CHAPTER 8I was close to panic; being cornered had that effect on me. I didn’t know what to do. I had plenty of instructions on how to handle the job of taking over after I had succeeded in killing the dictator, but none to cover retreat after failure.
There was a creak, and dust sifted down from the top of the door. I stood as far back as I could get, waiting. I had an impulse to start shooting, but restrained it. Wait and see.
The door edged open a crack. I really didn’t like this; I was being looked over, and could see nothing myself. At least I had the appearance of being unarmed; the tiny gun was concealed in my hand. Or was that an advantage? I couldn’t decide.
I didn’t like suspense. “All right,” I said. “You’re making a draft. In or out.” I spoke in the gutter Parisian I had hear
