"GRECO. WE KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE. COME ON OUT!"
I had a stabbing sensation of familiarity. "The police!" I cried. "Greco, it's the police!"
He looked at me wearily and shook his head.
"No. More likely the F.B.I."
ell, that was it. I got out—I didn't wait for permission from the Greek.
I stopped at the door, and three searchlight beams hit me right in the eye. There were cars all around the laboratory, but I couldn't see them, not after those lights went on.
I froze, stiff; wanting to make sure they understood (a) that I wasn't Greco and (b) that I didn't have a gun.
They understood, all right.