“You must be sure and use the cover name at all times,” I said. “America is very identity conscious. If you don’t have identification, they go crazy. So be sure you announce and use your cover name when you get it. It’s even a felony not to give a name to the police when they ask for it. Do you understand all that?”

“And what will this cover name be?” said Heller, still looking at the maps.

“Oh, I don’t know yet,” I lied. “We have to get a proper birth certificate. A name doesn’t mean anything unless you can show a birth certificate. It depends on what ones are available there in the Hamden County Courthouse.”

“Hey,” he said, “they’ve got some gold marked on these maps. I was reading some books on the United States and it said the gold was all in the West. Look here. There’s gold marked in Virginia. And on these other maps, there’s gold in Maryland. And there’s gold up here in these… New England?… states.”

“Oh, that was all mined out back in what they call ‘colonial’ times. Way back.” I didn’t know much about geology but I knew that much. I’d seen it before and last year had told Raht to go dig some up and he’d laughed fit to burst. It was then he had explained the maps probably meant “had been.”

“I see,” said Heller. “These surveyors just noted what they call indicators: rose quartz, iron hat, serpentine schist, hornblende. But these… Appalachian?… mountains and those to the northeast are some of the oldest mountains on the planet and I guess you could find anything in them if you looked. This northern… New England?… area was all scuffed up with glaciers in times past: that’s obvious from the topography. So maybe some of the glaciers cut the tops off some peaks and exposed some lodes. Country sure looks pushed around.”

I kept him chattering happily about what he saw. Just a (bleeped) engineer. Sitting here while they bugged his blessed ship! Stupid beyond belief where the Apparatus was concerned. A child in the hands of espionage and covert operations experts. Why be interested in maps? The only thing he’d see for many a year to come was the inside of a penitentiary.

An hour went by. The hangar chief tossed me a signal behind Heller’s back.

“All right,” I said. “But there’s just one thing I, as your handler, must caution you about. Book of Space Codes Number a-36-544 M Section B. Disclosure that you are an extraterrestrial is not authorized. You must not reveal your true identity in any way. The Voltar penalties for that would be far more severe than anything this planet could hand out. You know that and I know that. So for your own protection, I must ask you to give me your word, as a Royal officer, that you will not reveal your actual identity.”

“Soltan, are you trying to insult me? You are bound by those codes, too. You’re not the Emperor to be laying down Voltar law in your own name. But as long as we are on this subject, you do anything to violate Space Codes, and, as a Royal officer and personally, I will have you before the Grand Council stretched so long and thin you’ll sound like a chorder-beat if they pluck you.”

“I was just trying to help,” I said lamely. But I was laughing inside. I knew he would use the fatal name we gave him. He was so dumb, we’d even bugged his ship behind his back.

“Well, here’s to a successful mission,” I said, standing up and shaking him by the hand. “I am sure you will be a great agent. Just what we want.”

As I went out, I looked again at the warplanes: the huge maws of their single cannon could blast away half a planet: the tug wouldn’t even be a swallow for them. With a shudder, I hurried off to the hangar quarters for ship crews to find Stabb. I would spread a new rumor that Heller had secret orders to kill them all, including the assassin pilots. Maybe, then, they’d slaughter Heller before we left and I’d never again have to ride in that (bleeped) tug! I don’t like warplanes and I’d detest being shot down by one.

I was in no fit mood for what I received next.

With a new pitcher of iced sira, I was just lying back in the temple’s shadow once more when, pell-mell, here came Karagoz.

“You got a caller,” he said. “The taxi driver says he’s got to see you right away.”

I uncoiled like a striking snake. “(Bleep) him!” Here was something I could vent my venom on! “Show him into the atrium!” There was a fountain there. Maybe I could hold his head under water until he drowned!

The atrium, the courtyard which the main Roman house was built around, usually was quite bare and forbidding, a suitable place for an execution. But today, it was changed. Karagoz and the gardener had brought in some tall, vased plants; expensive new rugs draped the tiles; comfortable seats were ranged around the fountain and the play of the water made the place musical and cool. (Bleep). Wrong setting!

The taxi driver was standing there spinning his cap airily around a forefinger. He was smiling and cheerful. (Bleep)! Wrong mood!

Well, I’d soon cut him down to size! “What the Hells do you mean sending a perfectly clean girl back to Istanbul?”

He didn’t seem to remember. Then he said, “Oh, that girl! Oh, you were lucky, Sultan Bey. The doctor found she had (bleep) and (bleep) both. A walking epidemic! A total hellcat in the bargain. You said to take her for a ride, so I got her rid back to Istanbul!”

I knew he was lying. I was just sucking in my breath to really blast him and demand a return of some lira, when this crazy nut had the nerve to sit down! In my presence! Right on a padded lounge! It took my breath away. Such gall!

But there was a sly, conspiratorial air about him. He looked at the doorway and satisfied himself that we were alone. “Officer Gris,” he whispered, “I’ve really run into something!”

I hoped he was going to tell me he had smashed up his car completely. But he looked too cheerful. There is something about people about to whisper secrets that makes one listen.

“When that girl blew up on you,” he whispered, “I knew you would be upset. I certainly didn’t want to tangle with you.”

That was better. Proper respect after all! I sat down and leaned closer to hear better. “A couple weeks ago,” he continued in a low voice, “I heard of a certain fellow to the east of here, over at Bolvadin to be exact. So I ran over there in my off-time — I won’t charge you for the trip because we’re friends.”

This was better.

“What would you say to a real dancing girl? Not some Istanbul whore that can just twitch her belly, but a real one!”

I leaned closer.

“Listen, Officer Gris. This is really wonderful. The Russians in Turkmen, over on the other side of the Caspian Sea, have been grabbing the nomads and forcing them onto collective farms. They’re mopping up the whole Kara Kum Desert!

“Them as don’t settle get shot. It’s pretty grisly. But listen, there’s a plus side to it for us.” He drew very close. “Rather than live like that, guess what? The women,”

and he looked around carefully and lowered his voice, “are selling themselves off!”

Oh, did he have my attention now!

“These girls,” he continued, “are real Turks. The Turks, you know, inhabited an area from the Caspian to Siberia at one time. They all speak the same language. They hardly even have local accents. And, Officer Gris, they’ve maintained all their original social customs and these girls are nomad desert girls and they are the absolute cream of all Turkish dancers! And they’re also experts at… well… you know.”

He came even closer. “They’re virgins because the tribal customs won’t have it otherwise. So there’s no danger of you know what.”

I was right on the edge of my seat.

“Now, what they have to do is smuggle them out from behind the Iron Curtain. They have to push them from the Kara Kum Desert to the Caspian Sea port of Cheleken. Then they are carried down to the Iranian port of Pahlevi. They cross Iran and at the border town of Rezaiyeh, they are smuggled into Turkey. They are taken to Bolvadin and she can be brought here.”