ntry
sends a spy to do some dirty job, they disown him officially if he is
caught. Except for that U-2 fiasco some years ago, when the U.S. broke
all the unwritten rules and made jackasses of us before the world. Now,
obviously, if I killed all the poppies in the world, that would be a
fait accompli. Washington could deny knowing anything about the cause of
death, especially since it would work indiscriminately even in friendly
parts of Asia. Just as long as I got my hundred thousand, I didn't mind
skipping the official credit. In fact, it would keep the Syndicate off
my back.

"Suppose," I said, "on my own responsibility, I release the spores and
ruin the opium trade for good. Will you see that I get paid?"

He was horrified. In the first place, nothing whatever could be done
until the virus had been checked out by government scientists. If I
would give him the virus, and my notes, he'd start the ball rolling. I
know that Washington ball; it's all angles, and doesn't roll worth a
damn. I went cold at the thought. Before you can get an okay on anything
big from a bureau there, your long, grey beard will be sweeping the
floor.

For a moment I was tempted to take my plans to England, but then
remembered that by sane legislation legalizing the sale of drugs under
controlled conditions, they had already licked the problem, and wouldn't
be in the market. For two cents, I thought, I'd make China pay me the
money to keep the virus buried. For that matter, the Syndicate would
gladly kick in with a million. But I'm an American first, and couldn't
play it that way, especially remembering Professor A's daughter.

I thought the thing through, and decided that if I turned the disease
loose, so that every good poppy is a dead one, any decent government
will quietly pay me off. They only need to know that no other plants are
affected.

And that's the way I played it. The next day I sprayed a few grams of
concentrated virus into the humid air of Washington, and went home. If
you read the papers, you know the rest of that particular story. In
eight months not even Sherlock Holmes could have found a live opium
poppy on the face of the earth. Once current stocks are gone, there'll
be no more narcotics deriving from that particular plant. The government
sensibly outbid all the addicts and operators in order to save what is
left for medical use. It should last for fifty years. All according to
my plan--fine!

But when I tried to col