His final answer was the clincher. It came at the end of a fifteen-minute conversation.
"We can do it if we've no other choice," he said.
"All right," I said. "I want you to tell Wendel exactly what you've just told me, on a two-way televisual hookup. I'll be at the Wendel plant in fifteen minutes, and I'm sure I can persuade him to talk to you on the screen, right after I've laid it on the line for him.
"If," I added "—and it's a very big if—I can get in to see him without ending up dead. His goons have orders to blast me down on sight."
He looked at me steadily for a moment, with a concerned tightening of his lips. Then he leaned back and some of the strain left his face.
"Have any of his goons ever seen you with that insignia on your shoulder?" he asked.
It was a good question and it confirmed the opinion I'd formed of him.
"No, they haven't," I said. "But it doesn't alter the possibility I'll be blasted down before I can get in to see Wendel. Remember—the Wendel Combine has taken the big gamble and is waging an undeclared, but all out war. This insignia makes me Target Number One. If I took it off before entering the plant his goons would probably recognize me anyway—too quickly for me to save myself by shouting at them and trying to make them see that Wendel would want them to withhold their fire. I may not have a chance to do any explaining, because they may recognize me just from the description that's been furnished them."
Sherwood nodded. "Yes ... it would be foolish to deny you won't be exposing yourself to danger. And you'll have to be wearing the insignia when you confront Wendel. But I've a feeling that Wendel's goons will take you straight to him. I could be mistaken, of course. But somehow I can't picture them firing pointblank at Target Number One without prior authorization. They'd be sticking out their necks with a vengeance, because their instructions to blast you on sight were issued before you pinned that bird on your shoulder."
"I hope you're right," I said. "But goons are funny people."