James lifted one eyebrow and sat down without making any comment. A true diplomat, E. Philips James never said anything unless it was absolutely necessary. And when he spoke, he never really said very much. He sat back and waited patiently for Connel to cool off and get to the point of his call.
In typical fashion, Connel jumped to it without any idle conversational prologue. "I'm here on a security assignment. I need confidential information."
"Just one moment, Major," said James. He flipped open his desk intercom and called to his secretary outside. "Record this conversation, please."
"Record!" roared Connel. "I just told you this was secret!"
"It will be secret, Major," assured James softly. "The record will go into the confidential files of the Alliance for future reference. A precaution, Major. Standard procedure. Please go on."
Connel hesitated, and then, shrugging his shoulders, continued, "I want to know everything you know about an organization here on Venus known as the Venusian Nationalists."
James's expression changed slightly. "Specific information, Major? Or just random bits of gossip?"
"No rocket wash, Mr. James. Information. Everything you know!"
"I don't know why you've come to me," replied James, visibly annoyed at the directness of the rough spaceman. "I know really very little."