It wasn't news that the computer generated such an electrical field. It was news that it could project it so far. Could it possibly project the same field, to send Blade? Did he have to be wired into the computer or at least encased in the KALI capsule? Or did he only have to be within reach of the appropriate electrical field?

Leighton started working twelve and fourteen hours a day on this question. At last he reached the point where he needed to run all his work through a computer. By then the repairmen had the master computer down for its overhaul, and Leighton was left with the smaller computer in Complex Two.

That wasn't a problem in itself. The new computer had all the capacity Leighton needed. Unfortunately, in expanding its facilities the Project had also expanded its bureaucracy. There were established procedures for using the new computer, which Leighton himself could only ignore at the price of drawing a good deal of attention. This was the last thing he wanted, at least until after the first few runs. He always preferred to work out at least a preliminary proposal before talking to anyone else. The ultimate solution to that problem would be a personal computer of his own, but that wasn't practical yet.

An adequate computer would cost at least fifty thousand pounds. While Leighton held enough patents to be a fairly wealthy man, he wasn't yet in a position to sink that sort of money into something which would be no more than a convenience.

Leighton cracked his knuckles, stretched, and looked at the clock on the wall. The run was taking longer than the programmer promised. He picked up a notebook and pencil from the table and began doodling rough sketches of a possible electrical-field generator linked to the master computer. It looked rather like an oversized telephone booth, with Blade standing in the middle.

A new thought struck Leighton. Standing freely, Blade could wear anything which wouldn't disrupt the electrical field. He wouldn't need to keep his skin bare for the electrodes of the earliest system they'd used in the Project or for the conducting lining of the KALI capsule. He could go into Dimension X with clothes on his body and boots on his feet, carrying weapons, food, water, and survival gear. This would improve both Blade's chances of survival and his ability to explore Dimension X.

The new method might also reduce the strain on the subject's mind and body. If that happened, perhaps somebody else could finally go into Dimension X and come back alive and sane! That would be an even bigger breakthrough than equipping Blade. Right now the Project depended entirely on Blade, and sooner or later his luck might run out. Even if it didn't, he would someday be too old for such demanding work. If there wasn't somebody ready to take over by then, the whole Project would come to a halt. That, thought Leighton, would be a damnably silly ending to my career!

The notebook was nearly filled with sketches by the time the programmer returned with the completed runs and a pot of tea. Leighton noticed the man's eyes lingering on the notebook, quietly shut it, and poured himself a cup of tea. The young man looked embarrassed and slipped out in a hurry.

Leighton sipped the tea and chuckled. He really shouldn't have been so obviously suspicious. All the people in Complex Two had been investigated as thoroughly as those working underground. That programmer could be trusted. He swallowed some more tea and started flipping through the print-outs. His excitement grew with each page.

Lord Leighton wouldn't have been so sure about the programmer's loyalty if he'd known the man was also an undercover agent for MI6A. He was supposed to watch for any signs of hostile espionage in Complex Two and also for any irregularities in the management of the Project itself.

Lord Leighton would have also been infuriated to learn that J knew all about the programmer's undercover activities. J had agreed to have Leighton spied on only after a long argument with the Prime Minister. J knew that Leighton was loyal, as well as rich enough to be nearly unbribable. His private vices, if any, were really nobody else's business. He also knew what Lord Leighton would think of his being spied on.

The Prime Minister turned a deaf ear to everything J said. «I don't necessarily disagree with you,» he said. «But Leighton isn't the whole Project. At least fifty other men could make off with a good deal of money or valuable supplies if they had a chance. We can't afford to leave them unwatched. Surely Leighton will understand that we're not after him?»

J shook his head. «He might, but it wouldn't make any difference. He only tolerates security against espionage. Otherwise, he'll defend any scientist against us as if we'd attacked him personally.»

«If he's that thin-skinned, do you think he's really suitable as director of the Project?»

There was no point in wasting tact on anybody capable of such an idiotic remark. J shrugged. «I hardly think that matters. There's certainly no one else suitable.»

The Prime Minister decided to reply as bluntly. «Very well, J. I'll put it as a direct order. Your people in the Project are to keep watch for any irregularities, not just foreign intelligence activities. I'll put that order in writing, so there won't be any question about what happens to you if it isn't carried out. Or would you rather retire now? We can keep this matter quiet if you do. You're gifted, J, but you're certainly not as unique as you say Leighton is.»

The only really adequate reply to those words would have been to punch the Prime Minister in the nose. Since this was out of the question, there was really nothing J could do except go along and have Leighton's activities watched. The Prime Minister was partly right. Watching over the Project's security meant more than looking for Russian spies and English embezzlers. It meant looking out for Richard Blade and looking after Lord Leighton.

So J gave his undercover man in Complex Two the appropriate orders and hoped the young man would know when to turn a blind eye. For a while it looked as if his hopes would be justified.

Then came the eager call describing Leighton's new studies of the computer's electrical field and what he might be planning to do with them. J listened politely until he could find an excuse for hanging up, then poured himself a whiskey so large that his doctor would have screamed in protest. He sat down with the whiskey in his hand, staring out at another dismally gray and rainy London afternoon.

He was going to have to act on this call, even if he thought the young man was jumping to conclusions. Leighton certainly seemed to have another bee in his bonnet. If the bee buzzed loudly enough, sooner or later the Prime Minister would hear it. Then there'd be questions asked, including why J hadn't informed the P.M. before.

Also, there was Richard Blade to think about. Leighton's brainstorms sometimes created new and unnecessary dangers for Richard. Even if the younger man hadn't been almost a son to J, the old spymaster would have had to protest at putting the Project's only reliable test subject in unnecessary danger.

The first thing to do, however, was call Richard himself. J drained the glass, went to the scrambled telephone in the corner, and began punching in Blade's number.

It took J quite awhile to reach Blade, because the younger man wasn't at home or even in London. He was in Hampshire, miles from the nearest telephone, looking at a country house he wanted to buy.

The real-estate agent fluttered around Blade like some annoying but harmless insect, humming the praises of the house. He seemed totally undaunted by the fact that the black-haired man beside him was nearly twice his size, six foot one and two hundred and fifty pounds, all of it muscle, which even Blade's heavy tweed sports jacket couldn't conceal. If Blade had wanted, he could have crushed the man like a fly.