"I know," said Ricker finally. "And I imagine you could put Mercurian torture methods to shame. But I'll save you the trouble. There are three people who know where I am. One is my boss, the editor of the Planetary Times, another is Dorothy Adison who saw you leaving her father's laboratory after the murder and the other is—the President of the United States."
Molly Borden put down her glass with a sharp clink.
Trexel slowly took his cigarette from his mouth, dropped his tree-trunk arm to his lap. Ricker met his eyes evenly. Would he believe it?
"You lie," said Trexel. "One of my men is in the President's office. I know every move he makes."
"The President knew your spy was there," said Ricker. "We found him more useful in your employ than in jail."
The fat man took on the look of a bullfrog caught in the glare of a flashlight. The cigarette smoldered in his hand unnoticed. He gazed at Ricker a long few seconds, as silence held the room like a stifled breath.
Then he looked up quickly to the Martian.
"Vanger," he said in a voice like Napoleon must have had at Waterloo. "Contact Number 12 at the White House, tell him to find out if what the man says is true. And tell him whether it's true or not to prepare for immediate action."
Vanger gasped, then choked with a cough. "Attack now!"
"Why not?" Trexel decided, twisting his cigarette into a tray. "We have enough ships to take Earth and the colonies can't do much with their supplies cut off. Any one of our ships can fight off fifty ordinary ones. Perhaps we should begin before Adison's daughter does cause trouble—since we can't find her to keep her quiet.