" Sophia demanded. "Well, you listen to me. I have
nothing to do with your Red Empire. I fled the Iron Curtain, came here
to live voluntarily--"

"Do you really think it was on a voluntary basis that you went? We
allowed you to go, Sophia. We encouraged it. That way, the job of our
technicians was all the simpler. Whether you like it or not, you have
been a cog in the machine of Red Empire."

"I still don't see why he has to die."

"Leave thinking to those who can. You have a smile, a body, a certain
way with men. I will think. I think that Temple should die."

"I don't," Sophia said.

"We're delaying needlessly. The man dies." And Charles raised his
automatic, sufficiently irked to forget his suicide plan.

A gap of eight or nine feet separated the two men. It might as well
have been infinity--and it would be soon, for Temple. He saw Charles'
small hand tighten about the automatic, saw the trigger finger grow
white. The weapon pointed at a spot just above his navel and briefly
he found himself wondering what it would feel like for a slug to rip
into his stomach, burning a path back to his spine. He decided to make
the gesture at least, if he could do no more. He would jump for
Charles.

Sophia beat him to it--and because Lucy was dead and Sophia looked
exactly like her and Temple could not quite accept the fact, it seemed
the most natural thing in the world. Cat-quick, Sophia leaped upon
Charles' back and they went down together in a twisting, thrashing
tangle of arms and legs.

Temple did not wait for an invitation. He launched himself down after
them, and then things began to happen ... fast.

Sophia rolled clear, rose to her hands and knees, panting. Charles sat
up cursing, nursing a badly scratched face. Temple hurtled at him,
stretched him on his back again, began to pound hard fists into his
face.

Charles did not have the automatic. Neither did Temple.

Something exploded against the back of Temple's head violently,
throwing him off Charles and tumbling him over. Dimly he saw Sophia
following through, the automatic in her hand, butt foremost. Temple's
senses reeled. He tried to rise, succeeded only in a kind of
shuddering slither before he subsided. He wavered between
consciousness and unconsciousness, heard as in a dream snatches of
conversation.

"Shoot him ... shoot him!"

"Shut up ... I have ... gun ... go to hell."

"... kill ... only way."

"My way is different ... out of here ... disc