"Never mind," Tom said, muffling his voice. "But if you want the killers of Walt Spencer and his wife, pick up John Andrusco and a gal named Livia Cord." "Okay, Blacker," Stinson thundered. "I knew you'd be calling in." Tom swore, and showed himself. "Listen, I'm telling you the truth. They told me the whole story. Then they tried to have me killed." "Is that so? And I suppose the assassin was a guy named Wright?" "Yes!" "Okay, wise guy. We're on to you. You've been pocketing some of that Homelovers dough, and the treasurer found you out. Isn't that the story?" "No! Wright's one of _them_." "Sure, pal. Whatever you say. Only stay right where you are so you can do your explaining proper." Tom tightened his lips. "Uh-huh. I don't like the sound of things. I'll see you later, Mr. Stinson." "Blacker!" Tom switched off. By the time he was settled behind the red neck of a cab-driver, Tom was wiping a dripping film of sweat from his forehead. He couldn't return to his apartment; there was bound to be a stake-out. He couldn't go to Livia's; that would be walking right into danger. And he couldn't go to Stinson, without risking a murder charge. He leaned forward. "Driver--make that the LaGuardia Heliport." However efficient Stinson's operations might have been, their tentacles hadn't reached the 'copter-rental station at the heliport. Tom signed out a speedy vessel under an assumed name, and taxied it down the runway. Then he pointed the nose west, and radioed ahead to his destination at Washington, D. C. * * * * * Colonel Grady Mordigan had the thoughtful air of a scholar and the body of a college wrestler. When Tom Blacker's name was announced to him, his mouth turned down grimly. He was commanding officer of the Space Flight Commission of the UN Air Force, and he had good reason to frown at the sound of the PR man's name. But he invited him into his office. "So you're Tom Blacker," he said, pinching his jaw. "I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Blacker." "I'm sure," Tom said. "Only I want to tell you this, Colonel. I've broken my connection with Homelovers. I'm on your side now." "Side? There are no sides in this issue, Mr. Blacker. As far as I'm concerned, Homelovers is nothing but a flea on the lip of a lion. A damned annoying flea, maybe--but nothing more than that. Now what do you want?" "I have to talk to you about something. Something I just found out. Will you listen to me?" The colonel leaned back, looking at his watch. "Five minutes," he snapped. * * * * * Tom talked for fifteen. Mordigan didn't call a halt until he was finished, listening without a change of expression. When Tom ran out of words, he merely tapped his fingers on the desk. "And that's your whole story?" he said gently.