Only a very few knew that the Society was an _ex officio_ branch of the government itself. Not until the rescue of James Ch'ien was an accomplished fact, not until there was physical, logical proof that the man was still alive would the government take official action. "What's the outline?" Candron wanted to know. Taggert outlined the proposed course of action rapidly. When he was finished, Spencer Candron simply said, "All right. I can take care of my end of it." He stood up. "I'll see you, Brian." Brian Taggert lay back down on the couch, propped up his feet, and winked at Candron. "Watch and check, Spence." [Illustration] Candron went back down the stairs. Mrs. Jesser smiled up at him as he entered the reception room. "Well! That didn't take long! Are you leaving, Mr. Candron?" "Yes," he said, glancing at the wall clock. "Grab and run, you know. I'll see you soon, Mrs. Jesser. Be an angel." He went out the door again and headed down the street. Mrs. Jesser had been right; it hadn't taken him long. He'd been in Taggert's office a little over one minute, and less than half a dozen actual words had been spoken. The rest of the conversation had been on a subtler level, one which was almost completely nonverbal. Not that Spencer Candron was a telepath; if he had been, it wouldn't have been necessary for him to come to the headquarters building. Candron's talents simply didn't lie along that line. His ability to probe the minds of normal human beings was spotty and unreliable at best. But when two human beings understand each other at the level that existed between members of the Society, there is no need for longwinded discourses. * * * * * [Illustration] The big stratoliner slowed rapidly as it approached the Peiping People's Airfield. The pilot, a big-boned Britisher who had two jobs to do at once, watched the airspeed indicator. As the needle dropped, he came in on a conventional landing lane, aiming for the huge field below. Then, as the needle reached a certain point, just above the landing minimum, he closed his eyes for a fraction of a second and thought, with all the mental power at his command: _NOW!_ For a large part of a second, nothing happened, but the pilot knew his message had been received. Then a red gleam came into being on the control board. "What the hell?" said the co-pilot. The pilot swore. "I _told_ 'em that door was weak! We've ripped the luggage door off her hinges. Feel her shake?" The co-pilot looked grim. "Good thing it happened now instead of in mid-flight. At that speed, we'd been torn apart." "_Blown_ to bits, you mean," said the pilot. "Let's bring her in."