The corporal gave a low appreciative whistle. "With that we'll have him in a couple of hours, sir." "I'll let a man outside this door on his belly like I am. By the way, we _are_ in touch with the army. We're set to guide them in. Good luck, sir." Bennington and Thornberry looked at each other. We'll need more than luck, Bennington thought. * * * * * In the middle of his next cigarette, Bennington heard a familiar voice speaking outside the office door. "When can I start shooting, Jim?" "Mossback!" "In person." A low laugh. "Wish the men you taught cover and concealment could take a look at you now. "Here's the situation, Jim. I'm deployed in a looping L around the Administration Building. Your prisoners in One and Two have been moved out under guard into the open space beside Number Four where my copters dropped. "The short end of my L touches the moat near your house. And by the way, Ferguson is all right. We relieved him. He says three prisoners tried to get out, but he thinks he got one of the three. "The long end of my L goes just far enough toward Barracks One so that we won't be shooting each other." "For a change, I didn't hear your copters come in, Mossback." Another laugh, touched with pride. "Jim, for once, the Army is ahead of the civilian population. Our new jobs are even quieter than the night mail delivery for the suburbs. I put a squad on the roof of the building." "_You did?_" "No hopes, Jim. Doesn't mean a thing. I've had the report. But listen, I've got a civilian here who may be able to help." With Mosby's words Bennington had felt his hopes rise, fall, and rise again. "Tell him to start talking." "Slater, sir." Bennington choked down his first words. "I know what you were going to say, sir, and I deserve it, but this time I think I can help." "How did you find out about this?" "I was in a squad car on a drunk and disorderly charge. The story came over their radio. They brought me here." "All right, go ahead." "General Mosby was smart, sir. He brought along some sleep gas." "So? Not surprising." Bennington knew sleep gas was standard precaution for riot control. "The mess hall is the center of the compound. Because of that, in its cellar are the furnaces which heat the other buildings." "What does that mean?" "You have a forced-draft, hot-air system here, sir--" The telephone rang, the intercom spoke. "Warden, those governors are on the line." "Our only chance," Bennington said, "and now is the time. They'll all be listening to this phone call over there." He hoped the man with the rifle trained on him was very susceptible to sleep gas. * * * * * "Jim, you haven't lost your touch with a pistol." General Mosby pointed to his meaning with the toe of his boot. "But you'll need a new carpet in your office here."