CHAPTER TWELVE
Scorio snarled at the four men: "I want you to get the thing done right. I don't want bungling. Understand?"
The bulky, flat-faced man with the scar across his cheek shuffled uneasily. "We went over it a dozen times. We know just what to do."
He grinned at Scorio, but the grin was lopsided, more like a sneering grimace. At one time the man had failed to side-step a heat ray and it had left a neat red line drawn across the right cheek, nipped the end of the ear.
"All right, Pete," said Scorio, glaring at the man, "your job is the heavy work, so just keep your mind on it. You've got the two heaters and the kit."
Pete grinned lopsidedly again. "Yeah, my own kit. I can open anything hollow with this rig."
"You got a real job tonight," snarled Scorio. "Two doors and a safe. Sure you can do it?"
"Just leave it to me," Pete growled.
"Chizzy, you're to pilot," Scorio snapped. "Know the coordinates?"