tics agents of
INC around the unfortunate who attempted to open the locker.

Far away over the bulge of the Earth between, a man sat in a phone
booth waiting for his tip. "Pretty well. No complaints. How's with
you, any news?"

"I think you'd better cut connections with Union Transport. They're
getting pretty sloppy. I think they might spill something."

"Wadja say?" asked the man at the other end cautiously, "I didn't get
you."

"Better stop using UT for shipping," Bryce repeated, wording his
sentence carefully. "They aren't careful enough anymore. You don't
want them to break an inc case wide open, do you?" INC was the
International Narcotics Control agency of the F. N. But the
conversation would have sounded like an innocent discussion of
shipping difficulties to any chance listener on the telephone lines.

The flat tones were plaintive and aggrieved. "But we're expecting a
load of stuff Friday. Our buyers are expecting it." Stuff was drug,
and expecting was a mild word for the need of drug addicts! "And we've
got a lotta loads of miscellaneous items to go out." The contact was a
small man in the organization but he evidently knew just how "hot"
fenced goods could be. "That can't wait!"

He had planned this. "Maybe they are all right for shipments this
week. I'll chew them out to be careful, check up and call back Friday.
Meanwhile break with them."

"Tell them a few things from me, the--" the distant voice added a
surprising string of derogatory adjectives. "Friday when?"

"Friday about--about six." The double "about" confirmed the signal for
a telephone appointment that was general for all contact numbers.

"Friday about six, Okay." There was a faint click that meant he had
hung up and the phone in the safe was open for more dialings on his
toy dial.

Bryce hung up, leaned back on his bed and pushed a button that turned
on the radio to a semiclassical program. Soothing music came into the
room and slow waves of colored light moved across the ceiling. He
tuned to a book player, and chose a heavy economics study from the
current seller list of titles which appeared on the ceiling. The daily
moon ship was scheduled to blast off at five thirty, its optimum at
this week's position of the Moon. By this time tomorrow night, he and
all the other members of the Board would be out of reach of any easy
observation or analysis by their hired psychological mind-hunter.

With a slight chilling of the skin he rememb