Suddenly I understood. I could not believe my luck! He was heading for the roadhouse in Connecticut! I was sure of it!

Despite old blind ladies and deputy sheriffs I would have to pilot Raht in there.

Well, I could do it.

I grabbed a map. The whole trip up there from JFK Airport was only about forty-five miles.

He turned off the expressway and went through a town. He went along the state highway and turned onto the cow path. He came up to the abandoned service station and the old lady came out.

"Where's your sweetheart today?" she said.

Heller couldn't answer her. My viewer misted.

He got the jeep out and put the Porsche in the garage. He transferred his baggage and drove off.

I had realized before that this old highway, long since grown over, was the same one which used to serve the roadhouse. And sure enough, he drove along over brush and between trees and came to the creek with the broken wooden bridge. He put the jeep in four-wheel drive, went through the creek bed, pulled up the far bank and was shortly stopped under the huge maple trees.

He unlocked the door, carried his baggage in and with very slow movements, quite unlike him, began to straighten up one of the old bedrooms so that it could be used for sleeping quarters.

My radio went live. "I've cleared in," said Raht.

"Oh, are you in luck," I said. "Now listen carefully." And I gave him very explicit directions to rent a car and where to go. "And when you get in sight of the abandoned service station, leave your car and continue on foot. The old lady will come out. She carries a shotgun for intruders. Shoot her. Then proceed on foot." And I gave him the rest of the directions to get to the roadhouse. "When you get across the creek, hide under a bush and call him. He is certain to come to the door, thinking it is one of the deputy sheriffs. When he does, shoot him."

"I've got all that," said Raht. "There's something else. I want you to give me the direct order, very explicit, to kill a Royal officer, by name. I have a recorder on right here in the terminal. In that way, if this ever comes to trial, it's your responsibility."

I almost laughed to myself. The order came from Lombar Hisst and he controlled Voltar, even the Emperor. I said, "I am Officer Gris. You, Agent Raht, are ordered to kill one Jettero Heller, Grade X Combat Engineer of the Fleet." I added the date and time.

"Now one more thing," said Raht. "If I do this I want ten thousand dollars cash. I'm not in this business for my health. You've had me on lowered allowance and pay for months and I mean to get my own back."

I almost laughed. He had just made it worth ten thousand to me to shoot him the next time I laid eyes on him. "Of course," I said. "I'll tell you what. I'll make it twenty thousand. How's that?"

There was silence at the other end. Then an excited, "It's a deal! But I'm not going to rent a car. I'm going into town first to steal one and also get a silenced rifle. It'll only add an hour to my schedule. I want to make awful sure of this. All right?"

"I hope it's a big caliber," I said.

"Will do. Officer Gris, you've made my day!"

He clicked off.

I polished my hands one against the other.

Heller dead!

This I was going to ENJOY!

Heller was sitting in the main room of the old bootleggers' roadhouse in Connecticut. The door was open but the light was dim.

He was holding in his hands a handkerchief with the initial K on it. His head was down. He must be feeling very bad.

The cat seemed to sense his mood and was just sitting on the floor, looking at him.

Two hours had gone by and he had not moved.

My radio went live. Raht's muted voice. "I'm on the other side of the creek. I can see the roadhouse."

"Be very silent," I said. "He has good ears. He's sitting in the main room and the door is open. What kind of a rifle do you have?"

"Sako Safari Grade.300 Winchester Magnum. Thirty-two hundred feet per second muzzle velocity, more than a ton and a half foot-pounds of impact."

"Excellent," I said. "It will blow his head off."

"Yes. And just to make sure, I've got specially loaded explosive bullets. The rifle is silenced."

"Did you get the old blind woman?"

"I sure took care of her," he said. "You're on the level about that twenty thousand now, aren't you?"

"Indeed so," I said. "Now listen, just angle around until you can see in the door and let him have it. Shoot to kill, first shot."

"Got it. Be sure and tell me if he hears anything or moves."

"I will," I said.

I watched the screen carefully. Heller was just sitting there. A perfect target.

Minutes went by. Then my radio went live again. Raht's voice was a barely audible whisper. "I am under a bush about twenty-five yards from the house. But I can't see in the door. Trees are in the way. Is it all right if I call to him and get him to come out on the porch? The second I see his head, I can fire."

"Do it," I said impatiently.

I tensely watched my screen.

Then I heard a faint voice through my speaker: "Hey, whitey engineer!" Oh good, he'd think it was a deputy.

Heller's head lifted. He was looking toward the open door.

The call repeated: "Whitey engineer!"

Heller put the handkerchief in his pocket. He reached around to the back of his belt and drew the.45 Llama automatic. I hadn't realized he was armed or would be suspicious.

He got up.

He went to the door.

He didn't see anything and stepped further out on the porch.

BLAM!

An explosive bullet crashed into stone to his left.

Raht had missed!

Heller went down on one knee. He was looking at a bush.

He raised the.45 and, without sighting, fired!

There was a yelp of pain!

Then a blast of fire from the bush.

BLAM!

The visio on my screen went dead!

There was the sound, metallic. The pistol dropping to the stone. Then the thud of a body falling.

BLAM!

My speaker was dead.

I sat there for an eerie moment.

No visio.

No sound.

Gradually it was borne in upon me that Heller had been hit in the temple, destroying the visio. Then he had dropped his pistol and he himself had fallen. And Raht, taking no chances, had fired again, hitting him in the head and destroying the audio bug.

I sat very still.

I could not believe my luck.

HELLER WAS DEAD!

I sat there in a daze.

For all these long months he had made my life a mess of assorted Hells. And he was gone.

I had expected to feel surges of jubilation. Instead, I was sort of numb.

A fantasy that his ghost might come and haunt me passed through my mind.

I shook it off. Psychologists and psychiatrists were all agreed men had no souls. They were just animals, just a bunch of cells. There was no life after death. Thank Heavens for that! It sort of steadied me.

Maybe if I shared this news the expected joy would come.

I got to my feet. They were festered and painful. I picked up the radio and limped down the passageway to the hangar. I found Stabb.

"I've got good news for you," I said. "The Royal officer has just been executed. He's dead!"

Stabb's beady eyes flared. "You don't mean it!"

"Fact," I said. "He's just had his head blown off."

Stabb gave a bark of joy. He yelled to his crew. He told them and they cheered.

"Oh, Gods," said Stabb, "that should happen to every condemned officer in the Fleet! Them and their high-and-mighty ways. How can an honest pirate do his job with (bleepards) like that around! So he's dead, is he? Well, let's get cracking on the bank robberies, now that that is off your mind."

My radio went live. "Officer Gris! I've got the blood staunched now. He got me in the leg. I'm in bad shape, Officer Gris. I can't walk. You've got to get me out of here."