"But not scrapped. Rusted in a scrapyard for five years. Then I bought her--beefed up her shielding--loaded her and sank her in ten fathoms of water in Cartwright Bay." "That," Stenn said, "is the information we need." Arena whirled. Stenn was still sitting on the floor. He had a palm gun in his hand, and it was pointed at the monogram on Arena's silk shirt. "A cross," Arena said. "A lousy cross...." * * * * * "Move back, Arena." Stenn got to his feet, eyes on Arena. "Where'd you have the stinger stashed?" "In my hand. Stop there." Stenn moved over to me. Eyes on Arena, he reached for the twisted ends of wire, started loosening them. "I don't want to be nosey," I said. "But just where the hell do you fit into this, Stenn?" "Naval Intelligence," Stenn said. Arena cursed. "I knew that name should have rung a bell. Vice Admiral Stenn. The papers said you got yours when the Navy was purged." "A few of us eluded the net." Arena heaved a sigh. "Well, fellows," he said--and jumped. Stenn's shot went wild, and Arena left-hooked him down behind the chair. As he followed, Stenn came up fast, landed a hard left, followed up, drove Arena back. I yanked at my wires. Almost-- Then Arena, a foot taller, hammered a brutal left-right, and Stenn sagged. Carefully Arena aimed a right cross to the jaw. Stenn dropped. Arena wiped an arm across his face. "The little man tried, Mister. Let's give him that." He walked past my chair, stooped for Stenn's gun. I heaved, slammed against him, and the light chair collapsed as we went over. Arena landed a kick, then I was on my feet, shaking a slat loose from the dangling wire. Arena stepped in, threw a whistling right. I ducked it, landed a hard punch to the midriff, another on the jaw. Arena backed, bent over but still strong. I couldn't let him rest. I was after him, took two in the face, ducked a haymaker that left him wide open just long enough for me to put everything I had in an uppercut that sent him back across his fancy desk. He sprawled, then slid onto the floor. I went to him, kicked him lightly in the ribs. "Where's Williams," I said. I kept kicking and asking. After five tries, Arena shook his head and tried to sit up. I put a foot in his face and he relaxed. I asked him again. "You didn't learn this kind of tactics at the Academy," Arena whined. "It's the times," I said. "They have a coarsening effect." "Williams was a fancy-pants," Arena said. "No guts. He pulled the stopper." "Talk plainer," I said, and kicked him again, hard--but I knew what he meant. "Blew his lousy head off," Arena yelled. "I gassed him and tried scop on him. He blew. He was out cold, and he blew." "Yeah," I said. "Hypnotics will trigger it." "Fancy goddam wiring job," Arena muttered, wiping blood from his face. * * * * *