Harassed by the Belderkan Department of Trade using every weapon in the Twenty-First Century arsenal of persuasion, MacFarland had wrested a grudging decision from the other four scientists. Now all he had to do was get them out of the country. But Doctor Warren's wife had warned the Belderkan government her husband was switching his allegiance. MacFarland studied the crowd through his glasses. They must have half the city out there. He knew the scientists weren't deeply committed to leaving. If the Belderkans managed to keep them off the plane, they would probably change their minds. "We're in for a night's work," Crawford Bell said. To reach the airport, they had to make a half circle around the city. "We haven't lost yet," MacFarland said. "We're going fast enough to cut in front of them before they get between us and the airport." Standing up in the moving car, he comforted himself by looking at his troops. Crawford Bell was a first-rate technician. His psych team was one of the best in the world. Sabo's mercenary "Regiment" had a global reputation, too. So did the band of mercenaries hiding in ambush. If the quality of an army counted for anything, they had a fighting chance. The position was bad but the men were superb. He was a soldier. He thought of himself as a soldier and he planned to conduct himself like a soldier and win a victory for his country. But he couldn't use physical violence. Thirty-eight years before, the governments of the world had finally realized international violence could no longer be tolerated. Any violence between nations, even a fist fight between private citizens from different countries, could trigger Earth's destruction. He knew the consequences to all mankind of any physical violence. He knew it like he knew he had two legs. He also knew that if he twisted the little finger of a Belderkan citizen, the UN Inspector Corps would arrest him within hours. The World Court would sentence him to five years in prison and fine the United States far more than it could possibly gain from Albert Warren's work. * * * * * A helicopter whined above them. A spotlight pinned them from the air. "Masks," MacFarland yelled. Seconds later he peered at the night from inside a plastic hood. His mustache, rubbing against the inside of the mask, tickled his upper lip. The helicopter didn't drop psycho-active gas. Instead, it marked them with its light so that far off the crowd would know where its quarry was. A loudspeaker begged the scientists to remember the humble people of Belderkan. _We taxed the labor of our people to give you luxury. We built you beautiful homes. We gave you women, if you wanted them, and all the laboratory equipment you desired. We gave you old age pensions. Remember the labors of our people!_ A line of automobile headlights raced across the plain. MacFarland gave an order. The lights of the convoy jumped on.