The Chief and a male secretary, who was taking dictation, looked up. The secretary frowned, evidently taken aback by the cavalier entrance, but the Chief said, "Hello, Paul, come on in. Didn't expect you quite so soon." And to the secretary, "Dickens, that's all."
When Dickens was gone the Chief scowled at his trouble-shooter. "Paul, you're bad for discipline around here. Can't you even knock before you enter? How is Nicaragua?"
Paul Koslov slumped into a leather easy-chair and scowled. "I did knock. Most of it's in my report. Nicaragua is ... tranquil. It'll stay tranquil for a while, too. There isn't so much as a parlor pink—"
"And Lopez—?"
Paul said slowly, "Last time I saw Raul was in a swamp near Lake Managua. The very last time."
The Chief said hurriedly, "Don't give me the details. I leave details up to you."
"I know," Paul said flatly.
His superior drew a pound can of Sir Walter Raleigh across the desk, selected a briar from a pipe rack and while he was packing in tobacco said, "Paul, do you know what day it is—and what year?"
"It's Tuesday. And 1965."
The bureau chief looked at his disk calendar. "Um-m-m. Today the Seven Year Plan is completed."