Scone said, "Those swine! No! I'm just making sure that the Axes will not be able to use the bonephones if they do seize this office. Besides, I have never liked the idea of being under Russian control. These hellish devices...." Broward pointed at the corpses. "Why?" "They had their orders," said Scone. "Which were to allow no one into the control room without proper authorization. I didn't want to argue and so put them on their guard. I had to do what was expedient." Scone glared at Broward, and he said, "Expediency is going to be the rule for this day. No matter who suffers." Broward said, "You don't have to kill me, too. I am an American. If I could think as coolly as you, I might have done the same thing myself." He paused, took a deep breath, and said, "Perhaps, you didn't do this on the spur of the moment. Perhaps, you planned this long before. If such a situation as this gave you a chance." "We haven't time to stand here gabbing," said Scone. * * * * * He backed away, his gun and gaze steady on Broward. With his other hand, he felt around until the free end of the thin tube fitted into the depression in the middle of the door. He pressed in on the key, and (the correct sequence of radio frequencies activating the unlocking circuit) the door opened. Scone motioned for Broward to precede him. Broward entered. Scone came in, and the door closed behind him. "I thought I should kill you when we were behind the bank," said Scone. "But you weren't--as far as I had been able to determine--a Russian agent. Far from it. And you were, as you said, a fellow American. But...." Broward looked at the far wall with its array on array of indicator lights, switches, pushbuttons, and slots for admission of coded cards and tapes. He turned to Scone, and he said, "Time for us to quit being coy. I've known for a long time that you were the chief of a Nationalist underground." For the first time since Broward had known him, Scone's face cracked wide open. "What?" Then, the cracks closed up, the cliff-front was solid again. "Why didn't you report me. Or are you...?" "Not of your movement, no," said Broward. "I'm an Athenian. You've heard of us?" "I know of them," said Scone. "A lunatic fringe. Neither Russ, Chinese, nor Yank. I had suspected that you weren't a very solid Marxist. Why tell me this?" "I want to talk you out of destroying the controls and the transmitters," said Broward. "Why?" "Don't blow them up. Given time, the Russ could build another set. And we'd be under their control again. Don't destroy them. Plant a bomb which can be set off by remote control. The moment they try to use the phones to paralyze us, blow up the transmitters. That might give us time to remove the phones from our skulls with surgery. Or insulate the phones against reception. Or, maybe, strike at the Russkies. If fighting back is what you have in mind. I don't know how far your Nationalism goes."