"I suppose that might make it even more dangerous for her," Smith went on. "I forget what you said the sentence was, but suppose she starts to get smart in jail. Would any snappy Terran humor pass there?"
"By no means!" said Parrish emphatically. "I would not expect them to burn her at the stake in this day and age, but they would talk about it as being one of the good old ways. Fortunately, their speaking and writing Terran makes this easy. Terrans are all black sinners, but plenty of Terrans are necessary around the spaceports. We keep a few agents among them. One of them is going to pull the paper trick to spring her."
"I'd rather leave them a bomb," said Lydman, almost to himself.
Smith frequently wondered that such a rugged man should speak in so quiet a voice. At times, Lydman used a monotone that was barely audible.
"We hope to destroy all evidence," added Parrish. "Otherwise, it will lead to the usual diplomatic notes, and the D.I.R. will be telling us we never were authorized to do any such thing."
"Yes," said Smith, nodding wearily. "Actually, you couldn't find our specific duties written down anywhere; and there is nothing we are forbidden to do either—as long as it succeeds. Well, none of us will see the day when the D.I.R. will publicly recognize us to the extent of chopping our heads into the basket. They have been yapping at me, though, for drawing complaints in the Gerson case."
Lydman had been sitting with his gaze narrowed upon a pencil gripped in his big fists. Now he raised his head, scenting interference in his own project.
"How can the Yoleenites complain? They claim they don't even have Gerson!"
"Easy!" Smith soothed him. "We have an embassy and spaceport there, remember, that you've been relying on. You had them make some inquiries, didn't you?"
"Had to confirm the report somehow. All we had was the story of a kidnapping from the captain of that freighter. It might not have been true."