able to read. Maybe Latterman hadn't really intended his employer to
die. Maybe this was the situation he had really intended to contrive.

Chester Pelton couldn't be allowed to die. If Grant Hamilton were
returned to the Senate, the long-range planning of William Lancedale
would suffer a crushing setback, and the public reaction would be
catastrophic. _The Plan comes first_, Lancedale had told him. He made
his decision, and then saw that he hadn't needed to make it. Claire
had straightened, left her father, crossed quickly to the safe, and
was kneeling in front of it, her back stiff with determination, her
fingers busy at the dials, her eyes going from them to the printed
combination and back again. She swung open the door, skimmed through
the papers inside, unerringly selected the prescription, and rose.

"Here, Russ; go get it filled at once," she ordered. "And hurry!"

Oh, no, you don't, Cardon thought. One chance is enough for you, Russ.
He snatched the prescription from her and turned to Latterman.

"I'll get it," he told the sales manager. "You're needed for the sale;
stay on the job here."

"But with the Literates walked out, we can't--"

Cardon blazed: "Do I have to teach you your business? Have a sample of
each item set aside at the counter, and pile sales slips under it.
And for unique items, just detach the tag and put it with the sales
slip. Now get out of here, and get cracking with it!" He picked up the
pistol that had been taken from Pelton when he had tried to draw it on
Bayne, checking the chamber and setting the safety. "Know how to use