He said, "Yes." Then, "Check the route. This is it."
He heard her gasp. Then she began to talk hurriedly into a tiny radio strapped about her wrist.
Vickers looked up and down through the various floors of the embassy next door, checking the position of the guard details, the officials and their families. It was going to be tricky, he saw, a matter of split second timing.
He got up and examined the sleek air taxi. It was a transparent plastic tear drop and filled a fourth of the room.
One outer wall of the room had been removed outright. It had been simulated with cloth flats like stage props so that it looked normal enough from the outside. But when the time arrived, the air taxi could burst right through it into the street.
The Ring was thorough, Vickers had to admit. And ruthlessly efficient.
He said: "Get in the taxi and start the motor. Tell them we'll crack out of here in exactly fifteen minutes."
He heard her catch her breath and wheeled on her suddenly.
"What's wrong?" he demanded sharply. "Good Lord, don't go into a funk now!"
"Hold it!" she said, the radio to her ear. He saw the blood drain out of her face as she listened. Then she clicked it off, turned frightened eyes on him.