“Just one so far.” There was a short pause. “It’s a man. Seems to be alone. He has a rifle, but it’s slung over his shoulder. He’s heading for Central Control. And he’s in a hurry. He’s running.”

“I’ve got him,” the Major said, staring out the window with the field glasses. “But why just one? Surely they’ll send more than one to make entry.”

“All units stand by,” Travis barked into the radio. “Don’t anybody move until I give the signal.”

Suddenly one of the units, too excited to identify itself, shattered the silence. “It’s Corporal Jensen! It’s Joe Jensen!”

Travis spun around in time to see the lone figure run up the steps of the front entrance and into Central Control. Travis jammed the mike back to his mouth. “Zebra Six, Zebra Six, the man coming in is Corporal Jensen. He thinks we’re in Central Control. Send him over to Command Central. Tell him to hurry. I don’t want Lloyd’s men to see him.”

He turned back to the window and nodded in satisfaction as a moment later the dark figure reappeared and broke into a run toward them.

For the past ten years, Donald Brownley had taught graduate chemistry classes at the Shalev Institute for Technical Studies, and for eight years he had been Charles Metcalf’s partner in the Flathead Chemical and Fertilizer Company. Neither position had prepared him for tonight, and as he swallowed back the dryness in his mouth, he decided that all the fiction writers who had described the effects of fear on a man had grossly understated the case.

He and Eric were standing in the deep shadows of Central Control’s western wall, where it was more than two stories high. Brownley fought back the almost overpowering urge to let his eyes measure exactly how high the wall was. Instead he forced them to watch calmly as Eric extracted a heavy coil of rope and a threepronged grappling hook from the sack at his waist.

“Did I ever tell you I’m terrified of heights?” Brownley whispered as Eric carefully took the coil in his left hand and the hook in his right.

Eric chuckled softly. “Yeah, me too. Stand back.” The hook sang softly in the darkness as he swung it in a cirle, its speed increasing with each revolution. Then he heaved it upward, the rope hissing after the hook. He jumped back as there was a soft clang of metal against brick, and the grappling hook plummeted back to the ground.