"What happened to our friendly poker game?" I said.
  "What happened to our friendly traveler who just wanted to play poker?" Adolfo asked. ». "What are you talking about?"
  "I'm talking about the fact that we have an X-ray screen tucked up under that table top. You have exactly ten seconds to tell us why you have three guns in there. Mr. Police Spy." I laughed at this suggestion, then stopped laughing when Adolfo cocked his gun too. "Only a police spy would talk politics to a stranger," he said grimly. "Seven seconds." "Stop with the counting!" I said. "All right. I'll teH you the truth. I'm a card sharper. I was just about to clean you out." "What?" Adolfo shook his head as though to clear it. This

was undoubtedly the last answer he had been expecting.
  "You don't believe me? I've been watching you all evening while you marked the edges of the high cards with your thumbnail. So you could separate them out of the pack, then deal from the bottom. I let you lift my bundle so I could go into

my reserves, bet high, lose, double or nothing—then clean you out with one last hand. The guns are to make sure I get out of here with the winnings."
  "You're lying to save your neck," Adolfo said, but he didn't sound as assured now. "No one could do that to me." "No? I will be happy to demonstrate. You just shuffled the deck that's on the table didn't you?" He nodded. "All right then. I'm going over to the table and pick it up, I won't make

any fast moves so try to keep those fingers cool on the triggers."
  I did just that. Moving slowly, sitting down, pulling my chair forward, reaching out and picking up the deck right under their noses. They stared intently while I dealt out three hands. I sat back and clasped my hands behind my

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neck, the picture of relaxation, and nodded my chin down at

my cards.
  "There they are, Adolfo, my old card mechanic. You pick

up my cards and see what land of a hand mother luck has dealt me."
  His gun was lowered, forgotten, as he reached out and turned my hand over.
Four aces and a joker stared back at him.
  "Five aces usually win," I said calmly, smiling, as both

men stared down at the cards. Renata leaned over so she could see too.
  I shot her first, then Santos. With the needle gun I had thoughtfully tucked into the back of my collar. Adolfo jumped with surprise as his companions slumped and banged towards the floor. He started to raise his gun again but mine was already leveled right between his eyes.
  "Don't try it," I growled, just as grimly as I could. "Lay it down and you won't get hurt. Don't worry about your part-

ners, they're just asleep. "
  He was trembling as he put the gun down. I grabbed it up along with Santos's, then threw them both onto the couch. Renata's gun was on the carpet by her limp hand and I kicked that one away as well. Only then did I relax, put my own gun

away, and take a long swig from my glass.
"Do you always X-ray your marks' luggage?" I asked.
  He nodded, still shocked by the rapidity of events, then finally got the words out. "If we can. See if they're carrying heat, anything. Renata does it after the game starts, then signals us what's in the bag."
  "A good code. I never noticed it. Listen, if I bring your friends around do you promise no more strongarm stuff? And

you can keep the money you won as a sign of good faith. " "You mean that? Who are you? Police . . . ?" I decided to take a chance on a measure of frankness.
  "You have it the wrong way around. The main reason I jumped at a chance of a game tonight was because every policeman in town is looking for me. I didn't think they would look here."
  He whinnied and shied away. "You're the guy on the radio! The mass murderer who killed forty-two people . . ." "No. I'm the guy on the radio all right, but the mass murderer is their cover story. I'm the guy who is working for the opposition to trv and eet Zanilote kicked out of office."

90         The Stainless Steel Rat for President

  "You mean that?" He was excited now, his fear gone. "If

you are going to take The Buzzard out, why I'm on your side. They got the rackets so sewn up that it's hard for a grifter to make an honest living."
 "One of the best reasons I have ever heard for clean government!" I extended my hand. "Put it there, Adolfo. You have just joined the political party. I can guarantee that when

our man is elected that the dumbest cop on the planet will be put in charge of the bunco squad. "
  We shook enthusiastically on that. Then I dug out the pressure spray hypo of antidote and gave his snoring associates a shot each, but only after I had taken the precaution of locking their guns safely away in my case.
  "They'll come around in about five minutes," I said, as we propped them comfortably on the couch.
  "I have a question," he said. "I admit you got me. I know I shuffled that deck right. So how did you deal yourself that hand?"
  "I did what you weren't expecting," I told him, not able to keep all the pride from my voice. What joy to beat a pro at his own game! "Look at the deck."
  He did, fanning the cards in a swift arc across the table. One glimpse did it. "The aces are still here—and the joker

. . ." He gaped up at me and burst out laughing. "Palmed from the old deck."
  "Exactly, I slipped them out when we discarded it. You

were so busy stacking this deck that you never noticed." "You're really good, Jaime." Ahh, what wonderful words! "Your hands were empty when you sat down at the table. Of course—you reached down to pull your chair close. Palmed the extra cards then. Slipped them on the bottom of the deck. Dealt your own hand from the bottom and that was that."
  We kept the conversation at this professional level for quite awhile. I showed him a holdout and a pass that had never reached this planet, in exchange for a very nifty substitution. By the time Santos stirred and groaned to life we were thick as thieves. The big man muttered, licked his lips, opened his eyes—and roared with anger as he hurled himself at me. Adolfo put out his foot and tripped him so he sprawled out at

our feet.
"He's a friend," Adolfo said. "Let me explain." Since the little man was the brains of the outfit they

