epless
hours he was putting in, but Number One was in his element. As he had
told that incompetent, Kardelj, he had been through this thing before.
It was no mistake that he was Number One.

After a time he put a beefy hand down on the reports. He could feel
the rage coming upon him. Of late, he realized, there most certainly
had developed a plot to undermine his health by constant
frustrations. Was there no one, no one at all, to take some of these
trivialities off his shoulders? Must he do everything in the People's
Democratic Dictatorship? Make every decision and see it through?

He snapped into the mike, "Give me Lazar Jovanovic." And then, when
the police head's shaven poll appeared in the screen of the
Telly-Phone, "Comrade, I am giving you one last chance. Produce this
traitor, Josip Pekic, within the next twenty-four hours, or answer to
me." He glared at the other, whose face had tightened in fear. "I
begin to doubt the sincerity of your efforts, in this, Comrade
Jovanovic."

"But ... but, Comrade, I--"

"That's all!" Number One snapped. He flicked off the instrument, then
glowered at it for a full minute. If Jovanovic couldn't locate Pekic,
he'd find someone who could. It was maddening that the pipsqueak had
seemingly disappeared. To this point, seeking him had progressed in
secret. There had been too much favorable publicity churned out in the
early days of the expediter scheme to reverse matters to the point of
having a public hue and cry. It was being done on the q.t.

But! Number One raged inwardly, if his police couldn't find the
criminal soon enough, a full-scale hunt and purge could well enough be
launched. There was more to all this than met the eye. Oh, he, Zoran
Jankez had been through it before, though long years had lapsed since
it had been necessary. The traitors, the secret conspiracies, and then
the required purges to clean the Party ranks still once again.

The gentle summons of his Telly-Phone tinkled, and he flicked it on
with a rough brush of his hand.

And there was the youthful face of Josip Pekic, currently being sought
high and low by the full strength of the Internal Affairs Secretariat.
Youthful, yes, but even as he stared his astonishment, Zoran Jankez
could see that the past months had wrought their changes on the
other's face. It was more mature, bore more of strain and weariness.

Before Jankez found his voice. Josip Pekic said diffidently, "I ... I
understand you've been,