“How do I know? There’s hundreds hate you enough.”

“There’s thousands, but who could get into my safe? Who could break a phase combination and—”

“Maybe nobody broke into your safe. Maybe somebody broke into your head and peeped the combination. Maybe—”

“Peeped!”

“Yeah. Peeped. Maybe you added Church up wrong… Or some other peeper what’s got a eager reason for filling your coffin.”

“My God…” Reich whispered. “Oh my God… Yes.”

“Church?”

“No. Powell.”

“The cop?”

“The cop. Powell. Yes. Mr. Holy Lincoln Powell. Yes!” The words began pouring out of Reich in a torrent. “Yes, Powell! The son of a bitch is fighting dirty because I’ve licked him clean. He can’t get a case together. He’s got nothing but booby-trapping left…”

“You’re crazy, Reich.”

“Am I? Why the hell did he take Ellery West away from me, and Breen? He knows the only defense I’ve got against a bobby-trap is a peeper. It’s Powell!”

“But a cop, Reich? A cop?”

“Sure a cop!” Reich shouted. “Why not a cop? He’s safe. Who’d suspect him? It’s smart. It’s what I’d do myself. All right… Now I’m going to booby-trap him!”

He kicked the red-eyed woman from him, went to Chooka and yanked her to her feet. “Call Powell.”

“What?”

“Call Powell,” he yelled. “Lincoln Powell. Call him at his house. Tell him to come down here right away.”

“No, Reich…”

He shook her. “Listen to me, frab-head. Bastion West is owned by the D’Courtney Cartel. Now that old D’Courtney’s dead, I’m going to own the cartel, which means I’ll own Bastion. I’ll own this house. I’ll own you, Chooka. You want to stay in business? Call Powell!”

She stared at his livid face, feebly peeping him, slowly realizing that what he said was true.

“But I got no excuse, Reich.”

“Wait a minute. Wait a minute.” Reich thought, then yanked the knife-pistol from his pocket and shoved in into Chooka’s hands. “Show him this. Tell him the D’Courtney girl left it here.”

“What is it?”

“The gun that killed D’Courtney.”

“For the love of — Reich!”

Reich laughed. “It won’t do him any good. By the time he’s got it, he’ll be booby-trapped. Call him. Show him the gun. Get him down here.” He thrust Chooka toward the phone, followed her and stood alongside the screen out of the line of sight. He hefted the scrambler in his hand meaningfully. Chooka understood.

She dialed Powell’s number. Mary Noyes appeared on the screen, listened to Chooka, then called Powell. The prefect appeared, his lean face haggard, his dark eyes heavily shadowed.

“I… I got something you might want, maybe, Mr. Powell,” Chooka stammered. “I just found it. That girl you took outa my house. She left it behind.”

“Left what, Chooka?”

“The gun which killed her father.”

“No!” Powell’s face was suddenly animated. “Let’s see it.”

Chooka displayed the knife-pistol.

“That’s it, by heaven!” Powell exclaimed. “Maybe I’m going to get a break after all. Stay right where you are, Chooka. I’ll be down as fast as a Jumper can jet.”