Harry Harrison - The Stainless Steel Rat for President

"How very kind of you to offer." I smiled and they relaxed and smiled as well, with some relief. "As a stranger here I do not know my way. So you will accompany me in my luxurious vehicle and instruct my driver."

"Thank you! Thank you!" It was all smiles and good will as we climbed in; I'm sure they would have kissed my hand had I but extended it. Bolivar pressed the proper button and the jump seats dropped down into position. They dropped their fat rumps gingerly onto the hand-tooled leather, facing us, as the car started forward smoothly.

"Kindly instruct my driver," I said, then turned to Angelina. "These kind policemen are escorting us to meet their Commissioner who wishes to greet us."

"Charming," she said, lifting one eyebrow delicately.

"Straight ahead, then right at the third turning," Pujol said.

"All friends together," I said, smiling at them and they beamed back with pleasure. "Or as the great poet wrote, 'Kiom me kalkulos al tri, vi endormigos vian malbonulon kaj mi endormigos mwn.'" Which as any first year Esperanto student knows means "When I count to three, you put your thug to sleep and I'll take care of mine."

"I'm not much on poetry, excellency," Pujol said.

"Then I'll teach you some right now. It's as easy as one, two, three..." I leaned over and took Pujol by the throat and squeezed hard. He bulged his eyes, gaped, thrashed a bit, then collapsed. Angelina, who dislikes police of any kind, had been more dramatic. She had extended one shapely leg and kicked the big one in the stomach. When he had folded forward, a quick chop to the exposed nape of his neck had dropped him at her feet.

"Neatly done. Mom and Dad," Bolivar said, looking in the rearview mirror. "Not a soul in the street noticed. And I've just gone by the third turning." "Very good. Just drive on along the coast while we figure out what to do with them."

"Cut their throats, wire boulders to their ankles, dump them into the sea," Angelina said, smiling cheerfully.

"No, darling," I said, patting her graceful hand, "you are reformed, remember? No more maiming or slaughter…"

"That doesn't apply to the police!"

"Yes, dearest, to the police as well." She sat back in her corner muttering darkly, while I explained what I had in mind. "When I spoke of figuring out what to do with them, I simply meant where we would leave them after they have each been given a shot of amnesial. A drug which, as you undoubtedly know, wipes out all memory of events that took place up to twenty hours before the injection."

"Strychnine works faster."

"It does, my pet, but it is far more permanent."

"Look, Dad, there's a side road ahead," Bolivar said. "It appears to lead up towards the jungle."

"Perfect. Go that way while I give them the shots."

Since mayhem had been ruled out, Angelina would have nothing to do with the arrangements. I slipped out the medkit and took care of everything myself. Bolivar found an unpaved farm track leading off among the trees and backed into it. We slipped the sleeping simpletons under some thick bushes and left, driving back along the same route. James was waiting near the restaurant and climbed into the front seat. "Been joyriding?" he asked.

"Getting rid of some nosy cops," I told him. "What happened to Jorge?"

"I followed him to a bar and was drinking nearby when he told his friends how he had been up all night at a tourist party and was now going to go to bed. "

"Where he is now—and you know where it is?""

"Right the first time. Dad. And I imagine you would like to disturb his beauty sleep. I'll show you the way." I went in alone, picking the front door lock with a single dextrous twitch of my fingers. I've done this sort of thing so often before that I had to stifle a yawn. You're a real pro, Jim, I told myself as I tiptoed in silence across the darkened room. Pride goeth before a fall. Jorge either had ears like a cat, was an incredibly light sleeper—or there was a silent alarm attached to the front door. But whatever it was didn't matter. The result did.

The lights came on just as I was halfway across the room. Jorge stood in the doorway to the bedroom aiming a large and nasty-looking pistol at me.

"Say a farewell prayer, spy," he said coldly. "For I am about to kill you.

"Don't shoot, Jorge! I'm a friend…"

"Who skulks in like a thief in the night?"

"In the day, full daylight out. And I came this way because I didn't want to be seen. I'm one of the good guys, like you, and like Flavia…"

That almost got me killed. "What do you know of Flavia?" He shouted, and I swear the knuckle on his trigger finger whitened with the strain. I put a little drama into the situation by dropping to my knees and spreading my arms wide in supplication.

"Hear me out, brave Jorge! I come from the other planets where your message was received. The one you gave to the tourist and his wife who were kicked off your fair world."

"How do you know about that?" The gun muzzle lowered slightly. I stood up, brushed off my knees, then went to sit on his couch.

"I know—because I am that tourist. A little disguised outside, but still the same within."

"I do not believe you. You could be a police spy."

"Right. I could be anything. But I'm not and I can prove it. I know things no one else could possibly know. Like I know that it was my wife who met Flavia on the beach, where Flavia gave her a five-page message for help, which she memorized right on the spot. Which she later told to me, which I memorized too, which I will recite for you." And I did, all five pages of it. And as I droned on and on the gun sank lower and lower until, when I finished, he put it aside.

"I believe you now," he said. "For I wrote that message and only Flavia has seen it. " He rushed forward, eyes flashing, and pulled me to my feet and embraced me, then kissed me warmly on both cheeks. He needed a shave.

"Yes, well. I'm glad we agree at last," I said, pulling myself free. "Always happy to be of help."

"I still find it hard to believe," he waxed. "We have always failed in the past to get aid from outside. Some months ago we managed to smuggle one of our members out on a tourist ship, but we have heard nothing of him since."

"Was he small, dark and with a crooked nose?"

"He was. But how did you know...?"

"It is my sad duty to inform you that he is dead. Undoubtedly murdered by police agents."

"Poor Hector, he was such a brave man. He was sure that he would be able to contact the legendary Rat of Steel, who might condescend to help us..." Jorge's voice ran out like a broken recording machine and his eyes bulged interestingly from his head. I looked down humbly at my nails, then buffed them on my lapel. He gurgled.

"You aren't... you can't be..."

"Happily for your sake—I am! I am known by many names throughout the worlds. De rat van roestvrij staal, Ratinox, die Edelstahlratte, El Escurridizo, even un criminale al nichelcromo. At your service. Now tell me about your setup here, and what your plans are."

"Simply and depressingly stated. We have no plans and are in a state of disarray. The secret police are too efficient. All resistance organizations are penetrated and destroyed even as they are formed. Ours is a new organization and already Flavia is known and in hiding. Since I see many tourists it was she who devised the plan to seek help from off our planet. I am ashamed, we are so feeble."

"Best news ever. Gives me a free hand. Do you have any idea if there are others with like feelings?"

"All of the peasants would like to kill President Zapilote and his army of secret police, the Ultimados as they are called. But they are powerless. The power is in the hands of the rich and the middle class, and they are the ones who support Zapilote all the way. Of course he is disliked by many of the old nobility who lost power when he took over, but they are not organized in any way."