"Yeah. Well, what do you want me to do after I've set up the plexisteel?"
"Nothing," I said. "We just wait. That's all we can do. Just wait."
We waited. Every cop in town was patrolling the streets, watching for a strange Damakoi. They had full, three-D photographs of the eight Damakoi known to be in the city; anyone who didn't match one of those photos would be picked up—or shot.
Before he could do anything, the assassin would have to get inside the Grand Capitol Building, and I was fairly sure he couldn't do that without my knowing it. But if I was wrong, the Galactic Government would be ruined.
I sat in my office for hours, smoking one cigarette after another and fortifying myself with coffee. The tension on my nerves was building up hour by hour until I could hardly sit down. I wanted to slug someone, to break open a Damakoi face with a fist and strangle the life out of his killer soul.
The phone chimed and I jumped a foot before I realized what it was. I forced myself to be calm and reached over to turn on the screen.
The sharp-nosed, blue-skinned face of a Damakoi resolved itself on the screen. I recognized him immediately. It was Jedon Onomondo. He wasn't known to be absolutely trustworthy, but he had been useful to us in the past by giving us information we couldn't get otherwise.
"Hello, Jedon Onomondo," I said. "What is it?"
"Hello, Mr. Cameron." His voice was excited. "Listen, I want to talk to you."