each about
a million credits, even with the ten-way split. It ought to go off
pretty easy but we need you in on it. As a matter of fact, I'd say you
were indispensable to the project, Alan."

_Chapter Fourteen_

Hawkes took over, explaining the proposition to a now very much awake
Alan.

"There's going to be a currency transfer at the World Reserve Bank
downtown next Friday. At least ten million credits are going to be
picked up by an armored truck and taken to branch banks for
distribution.

"Hollis, here, happens to have found out the wave-patterns of the
roboguards who'll be protecting the currency shipment. And Al Webber has
some equipment that can paralyze roboguards if we know their operational
wavelength. So it's a simple matter to leave the car unprotected; we
wait till it's loaded, then blank out the robots, seize the human
guards, and drive away with the truck."

Alan frowned thoughtfully. "Why am _I_ so indispensable to this
business?" He had no desire to rob banks or anything else.

"Because you're the only one of us who isn't registered on the central
directory. You don't have any televector number. You can't be traced."

Suddenly Alan understood. "So _that's_ why you didn't let me register!
You've been grooming me for this all along!"

Hawkes nodded. "As far as Earth is concerned, you don't exist. If any of
us drove off with that truck, all they need to do is plot the truck's
coordinates and follow the televector patterns of the man who's driving
it. Capture is inevitable that way. But if _you're_ aboard the truck,
there's no possible way of tracing your route. Get it?"

"I get it," Alan said slowly. _But I don't like it_, he added silently.
"I want to think about the deal a little longer, though. Let me sleep on
it. I'll tell you tomorrow whether I'll go through with it."

Puzzled expressions appeared on the faces of Hawkes' eight guests, and
Webber started to say something, but Hawkes hastily cut him off. "The
boy's a little sleepy, that's all. He needs time to get used to the idea
of being a millionaire. I'll call each of you in the morning, okay?"

The eight were shepherded out of the apartment rapidly, and when they
were gone Hawkes turned to face Alan. Gone now was the bland
friendliness, gone the warm-hearted brotherliness of the older man. His
lean face was cold and businesslike now, and his voice was harsh as he
said, "What's this talk of thinking it over? Who said you had any