"We're just mopping up," said Heller.

There was a thunder of feet on the street behind them.

COPS!

Police Inspector Grafferty, blowing from his run, came into the tank's lights. "You're all under arrest!" he bellowed.

The colonel stiffened. He stared down at Grafferty. "This is an army operation!" he roared. "How dare you interfere!"

Grafferty's eye suddenly caught sight of Heller. "WISTER!" he shouted. "Colonel, I know this man! He's a criminal!"

The colonel glared at him. "So now you're calling army officers criminals, are you! Get the hell out of this operation before I turn my guns loose on you!"

Grafferty quailed. He hastily withdrew and gave an urgent signal to the cops to leave with him.

Heller saluted. "Sir, I've got to get the prisoners to the stockade, so please excuse me if you will."

"Of course, of course," said the colonel. "You seem to have done very well." He glanced at the orders before he handed them and the I.D. back. "I'll commend you to the secretary of war."

"Oh, that's awfully nice of you, sir," said Heller. "But I am just doing my duty."

"Splendid, Wister. You'll mention me as assisting? I'm Colonel Boots."

"Of course, sir," said Heller.

"Very good, Lieutenant. I'll get my unit back to the park. Carry on."

Heller trotted off around the building. Things were quiet now. The mobs of captured Narcotici men were gone. The fishnets had disappeared. There was only an old Corleone soldato left picking up cartridge empties.

Heller got to the limousine and opened the door. Faustino was lying on the floor, tied up very thoroughly. The cat had evidently followed the mobster, for Mister Calico now sat on a jump seat, ready in case a claw rake was needed.

Babe was sitting there with her radios. She looked up with a glad smile when the door light came on.

Before she could speak, Saggezza's voice came over. "Mia capo, all computers have been taken. All Faustino's notebooks are in our hands. No data banks or books have been damaged. I am putting men throughout the building. The whole operation is in our hands."

Babe said, "Splendidly done, signore. We have the fat one right here, so that's the end of them complete."

Heller said, "Did you get the New York Chief of Police?"

And every other official of the city, including the mayor. They're over there behind those bushes blubbering for their lives."

"Well, please have that police chief told that he must phone and have the guard taken off the Empire State Building at once."

"Of course, Jerome. Anything you want. The whole city is ours!"

Not yet, thought Heller privately. This could still rebound like a comet return unless I can finish it before Monday.

Two hours later, Izzy, Bang-Bang and Twoey were celebrating their joyous deliverance from the Empire State Building by eating anything and everything Heller could stuff into them at Sardine's Restaurant.

When there was nothing left to consume but the tablecloth, he sent them home to get rested and cleaned up with orders to meet him in the morning at the condo.

The battle was not over. The hardest part was just ahead: Rockecenter. And in this one, Heller was very short of troops.

From Army Intelligence Headquarters, Heller learned that Rockecenter was at his Pokantickle Estate, north of Hairytown. The place was being guarded by a regiment of hastily mobilized New York National Guard under the command of a major general, no less.

Heller also learned that Rockecenter would leave there this Sunday afternoon and drive to Philadelphia. There he would join the Swillerberger Conference of International Financiers, which he thoroughly controlled, and Sunday night, the president of the United States would be summoned before this private body. Then, on Monday, the president would address Congress in Washington and formal war would be declared on the Republic of Maysabongo.

Jet knew that he was now up against the powers that ruled Earth. The preparation he could do on this one was pretty thin at best, but he had better get on with it.

He returned to the condo through a dark New York. He got on some coveralls and went to work on the old cab. Using a Voltariatt light he turned its color to olive drab, then, using a spray can and brush, he gave it white army insignia and numbers.

While he worked, the radio battered him with war hysteria, not the least of which was news that Maysabongo saboteurs had attempted to blow up the New York City Hall but had been foiled by an army tank unit under Colonel Boots. Motorists were also being warned to keep off major highways and leave them clear for the army: a safe enough order since there wasn't any gas. People were also being requested to stay alert for Maysabongo partisans who might be planning to blow up railroads, airfields and convoys, and to report such information to the army.

Much martial music was also on the airways. The country was obviously girding up its loins for battle. Heller knew that, with a lot of luck, he might be able to prevent it. Nobody else seemed to be trying.

About 8:00 A.M., he dressed in a clean uniform. Then he loaded a khaki-colored shoulder bag with the tools of the trade of a Voltar Fleet combat engineer—mainly bombs.

Bang-Bang Rimbombo showed up. He was dressed in his ROTC uniform and Heller made him remove the shoulder patch so he would look like an army driver.

Izzy Epstein arrived, hollow-eyed and worried.

Delbert John Rockecenter II got there, upset because he couldn't have the time to go out and see to his surviving pigs in New Jersey.

They set off, looking very official, for Pokantickle Hills, twenty-three miles or more to the north. There were no cars on the road. All the traffic lights were off. The old cab, now running not on gas but on a carburetor that converted asphalt into oxygen and hydrogen, had lots of speed and pep. Bang-Bang, having no cars to run into, had them at the gates of the estate by nine.

A vast array of New York National Guard met their eyes. It was camped and parked all over the lawns and soldiers were drilling and marching around everywhere.

The gate was a formidable barricade. A whole squad with, pointed and cocked rifles blocked the way, combat ready. ,

An officer, web-cross-belted and helmeted, stepped up to the car. The National Guard was determined to confront the Regular Army with a snarl.

"Get out and get your hands up!" said the officer.

"No, no," said Heller. "This is a family matter." He turned around to Twoey. "Give me your driver's license." Twoey handed it over. "We're here to get his father's permission for him to join the army."

"Delbert John Rockecenter, Second!" said the officer, looking at the license and then at Twoey. "Jesus Christ, I'm sorry!" He hastily grabbed a pad from his belt and scribbled a pass with the word FAMILY in block letters and slid it under the windshield wiper. "Open the gates, men, we got orders not to interrupt the household." He saluted Heller.

They drove on up the winding drive past tents, troop carriers, motorcycles, field pieces and two tanks.

"I am not going to join the army!" said Twoey with determination. "They shoot pigs!"

"You shut up," said Heller. "Let me do the talking."

"All right, brother," said Twoey, "but don't you go getting me in any army!"

They drew up before the front entrance to the house. Everything was oversize. So were the two National Guardsmen who stood on either side of the door.

Heller handed his shoulder satchel to Bang-Bang. "You just sit tight out here."

Izzy and Twoey and Heller got out and walked up the steps. An officer appeared. He glanced at the pass under the windshield wiper: the word FAMILY could be read fifteen feet away. He said, "Sorry, but orders are that everyone be searched." He frisked them for weapons and found none. He looked into the briefcase Izzy was carrying, saw nothing but papers and gave it back. He saluted and had an enlisted man open the door.