livingquarters of several high-ranking officers of the People's Government.Candron knew he would be conspicuous if he tried to climb up the side ofthe building from the outside, but he managed to get into the secondfloor without being observed. Then he headed for the elevator shafts.
It took him several minutes to jimmy open the elevator door. His mindwas sensitive enough to sense the nearness of others, so there was nochance of his being caught red-handed. When he got the door open, hestepped into the shaft, brought his loathing for the bottom into thefore, and floated up to the top floor. From there it was a simple matterto get to the roof, drop down the side, and enter the open window of anofficer's apartment.
He entered a lighted window rather than a darkened one. He wanted toknow what he was getting into. He had his gun ready, just in case, butthere was no sign of anyone in the room he entered. A quick searchshowed that the other two rooms were also empty. His mind had told himthat there was no one awake in the apartment, but a sleeping man's mind,filled with dimmed, chaotic thoughts, blended into the background andmight easily be missed.
Then Spencer Candron used the telephone, punching the first of the twocode numbers he had been given. A connection was made to the room wherea twenty-four-hour guard kept watch over James Ch'ien via televisionpickups hidden in the walls of his prison apartment in the basement.
Candron had listened to recordings of one man's voice for hours, gettingthe exact inflection, accent, and usage. Now, he made use of thatpractice.
"This is General Soong," he said sharply. "We are sending a Dr. Wan downto persuade the guest. We will want recordings of all that takes place."
"Yes, sir," said the voice at the other end.
"Dr. Wan will be there within ten minutes, so be alert."
"Yes, sir. All will be done to your satisfaction."
"Excellent," said Candron. He smiled as he hung up. Then he punchedanother secret number. This one connected him with the guards outsideCh'ien's apartment. As General Soong, he warned them of the coming ofDr. Wan. Then he went to the window, stepped out, and headed for theroof again.
* * * * *
There was no danger that the calls would be suspected. Those two phonescould not be contacted except from inside the Palace, and not even thenunless the number was known.
Again he dropped down Elevator Shaft Three. Only Number One wasoperating this late in the evening, so there was no fear of meeting itcoming up. He dropped lightly to the roof of the car, where it stoodempty in the basement, opened the escape hatch in the roof, droppedinside, opened the door, and emerged into the first basement. Then hestarted down the stairs to the subbasement.
The guards were not the least suspicious, apparently. Candron wished hewere an honest-to-God telepath, so he could be absolutely sure. Theofficer at the end of the corridor that led to Ch'ien's apartment was afull captain, a tough-looking, swarthy Mongol with dark, hard eyes. "Youare Dr. Wan?" he asked in a guttural baritone.
"I am," Candron said. This was no place for traditional politeness. "Didnot General Soong call you?"
"He did, indeed, doctor. But I assumed you would be carrying--" Hegestured, as though not quite sure what to say.
Candron smiled blandly. "Ah. You were expecting the little black bag, isit not so? No, my good captain; I am a psychologist, not a medicaldoctor."
The captain's face cleared. "So. The persuasion is to be of the moresubtle type."
"Indeed. Only thus can we be assured of his co-operation. One cannotforce the creative mind to create; it must be cajoled. Could one haveforced the great K'ung Fu-tse to become a philosopher at the point of asword?"
"It is so," said the captain. "Will you permit me to search you?"
The affable Dr. Wan emptied his pockets, then permitted the search. Thecaptain casually looked at the identification in the wallet. It was,naturally, in perfect order for Dr. Wan. The identification of Ying Leehad been destroyed hours ago, since it was of no further value.
"These things must be left here until you come out, doctor," the captainsaid. "You may pick them up when you leave." He gestured at the pack ofcigarettes. "You will be given cigarettes by the interior guard. Suchare my orders."
"Very well," Candron said calmly. "And now, may I see the patient?" Hehad wanted to keep those cigarettes. Now he would have to find asubstitute.
