“Mr. Secretary, we have no objection to the full glare of publicity throughout. In fact, we shall insist on it.”

“Ridiculous!”

“Possibly. But I serve my client as I think best. If we reach agreement affecting the Man from Mars and the planet which is his home, I want every person on this planet to have opportunity to know exactly how it was done and what was agreed. Contrariwise, if we fail to agree, people must hear how and where the talks broke down. There will be no star chamber proceedings, Mr. Secretary.”

“Damn it, man, I wasn’t speaking of a star chamber and you know it! I simply meant quiet, orderly talks without our elbows being jostled!”

“Then let the press in, sir, through their cameras and microphones . . . but with their feet and elbows outside. Which reminds me—we will be interviewed, my client and I, over one of the networks later today—and I shall announce that we want full publicity on these coming talks.”

“What? You mustn’t give out interviews now—why, that’s contrary to the whole spirit of this discussion.”

“I can’t see that it is. We won’t discuss this private conversation, of course—but are you suggesting that a private citizen must have your permission to speak to the press?”

“No, of course not, but—”

“I’m afraid it’s too late, in any case. The arrangements have all been made and the only way you could stop it now would be by sending more carloads of your thugs—with or without warrants. But I’m afraid they would be too late, even so. My only reason for mentioning it is that it occurs to me that you might wish to give out a news release—in advance of this coming interview—telling the public that the Man from Mars has returned from his retreat in the Andes . . . and is now vacationing in the Poconos. So as to avoid any possible appearance that the government was taken by surprise. You follow me?”

“I follow you—quite well.” The Secretary General stared silently at Harshaw for several moments, then said, “Please wait.” He left the screen entirely.

Harshaw motioned Larry to him while he reached up with his other hand and covered the telephone’s sound pickup. “Look, son,” he whispered, “with that transceiver out I’m bluffing on a busted flush. I don’t know whether he’s left to issue that news release I suggested . . . or has gone to set the dogs on us again while he keeps me tied up on the phone. And I won’t know, either way. You high-tail it out of here, get Tom Mackenzie on the phone, and tell him that if he doesn’t get the setup here working at once, he’s going to miss the biggest story since the Fall of Troy. Then be careful coming home—there may be cops crawling out of the cracks.”

“Got it. But how do I call Mackenzie?”

“Uh—” Douglas was just sitting back down on screen. “Speak to Miriam. Git.”

“Dr. Harshaw, I took your suggestion. A news release much as you worded it . . . plus a few substantiating details.” Douglas smiled warmly in a good simulation of his homespun public persona. “And there is no use in half measures. I can see that, if you insist on publicity, there is no way to stop you, foolish as it is to hold exploratory talks in public. So I added to the release that the administration had arranged to discuss future interplanetary relations with the Man from Mars—as soon as he had rested from his trip—and would do so publicly . . . quite publicly.” His smile became chilly and he stopped looking like good old Joe Douglas.

Harshaw grinned jovially, in honest admiration—why, the old thief had managed to roll with the punch and turn a defeat into a coup for the administration. “That’s just perfect, Mr. Secretary! Much better if such matters come officially from the government. We’ll back you right down the line!”

“Thank you. Now about this Caxton person— Letting the press in does not apply to him. He can sit at home, watch it over stereovision, and make up his lies from that—and no doubt he will. But he will not be present at the talks. I’m sorry. No.”

“Then there will be no talks, Mr. Secretary, no matter what you have told the press.”

“I don’t believe you understand me, Counsellor. This man is offensive to me. Personal privilege.”

“You are correct, sir. It is a matter of personal privilege.”

“Then we’ll say no more about it.”

“You misunderstand me. It is indeed personal privilege. But not yours. Smith’s.”

“Eh?”

“You are privileged to select your advisers to be present at these talks—and you can fetch the Devil himself and we shall not complain. Smith is privileged to select his advisers and have them present. If Caxton is not present, we will not be there. In fact, you will find us across the street, at some quite different conference. One where you won’t be welcome. Even if you speak fluent Hindi. Now do you understand me?”