"You've been cleared by HQ, and put on carte blanche answerable to myself only and to the President. As soon as you go out that door, you're on the job. And remember we're not interested in her any further than to whom she leads us. This," Kirkholland handed him a small, smooth, slate-colored rectangle of enamelite with the insigne of Space Intelligence atomically engraved through its molecular structure, "will take care of anything you need at any time from any department of the government and of course from any private citizen." Cragin recognized and accepted it. He knew that it had been activated to his own unique neurophysical vibration specie, taken of course from his personal record. Within moments it would turn glittering white, and only as long as it was white would it be valid. Taken from him or lost, it would revert to the gray color and belie its bearer as either a chance finder or an imposter. "Good luck. And I repeat, if we're right, it's to whom she leads us that I want brought in. Now blast off, lieutenant." "A-blast she sails, sir." Something new, anyway. Not exactly new, but it could mean tight-roping beyond the Barrier again. Cragin's pulse picked up a beat. Routine as hell of course. Take a week, maybe ten days. But it was something he hadn't tried before. Until he had it all under wraps, it could be interesting. * * * * * He had almost lost her in the sudden sand flurry, but it wouldn't have mattered because he knew now where she was headed. He hoisted the aircar a thousand feet and slacked throttle. "Security channel 12 open. Central Port please ack." "CP go ahead 12." "This is Cragin on CB-42-SMBB. Check please and know me by this." "Clear CB we know you." "Is that custom job registered under Griffin still in your park?" "Registered all right and primed to the forejets for a big ride if you ask me. Orders?" "Whack up her radar, but not with an axe. And warm me up an SP-15 if you've got one, with a ten comp bank. Soup the drive and gun circuits. Want a duplicate of her flight plan. That's all and beam me when she blasts." "When she blasts." Then it was just a matter of sweating her out. Once Lin Griffin took her trim craft into Space it would be routine, if her bosses, if she were actually heading for any, didn't risk a track beam on her. If they did and picked him up at the same time, they'd need faster guns than he had.