sword?"

"It is so," said the captain. "Will you permit me to search you?"

The affable Dr. Wan emptied his pockets, then permitted the search. The
captain casually looked at the identification in the wallet. It was,
naturally, in perfect order for Dr. Wan. The identification of Ying Lee
had been destroyed hours ago, since it was of no further value.

"These things must be left here until you come out, doctor," the captain
said. "You may pick them up when you leave." He gestured at the pack of
cigarettes. "You will be given cigarettes by the interior guard. Such
are my orders."

"Very well," Candron said calmly. "And now, may I see the patient?" He
had wanted to keep those cigarettes. Now he would have to find a
substitute.

The captain unlocked the heavy door. At the far end, two more guards
sat, complacently playing cards, while a third stood at a door a few
yards away. A television screen imbedded in the door was connected to an
interior camera which showed the room within.

The corridor door was closed and locked behind Candron as he walked
toward the three interior guards. They were three more big, tough
Mongols, all wearing the insignia of lieutenants. This was not a
prisoner who could be entrusted to the care of common soldiers; the
secret was too important to allow the _hoi polloi_ in on it. They
carried no weapons; the three of them could easily take care of Ch'ien
if he tried anything foolish, and besides, it kept weapons out of
Ch'ien's reach. There were other methods of taking care of the prisoner
if the guards were inadequate.

The two officers who were playing cards looked up, acknowledged Dr.
Wan's presence, and went back to their game. The third, after glancing
at the screen, opened the door to James Ch'ien's apartment. Spencer
Candron stepped inside.

It was because of those few seconds--the time during which that door was
open--that Candron had called the monitors who watched Ch'ien's
apartment. Otherwise, he wouldn't have bothered. He needed fifteen
seconds in which to act, and he couldn't do it with that door open. If
the monitors had given an alarm in these critical seconds....

But they hadn't, and they wouldn't. Not yet.

The man who was sitting in the easy-chair on the opposite side of the
room looked up as Candron entered.

James Ch'ien (B.S., M.S., M.I.T., Ph. D., U.C.L.A.) was a young man,
barely past thirty. His tanned face no longer wore the affable smile
that Candron had seen