in a matter of hours--that's
straight from the Undersecretary--and on top of it all, there's trouble
down in Arizona--"

Shandor's eyes widened. "The Rocket Project--?"

Hart's mouth twisted. "Sabotage. They picked up a whole ring that's been
operating for over a year. Caught them red-handed, but not before they
burnt out half a calculator wing. They'll have to move in new machines
now before they can go on--set the Project back another week, and that
could lose the war for us right there. Now _get that story in_." He
snapped the switch down, leaving Shandor blinking at the darkened
screen.

Ten minutes later Ann Ingersoll joined him in the restaurant booth. She
was wearing a chic white linen outfit, with her hair fresh, like a
blonde halo around her head in the fading evening light. Her freshness
contrasted painfully with Tom's curling collar and dirty tie, and he
suddenly wished he'd picked up a shave. He looked up and grunted when he
saw the fat briefcase under the girl's arm, and she dropped it on the
table between them and sank down opposite him, studying his face. "The
reading didn't go so well," she said.

"The reading went lousy," he admitted sheepishly. "This the personal
file?"

She nodded shortly and lit a cigarette. "The works. They didn't even
bother me. But I can't see why all the precaution-- I mean, the express
and all that--"

Shandor looked at her sharply. "If what you said this morning was true,
that file is a gold mine, for us, but more particularly, for your
father's enemies. I'll go over it closely when I get out of here.
Meantime, there are one or two other things I want to talk over with
you."

She settled herself, and grinned. "Okay, boss. Fire away."

He took a deep breath, and tiredness lined his face. "First off: what
did your father do before he went into politics?"

Her eyes widened, and she arrested the cigarette halfway to her mouth,
put it back on the ashtray, with a puzzled frown on her face. "That's
funny," she said softly. "I thought I knew, but I guess I don't. He was
an industrialist--way, far back, years and years ago, when I was just a
little brat--and then we got into the war with China, and I don't know
what he did. He was always making business trips; I can remember going
to the airport with mother to meet him, but I don't know what he did.
Mother always avoided talking about him, and I never got to see him
enough to talk--"

Shandor sat forward, his eyes bright.