e darkness, moved by the Mayor's, and Coburn's, and
Janice's tale of Bulgarian soldiers on Greek soil, sleeping soundly.
They had released parachute flares and located the village of Naousa.
Parachutists with field radios had jumped, while other flares burned to
light them to the ground. That was that. Judging by the placards, their
reports had borne out the story Coburn had brought down. There would be
a motorized Greek division on the way to take charge of the
four-thousand-odd unconscious raiders. There was probably an advance
guard there now.

But there was no official news. Even the Greek newspapers called it
rumors. Actually, it was leaked information. It would be reasonable for
the Greek government to let it leak, look smug, and blandly say "No
comment" to all inquiries, including those from Bulgaria.

But behind that appearance of complacency, the Greek government would be
going quietly mad trying to understand what so fortunately had happened.
And Coburn could tell them. But he knew better than to try without some
sort of proof. Yet, he had to tell. The facts were more important than
what people thought of him.

The cab stopped before his own office. He paid the driver. The driver
beamed and said happily: "_Tys nikisame, e?_"

Coburn said, "_Poly kala. Orea._"

* * * * *

His office was empty. It was dustier than usual. His secretary was
probably taking a holiday since he was supposed to be out of town. He
grunted and sat down at the telephone. He called a man he knew.
Hallen--another American--was attached to a non-profit corporation which
was attached to an agency which was supposed to cooeperate with a
committee which had something to do with NATO. Hallen answered the phone
in person.

Coburn identified himself. "Have you heard any rumors about a Bulgarian
raid up-country?" he asked.

"I haven't heard anything else since I got up," Hallen told him.

"I was there," said Coburn. "I brought the news down. Can you come
over?"

"I'm halfway there now!" said Hallen as he slammed down the phone.

Coburn paced up and down his office. It was very dusty. Even the seat of
the chair at his secretary's desk was dusty. The odds were that she was
coming in only to sort the mail, and not even sitting down for that. He
shrugged.

He heard footsteps. The door opened. His secretary, Helena, came in. She
looked surprised.

"I was at lunch," she explained. She had a very slight acc