considered important only as routine diplomatic exchanges."

Angel took the package and stood up.

"One thing more," said the admiral. "You will be carrying a small pilot rocket aboard. You will take the rolls from the automatic recording machines, place them in it just before you reach the Moon and launch the missile back to Earth before landing. If we have enough data, though it is a forlorn hope, we may some day fight Slavinsky."

"I doubt it," said the secretary of state, "but I won't oppose your thirst for data, admiral."

They shook hands with the President and then Angel found himself back in the Cadillac, rolling through the rush-hour traffic of Washington. Soon they made it to the Fourteenth Street Bridge and went rocketing into Virginia to a secret take-off field.

"Could you get me Master-sergeants Whittaker and Boyd?" said Angel timidly to the general.

"I'll have them picked up on the way by the barracks," said the general. "No word of this to anyone though."

"Yes sir," said Angel.

When darkness had come at the secret field Commander Dawson turned up with a briefcase full of calculations from the U.S. Naval Observatory and began to check instruments.

"Two o'clock," he told the general.

"Two o'clock," said the general to Angel.

Angel walked out of the hangar and joined Whittaker and Boyd.

Whittaker spat reflectively into the dust. "I shore miss the brass band this time, lootenant."

"And the dames," said Boyd, "Boy how I'd like me a drink. We got time to go to town, lootenant?"

Angel was walking around in small circles, his beautiful face twisted in thought. Now and then he kicked gravel and swore most unangelically.

They were handing Slavinsky the world, that was that. And without a scrap. The slaughter of a Russian war was nothing to anyone compared to the loss of Chicago. Maybe it was logical but it just plain didn't seem American to be whipped so quick.

Suddenly he stopped, stared hard at Boyd without seeing him and then 

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