“--You understand, I’ll have to give this some careful thought. Offhand, I don’t see how it really concerns this investigation, but--” _But you see all that lovely black ink, don’t you, man?_ “--I’ll tell you one thing. I wish to Christ I could talk to Wendt. This damfool hiding-out doesn’t accomplish anything.” _Oh, no, Mac! Really! How much do you think you can do me for?_ And then, startled, he thought: _Well, whaddya know? Ole doc’s ego acting up! At this stage yet_.... And finally, amused: _Got to see my psychiatrist about_ that! “Wish I could help you,” he said smoothly. “Frankly, I’d like to get my hands on that boy myself.” He reached out his hand. “Well, I hope you’ll see this thing the way I do, when you’ve thought it out. I better haul out of here now. Can’t hold up the whole Decagon.” The only thing that bothered him when he left was that he might have underestimated Lisa’s effect--again. McLafferty ought to be arrow-proof; but so should a lot of others. Who weren’t. _Mexcity--Monday, October 3, 1:45_ P.M. (_C.S.T._) He parked right inside the Decagon lot, and to hell with them all. If they tapped him now, they would, and that was that. But he knew it was damned unlikely they’d have a paper waiting for him here. He had no trouble getting to Harbridge either. He showed the guards and the secretaries the same thing: his face and a five-dollar bill. He was upstairs in ten minutes flat, with the private secretary. She was new. He said patiently, “Please just buzz and say, ‘Johnny’s here.’ That’s all.” “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll have to have your full name.” “Let’s say I’m his long-lost son. Johnny Harbridge, okay?” Why not just _tell_ her? He didn’t know. “Oh, Mr. Prentiss--I wonder if you could--” Johnny looked at the smooth-young-man who had just entered. The smooth-young-man looked at him, got noticeably ruffled around the edges, and said, “Just a minute, Glory. You--er--What can I do for you, Colonel? I’m Al Prentiss, the General’s Press Secretary.” “Pleased to meet you, Al. I was trying to persuade the young lady that the General would want to see me--since I’m here, I mean.” “I imagine he would,” Prentiss said, deadpan. “If you’ll wait just a _moment_, I’ll let him know....” He went through a door across the room. Johnny waited. He got tired of waiting, and followed through the door. Prentiss. Harbridge. Kutler. “Well,” he said. “Old Home Day. All we need now is Chris.” “All right, John,” Harbridge said wearily. “What are you trying to do?” “Brace yourself,” Johnny said. “Especially you, Doc. Sit down. It’ll be a shock.” He strode to the desk and looked straight at Harbridge. “I’m trying to find out how I can get to the Moon.” The General shook his head. “You do need Chris then. I can’t authorize it.” _You’re full of bull._ “Oh?” He turned to Phil. “All right. Who authorizes trips down? You or Chris? I--don’t think the environment up there is quite right for Lee.”