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accepted me at once. To seal the bond of friendship I opened

my bag and gave each of them a crisp packet of money.
  "To close the contract," I said. "You're on the party payroll

now. With my personal guarantee that you will be in on the payoff at the end. The new president will do exactly what I tell him to." Which was the absolute truth considering the fact that I was going to be that president. "The first thing you

can do is help me get back in contact with my people. Do you ever work the tourists in Puerto Azul?"
  "That's like suicide!" Adolfo gasped, while the others nodded horrified agreement. "The only off-planet currency we

ever get on this planet comes from them. The Ultimados would butcher us in a second if we went near the tourists. We keep our heads down, work a few country marks that come to the big city, give a cut to the police for protection. They make sure that the Ultimados don't know we exist." "Could you go to Puerto Azul?" "No reason why not. Our travel papers are in order." "That's good enough. I have a contact there who can get a message through to the MarquCz de la Rosa, who will see to it that I get help."
  "Do you know him?" Renata asked in a hushed voice. Even crooks are impressed by the aristocracy.
  "Know him? We had breakfast together this morning. The only question now is—what will the message be?" And even

more important—and depressing thought—what if the marquez were no longer alive? Had they made it back to the castle all right—or had they been intercepted on the way? Were Boli-

var and James all right? Or had they been . . . ?
  I paced the floor, unthinking, obsessed with worry now that I was out of trouble myself. I could plan nothing until I found out what the situation was. But how could I contact the castle?
  Ask the right question and you get the right answer. "Adolfo," I wheeled about and stabbed a finger in his direction. "You know what happens around here. Have you ever heard of the semaphore system that the aristocrats use?" "Who doesn't know? Every time you pass one of the castles there are the arms waving and flapping. Those people live in the dark ages. Why don't they put in telephones . . ." "What do you mean every time you pass a castle? Aren't thev on the other side of the barrier?"

92          The Stainless Steel Rat for President

  "No such way. There's one down the road not two Ks from here." "Then we are in business? Any trouble getting inside?" "No trouble, but you have to pass two policemen at the gate. Show identification and that kind of thing." "That's no good for me. But if I could get a message inside." I looked at Renata. "Are your papers all right?" She nodded. "They better be. We pay the police enough for them."
  "Then you can carry the message. Now describe the physical setup of the castle's entrance so I can work out a plan for ' getting me inside." I dug more money from my bag, I was very free with the marqu6z's4unds, and passed it over. "This should cover expenses. Now—speak!"
  I kept the plan simple, like all good plans should be, nevertheless it was past dawn before I had worked the details out. Another sleepless night; this was getting to be a habit. Adolfo was playing solitaire, Santos was asleep on the couch, and I assumed that Renata was doing the same in the bed-

room. "Adolfo," I said. "What time do the shops open in this fine city?" He looked at his watch. "In about two hours."
  "Just the time we need to enjoy our breakfasts and go over the details of the exercise. I'll call room service while you sound reveille."
  Two pots of coffee replaced the night's sleep. I sipped at the last cup and finished the preparations for the coming operation. In the castle, while I had been transcribing the message for the marquez, I had managed to liberate some of his stationery. By reflex, really. I scarcely realized at the time that I had been doing it. But letterheads would be very useftil right now. I wrote the note on one of them, forged the marquez's signature with an exactitude that brought a mur-

mur of praise from Adolfo, sealed the note into an envelope and passed it over to Renata. "You know what you are to do?" I asked. She nodded.
  "No problems. I stop at the milliners and make some purchases. Take a cab. Say I am delivering for the store. The

cops let me in. I see that the duke gets the letter. Then I leave and you take over from there."
  "Perfect. Stress the urgency of the arrangements to be sure that he gets the timing right. If not I will be very embarrassed. Let's go."

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  Can you trust crooks, even well-bribed crooks? That was my depressing thought later that morning as zero hour approached. If all went correctly my new allies would be at their positions now, with the final stages of the operation about to begin. I patted my black beard, glued back into position as soon as they had left the hotel room, and looked at the target. The sidewalk cafe was well placed for this job, no further than two hundred meters from the high wall that ringed Castle Penoso. Four steps led up from the pavement to an iron-bound doorway. Two policemen stood at the foot of those steps. I had watched Renata approach and be stopped and questioned by them, then pass through with her bundle. She had emerged without it—which meant the message had been passed. I looked at my watch. Now the moment for the final stage had arrived. I picked up my bag, threw coins on the table, stood, and walked slowly down the street towards the entrance.
  The policemen were at the foot of the steps, hands on their guns, looking at the passersby. A extremely well-built young woman slid sinuously by, which drew their attention, as well as low voiced murmurs of approval. Nothing else happened. Where were my troops? Were they late—or not coming? I bent to tie my shoe. I would be noticed if I stayed this close

very much longer.
  Then, above the normal traffic sounds, I heard the stressed whine of a car's engine, growing louder and louder. I walked slowly on.
  I had almost reached the doorway when the screech of brakes sounded. Both policemen looked up as the automobile careened down the road, weaving from side to side—to crash into the curb on the other side of the street. An arm dropped limply from the driver's window.
  As the policemen started across the street I bounded up the four steps and pushed hard against the door.
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