There must be a way out. Bob felt his debt to Vasper, for undoubtedly the latter knew more than he had revealed. Now a chance remark of Forg's made recently bobbed up in Bob Winslow's mind. "We won't have to worry about leaving our work undone." That was what Forg had said. It tied in with another comment by one of the advance group, who vouchsafed the information to Bob that there would be few additions to their division.
Jim returned at that moment. He started talking about organizing two baseball nines. "Calling 'em the Yanks and Cubs," he laughed. "Say Vasper—where you going?"
Vasper had been listening intently, obviously to a message over his headphone. He whirled, raced toward the screen and vanished. "Can you tie that," Jim exclaimed. "He's a funny duck. But a good scout, Bob. I mean, like us. He—"
Two men materialized on the screen. They stepped into the room. Addressing Jim, one, a swarthy, wide-shouldered man spoke. "You are to come with us."
"Me? I'm suppose to be on leave."
"I had permission for him to join me," Bob put in.
The swarthy one looked at Bob. "I have orders," he said slowly.
Jim swore, looked thoughtful, then shrugged his shoulders. "In this place, they don't fool with you," he mused. "Okay. See you later, Bob."
Panic gripped Bob. Vasper hadn't skipped out because of his own orders. Somebody had tipped him off. "Wait a minute," he addressed the men. "Maybe I can straighten this out. Fator—"
"We are under Fator's orders."