," Claire told the sergeant. "Do whatever
he tells you."

Sergeant Coccozello looked at him, awaiting orders.

"We can't commit our reserves in that Chinaware Department fight; we
need them up here. Where are they, now, and how many?"

"Thirteen, counting my