"Over here, Fellow," he commanded.
The sportster pilot approached, the indignation on his face changing to bewilderment, then dismay as he noted Morely's insignia and the attitude of the two men who faced him.
Morely turned to the guard.
"Get me his name, identification number, and the name of his leader."
"Yes, sir."
The guard turned to the man, who grimaced a little with pain as he slowly put a hand in his pocket. Wordlessly, he extracted a bulky folder, from which he took a small booklet. He held out the booklet to the guard.
Morely held out a hand. "Never mind," he said. "Simply put him in custody. I'll turn this over to his leader myself."
He had noted the cover design on the booklet. It was from District One—Harwood's district. He flipped the cover open, ascertaining that there was no transfer notice. He'd give this to Harwood all right—at the right time. He looked at his watch.
"I shall want my heli in about three hours," he announced. "See to it that it's ready. And have a man check the fuel and see if the ship's damaged in any way." He turned away.