There were eight Damakoi legitimately in the city. All of them were known to be pro-Galactic men with the possible exception of a Damakoi by the name of Jedon Onomondo, who was still suspected of having anti-Government sentiments in spite of the fact that he had helped us in one or two minor matters. But Jedon Onomondo had been in the city for three months or so; we'd had him tailed all that time. He couldn't have come to Earth in the last week in an indetectable spaceship. Nevertheless, I ordered a double watch kept on him. The next stop was to comb the city for radiation sources. Ditherium is funny stuff. There are two kinds: positive and negative. When one kind gets near the other, the radiation given out increases as the distance between them decreases. At ten feet from each other, they give out easily detectable X-rays. Within a few inches, they flare violently in the hard gamma. I knew that no Damakoi could carry them around unless they were encased in heavy lead; the radiation would kill him. Even so, I started looking for radiation in the city. I had an odd hunch I'd find something. It took several hours to go over the whole city. The normal sources, such as the power pile on Four Hundredth Street East, were quickly spotted and ruled out. But eventually we located a center of neutrino radiation in the Hotel Grenada, up on Skyline Drive. "He's in the Hotel Grenada," I told Holdreth Khain. "Let's surprise him before he has a chance to set off that bomb." * * * * * The Hotel Grenada was a huge, ancient structure that had been built just after the atomic bombs had blasted the city during the Final War, and it showed every century of its age. It had once been an imposing structure, but its chromium trim had begun to peel, and the aluminum siding was whitely pitted with oxide. I walked into the lobby and flashed my identity bracelet at the bored-looking clerk. "Do you have any Damakoi registered here?" The clerk looked a little bewildered. "Gosh, mister, I wouldn't know a Damakoi if I saw one. We got lots of aliens registered, though." "I am a Damakoi," said Holdreth Khain. There was a touch of pride in his voice, and I felt my nerves tighten a little more. The clerk looked at him. "Oh, yeah! Sure. Guy checked in yesterday." "Let's see the registration," I said. The clerk pulled out the book and flipped it open. There was the name, big, bold, and firm. Zorvash Pedrik. Room 706A. I left one of my men at the desk to make sure that no one warned Room 706A, and headed for the lift tube. Holdreth Khain and I went up to the seventieth floor and looked for 6A. I took out the key which the clerk had given me and carefully slid it into the lock, trying not to make a sound. I really didn't think anything would happen here. The Damakoi wouldn't set off the bomb this far away from the Grand Capitol; fanatics don't waste their lives on nobodies like me--not when they're out after much bigger game.