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the Middle East, there must be an important reason and it seemed only polite to see him.
    Ed Longstreet chuckled. "My gosh, cuz! You must be the one with the rep—everybody’s trying to get some face time with you!"
    Tom frowned a moment, then said, "Sorry to bail on you, guys, but maybe I’d better go back. You four go on with your day. Mr. Mirza can drive me back. If he doesn’t mind." Mirza gave a polite nod.
    Arriving at the Citadel after a strained, silent ride, Tom found his visitor pacing back and forth in the lobby of the reception building. Flambo, a plump, hawk-nosed man with a trim black beard, greeted Tom with an angry glare.
    "I have been waiting here for over four hours," he complained as they shook hands. "My time is of value to me."
    "As is mine. A call that you were coming would have saved us both some inconvenience," Tom returned evenly. He suddenly realized that his father would surely have tried to contact him immediately at the facility. If he had missed the call, it meant that Flambo and company had flown to New Mexico as quickly as had the Sky Queen the day before! "I hope you have been comfortable."
    Flambo snorted. "A ridiculous-looking cowperson brought me what he called lunch —a concoction of rattlesnake meat. An insult to my culture and beliefs, as I have come to expect among Europeans and Americans. Naturally I was unable to touch it."
    Tom repressed a grin. He could just imagine!—and now he knew that Chow Winkler had arrived. "Chow probably thought he was paying you an honor, sir. He does prepare—er—unusual delicacies at times."
    As he spoke, Tom looked over his visitor carefully. Flambo was dressed impeccably in a suit of shimmering gray silk. Tom’s eye was caught by his ruby tie clasp.
    "Perhaps we can talk more comfortably in a private setting," Tom said. The man nodded curtly, dismissing the hovering Mirza with a wave of his hand.
    As they walked across the grounds toward one of Tom’s lab buildings, the young inventor remarked, "I can’t help admiring your tie clasp, sir. That’s a Kabulistan ruby, isn’t it?"
    Flambo bared his white teeth in a sneer. "I fear your knowledge of rubies is not so expert as your scientific skill, my dear Mr. Swift. This happens to be a pigeon’s-blood ruby—a gift from a colleague in India."
    "My mistake," Tom said with a smile. But he was not entirely convinced.
    When they reached the office adjoining a lab, Tom offered his guest a chair and sat down behind his desk. He wanted to look unintimidated. "What can I do for you, Mr. Flambo?"
    There were no further pleasantries. "My company— no doubt you have heard of Pan-Islamic Engineering Associates—is making a great contribution to the Middle East, as you prefer to call the Muslim world," Flambo said proudly. "We are building roads, bridges, and refineries—all with technicians from our own countries. A far better way than letting greedy outsiders get a foothold!"
    Tom nodded. "I believe science knows no national boundaries. All countries have a right to share in scientific progress."
    Flambo scowled. "Unfortunately some countries use their scientific leadership to impose their will on less advanced areas."
    "Some do," Tom agreed coolly. "Not the United States." Tom bristled instinctively. But then he recalled that his father had acknowledged, to Moshan Prandit, that such feelings were understandable.
    Flambo shrugged impatiently. "It is no matter. My company could make good use of your new small-sized atomic dynamo, which we have read about in the journals with great interest. You must surely realize that such a power source has uses much more valuable than to run an electric automobile, even one that flies through the air. We are therefore prepared to offer any price within reason for the sole industrial rights to your invention."
    Tom was startled. Then a smile spread over his face. "That’s the second time in a few days I’ve had such an offer, Mr. Flambo. My answer to both offers is