All the bored guards had a great time with the sirens, lights, accelerators on the floor and that sort of thing. We blasted a screaming hole through the night right to the spaceyard and through the gate. It didn’t make any difference, we were still too late. A uniformed watchman frantically waved to us and the whole convoy jerked to a stop. The ship was gone. Rocca couldn’t believe it, neither could the president. They wandered up and down the empty ways where it had been built. I just crunched down in the back of the car, chewing my cigar to pieces and cursing myself for being a fool. I had missed the obvious fact, being carried away by the thought of a planetary government building a warship. The government was involved for sure-but only as a pawn. No little planet-bound political mind could have dreamed up as big a scheme as this. I smelled a rat-a stainless steel one. Someone who operated the way I had done before my conversion. Now that the rodent was well out of the bag I knew just where to look, and had a pretty good idea of what I would find. Rocca, the spaceyard manager, had staggered back and was pulling at his hair, cursing and crying at the same time. President Ferraro had his gun out and was staring at it grimly. It was hard to tell if he was thinking of murder or suicide. I didn’t care which. All he had to worry about was the next election, when the voters and the political competition would carve him up for losing the ship. My troubles were a little bigger. I had to find the battleship before it blasted its way across the galaxy. “Rocca!” I shouted. “Get into the car. I want to see your records-all of your records-and I want to see them right now.” He climbed wearily in and had directed the driver before he fully realized what was happening. Blinking at the sickly light of dawn brought him slowly back to reality. “But admiral . . . the hour! Everyone will be asleep . . .” I just growled, but it was enough. Rocca caught the idea from my expression and grabbed the car phone. The office doors were open when we got there. Normally I curse the paper tangles of bureaucracy, but this was one time when I blessed them all. These people had it down to a fine science. Not a rivet fell, but that its fall was noted-in quintuplicate. And later followed up with a memo, rivet, wastage, query. The facts I needed were all neatly tucked away in their paper catacombs. All I had to do was sniff them out. I didn’t try to look for first causes, this would have taken too long. Instead I concentrated my attention on the recent modifications, like the gun turret, that would quickly give me a trail to the guilty parties. Once the clerks understood what I had in mind they buried themselves into their work, urged on by the fires of patriotism and the burning voices of their superiors. All I had to do was suggest a line of search and the relevant documents would begin appearing at once. Bit by bit a pattern started to emerge. A delicate web-work of forgery, bribery, chicanery and falsehood. It could only have been conceived by a mind as brilliantly crooked as my own. I chewed my lip with jealousy. Like all great ideas, this one was basically simple. A party or parties unknown had neatly warped the ship construction program to their own ends. Undoubtedly they had started the program for the giant transport, that would have to be checked later. And once the program was underway, it had been guided with a skill that bordered on genius. Orders were originated in many places, passed on, changed and shuffled. I painfully traced each one to its source. Many times the source was a forgery. Some changes seemed to be unexplainable, until I noticed the officers in question had a temporary secretary while their normal assistants were ill. All the girls had had food poisoning, a regular epidemic it seemed. Each of them in turn had been replaced by the same girl. She stayed just long enough in each position to see that the battleship plan moved forward one more notch. This girl was obviously the assistant to the Mastermind who originated the scheme. He sat in the center of the plot, like a spider on its web pulling the strings that set things into motion. My first thought that a gang was involved proved wrong. All my secondary suspects turned out to be simple forgeries, not individuals. In the few cases where forgery wasn’t adequate, my mysterious X had apparently hired himself to do the job. X himself had the permanent job of Assistant Engineering Designer. One by one the untangled threads ran to this office. He also had a secretary whose “illnesses” coincided with her employment in other offices. When I straightened up from my desk the ache in my back stabbed like a hot wire. I swallowed a painkiller and looked around at my drooping, sack-eyed assistants who had shared the sleepless seventy-two hour task. They sat or slumped against the furniture, waiting for my conclusions. Even President Ferraro was there, his hair looking scraggly where he had pulled out handfuls. “You’ve found them, the criminal ring?” he asked, his fingers groping over his scalp for a fresh hold. “I have found them, yes,” I said hoarsely. “But not a criminal ring. An inspired master criminal-who apparently has more executive ability in one ear lobe than all your bribe-bloated bureaucrats-and his female assistant. They pulled the entire job by themselves. His name, or undoubtedly pseudoname, is Pepe Nero. The girl is called Angelina . . .” “Arrest them at once! Guards . . . guards-” Ferraro’s voice died away as he ran out of the room. I talked to his vanishing back. “That is just what we intend to do, but it’s a little difficult at the moment since they are the ones who not only built the battleship, but undoubtedly stole it as well. It was fully automated so no crew is necessary.” “What do you plan to do?” one of the clerks asked. I shall do nothing,” I told him, with the snapped precision of an old space veteran. “The League fleet is already closing in on the renegades and you will be informed of the capture. Thank you for your assistance.”