"Politics," Orsino said. Orsino jumped wildly as the jaygee's machine gun began to roar a long burst of twenty, but he didn't fire himself. He knew that there was no enemy out there in the dark, and that the bullets were aimed only at an absent phantom. "We've got to get to Iceland," the jaygee said at last, soberly. "It's our only chance." "Iceland?" "This is one for the C.C. of the Constitutionists. The Central Committee. It's a breach of the Freiberg Compromise. It means we call the Sociocrats, and if they don't make full restitution--war." "What do you mean, _we_?" "You and I. You're the source of the story; you're the one who'd be lie-tested." You've got him, Orsino told himself, but don't be fool enough to count on it. He's been light-headed from hunger and no sleep and the shock of his father's death. You helped him in a death struggle and there's team spirit working on him. The guy covering my back, how can I fail to trust him, how could I dare not to trust him? But don't be fool enough to count on it after he's slept. Meanwhile, push it for all it's worth. "What are your plans?" he asked gravely. "We've got to slip out of Ireland by sub or plane," the jaygee brooded. "We can't go to the New Portsmouth or Com-Surf organizations; they're Sociocrat, and Grinnel will have passed the word to the Sociocrats that you're out of control." "What does that mean?" "Death," the jaygee said. XII Commander Grinnel, after reporting formally, had gone straight to a joint. It wasn't until midnight that he got The Word, from a friendly O.N.I. lieutenant who had dropped into the house. "What?" Grinnel roared. "Who is this woman? Where is she? Take me to her at once!" "Commander!" the lieutenant said aghast. "I just got here!" "You heard me, mister! At once!" While Grinnel dressed he demanded particulars. The lieutenant dutifully scoured his memory. "Brought in on some cloak-and-dagger deal, Commander. The kind you usually run. Lieutenant-Commander Jacobi was in Syndic Territory on a recruiting, sabotage and reconnaissance mission and one of the D.A.R. passed the girl on him. A real Syndic member. Priceless. And, as I said, she identified this fellow as Charles Orsino, another Syndic. Why are you so interested, if I may ask?" The Commander dearly wanted to give him a grim: "You may not," but didn't dare. Now was the time to be frank and open. One hint that he had anything to hide or cover up would put his throat to the knife. "The man's my baby, lieutenant," he said. "Either your girl's mistaken or Van Dellen and his polygraph tech and I were taken in by a brand-new technique." _That_ was nice work, he congratulated himself. Got in Van Dellen and the tech.... Maybe, come to think of it, the tech _was_ crooked? No; there was the way Wyman had responded perfectly under scop. O.N.I.'s building was two stories and an attic, wood-framed, beginning to rot already in the eternal Irish damp.