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“All right, Lieutenant, what is it?” the man in the duffel coat asked.

“She’s here, sir. We’ve got the shuttle plane warming up.”

“I know, I can hear it.”

“Only we can’t get her out of the car, sir.”

“You mean she has a weapon in there? Use gas.”

“She’s already unconscious, sir, or nearly. We just can’t get her out.” As they stepped into the freezing night, the younger man pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead.

The black Cadillac stood dark and silent upon the snow while two men and two women peered through its windows. The younger man indicated the men. “They brought her here, sir.”

One stepped forward, hand extended. “I’m John B. Sweet, General Whitten. Vice President, Sales, Mickey’s Jawbreakers Corporation.”

The man in the duffel coat shook hands with him, letting the Thompson hang from his left hand, its muzzle pointing at the trampled snow. “We’ve spoken by telephone,” the man in the duffel coat said.

“We certainly have!” Sweet agreed. “I just wanted to let you know in person that at Mickey’s we’re always anxious to do our part.”

“We’ll put in a good word from you. I suppose the other man is from that restaurant you recommended?”

The second man stepped forward too but did not offer to shake hands. “I’m Walter Pearson,” he said.

“You drove?”

“Yes, sir. I served their meal too and helped Mr. Sweet take her out to the car.”

The younger man interrupted to say, “How’d you get her in there? That’s what I want to know.”

“Like you would anyone else, sir. Mr. Sweet kind of steadied her. I opened the door and gave her a little push.”

“You’re entitled to some sort of reward,” the man in the duffel coat said. “What would you like?”

“Just a ride home, sir.”

“You’re a patriot, Pearson. I wish we had more like you. Mr. Sweet here will have to take this car back. It’s rented, I believe?”

Sweet nodded. “From Avis. We always use them.”

“But you won’t be flying home until tomorrow sometime. Take Pearson where he wants to go.” The man in the duffel coat turned to the younger man. “Now, what’s the problem?”

“We can’t get her out, sir. That’s all. The door’s too small, and she must weigh over three hundred pounds.”

Sweet said, “I doubt it.”

“I do too,” the man in the duffel coat told him. “Her dossier says two fifty.”

The younger man said, “You ought to see her, sir.”

“You’re right, Lieutenant.” The man in the duffel coat strode across the snow. “Got a flashlight?”

Robin Valor muttered, “This is more like it,” and opened the Cadillac’s right rear door, turning on the dome light.

Candy sprawled across the back seat. Her eyes opened briefly when the light came on, then closed again. Heartshaped candy boxes and drifts of fluted paper cups littered the floor.

“You were feeding her in there?” the man in the duffel coat asked Sweet.

“I had some samples. Valentine’s Day assortments and our four-star collection of liqueur chocolates. She saw them.”

“Umm,” the man in the duffel coat said.

“I didn’t think she’d eat them all, just on the drive out here.”

“I doubt that it made much difference.” He glanced from Sweet to the waiter. “Let me get this straight. You, Sweet, drove her to the restaurant in this car? She sat in front with you?”

Sweet nodded.

“You ate. Pearson helped you get her out of the restaurant and into the back seat. Correct?”

Both Sweet and the waiter nodded this time.

“You rode in back with her, feeding her candy to keep her quiet. I don’t object to that in the least, by the way. Pearson drove. Is that right too?”

The waiter nodded, and Sweet said, “Yes, sir.”

The man in the duffel coat studied the black car for a moment and shook his head. “Caddies used to be great, big cars. I own one. Remember how they used to be, Sweet?”

“I certainly do, General. These are easier to park, though.”

“I suppose. Tonight a certain elderly gentleman came in an old Packard. Magnificent car. Possibly you saw it?”

“Yes, sir,” Sweet said. “I think I did.” He pointed. “Down between those two buildings.”

“You didn’t by any chance note the license number too? Either of you?”

Sweet shook his head. So did the waiter.

“Good. Observation is a wonderful thing, but it’s like politeness—or a thirst for good hooch, or any other appetite. You have to know when to turn it off.”

He handed his Thompson to the younger man, walked around the front of the car, opened the left front door, got into the driver’s seat, and closed the door. His head and shoulders jerked forward, and he got out again.

“Now try her,” he said.

The younger man handed the Thompson to Sweet and opened the right rear door again.

From the other side, Robin Valor called, “I’ve got an idea too. I’ll get in with her, if you can handle her when she comes out.”

The younger man muttered, “I’d rather be in North Africa with Patton. Be ready to help, Pearson.”

Inside the Cadillac, Robin was fumbling in her purse. For a moment, the weak light caught the gleam of steel. Her right fist dropped below Candy’s gargantuan thighs and jabbed. Candy jerked far more impressively than the man in the duffel coat had, and her blue eyes opened wide. Robin jabbed her again.

With a muffled roar, Candy turned on her, her thick arms enveloping the dark woman, who screamed. The younger man drew a forty-five automatic from beneath his coat and flourished it uselessly.

