Stern picked himself up from the gravel at the side of the road and looked at the car. It was empty. It looked like any Terrestrial automobile. As he stood up, he heard a faint voice over the radio. "... too bad that he wasn't in the focus of the ray...." There was no more. He knew, then, what had happened. Skardoth had had a voice pickup in the car. As soon as he had heard a confession from both of them, Skardoth had used a built-in transport field. Stern stood there for a moment, looking at the empty car. He'd been lucky; if the transport field hadn't hit Elizabeth squarely, she would have been completely disintegrated. As it was, Elizabeth had been caught in the field, but Stern had not. She had been transported to wherever the field focus was located, and Skardoth assumed that John Stern had been half in and half out of the field, and had been dissipated into nothingness. Stern grinned. That had been Matt Skardoth's last mistake. State Patrol Car 331, cruising along the Montauk-Manhattan highway, spotted a lone figure standing at the side of the road. He raised his hands and flagged them down. Sergeant Riley applied the brakes and slowed down. His partner, Patrolman Garetti, eased his .38 out of its holster. It wasn't likely that the man who was flagging them down was dangerous, but there was no use taking a chance. Patrol Car 331 slowed to a stop. Sergeant Riley leaned out of the car window. "What seems to be the trouble?" he asked. John Stern pointed with one hand while the other hand touched the sergeant's neck. "My car," Stern said distinctly, "was stolen down there." But, the instant his fingers had touched the police officer's neck, that officer had become a slave of his own nervous system. "Okay; climb in," said Sergeant Riley. Stern went around to the other side of the car, and Patrolman Garetti said: "Hey! Where are we supposed...." But he was too late: Stern's hand had already touched his neck. Patrolman Garetti didn't argue in the least when the Sergeant said: "Okay, Garetti; let's get to Manhattan as fast as possible. Use the siren." John Stern leaned back and relaxed while the police car headed toward Manhattan with its siren wide open. The cars ahead of them pulled over to the side as the State Police roared down the road toward Manhattan. The road was fairly empty, that late at night. They sped toward the city at eighty miles an hour, roared down the open stretches of flat roadway into the city. The highway crowded up in Queens, but they hit the Triboro, crossed over into Manhattan, and moved on down Fifth Avenue toward 582. "Okay," Stern said, as they reached Fiftieth Street. "Cut the siren and pull up outside 582. I'll take care of it from here." The officers did as ordered. When Stern got out, he said, "Forget all about what has happened. Go back to your beat." The policemen pulled away without a sound. Stern looked up at the building. There was still a light on the eighteenth floor.