Bronstein’s smile broadened. As he had with Ben Bova, Jerry’d managed to find the right question. “Anatoly Fyodorovich also thought it might be … amusing to give the CIA a finger in the eye by having you return to the Hughes Glomar Explorer,” the assistant military attaché replied. “Poetic justice, I think you say in English?”

“Poetic justice. Yeah, we say that.” Jerry smiled, too. It occurred to him that Dobrynin didn’t just want to give the CIA a finger in the eye. He aimed to poke the whole United States. At another time, under different circumstances, that might have bothered Jerry more than it did now. “You know what? I’d love to do that, not just to get even with people but to have the chance to find out what’s what with Humpty Dumpty. If the ambassador can get your government to say yes, and if your government can get my government to say yes, I’m in.”

“This is wonderful! And I do not think there will be any difficulties,” Major Bronstein said. Jerry wondered how wonderful it was. Anna probably wouldn’t be happy with him. At least this time, though, he wouldn’t have to lie to her. That was … something, anyhow.

“There are no guarantees, you know,” he said. “We may look at Humpty Dumpty from now till the cows come home and never figure out how it works. You think if you landed a 747 outside the Colosseum, the Romans could learn how it flies?”

“No, but if they saw it in the air they would know flight was possible. That might set them thinking in new directions of their own. And if they could teach Latin to the pilot and the engineer, who knows what they might find out?” Bronstein said.

“You oughta be the guy who writes sf, not me,” Jerry told him.

“I do other kinds of things.” The major didn’t go into detail. Chances were he couldn’t, not without committing treason.

“Well, anyway, thank you. I don’t think I said that yet. And please thank the ambassador for me. I know I’m incidental in all this, but I want him to know how grateful I am.”

“I will pass it along. You may be sure of that.” Yakov Bronstein eyed Jerry one more time. “You do not give yourself enough credit. This can be a serious failing in a man.” He set money on the table and strode out. Jerry stared after him.

He started for home. The Corvair ran. He had to admit he’d got his money’s worth from Rodolfo Jimenez. Sooner or later, he figured he’d have to straighten out the lies he’d told on the change-of-ownership form. That would likely cost him some bucks. Since he had them for a change, he didn’t let it worry him.