bout it.

I released my grip on Maxwell's arm, shoving him against the thug that I
didn't recognize. At the same time, I swung my defense mech, aiming at
the head of my scarfaced acquaintance. He raised his arm, but the heavy
case slammed into it and bounced off his forehead.

It probably broke his arm, and possibly fractured his skull. I didn't
wait to find out.

Holding tightly to the defense mech, I darted into the store entrance. I
left Maxwell blindly clutching the assailant into whose path I had
thrown him. I didn't worry about Maxwell. They could have him. If I got
away, they wouldn't dare kill him. And if I didn't get away, they would
kill both of us.

The escalator was just inside the door to the right, and I ran down the
downward-moving steps, doubling back to the left at the bottom, and out
the door on the pedestrian level. I turned left again and ran to the
corner, crossed the street and ran three-fourths the length of the
block.

I glanced backward and didn't see anyone running after me, so I entered
a late-hour department store. I wasn't safe yet, and I didn't feel safe,
but I felt encouraged enough to slow down to a fast walk through the
aisles of the men's clothing section.

I had to get to a visiphone, first of all, and call Newell in New York.
And then--well, I wasn't sure. Hide, somewhere. Keep from being
captured.

It took me three minutes of rapid wandering through the building to find
a row of visiphone booths. I placed the call. While I waited, nervously
crossing and uncrossing my legs, peering intermittently out the window
to see if there was any sign of pursuit, I had time to think.

I had time to think, but I didn't think. Not really. I was thinking of
what I was going to tell Newell. Thinking of Maxwell being dragged away
by Grogan's "secretaries," and wondering what would happen to him. But I
didn't really think, and maybe it's just as well.

A little less than nine agonizing minutes elapsed before Newell's plump
face appeared on the screen.

"You're late tonight," he said. "I was just on the verge of calling you.
How're things going?"

I told him quickly, and with a minimum of detail, what had happened
since our last session.

"It's Grogan, after all," I said. "I'd recognize that scarfaced gorilla
of his anywhere. Get Grogan and--"

The boss nodded. "We'll get him. You let me worry about that. You've got
to.... You say they were beaming telenosis on Maxwell? How the devil di