"Not me," said Shandor flatly, standing up. "Count me out. I'm through with this, as of now. Get yourself some other whipping boy. Ingersoll was one man the people could trust. And he was one man I could never face. I'm not good enough for him to spit on, and I'm not going to sell him down the river now that he's dead." With a little sigh John Hart reached into the desk. "That's very odd," he said softly. "Because Ingersoll left a message for you--" Shandor snapped about, eyes wide. "Message--?" The chubby man handed him a small envelope. "Apparently he wrote that a long time ago. Told his daughter to send it to Public Information Board immediately in event of his death. Read it." Shandor unfolded the thin paper, and blinked unbelieving: _In event of my death during the next few months, a certain amount of biographical writing will be inevitable. It is my express wish that this writing, in whatever form it may take, be done by Mr. Thomas L. Shandor, staff writer of the Federal Public Information Board._ _I believe that man alone is qualified to handle this assignment._ _(Signed) David P. Ingersoll Secretary of State, United States of America._ _4 June, 1981_ Shandor read the message a second time, then folded it carefully and placed it in his pocket, his forehead creased. "I suppose you want the story to be big," he said dully. Hart's eyes gleamed a moment of triumph. "As big as you can make it," he said eagerly. "Don't spare time or effort, Tommy. You'll be relieved of all assignments until you have it done--if you'll take it." "Oh, yes," said Shandor softly. "I'll take it." * * * * *