"Well, then tomorrow morning, nine a.m., at Medical Section. You'll be there an estimated three weeks, then we'll have a final brief- ing. In the meantime," and the Chief nodded his head to the signifi- cantly empty chair beside him— “we'll have a man in the field making sure our game doesn't run to ground." The Chief rose then and walked around the desk- -a strange gesture for the man who handed out as- signments of death with the equanimity of a wine steward giving over a vintage chart. He thrust out a hand to clasp Ian's firmly. "Luck!" he said, then turned his back by way of dismissal.

As he walked through the outer office, Ian, rather bitchily, asked Pennythwaite if she had changed her mind. She hadn't. He gloomily went on out to the carefully restricted parking lot, retrieving his stored car from the row of Morris's and Triumph estate wagons. His was the second most famous car in the lot. A perfectly preserved Morgan three- wheeler, the hairy-Mog was known by every bobby from Southwerk to the Berkshire hills. The car had once won the Brighton Beach Race, and it was Ian's ambition to enter the car in the Antique Club's annual gymkhana as soon as it had made the requisite age.

He drove rapidly through the afternoon traffic, reaching his flat and surprised his landlady, who fussed about his unexpected arrival. But was glad to see him. She had an odd attachment to this strange young man who came and went without notice—usually returning looking like someone else. This day was no different; she hadn't recognized him at first, then chided him on his garb in a nevertheless-friendly

manner.

Ian bathed, slept an hour or so. Then he went out into the night again to enjoy a meal of fish and chips, washed down with a choice Coca-Cola which was stocked especially for him. Then he went home, took a green and white capsule from a small box, surveyed his strange- ly-altered body in the mirror, snapped off the light and crawled between the fresh, crackling sheets. Then he snapped the lights back on and sat up, went over to the bureau and from the bottom drawer he took a box, opened once two years before when one of his companions had taken it upon herself to give him a gift one Christmas, and took out a pair of Oriental silk pajamas. And then he went back to bed—and to sleep.

The following morning, he snapped out of a dreamless sleep, break- fasted briefly, then went straight to the Office where he put his car back into the hands of the Motor Section again, and went on to Medi- cal Section.

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