No platen as described was located.

However, there is good news! We have found the interference requested.

Before entering subject's room, adjacent rooms were accidentally entered. Immediately next door to the subject's suite there is a room about twenty by thirty feet. This room contains backdrops of the sea and jungle which can be interchanged. The floor of this room is made up of sand and patches of grass.

Said room also contains palm trees which spread out, making alcoves.

The purpose of said room is apparently to simulate the earliest conditions of coital contact by diplomats from jungle or sea countries. They do it lying on the sand or grass or under the palm fronds which make the alcoves.

In the exact center of this room, in an apparent effort to simulate glaring sunlight, there is a mammoth carbon arc light. This light is fed by carbon bars.

In this way the earliest sexual experiences of diplomats can be reduplicated.

There is a similar rig in a whorehouse in Hong Kong, at 116 Lotus Street, third door from the right.

So this is very good news that we can tell you. The above carbon arc is the interference.

You did not give us any bugs to plant so we did not plant any bugs.

A messenger from the New York office is picking up this report in suitable guise.

We await your further instructions. We will not be ambulant for another month. Always at your service."

Their agent numbers followed.

The report was really a kick in the jaw. They were just doing it to spite me. That was obvious!

It was just a way to lie down on the job and take a vacation at Apparatus expense. It's happened before.

It made me even more savage at Heller! Most decent, respectable people use Doberman pinschers or Alsatians as watchdogs. He was using high-yellows and a Tahitian whore.

It just shows what can happen when you try to work with somebody who is an amateur in espionage. They go unorthodox! You can't keep up with them!

In my mood, I could sympathize even harder with that con man Izzy. Once fate gets started on you, it never knows when to stop!

What would be the next blow?

Lightning is said never to strike twice in the same place. But there apparently is no law about it striking twice in the same time period.

Around 4:00 A.M., I had finally managed to get to sleep in my lonely bed.

I was brought up like a rocket by a savage pounding on my bedroom door.

I unbarred and opened it.

The new gatekeeper was standing there wild-eyed! He was pointing at the gate with a mad, jabbing finger. He stammers so I didn't wait. I raced across the yard, gripping a Mauser machine pistol, hoping there was somebody or something there I could vent my spleen on by shooting.

No such luck. It was the taxi driver.

"Sultan Bey! Come quick! There is a long-distance person-to-person phone call for you! At the Dregs Hotel!"

It spun me. Groggy from just awakening, and shocked, I could not for the life of me imagine who could be calling me. A crazy idea that it might be Lombar Hisst from Voltar insisted on splitting through my head. But that, time and spacewise, was impossible. Maybe it was somebody invalidating my bill of sale on Utanc!

He rushed me back to my room and I got some clothes on and shortly we were flying along the bumpy road to Afyon. It was just a little too early for camels and carts so we made good time.

I spilled into the hotel. The night clerk pointed urgently at the phone in the lobby. I grabbed the phone. Post, Telephone and Telegraph in Turkey—PTT—is usually not too bad. The local operator was in a spin.

"Sultan Bey. I will try to get Istanbul back. They disconnected!" I heard some muttering. Then somebody came on the line. My party? No. "Is this Sultan Bey in Afyon?"

I said, "Yes, yes!"

"This is the Istanbul overseas operator. Wait."

I waited.

Somebody else came on the line. "Is this Sultan Bey, Turkey?"

I said, "Yes, yes!"

"This is the Rome overseas operator. Wait."

I waited.

Somebody else came on the line. A British accent. "Is this Sultan Bey, Turkey?"

I said, "Yes, yes!"

"This is the London overseas operator. Wait."

I waited.

The sound of many coins gonging into a phone.

"Hello, Sultan Bey?"

By all the Gods in all the Heavens!

It was HELLER!

"Is this my old Academy friend?" he said in English.

"Yes," I said, my mind racing as how to shut him off! All long-distance calls in the world are monitored by the National Security Agency of the United States! They go by satellite!

"We'uns up in Ha'lum is having us a wedding. De date is 2 October r'aht aftuh sunset. We'uns will leave de po'ch light on."

"My Gods," I said. How could I shut him off?

"De pahty goin' be very fancy so don' bring dat ol' Miss Blueflash. She trash. You'uns bring dat Prince Caucalsia foh shuah. We goin' empty he stomach."

"Good Gods!" I said.

"Now we is countin' on you coming 'cause we got to write de cap'n you'uns is doin' jus' fine. Now de address he be griddle..."

"Good-bye!" I screamed. "Good-bye! I be there. Good-bye!"

I hung up hysterically.

The phone rang.

"This is the New York overseas operator. Did you complete your call?"

"My Gods, yes!" I screamed at her and hung up again.

The (bleeped) fool! Calling in plaintext!

"Somebody dead?" said the night clerk in Turkish. "You look awful. Want me to open up the bar?"

I went outside and got in the taxi.

"Somebody dead?" said the taxi driver.

I didn't answer and we drove off. It was the last bit of the moon for the month. It would be totally dark on October second. He had worked that out. But breaking security...

Such was my reaction that for the life of me at that moment, I could not remember the rest of the message.

The taxi driver dumped me at the villa. I went inside.

Then suddenly I realized I would have the message on my recorded strips. I went into the secret room.

I backtracked the strips.

There was Heller in a midtown New York restaurant. A Howard Johnson's? He was looking out of a phone kiosk into the room, waiting. I could see by the reflection in the glass that he was black-haired and black-faced. He was wearing some kind of workman's white coveralls.

I skipped ahead through his travails in placing the call.

He ordered and ate three hamburgers.

The phone rang. He went to the kiosk. He got through. He dropped a handful of money into the box.

And there was the call all over again. My ejaculations were a bit loud and I had to turn the volume down.

He was being awfully obscure. I played it through again. I didn't know any "Miss Blueflash." Then I worked it out. He meant not to flash the stunlight on landing. Well, of course. He'd be down on the field.

The "porch light" meant he had a radio beacon. I hadn't known he had taken one.

It was on the third play through that I caught "griddle." He was probably going to say "griddle cakes." And he had been about to give the Voltarian Fleet grid position for that exact spot on the planet. It would be a short series of numbers.

But of course I knew where he was.

It came to me with a big flash of comprehension why he had bought that roadhouse. It was a landing field for the tug, the Prince Caucalsia!

Aha. "Empty he stomach"! Heller wanted his boxes!

Oh, there was more to this than just a tug landing and a message to Captain Tars Roke. Heller was going to use that roadhouse for something else!

I went over it again carefully. Now I noticed that when he had been cut off so abruptly by me, he had stood there and blinked. And then he had stood there thoughtfully after he hung up.

I tried to work out how the call had been a Code break. I couldn't.