Slowly her hands went up towards her hair, found a ribbon of hard metal--a hair ornament. As a weapon against her captors it would be pitifully inefficient, but for a determined person, the little ribbon of metal could be used effectively. She would leave only dead and senseless flesh for any of them to violate. Slyly, for she feared they might be watching, Narina began to sharpen her little ribbon of metal to a fine, useful edge. * * * * * Harry Vinson drove his captured aircraft back towards the United States with a feeling of wariness. Though they had attempted to keep their identity a secret, Vinson knew--without having seen any direct evidence--who they were. He also believed that they knew that he knew; similarly, his piracy of their aircraft must be known to them and he could expect reprisals. But it takes time to marshal aircraft for pursuit, and so far he had seen nothing on his radar screen but sea return and noise. Hours passed, and Vinson's feelings were those of exultation at his escape mingled with a wonder of how much longer it would be before the real fox-and-hounds game began. It came, inevitably, as he knew it must come. His radar screen showed a target pip--it came across the screen with lightning velocity and crossed his nose with but feet to spare. A guided missile--of American origin! It curved in the air, roared ahead and came around, dead nose on. That was enough for Vinson. A man might be bluffed, but not a machine. He turned the aircraft and the missile followed in great loops made with lightning rapidity, forcing Vinson to fly in the direction wanted by his captors. He wondered where-- Again he tried to turn aside, and the missile looped to intercept and force him to return. It missed his nose by feet and the aircraft lurched from the backwash of ruffled air. Vinson smiled. If they went to all this trouble to keep him alive, to capture him, they would not risk a crash unless his escape seemed imminent. He knew that no mere human could withstand the maneuverability of a guided missile; therefore his escape was impossible--unless he could depend upon their unwillingness to kill him and defy the darting thing. He turned again, and setting his teeth firm, let the big aircraft fly in a straight line. The missile looped forward and came back at him, nose-on again and at a slight angle to force him to turn. Vinson ignored it. There was a racketing crash, and the guided missile ripped through the left wingtip. The plane shuddered, lost flying speed, and began to flutter. Vinson swore and put the nose down. He had been wrong.