"Well," Malone said equably, "you won't have to. If you'd rather start with the Russian spy end of things, you can do that." "What I'd rather do," Boyd said, "is resign." "Next year," Malone said instantly. "For now, you can wait around until the dossiers come up--they're for the Senate Office Building technicians, and they're on the way. You can go over them, and start checking on any known Russian agents in the country for contacts. You can also start checking on the dossiers, and in general for any hanky-panky." Boyd blinked. "Hanky-panky?" he said. "It's a perfectly good word," Malone said, offended. "Or two words. Anyhow, you can start on that end, and not worry about anything else." "It's going to haunt me," Boyd said. "Well," Malone said, "eat lots of ectoplasm and get enough sleep, and everything will be fine. After all, I'm going to have to do the real end of the work--the psionics end. I may be wrong, but--" He was interrupted by the phone. He flicked the switch and Andrew J. Burris' face appeared on the screen. "Malone," Burris said instantly, "I just got a complaint from the State Department that ties in with your work. Their translator has been acting up." Malone couldn't say anything for a minute. "Malone," Burris went on. "I said--" "I heard you," Malone said. "And it doesn't have one." "It doesn't have one what?" Burris said. "A pig-Latin circuit," Malone said. "What else?" Burris' voice was very calm. "Malone," he said, "what does pig-Latin have to do with anything?" "You said--" "I said one of the State Department translators was acting up," Burris said. "If you want details--" "I don't think I can stand them," Malone said. "Some of the Russian and Chinese releases have come through with the meaning slightly altered," Burris went on doggedly. "And I want you to check on it right away. I--" "Thank God," Malone said. Burris blinked. "What?" "Never mind," Malone said. "Never mind. I'm glad you told me, Chief. I'll get to work on it right away, and--" "You do that, Malone," Burris said. "And stop calling me Chief! Do I look like an Indian? Do I have feathers in my hair?" "Anything," Malone said grandly, "is possible." He broke the connection in a hurry. III The summer sun beat down on the white city of Washington, D. C. as if it had mistaken its instructions slightly, and was convinced that the city had been put down somewhere in the Sahara. The sun seemed confused, Malone thought. If this were the Sahara, obviously there was no reason whatever for the Potomac to be running through it. The sun was doing its best to correct this small error, however, by exerting even more heat in a valiant attempt to dry up the river.