"Will he do it?" Landau whispered.

Kinsman turned and looked up at the Russian. The 558

.

I braces made it a painful operation. "You mean will he kill Americans? We'll find out pretty damned soon." You started this as a move to end war, he raged at himself, and it's turning into a civil war.

"He'd better do it," said Colt.

Perry came back to the screen. "I've got to get down to the comm center. They've got the shuttle on the standard frequency, but I can't run all the parts of the show from here."

"Right. Keep this line open," Kinsman said.

But the screen erupted into flickering colors. The only sound from the speaker was a scratchy angry hiss.

"They tumbled to it," Colt said. "Cut the link."

Kinsman turned the chair around. "Hugh, find a phone someplace and tell our shuttle to hold. No telling when we'll be there—if ever. Then see who you can find in the UN chain of command . . ."

"Christ! On New Year's Eve?"

"Can't be helped! We've got to get some muscle around that shuttle. It's our link home, and ..." A sudden surge of pain made him gasp.

"Chet!"

Landau reached for him. Kinsman pushed the Russian away. "No ... I'm all right." He tried to catch his breath. "Hugh, for God's sake—we need De Paolo. Find him. Find some foreign diplomats. Marrett, news reporters, anybody. We've got to get the word out about this. Don't . . ." The pain hit again, searing flame across his ribs and down both arms. "Don't let them keep this a secret."

Harriman bit his lower lip. But he nodded and rushed toward the door.

Landau forced Kinsman's chair down to a reclining position. The ceiling seemed to be spinning. Kinsman heard the phone making funny noises, then a voice calling tinnily, "Colonel Colt! Colonel Franklin Colt!"

Landau's face was hovering over him. It was blurred, but very serious. Intent. So damned somber. Wonder if he's that way in bed with Jili. He must smile sometime.

"This is Colt."

"One moment. Colonel. Priority call from Washington."

"Great. Just what I need."

By turning his head slightly Kinsman could see the wall 559 screen. The dance floor was jammed with happy people. Old people, mostly. The scene shifted. Amsterdam Mall was crowd- ed with dancing people, too. But these were young, black, Puerto Rican, other Latins. And their dancing was not stately or measured. Their music was not provided by a painstak- ingly detailed simulacrum of a long-dead orchestra. Kinsman could see steel drums and guitars and enough amplifiers to make him wonder sleepily, Where'd they get the electricity?

He forced himself awake. "Stop sticking needles in me, goddammitati!"

Landau laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Be still. Quiet."

"Colonel Colt." Kinsman could not see the desk, but the voice came through the phone speaker clearly. It was an angry burning whisper.

"Right here." Colt's voice was calm. He's made his decision, Kinsman knew.