"What are you up to?"

"I sent Bang-Bang out on what he calls a 'clandestine reconnaissance.'"

"And top of the morning to you both," said Bang-Bang. He had come out on the terrace. He was carrying a burden of books. "Every dictionary I could locate in the stores."

The Countess Krak grabbed them.

The butler got a chair for him, a waiter handed him coffee and Bang-Bang sat and watched the Countess tearing through the dictionaries.

"F.F.A." said the Countess Krak. "Future Farmers of America. F.F.V. First Families of Virginia."

Heller said, "I shouldn't think the First Families of Virginia were paying anyone to become a notorious outlaw."

Bang-Bang said, "You never know, Jet. My people were some of the first Sicilians in New York, and look at me!"

The Countess put the last dictionary aside. "Oh, dear. It isn't in any of them. What could F. F. B. O. stand for?"

"Wait a minute," said Heller. "I just remembered something. Last fall I was summoned down to the docks by Babe Corleone."

"Who is that?" said the Countess.

"Babe Corleone is the head of the Corleone mob."

"Oh, Jettero," said the Countess Krak. "Another woman! I've got to get you off this planet before they eat you alive. Women are dangerous, Jettero. I know you don't believe me, but after all you have been through lately, I should think..."

"All thrusts reverse!" said Heller. "Listen! Babe Corleone is really a great lady. She runs a whole mob single-handed. She controls the unions and all steamship lines. She's the only threat Faustino Narcotici has."

"Oh, dear," said the Countess Krak.

"No, no," said Heller. "She's Earth middle-aged. She was like a mother to me. And I've been very sad that she thought I had turned traditore. She thought of me as a son. But that's neither here nor there. What I just remembered was something I saw on a screen.

"She was selecting executive personnel for the Punard line she had just taken over and this fellow stepped up. I recall it now. His name was J. P. Flagrant and the screen said that he was a former employee of F. F. B. O."

"Oh!" said the Countess Krak. "Then if I called the Punard line..."

"No, no," said Heller. "They didn't hire him. That's why all this stuck in my memory. She said he was a traditore and had him thrown in the river. She didn't employ him."

"Then he's out of a job," said Bang-Bang. "When Babe fires them, they stay fired."

"J. P. Flagrant," said the Countess. "Bang-Bang, how do you find somebody who is out of a job in New York?"

"New York Employment Office," said Bang-Bang promptly. "They have to be registered there or they can't go on welfare. I'll call."

"I think we're on to something," said the Countess Krak.

And, I thought, I could feel my time running out. Sort of like a river of blood spilling from a pumping artery.

Bang-Bang came back. Cheerily, he said, "Hey, what do you know? They had him. J. P. Flagrant, former executive of F. F. B. O. But that isn't what's amazing. They found him a job. They were awful proud of it, as it almost never happens. They placed him as a garbage man in Yonkers! There's lots of garbage up there."

"Well, call Yonkers!" said the Countess Krak.

"Oh, I did," said Bang-Bang. "They got him all right. He's driving Garbage Truck 2183 and it's out on rounds."

"I'll have the Rolls run out," said Heller.

"No, not the Rolls," said the Countess Krak. "You have no idea how many guns there were around those women. This is a shooting war we're in. We need something bulletproof. Much as I despise it, I think we should take the old cab."

"That's better," said Bang-Bang. "I can't imagine calling on a garbage truck in a chauffeured limousine. It just don't seem fitting."

Yonkers! I grabbed a map. It was at least fourteen miles through traffic from where they were.

J. P. Flagrant, when they found him, would spill his guts. He would put them straight on to Madison and Madison would connect with me.

For them, fourteen miles there. Fifteen or twenty miles back to Madison's area. How much time would they consume?

I had had it!

If I hurried and luck was with me, I could escape.

The PLAN must go into effect at once.

I had an awful lot to get done FAST!

My time had run out forever in New York.

I wasted precious seconds trying to reach J. Walter Madison at his 42 Mess Street office. They hedged in telling me where he was but I knew already. He would be at his mother's house.

His mother answered the phone, "Is this the Mafia?" "No, no," I said. "This is Madison's boss, Smith." "Oh, Mr. Smith," she said. "I'm so worried about Walter. He's been despondent the last day or two. He keeps saying he may let Mr. Bury down again. Walter's an awfully sensitive boy, you know-has been so since he was a child. Terrified of hurting people's feelings. And so conscientious. He says he'd give his right arm to succeed for Mr. Bury. He must be absolutely killing himself with work, for just this morning he was saying he would be no good to Mr. Bury dead. I've been trying and trying to persuade Walter that he should take a nice vaca­tion. I do hope you can see your way clear to suggesting it." She evidently turned her head away from the phone and called in a melodious voice, "Walter dear, it's that nice Mr. Smith on the phone." Then, more quietly, "No, it's not the Mafia. It's Mr. Smith.... Yes. I recognized his voice."

Madison's voice was cautious. "Hello?"

"Oh, thank Gods, I reached you in time!" I said. "I have a fink in the Narcotici mob. The word is out. Razza recognized your voice. But he's a clever snake. He did not want to offend Rockecenter, so he hired the Corleone mob to hunt you down and knock you off."

"Walter," came his mother's voice in the background, "sit down in this chair. You look like you've seen a ghost. Is it bad news?"

Hoarsely to me, Madison said, "What do you think I should do?"

"Look," I said. "I am your friend. Usually when somebody gets on a spot like you're on, we just write them off. But I'll stand by you. I have a place to hide you nobody will suspect. Now listen carefully. There are snipers everywhere. I don't want you to be seen on the street. Be on the roof of your apartment building. I'll pick you off with a helicopter."

"Oh, thank God you warned me," he said. "I'll be there."

I hung up. My luck was holding. And in the emergency of the moment my accustomed brilliance had asserted itself. In the flash, I had added the touch about the Corleone mob, remembering that that old hack had "Corleone Cab Company" on its door. But there was no time to gloat.

I glanced at the viewers. Bang-Bang's voice.

"We'll make better time if you go up the Hudson River Parkway, get off at Broadway just south of 254th Street and then turn off Broadway into Nepperhan Avenue in Yonkers. They said he'd be on that or Ashburton or Lake Avenue, somewhere in that district."

I looked at it closely. The old cab seemed to be roaring since its rebuild. (Bleep) it all, Heller was driving! And he drove like the wind! I must hurry.

I picked up the two-way-response radio and buzzed it. Raht answered at once.

"Get over to the 34th Street East Heliport on the East River," I said. "Rent a helicopter and make sure it has a ladder. We're going to do a roof pickup."

"Wait a minute, Officer Gris," said Raht. "I don't have money for that. You better come into the office and give us a formal on-lines requisition and stamp. It would come under the unusual-expense regulation, number..."

For a moment my plans suffered a threatened shift. It would be much cheaper just to take a rifle and when Madison appeared on the roof, shoot him. But no, he was far too valuable a man just to sacrifice because one had to follow the Apparatus textbook. Madison had the whole procedure of PR under his belt. He was well trained. He could wreck anyone's life at will. I made the crucial decision, no matter how painful it was.