The captain unlocked the heavy door. At the far end, two more guardssat, complacently playing cards, while a third stood at a door a fewyards away. A television screen imbedded in the door was connected to aninterior camera which showed the room within.
The corridor door was closed and locked behind Candron as he walkedtoward the three interior guards. They were three more big, toughMongols, all wearing the insignia of lieutenants. This was not aprisoner who could be entrusted to the care of common soldiers; thesecret was too important to allow the _hoi polloi_ in on it. Theycarried no weapons; the three of them could easily take care of Ch'ienif he tried anything foolish, and besides, it kept weapons out ofCh'ien's reach. There were other methods of taking care of the prisonerif the guards were inadequate.
The two officers who were playing cards looked up, acknowledged Dr.Wan's presence, and went back to their game. The third, after glancingat the screen, opened the door to James Ch'ien's apartment. SpencerCandron stepped inside.
It was because of those few seconds--the time during which that door wasopen--that Candron had called the monitors who watched Ch'ien'sapartment. Otherwise, he wouldn't have bothered. He needed fifteenseconds in which to act, and he couldn't do it with that door open. Ifthe monitors had given an alarm in these critical seconds....
But they hadn't, and they wouldn't. Not yet.
The man who was sitting in the easy-chair on the opposite side of theroom looked up as Candron entered.
James Ch'ien (B.S., M.S., M.I.T., Ph. D., U.C.L.A.) was a young man,barely past thirty. His tanned face no longer wore the affable smilethat Candron had seen in photographs, and the jet-black eyes beneath thewell-formed brows were cold instead of friendly, but the intelligencebehind the face still came through.
As the door was relocked behind him, Candron said, in Cantonese: "Thisunworthy one hopes that the excellent doctor is well. Permit me tointroduce my unworthy self: I am Dr. Wan Feng."
Dr. Ch'ien put the book he was reading in his lap. He looked at theceiling in exasperation, then back at Candron. "All right," he said inEnglish, "so you don't believe me. But I'll repeat it again in the hopethat I can get it through your skulls." It was obvious that he wasaddressing, not only his visitor, but anyone else who might belistening.
"I do not speak Chinese," he said, emphasizing each word separately. "Ican say 'Good morning' and 'Good-by', and that's about it. I _do_ wish Icould say 'drop dead,' but that's a luxury I can't indulge. If you canspeak English, then go ahead; if not, quit wasting my time and yours.Not," he added, "that it won't be a waste of time anyway, but at leastit will relieve the monotony."
Candron knew that Ch'ien was only partially telling the truth. Thephysicist spoke the language badly, but he understood it fairly well.
"Sorry, doctor," Candron said in English, "I guess I forgot myself. I amDr. Wan Feng."
Ch'ien's expression didn't change, but he waved to a nearby chair. "Sitdown, Dr. Feng, and tell me what propaganda line you've come to delivernow."
Candron smiled and shook his head slowly. "That was unworthy of you, Dr.Ch'ien. Even though you have succumbed to the Western habit of puttingthe family name last, you are perfectly aware that 'Wan,' not 'Feng,' ismy family name."
The physicist didn't turn a hair. "Force of habit, Dr. Wan. Or, rather,a little retaliation. I was called 'Dakta Chamis' for two days, and eventhose who could pronounce the name properly insisted on 'Dr. James.' ButI forget myself. I am supposed to be the host here. Do sit down and tellme why I should give myself over to Communist China just because mygrandfather was born here back in the days when China was a republic."
* * *
* *
Spencer Candron knew that time was running out, but he had to forceCh'ien into the right position before he could act. He wished again thathe had been able to keep the cigarettes. Ch'ien was a moderately heavysmoker, and one of those drugged cigarettes would have come in handynow. As it was, he had to handle it differently. And that meant adifferent approach.
"No, Dr. Ch'ien," he said, in a voice that was deliberately too smooth,"I will not sit down, thank you. I would prefer that you stand up."
The physicist's face became a frozen mask. "I