"Shopton," Tom replied. "I just drove in for a haircut." With a chuckle,
he added, "Haven't had one in _three_ months. That's a whole _week_
longer than I usually go!"
Would Ames understand that by "week" he meant _seven_ days?... "_It's
the best I can do_," Tom thought.
"Look, skipper, are you sure you want Mirov let out?" Ames said slowly.
"I still think it's unwise."
"Consider it an order!" Tom snapped. "This is _one_ thing I insist upon,
Harlan. Shouldn't take more than _five_ or _six_ hours, should it, even
if he has to wire the Brungarian Embassy to put up bail?"
"It can probably be handled faster than that--if he has any friends
around town," Ames said.
Tom took the cue. "Could be," he replied meaningfully.
Tom's captor snatched the phone away and slammed it back on the hook.
"All right, smart boy! That's enough!" he growled, glaring at Tom.
Back at Enterprises, Ames hung up thoughtfully. Tom's reply to his last
question about Mirov having "friends around town" had convinced Ames
that the young inventor was a prisoner, speaking under duress. Moreover,
it had seemed as if someone else's breathing was faintly audible in the
background, close to the phone.
_But what message had Tom tried to convey?_
As a routine security-department precaution, Ames's phone was connected
to a recorder which automatically taped all calls.
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