Harbridge was smiling with a sort of tolerant amusement. “Must be quite a girl,” he said. “Go to Hell,” said Chris amiably. Both men laughed, and turned their attention to the less entertaining but more urgent business of the next day’s testimony. Chris was astonished, as always, at a glimpse into the workings of a Harbridge operation. Jed had a list of the questions that he would be asked. Jed also knew that McLafferty planned on parlaying the week’s hearings into a trip to the Moon for himself. And he knew which reporters would cover the day with what biasses. “Reporters?” Chris was surprised. “Isn’t it on the air?” “Nope.” Jed’s mouth wrinkled briefly in half-smile. “The Honorable Congressman from East Chile says that he will not further endanger the Security of the Americas by utilizing a hearing chamber in which matters of utmost secrecy must be discussed as an open-air forum for personal publicity. I quote,” he added, “from a rather extensive article in the current _Time_.” “Well, well. Whaddya know? This boy is not stupid.” “Not even a little. Bear it in mind. Now; suppose we run through the questions. Take the stand, Doctor.” They went down the list. Occasionally, Jed would stop listening to make a suggestion. Once he proposed a complete change of treatment. Mostly, he nodded with satisfaction. “You’re really doing a job up there, Chris,” he said when they finished. “Damn! It’s a pleasure to see someone once in a while who knows what goes on in his own bailiwick.” He went to the bar. “What’ll you have? Scotch?” He poured, shaking his head. “Sometimes, lately, it gets to seem as if everyone has his eye on the ball so hard that you’d swear they don’t know what team they’re playing for. Or what game it is. I don’t think I know more than a dozen men in Mexcity who actually _do_ their jobs--that’s not true, either,” he stopped himself. “I know plenty of them--but they work _for_ somebody. I meant men at the top. They’re so busy staying there, somebody else has to ‘handle the details.’ Which means, do their work for them, while they keep a weather-eye out on the lookout post. Anyhow,” he said briskly, “Ray McLafferty _knows_ what he’s doing. He’s no pushover, Chris.” He drank deeply, and walked over to where his comrade-in-arms of twenty years’ battles sat. “Listen, Chris, what I’m saying is: watch out for this guy. He’s dangerous. Frankly, I think I might just have outsmarted myself this time.” “That’s not how you sounded an hour ago.” Chris twirled his glass in his hand. He did not look up. He knew Jed Harbridge pretty well. There was more coming. “I thought we had it made?”