“Yes, sir. All will be done to your satisfaction.”
“Excellent,” said Candron. He smiled as he hung up. Then he punched another secret number. This one connected him with the guards outside Ch’ien’s apartment. As General Soong, he warned them of the coming of Dr. Wan. Then he went to the window, stepped out, and headed for the roof again.
There was no danger that the calls would be suspected. Those two phones could not be contacted except from inside the Palace, and not even then unless the number was known.
Again he dropped down Elevator Shaft Three. Only Number One was operating this late in the evening, so there was no fear of meeting it coming up. He dropped lightly to the roof of the car, where it stood empty in the basement, opened the escape hatch in the roof, dropped inside, opened the door, and emerged into the first basement. Then he started down the stairs to the subbasement.
The guards were not the least suspicious, apparently. Candron wished he were an honest-to-God telepath, so he could be absolutely sure. The officer at the end of the corridor that led to Ch’ien’s apartment was a full captain, a tough-looking, swarthy Mongol with dark, hard eyes. “You are Dr. Wan?” he asked in a guttural baritone.
“I am,” Candron said. This was no place for traditional politeness. “Did not General Soong call you?”
“He did, indeed, doctor. But I assumed you would be carrying—” He gestured, as though not quite sure what to say.
Candron smiled blandly. “Ah. You were expecting the little black bag, is it not so? No, my good captain; I am a psychologist, not a medical doctor.”
The captain’s face cleared. “So. The persuasion is to be of the more subtle type.”