“Shut up!” The man in the duffel coat leaned into the Cadillac and tried to grasp the struggling women, then drew back a bleeding hand.

As though the car had spit them out, the two fell through the open door and onto the snow, Robin under Candy, whose fingers were tangled in her hair. Kip took her huge revolver from her purse and struck Candy’s head with the butt twice in rapid succession, the impacts of steel on bone nearly merging, like the left-right blows of a good welterweight at the speed bag. The younger man and the waiter rolled Candy off Robin and helped Robin up.

“Christ almighty,” she gasped, “I thought she was going to kill me.” Flapping her arms, she tried to dust the snow from her coat.

The waiter got her purse from the back of the Cadillac and handed it to her.

“You did it!” Kip exclaimed. “What did you stick her with, Robbie? A knife?”

“Nail file.” Robin was still panting, her dark cheeks flushed with blood under her makeup. “She came down on top, knocked the wind out. I didn’t have any more grit than a kitten.”

The man in the duffel coat was looking at Candy. “Two hundred and eighty, perhaps,” he said. “Divided by four, it’s still close to a hundred pounds each. You men are lucky you didn’t have to carry her out of that restaurant.”

Sweet had knelt beside Candy. “Is she hurt?”

“Possibly. Kip has a good forehand, and that’s a big gun. If she hit her in the temple with it, she may have done some real damage.”

“Behind the ear, Daddy,” Kip said. She had put her revolver back into her purse.

“Lieutenant, take one leg; I’ll get the other. Sweet, take one arm and try to get your hand under her shoulder. Pearson, you take the other shoulder.”

All four straightened as well as they could, and Candy’s head and feet rose.

“You’re not getting her derriere up,” Kip told them.

The younger man grunted, “We can’t.”

The man in the duffel coat bent for a moment as he might have to see if the muffler and tail pipe of a car were dragging. “Try to move her. It should slide over the snow.”

It did.

“Where we taking her?” the waiter gasped.

“Around the far side of the building, then back to the plane.”

Having tested his engines, the pilot had shut them off. The plane stood angular and silent at the beginning of a snowdusted runway, its propellers motionless. The leggy blonde painted on its dark fuselage looked a trifle embarrassed by the folding steps pushed against its side.

The man in the duffel coat motioned for them to stop. “Sweet, Pearson, thank you again, on behalf of this country. Goodbye, and remember that loose lips sink ships.”

They nodded and hurried away.

Kip and Robin stood guard over Candy while the man in the duffel coat and the younger man went inside and brought out Stubb, Barnes, and the witch.

“You’re going to have to carry her onto the plane,” he told them.

“We can’t,” Barnes protested, looking down at her.

“If you don’t,” the man in the duffel coat said, “we’ll shoot you down where you stand.” He raised the Thompson. “And if you do, I’ll tell you what became of your son.”

Wordlessly, Barnes stooped to take Candy’s ankles.

Stubb had knelt in the snow beside her. “We don’t have to carry her,” he said. “She’s awake.”

Her eyes were still closed, but there were tears at the corners. Slowly, one small, plump hand came up to touch the side of her head.

“Where’s Little Ozzie?” Barnes demanded.

Robin said, “You didn’t care so much about him a couple of hours ago.”

Kip added to Stubb, “And you didn’t care so much about her. I saw the way you looked at me. You would have dropped her for me any time I wiggled a finger.”

The man in the duffel coat murmured, “You see, you are all traitors—as are we who betray ourselves.” His mouth twisted in a smile. “It’s the truth. The simple truth.”

“And I?” asked the witch. “Have I been false to any goal, to any promise? I never promised these three anything, nor have I betrayed any of them. You don’t need to lecture us about that poor girl there. We know she would give up Mr. Stubb or any other to follow her belly. But what of me?”

The man in the duffel coat was still smiling. “You’ve remained faithful, you say? To what?”

“To knowledge! To the ideal of ultimate truth.”

“You’ve followed every lying spirit, no matter how wilful or how weak. When you were at the end of your search for the ultimate truth, you were utterly deceived by that silly old man we sent to your King, a few actors in costume, and some colored lights in a hangar.” He paused. “We tried to take all of you down as far as we could. You, Marie, were the only one who never reached a point beyond which we could make you go no further.”

Stubb asked, “Why?” Candy was sitting up in the snow, her legs extended and spread, her paunch in her lap. He crouched monkey-like beside her with an arm about her shoulders.

“Because those were our orders from on top. To test you and send you there. All of you failed, I think. Now we’ve wasted too much time already. Get her on her feet.”

“Wait.” Barnes had taken Candy’s hand. “You said that when we did, you’d tell me about my son.”

The man in the duffel coat nodded. “When you get her up those steps and into the plane.”

Barnes and Stubb pulled; the witch joined them, lifting with all her strength. Candy rose and tottered, and twice nearly fell, but in the end lurched up the little ramp as she had once lurched up the stairs in Free’s house. A young man in a flight jacket stood at the top with a pistol in his hand.

“He got away from us,” the man in the duffel coat called to Barnes.