"Delbert John Rockecenter, Junior," said Jet. He could see the tank in place in front of the car. A sergeant was standing by the officer in the turret, pointing at a map.

The general said into the phone, "He says his name is Delbert John Rockecenter, Junior.... I'm calling from Pokantickle Hills, the Rockecenter home...."

He suddenly shoved the instrument at Heller. "He wants to talk to you to verify your voice."

Heller took the phone. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the tank and limousine. He wished they'd get moving. "Hello, Agent Stupewitz, sir," said Heller. "I just wanted to remind you that we never got a tombstone for Mary Schmeck."

"JUNIOR! Hey, Maulin, it's Junior! Grab the other phone!"

"Hello, Junior," said Maulin. "I'm glad you called. Did you know we never even heard from Bury!"

"Not a squeak!" said Stupewitz.

"How horrible!" said Heller. "It's a good thing that you told me. I'm of age now and there's a lot of inheritance around...."

Both agents laughed agreeably.

"And I was just wondering the other day if I had any debts. By golly, I'm glad I contacted you. I am going to need a lot of help to straighten up my affairs. Would you consider a couple of six-figure jobs?"

Maulin said, "We can retire any minute, Junior. We're just waiting for the chance."

"You've got it," said Heller. "Do you want me to put this general back on?"

He handed the instrument to the general. He lis­tened. His ears got bright pink. Then he looked at Heller and stood a little straighten He put the phone back on its cradle.

"I'm sorry," said the general. "I'm new at these family matters."

"All's fair in love and war," said Heller cryptically. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that the limousine and tank were gone. "Now, General, take that Bury there to your hospital tent and if he isn't dead, do a nice long operation. Plenty of anesthetic because he's sensitive. As for these other two, hold them very safe."

Izzy and Twoey looked at him with horror.

"Now, as you know," continued Heller, "there's lots of Maysabongo saboteurs about. So let me have a motorcycle so my driver can scout the road. And if there's nothing else, I'll go out to my car and try to catch up with Daddy."

"Very good, Lieutenant Rockecenter," said the general and barked an order to an aide who was hovering at the door.

Heller raced out. There was no sign of the tank or limousine. He spotted the sergeant who had been showing the map to the officer in the tank turret.

"Sergeant," he called, and when the man came over and saluted, "It's very urgent that they take a safe route. I trust you gave them good advice."

"Oh, yes, sir," said the sergeant, digging out a map. "There's reports of Maysabongo partisans in New York. So they're going west over the Tappan Zee Bridge to the Jersey side and then south on Highland Avenue until it joins the Palisades Interstate Parkway along the Hudson. Before they hit the George Washington Bridge, they'll go west to Fort Lee and then hit the New Jersey Turnpike. They'll leave that at Exit 6 and switch over to U. S. 95 and wind up right at Independence Hall."

Heller sketched it with a pen and took the map.

He ran over to where Bang-Bang sat worriedly in the cab, looking distrustfully at the army, an organization which, as an ex-marine, he despised. Heller, arriving from behind, startled him.

Hastily, Heller gave him some instructions and handed him the map. A soldier was wheeling up a despatch rider's motorcycle.

Bang-Bang got out of the cab. Heller took the despatch rider's helmet and put it on Bang-Bang. Then Hel­ler reached into the cab and hung the satchel around Bang-Bang's neck.

The soldier jiggled the carburetor primer. Bang-Bang stamped on the kick-start, gave Heller a look of misgiving and then the motorcycle roared away, spreading terror amongst the troops it barely missed as it rocketed for the gate. Bang-Bang was gone.

Heller climbed into the cab, which now looked like an army car, started up, and with a salute to the officer, sped down the drive and away.

He had expected to catch up with Rockecenter by the time they had reached the Tappan Zee Bridge. But when he went through the tollgate, he could see no sign of the limousine or tank on the long span across the Hud­son. He hoped Bang-Bang was riding fast enough. Rockecenter was certainly revving it up.

Heller roared across the two-and-a-half-mile span: the Hudson River sparkled blue below in the July noon sun, a vast waterway stretching to the distant sea.

Reaching the New Jersey side, he turned south on Highland Avenue, actually a highway in its own right. Even though it was Sunday and he was entering the long series of parks which stretched sixteen miles or more along the river, there was no traffic to be seen anywhere: the U. S. was out of gas completely, except for the favored or those with foresight, and they weren't wasting it on picnicking.

A few miles south of the bridge, the road turned through a rolling, grassy area, a deserted golf course. He was going very fast. The turn ahead was blind. He shot around it.

THE LIMOUSINE AND THE TANK!

They were stopped beside the road.

Rockecenter was out of the car.

One of the tank crew was evidently trying to fix the limousine's whip antenna.

There was no time to brake or duck.

Rockecenter looked straight into Heller's face! He raised his hand to point and yell.

It all happened in the blur of three seconds. Heller shot past them at eighty miles an hour.

There was another curve in the road coming right up. A park lay all along on Heller's right.

He rounded the turn, saw in his rearview mirror that the tank was out of sight.

There was an opening into the park right ahead.

Heller stamped on his brakes.

The old cab skidded sideways with a scream.

He dived it into the trees, saw he was covered, and stopped.

He could hear the tank engine roar.

He opened the door and peered through the leafy cover at the road.

He saw the tank. It was some old model, the kind of equipment they give reserve units when the regulars no longer want it. It had wheels, not treads, for fast highway travel. It might be old but it had a big gun in its turret and machine guns pointing out in front. The officer was riding with the hatch open, standing in it, goggled and helmeted and holding a drawn.45. That told Heller all he needed to know. They had orders to shoot him.

The tank went by. Then, here came the limousine. He saw Rockecenter leaning forward and peering ahead, pushing at his driver's back.

Heller recalled his map. For the next two miles, until they reached Palisades Interstate Parkway, the scenic route which ran along the high cliffs of the Hud­son, the road had few curves. He waited.

When he felt sure he would not be spotted, he backed out onto the highway and proceeded south.

There was no sign of Bang-Bang.

Somehow, Heller knew, he had to get those patents back. What Rockecenter would do with them was just put them in a drawer, for he had done that with numerous Earth inventions which would have economized on or substituted for oil. He would order the microwave power units dismantled. He would close off the production of the carburetor and gasless cars. And he would continue the profitable pollution of the planet.

If Rockecenter succeeded in getting war declared, control of all the oil companies, which he had already, would come right back into his hands. And so would the other things he already controlled, such as banking. He still owned all the governments by way of international finance. The only thing Heller would have effected would have been the removal of the threat of nuclear war, by destroying Russia. And maybe Rockecenter would build that up again somehow so he could sell arms once more.