I felt cold sweat pop out on my forehead. "You've got to listen, Kayle," I shouted. "I suppose you've got missiles on the way already. Call them back! I have information that can win the war—"
"I'm sorry, Granthan," Kayle said. "It's too late—even if I could take the chance you were right."
A different face appeared on the screen.
"Mr. Granthan, I am General Titus. On behalf of your country, and in the name of the President—who has been apprised of this tragic situation—it is my privilege to inform you that you will be awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor—posthumously—for your heroic effort. Although you failed, and have in fact been forced, against your will, to carry out the schemes of the inhuman enemy, this in no way detracts from your gallant attempt. Mr. Granthan, I salute you."
The general's arm went up in a rigid gesture.
"Stow that, you pompous idiot!" I barked. "I'm no spy!"
Kayle was back, blanking out the startled face of the general.
"Goodbye, Granthan. Try to understand...."
I flipped the switch, sat gripping the couch, my stomach rising with each heave of the floating escape capsule. I had perhaps five minutes. The missiles would be from Canaveral.