As he spoke these words the street was bathed with eyesearing light. It was a trap—and well sprung. "There were searchlights on top of the buildings and troops pouring out of the doorways. All we could do was surrender.
  "Please don't shoot!" I shouted. "We surrender. Surrender,

my men, that is an order. Douchan qounboula!" I hoped that the boys would remember this repellent alien language—and they did! Although their hands were in the air,  like  mine,  they could still actuate their smoke  bomb releases by crossing their wrists—which I had just ordered them to do. The last thing I saw was the cheering sight of them vanishing in the roiling clouds that sprang up all around them.
  I buried myself aside just as Oliveira fired. The bullet whistled by so close that I felt my hair stir in the breeze of its

passage. Before he could fire again I flipped one of my own smoke bombs into the car, following it instantly with a sleep capsule.
  I doubt if ten seconds had passed since the moment that I had opened the car door. In that brief time things had changed drastically. The street was filled with vision-obscuring smoke and loud with shouted orders, whistles blowing, the roar of engines and the hoarse cries of attacking men.
  "Add more smoke and mix it with sleeping gas!" I called out in the same alien language. "I'm going to start a diversion with this car—then you both make a break for it!" If I could draw all the attention to myself the boys might have a chance. I groped my way into the car, pushed Oliveira's limp body aside, then started the engine. As I kicked it into

gear I twisted the wheel away from the boys and stamped down hard on the accelerator. The car jumped forward, picking up speed, the smoke thinned—then vanished to be replaced
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             The Stainless Steel Rat for President        123

by searing light. I squinted against the glare and saw that I was about to run down a squad of terrified soldiers.
  I dragged on the wheel and missed them by centimeters, still moving at top speed, to plow headlong into an armored

car.
  It made quite an impact in more ways than one. I found myself bouncing off the windshield and dropping back into the seat. My nose had taken a good knock and was bleeding nicely down the front of my shirt. My brains had been thumped just as well as my nose and I felt that my head was wobbling on my neck. Thinking was difficult and I had just about enough intelligence left to realize that more smoke and sleeping gas would be a good idea. I was hurling the bombs out of the window when the door to the armored car opened just before me. I threw a few smoke and gas grenades in there by reflex.
  And all the while I was holding my breath. I had stopped breathing the instant the rush of blood had washed out my

nose plugs. If I took a single breath now I would be just as sound asleep as the soldiers and police. But unlike them I would probably wake up dead.
  The burning in my chest drove away the groggy sensations

as I crawled out of the car on my hands and knees. As I stood up I banged my injured nose into something very hard. It took every effort of will not to gasp in a lungful of the gas-filled air. The object moved as I touched it and I realized that it was the open door of the armored car. Transportation. I climbed painfully into it, pushing aside the invisible body that was blocking the entrance. There were more slumped bodies underfoot and I had to climb over them.
  And I had to breathe. But I didn't dare. I groped forward and slammed my head against hard metal. It took an endless period of running my fingers over it before I realized that it

was the base of a seat. The driver's seat, mounted high in the front of the car. My groping fingers found the floor-mounted gear shift. It was vibrating—the engine was still running!
  I jammed it into gear. The armored car heaved itself forward and began to grind my car into bits. I cursed and pushed and managed to get the thing into reverse. Everything shook about like crazy then we started moving backwards—1 had to breathe!
  There was light again. I stuck my head out of the door and hnTwd that tinp. <i}c.e•nme iras hafl bapn laft bfihinrl with the-

124         The Stainless Steel Rat for President

smoke. I fought not to breathe, but I could not win. I sucked in a shuddering lungfill of air.
  Nothing happened. Nothing bad that is, the air itself was pleasure beyond description. We were out of the gas. And things were going very well outside I saw as I slammed the door shut. Smoke and confusion, men and vehicles moving in all directions.  My own armored car just one among many drawing away from the smoke and gas. Moving backwards, slowly and steadily out of the area. The driver fell to the floor with a satisfying thud when I hauled at him. I was still gasping in the life-restoring air as I climbed into his seat and took over the controls.
  My sons were out there in. the smoke and confusion and would need every bit of help they could get. I stopped the armored car and checked over the maze of controls before

me. One was labeled forward turret, which sounded optimistic. I actuated the circuit, swung the guns to maximum elevation, flipped off the safety and pressed the trigger.
  It made a very satisfying roar.  The car bucked,  empty casings rattled down by my feet and I saw troops diving for cover. Perfect! Now for an exciting exit. Still in reverse I jammed down on the accelerator.
  A rear-vision screen showed the street behind me, rushing forward at an incredible pace. It was hard to steer in reverse and I found the car weaving from side to side. I jammed down on the horn, flashed the lights and made what I hoped

