Frank looked uncertain. "Maybe. At least--It's a point in her favor. I don't know. You've got _me_ shook, now." He sat back down and pondered, shaking his head slowly back and forth. "If she _isn't_ hollering for the Goons--What's she doing with Junior? A guy like that doesn't take perfect strangers up to his place, does he?" "I don't believe that part at all," said Lennick. "She may've gotten off before he did." "The indicator went right on up without stopping. My witness'll swear to it. Right to top level, just before Ultrablack." "Maybe she's under arrest, going for questioning," Lennick parried weakly. "It could be, you know." "Why up there? Goons _carry_ Truth Serum. Besides, the witness further states that they didn't look like anything but a couple of chummy dates. Real chummy." "How about if--Maybe he was _helping_ her? Andra's not a bad looker.... If she turned on the tears--" "You've been reading your own scripts, friend," said Frank, not unkindly. "This is reality we're dealing with, not never-never-land on film. This Lloyd Bodger, Junior is _not_ the boy-most-likely when it comes to helping anti-Hive people. Face it, Bob. Something's up." "So why, I repeat, aren't we all on our way down the chute costumes, cameras and all?" "That's the only thing that doesn't make sense," Frank admitted. "And the only thing that prevents me hiring a sniper to knock her off." "You'd do that?" said Bob. "To Andra?" "For the time being, we'll let it ride," Frank decided on the doorstep. "It may be handing ourselves over on a silver salver, but--We'll let it ride. Till we hear from her. And she'd better make it convincing." "I know she'd tell me the truth--Whatever it is," said Bob, then regretted his rhetorical lapse into doubt. But Frank let it pass, and simply said, with a fleeting smile of compassion, "If I were you, I'd take that Goon's advice, from yesterday when Andra was carted off: Get engaged to somebody else." "I want to talk to her," Bob insisted. "If it was your neck, fine. Talk. But it's all our necks. I can't risk it." "_You_ could fix it, Frank. _You_ could find out where she is, a way to get there. Come along, even, so I don't fumble the ball. Please, Frank? I've got to know...." "Bob, if you knew what you were asking--!" Then the taut, painful set of his friend's features cracked away some of his veneer, and he slumped wearily against the jamb, fiddling with that button again. "So maybe insanity's catching, or something," he said after a pause. "You'll help me?" "I'm not absolutely sure I can, Bob. But--Tell you what.... Buzz me about nine tonight. I might have an idea." "Thanks," Bob said. "You're--You're a nice guy, Frank." Frank turned and walked across the anteroom and out, without replying. Robert Lennick settled back in the swivel chair again, this time not at all relaxed. CHAPTER 8