"You mean the Bishop girl in Des Moines?" Roberts nodded unhappily. "Got the report from Des Moines on it this afternoon. Trumped up from beginning to end. I tell you, Towne is not playing around. I don't know how he plans to work things, but I'm afraid that story was just a starter. He'll do everything he can to tie the Alien up with the Psi-Highs in the public eye--and you know Ben Towne when he gets rolling. He'll play this rumor business up to the hilt. And the way things are in the Senate now, that could mean real trouble." "Who's controlling Security news releases?" Roberts gave a short laugh. "Take a guess. Just one guess. Don't miss tonight, my friend." * * * * * Faircloth nodded and signalled off. He sat swearing quietly to himself for a few moments. Then Marino came by, and he swung out into the hall again, glancing at his watch. "Ready?" Marino nodded. "Got the squads placed on the 41st and 43rd. Power goes off when we step off the elevator on the 41st. Okay?" Faircloth grunted, and spread out a floor plan of the 42nd floor. "Is the building all clear?" "All the commercial levels, yes. And autolocks go on all the doors but the one we want when the power goes off." "Good. At least we shouldn't have residents underfoot. You've got Psi-Highs posted outside the building?" "Yes, in 'copters. Circling the building fairly close, out of sight range of the 42nd." "All right. We'll move in on him as soon as the power goes off. I want cameras going everywhere--in the corridors, in the stairwells, even in the 'copters outside. If there's a slip-up, I want to see where he goes, and especially I want a picture of him. A _good_ picture of him. Maybe he can fuzz up human eyesight, but he'll have a hell of a time fuzzing up a camera. Let's go." They stepped on the elevator, felt it rush up to the 41st floor. They stepped off. As the door closed behind them, the whirring motors died, and the lights went out. Faircloth led the way swiftly to the closed stairwell where they met four other men, one with a motion camera. "Cover everything," Paul said sharply. "If you see him, stop him with a shocker, not with pellets. We want him alive." He opened the stairwell and started up with the men behind him. Moments later they met part of the group from the 43rd; they started swiftly down the dark corridor toward the pinpointed residential suite. And then, like a savage blow, a wall of fire exploded in Faircloth's brain. He gave a scream and jerked out his arms in an agonized convulsion. He fell forward on his face. Wave after wave of searing agony burned through his brain; he jerked on the floor, trying to scream again, unable to force a sound through his twisted lips. He heard shouts around him, and a whistle shrilled; there were running feet. Somebody tripped over him, tumbled to the floor with a bone jarring crash. Three shots rang out even as he dragged himself to his knees.