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for him in the office section of the suite. Both were dressed in a Soviet style uniform that was not familiar to the Viceroy.
    It was all black-leather, with red epaulets. Their two bodyguards, both lieutenants wearing similar outfits, waited off in a corner, then Uzis in plain sight.
    "Gentlemen," Dick said, walking in and sitting down behind his desk. "It's an early hour for you to be calling."
    "We have been here for three hours," one officer, 53
    a completely bald man of 50 or so told him.
    "I was taking care of business," Dick replied. "Down in my recreation room.
    You two should have come down there, taken care of some business too . . ."
    "Screwing little girls is not what we consider 'business,'" the other officer, a young, taller man with blond-red hair told him. Just like his companion, he spoke excellent English.
    "OK, let's cut the bullshit," the Viceroy said. "What do you guys want?"
    "Our superiors at the Ministry of State Security have asked us to travel here to review your defenses," the bald one said. "We understand that the enemy forces waiting nearby have increased their size substantially . . ."
    "And they'll keep on waiting," the Viceroy said. "You guys must know the gig: I've got ten thousand of their prisoners and I have made it quite clear to them that those POWs will be history if they attack."
    "And you view this as a successful strategy?" the younger man asked. "Even though the Westerners carry on at least two air strikes a day against you?"
    The Viceroy shrugged and smiled. "It's called Tactical Defense. And it's working perfectly. I'm still here, aren't I? Football City is still under Circle control. They're harassing me, that's all. What's the beef?"
    "The T>eef is that the Valuables' have not been moved as yet," the hairless one said. "This is correct, is it not?"
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    "The bridges are still down," Dick said quickly. "We're working like crazy on them, and when they're ready to handle substantial loads, we move the stuff.
    What's your hurry?"
    Both Soviet officers were suddenly angry.
    "You are talking about materials that the Ministry regards as critical to the continued success of our operations in America," the young officer said sternly. "A lot of tune and effort went into gathering these valuables and I suggest that you concern yourself more with their welfare. Should the Westerners attack, there'd be no way to move the materials in tune."
    Viceroy Dick hated the Soviets, even though, technically, they were his bosses. But he wasn't going to let them push him around.
    "Look, boys," he said. "The situation is under control here. I'm sitting on top of ten thousand of their guys and the Westerners know better than to try and pop me. Look at it this way: I'm tying up thousands of their guys, without firing a shot. We could hold this status quo for years."
    "They are gathering their forces, waiting until they have the clear advantage, then they will surely attack you," the bald officer told him sternly.
    "Well, that ain't going to happen anytime soon," Viceroy Dick shot right back.
    "If you guys are so concerned, why don't you throw me a couple diversions? I'm short-handed as it is and you should be grateful I'm keeping these cowboys at bay."
    The Soviet officers both looked stung, as if Viceroy Dick's mention of reinforcements had hit a raw nerve.
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    "You know we are reorganizing," the bald one said finally. "No reinforcements can be spared for you."
    Viceroy Dick just smiled. "Then why the hell are you here bothering me?" he asked. "The bridges are being built. Your precious stuff will be moved as soon as possible. What else do you want me to do?"
    It was a rhetorical question to which he hadn't expected an answer. But he got one nevertheless . . .
    "We want you to start executing the prisoners," the bald Soviet told him.
    "Immediately . . ."
    Viceroy Dick was taken aback. "Execute them?" he asked incredulously. "What the hell for? That would be giving up my advantage . . ."
    "No!" the younger