"What's he up to?" Don asked.
"Negative," the voice said.
Don blew up. "If you mean you don't know, why the hell don't you say so? Who is this, anyhow?"
"This happens to be Major Johns, the O.O.D., Sergeant, and if you know what's good for you—"
Don stopped listening because a man in battle dress, apparently attracted by his voice, was standing on the green, looking down into the bunker where Don lay, pointing a carbine at him.
"I'll have to hang up now, Major," Don said quietly. "Something negative has just happened to me. I've been captured."
The man with the carbine shouted down to Don, "Okay, come out with your hands over your head."
Don did so. He hoped he was doing it affirmatively enough. He had no wish to be shot by one of the Senator's men, regardless of whether that man was authorized or unauthorized.
Senator Thebold sat at a desk in the manager's office of the Raleigh Country Club. He wore a leather trench coat and a fur hat. Wing commander's insignia glittered on his shoulders and a cartridge belt was buckled around his waist. A holster hung from it but Thebold had the heavy .45 on the desk in front of it. He motioned to Don to sit down. Two guards stood at the door.