“I hate to sound like the worried mother, but how much chance is there they’ll spot the phony cutters?”

Eric shrugged. “I’ve never carved anything with so much care before in my life. And I think the job I did with the modeling paints was pretty fair too. If this set and the phony cutters were side by side, you’d spot the difference in a minute, but they aren’t. I was very careful to place the phony cutters in the exact position as these were in.”

“Good.”

And then suddenly Eric’s excitement boiled over. “We’re going to pull it off, Cliff!” he shouted exuberantly.

Cliff nodded. “I think you’re right, but we’ve got a hairy hour yet to go.”

“Yes, I know.” And with that they both fell silent for the rest of the way.

Eric stopped outside the apartment door, glanced quickly up and down the hallway, then turned to Cliff. “Dr. Cameron?”

“Yes.” His voice was dull, his eyes disinterested, his shoulders slightly stooped.

“From this point on, you will obey only written commands. Do you understand that?”

“Yes.”

“You will take only written commands until you are told to wake up. At that time you will be totally awake. You will not remember what you have done. Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

Eric took a deep breath, pushing aside the pain that was back again now, his heart pounding. If they were waiting for them inside—He breathed a great sigh as he opened the door and saw that the apartment was empty. Cliff had been in such a high state of excitement when they reached the carport behind his apartment building that it had taken Eric nearly five minutes longer than they had planned to settle him down enough to go under. Eric was keenly aware that even though they had “failed,” the Major and Travis couldn’t let this go. Now time was everything.

He shut and locked the door, stepped quickly to the coffee table, and picked up the note pad Cliff had left there. Cliff had printed out all of the commands in large block letters.

Eric turned around and shoved the first one under Cliffs nose. Cliff began to speak loudly, reading as he was told. “Eric, sit down. I’ll turn on the television. I’ll get some dinner. You sit here and relax.”

Eric winced. Cliff had spoken slowly, loudly, and in a monotone, like a first grader painfully sounding out each word. If Cliff’s apartment had been bugged, as they suspected, Eric’s only hope was that they would assume Cliff was speaking to him like a child because of his condition.