"Main Gate," said the driver, stopping.
Two men stepped forward. Dugan flashed the Cossack's card, shouting, "The Material is loose. Extraordinary Alert. Let no one through without a triple check of credentials. I'm Special Section alert officer. Notify the road ahead. Put the same thing on. Make a note of the time I pass. I'll get help back to you. They have probably cut the main telephone wires."
The cyclist, the duty officer, and the sentry all hesitated. A lurid Russian oath from Dugan scattered them about their tasks. The cycle roared on.
At the farther gates, men were waiting with flashlights. When they saw the cycle coming they stepped aside and the cyclist said importantly, "We phoned ahead. Ivanov, Special Section officer. Shut the gate tight after us."
Then they roared on.
One nice thing about this path, said Dugan to himself, is the fact that nothing but another motorcycle would overtake us. You couldn't run a car on this.
The gray dawn was showing when they came at last to an ordinary Siberian dirt road.
Dugan tugged the motorcyclist's pistol out of its holster. The man felt the pull and slowed his machine. "Comrade Colonel…" he queried. The real note of protest had not yet come into his voice.
"My name," said Dugan, "is none of your business. This is a simulated security violation, and I am taking care that it is good. How far is it to the next sentry post?"
"Less than a kilometer."