Doug found himself grinning back at her. But he heard himself saying, "Look at it from my point of view. The Peacekeepers just happen to bring a news reporter along with them. Once it becomes obvious that they can't muscle their way into Moonbase, this reporter talks her way into the base-"

"By risking her neck," Edith pointed out.

"By depending on the good graces of the Moonbase people," Doug countered.

"And now this reporter is in your midst, and she's going to stay with you while the Peacekeepers are leaving."

Doug nodded.

"That doesn't make me a spy."

"Probably not, but the thought has crossed my mind."

Edith stared at him. He was pleasant and charming and very careful. He took his responsibilities seriously.

"For one thing," Edith said, "how would I get information back to Earth, if I'm a spy?"

"In your news broadcasts."

"Really?"

"In code, I guess."

She could feel her brows knitting. "Are you serious or are you just pulling my leg?"

"I'm serious," Doug said, "although I've got to admit that the more I think about it, the less likely it all seems."

"Good. I'm not a spy."

"I hope not."

"In fact, I can do you some good. I can get your story out. The media can't ignore me."

Doug nodded and decided that, whether she was a spy or not, she might be useful at that. And it's going to be fun showing her around Moonbase, he thought.

TOUCHDOWN PLUS 8 HOURS 3 MINUTES

Georges Faure took Rashid's call in his office atop the U.K. secretariat building because his comfortable, luxurious apartment was a wreck.

The secretary-general had spent long, agonized hours speaking with the timid lieutenant who had taken command of the Moonbase mission. Faure had felt his blood pressure rising, his innards burning with rage and frustration as the Peacekeeper officer reluctantly admitted his failure to capture the base.

Struggling to keep his temper under control, Faure had left his office and had his chauffeur drive him the three blocks through Manhattan's noise and filth to his penthouse apartment on the East River. He had given the driver the rest of the evening off, smiled his usual condescending smile at the heavily armed doorman, and gone straight to the private elevator that rose directly to his penthouse apartment.

Once safely inside, with the door locked and the phone's answering machine on, Faure took off his pearl gray homburg and flung it across the room. He stripped off his suit jacket and slammed it to the carpet, then stamped on it. He grabbed the vase by the doorway and smashed it against the wall. He went through the apartment like a one-man band of vandals, smashing, tearing, breaking everything he could lay his hands on.