iddily into view. A few
moments later the curvature of the earth could be plainly seen.

Everything fitted together at once. Some of the things, anyway.

"We're in a ship," he said. "Some kind of rocket-ship."

"It's a planet plane," the girl said. "We're safe now."

"Safe from what?" he asked. "What's this all about?"

She smiled enigmatically. "Hafitz could tell you, if he chose. He's the
boss."

"The man in the wheelchair?"

She nodded and took out a compact. As she added lipstick to her mouth,
she looked him over, between glances in her mirror.

"You don't look like the spy type. If there is a type."

"I'm not a spy. I don't know what you're talking about."

"The innocent! Go on, take off your coat and shirt. We'll save Hafitz
some time."

"I'll be glad to, just to prove this is all ridiculous. A case of
mistaken identity. You've made a mistake, that's what you've done."

He stood there, hesitating.

The girl gave a burst of laughter. Then she said: "All right,
Sweetheart. I'll turn my back."

She did, and he pulled his shirt out of his trousers. Then he froze.
Taped to the skin of his back was a flat package.

_Paul Asher made the decision. He bent forward, feeling perspiration in
the palms of his hands. There was a faint click._

* * * * *

Quickly he ripped the adhesive from his back. There was an instant of
pain as the plaster came free. He wadded up the sticky package, dropped
it to the floor and kicked it under the desk.

Then he took off his coat, tie and shirt.

"You can turn around now," he said.

"A more modest spy I've never seen. Okay," she said, "now _you_ turn
around."

"As you see," he said, "there are no plans--no papers."

"No--not now. But there is a red mark on your back. What is it?"

"Oh," he said. "Oh--that's a birthmark."

She spun him around to face her. Her face was harsh. She slapped his
cheek. "Where is the sticking plaster? Don't trifle with me."

Her eyes bored into his. He returned the gaze, then shrugged.

"Under the desk," he said. "I tore it off and kicked it under the desk."

"You are sensible to confess," she said.

She bent down, unwisely.

_Paul Asher felt the familiar tightening in his chest as he leaned
forward. The click was barely heard._

He raised his hand and brought the edge of it down hard on the back of
her neck.

She crumpled and fell to the metal floor. He noticed that a smear of her
freshly-applie