At that moment, Sertant's office-intercom buzzed. Sertant leaned across the desk, his eyes still on Tedor, and flicked a switch. Tedor heard the secretary's voice.
"Mr. Sertant, I'd like to see you about something."
"What?" Sertant demanded irritably.
"Your correspondence to Mr. Hoblan in Cairo."
Hoblan's name was familiar to Tedor. C-20, middle-east, as he recalled.
"Umm, yes. That can't wait. Come on in, Miss Peterson."
The door soon opened. Sertant averted his eyes from Tedor for an instant, looked at Miss Peterson.
Tedor leaped at him. The gun roared deafeningly, brought a cascade of plaster down from the ceiling. Miss Peterson screamed.
Then Tedor was grappling with Sertant, forcing him back over the edge of the desk, and twisting the hand that held the gun. Miss Peterson disappeared, on her way to notify the local police in all probability.
Tedor twisted savagely, heard something snap. Sertant cursed; the gun clattered to the desk-top, then to the floor, but Sertant's hand was at Tedor's throat, choking him. Abruptly Tedor relaxed, permitting Sertant to straighten away from the desk. Tedor swung his right hand in a short clubbing blow which chopped at Sertant's chin. It broke Sertant's choking hold, opened Sertant's guard so Tedor could pound two swift blows at his stomach.