was an interesting exit, A squad of soldiers appeared on the screen, diving for cover as I roared by. Then I was past them and at a crossroads. I cut sharp on the wheel, skidded to a stop, then jammed the thing into forward gear.  Before I could move three more armored cars charged by in front of

my car. I smiled at the interesting skidding and crashing as they collided with another vehicle that had been trying to follow me. Before they could sort themselves out I stepped hard on the accelerator and drove happily away from all the chaos I had caused.
  And all of this time I kept my thoughts away from James and Bolivar back there in the darkness. They would be all right; they had to be all right. I had heard no gunfire from the cloud of smoke. The boys were conscious while the enemy was not. I had created a diversion, there was endless confusion, a number of ways for them to get away. They were smart and strong and would get out of this mess.

           The Stainless Steel Rat for President         125

Then why was I worried sick and dripping with sweat?
  Because I was thinking like a father, not a ruthless interstellar agent. They were my sons and I had got them into this. A black wave of guilt and depression swept over me; I could not keep it at bay. I drove slowly through the dark and empty streets until I finally forced a measure of control through my weepy brain lobes.
  "Enough of this, diGriz. Now that you have had a good suffer and a brisk rattle of guilt and self-chastisement—stop it!" I spoke aloud since I can always hear myself better that way. Rather than listening to a thin, tiny inner voice I would much rather hear a big, hearty external one. I sat up straighter and gripped the wheel firmly. "That's better. Moaning and thrashing about and getting yourself in more trouble won't help the boys any. Your task now is to get away safely and back to work and that is all you can do. Now move it."
  I moved. Taking as direct route as I could to our hotel. Stopping in a dimly lit street a few blocks short of my destination and abandoning the pilfered vehicle. There was a service entrance, now locked, that admitted me to the hotel at the touch of a picklock. My luck still held out and I rode the service elevator up to our floor without being seen. Angelina opened the door as I approached. "You look a mess. Are you hurt?" "Not really. Just bruised and weary. And . . ." I just did not know how to go on. But my expression must have given me away.
"The boys. What's happened to them?"
  "I don't know. I'm sure they're all right. We went different

ways. Let me in and I'll tell you what happened." I told her. Slowly and accurately over large sips of wellaged ron. She sat in cold silence as I talked. Not moving or speaking until I had finished. Then she nodded.
  "Racked with guilt, aren't you? It oozes out of your pores like perspiration." "I am! My fault. I did it, got them into it . . ." "Shut up," she suggested, then leaned forward and kissed

me on the cheek. "We're all adults and we go into these things with our eyes open. Not only didn't you lead them to destruction, you put yourself in the enemies' gunsights to give them a chance to get away. You did all that you could. Now all we can do is wait. After I natch un that renulsivelv

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bloody nose of yours. I was putting off taking care of it until

you had enough ron inside of you."
  I said ouch a few times while she cleaned and bandaged my nose. Then the waiting began. Angelina, who rarely drank other than on social occasions, accepted a glass of ron and sipped at it. There was no conversation. We looked up every time a siren went by in the street outside. And tried not to stare at the clock all of the time. I emptied my glass and reached for the bottle.
"Would you like some more . . ."
  The buzzing of the phone cut through my words. Angelina

was answering it before I could move, switching on the conference function as she lifted the receiver.
  "James here," the welcome voice said, and a wave of relief rushed through me. "No problem getting away. Changed uniforms with a soldier. But I can't come back to the hotel looking like this."
"We'll pick you up," Angelina said. "How is Bolivar?" When there was no instant answer the tension was back. Multiplied tenfold. He only hesitated for a moment, but that brief time was message enough.
  "I think they have him. I saw police in gas masks driving off in a great hurry. They were the only ones who left the

scene. I stayed around as long as I could, until the smoke cleared and they were starting to form the units up. He didn't call, did he?" "No. I would have told you." "I know. I'm sorry . . ."
  "You shouldn't be. You did everything that you could. Now we'll have to make plans to get you back here. Then we'll just have to wait for news of Bolivar. They won't have banned him. I'm sure that he's all right."
  Her voice was calm, controlled. Yet I was looking into her eyes when she spoke and I knew that she was screaming inside.