nd each other. Come on in; I want you to meet the
others." He looked at the FBI men. "That's all. For now."

The Federal agents nodded and moved away into the dimness of the
corridor.

"Come in, man, come in," the Secretary urged, opening the door wider.

Sam hesitated. The light within the room was none too bright. Then he
stepped forward, following the Secretary.

* * * * *

The outer room was dark. Not too dark, but illuminated only by the dim
light from the corridor and from the inner room. From that inner room,
there was only a glow of light from the frosted glass panel of the door
that separated the two rooms.

Condley closed the hall door, and, as Sam stepped forward toward the
lighted door, held out a hand to stop him. "Just a moment," he whispered
softly. "I think you ought to know what you're walking in to, Mr.
Bending."

Bending stood stock-still. "Yes, sir?" he asked, questioningly.

"I suppose you know what this is all about?" Secretary Condley asked
softly.

"The Converter, I imagine," Sam Bending said.

Condley nodded, his gray hair gleaming silver in the dim light.
"Exactly. I'm sorry we had to drag you up here this way, Mr. Bending,
but, in the circumstances, we felt it to be the best way." He took a
breath. "Do you know why we called you here?"

"No," Sam said honestly.

Condley's head nodded again. "You're in for an argument, Mr. Bending. A
very powerful one, I hope. We want to convince you of something." Again
he paused. "Are you an open-minded man, Mr. Bending?"

Sam Bending followed the Secretary's lead, and kept his voice low. "I
like to think so, Mr. Secretary." He recognized that Condley was
preparing him for something, and he recognized that the preliminary
statements were calculated to soften him. And he recognized the fact
that they _did_ soften him. All right--what was the argument?

"You're an engineer, Mr. Bending," Condley said, in the same low voice.
"You have been trained to evaluate facts. All I ask is that you use that
training. Now, let's get in there before _Tovarishch_ Artomonov begins
to think we might be stalling him."

Condley strode toward the door and grasped the knob with a firm hand.
Sam Bending followed, wondering. Artomonov? Who was Artomonov? The
Secretary of Economics had indicated, by his precise enunciation of
_tovarishch_, that the man was a Russian--or at least a citizen of one
of the Soviet satellites. Sam Bending to