ne said equably, "you won't have to. If you'd rather start
with the Russian-spy end of things, you can do that."

"What I'd rather do," Boyd said, "is resign."

"Next year," Malone said instantly. "For now, you can wait around
until the dossiers come up--they're for the Senate Office Building
technicians, and they're on the way. You can go over them, and start
checking on any known Russian agents in the country for contacts. You
can also start checking on the dossiers, and in general for any
hanky-panky."

Boyd blinked. "Hanky-panky?" he said.

"It's a perfectly good word," Malone said, offended. "Or two words.
Anyhow, you can start on that end, and not worry about anything else."

"It's going to haunt me," Boyd said.

"Well," Malone said, "eat lots of ectoplasm and get enough sleep, and
everything will be fine. After all, I'm going to have to do the real
end of the work, the psionics end. I may be wrong, but--"

He was interrupted by the phone. He flicked the switch and Andrew J.
Burris' face appeared on the screen.

"Malone," Burris said instantly, "I just got a complaint from the
State Department that ties in with your work. Their translator has
been acting up."

Malone couldn't say anything for a minute.

"Malone," Burris went on. "I said--"

"I heard you," Malone said. "And it doesn't have one."

"It doesn't have one what?" Burris said.

"A pig-Latin circuit," Malone said. "What else?"

Burris' voice was very calm. "Malone," he said, "what does pig-Latin
have to do with anything?"

"You said--"

"I said one of the State Department translators was acting up," Burris
said. "If you want details--"

"I don't think I can stand them," Malone said.

"Some of the Russian and Chinese releases have come through with the
meaning slightly altered," Burris went on doggedly. "And I want you to
check on it right away. I--"

"Thank God," Malone said.

Burris blinked. "What?"

"Never mind," Malone said. "Never mind. I'm glad you told me, Chief.
I'll get to work on it right away, and--"

"You do that, Malone," Burris said. "And for God's sake stop calling
me Chief! Do I look like an Indian? Do I have feathers in my hair?"

"Anything," Malone said grandly, "is possible." He broke the
connection in a hurry.

3

The summer sun beat down on the white city of Washington, D. C, as if
it had mistaken its instructions slightly and was convinced that the
city had been put down somewhere in the Sahara. The