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  “Let’s do it in style,” I said. “Let them know that a new day is beginning!” A flick of a switch changed the ear-shattering broadcast from marching music to our presidential theme song. We rolled towards the city with its inspiring words booming out around us.

  Glory, glory to the workers! Glory, glory to the peasants! Down with Zapdote’s bullies, Harapo’s marching on!

  I can’t claim that it was the world’s most inspiring lyric, but I doubt if any of the voters would even notice the sprung rhythm as they listened to the shocking words. It was probably a shooting offense to speak out against Zapilote in public. Which meant that even this revolting song would surely capture the listeners’ undivided attention.

  We got it too, as soon as we left the highway and started driving through the suburbs. Silent, frightened eyes watched us as we rolled by. Only the children cheered and ran alongside when we passed out bags of candy attached to HARAPO RULES OK! flags. Once they ate the candy, they shouted and waved the flags in hopes of getting more. It was only when we swung into the main thoroughfare that we found our first trouble.

  A large black police car blocked our way. Filled with scowling uglies who fingered riot guns in a singularly menacing manner. Our little cavalcade stopped and Bolivar walked forward, smiling ingratiatingly, to face the unsmiling officer who stood beside the car.

  “Harapo for president,” Bolivar said as he pinned an election button on the officer’s chest. The man ripped it off and threw it to the ground.

  “Go back. Get out of here. You cannot pass.” “Pray tell me why not?” Bolivar asked, offering more badges to the policemen who sneered and pushed them away. Behind him Angelina had descended from the car as well, and was passing out more candy and flags to the crowds of children. “You do not have a parade permit,” the policeman snarled.

  “We are not a parade. Just a few old friends out for a drive…”

  “If I say you are a parade, you are a parade. Now I give

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  you exactly ten seconds to turn around and get out of here or else.” “Or else what?” “Or else I’m going to shoot you—that’s what!” A hush fell at these words—and within an instant the street was empty, just a few tattered flags lying on the ground to show that anyone had ever been there. With her audience

  gone, Angelina went around the police personnel carrier, and offered her flags to the of Beers there.

  “You are going to shoot us—for no reason?” Bolivar said, turning his profile towards us and hamming it up something terrible. Knowing that the whole scene was being recorded. “You would shoot helpless citizens of your own country—you who are sworn to uphold the law!” He fell back and gasped. “Your time is up. All right men—ready—aim - . .” A single policeman raised his gun, then slumped down to join his cataleptic companions. Because in addition to the flags Angelina had been passing out sleep gas capsules.

  “Fire!” the officer said—and nothing happened. He turned and gasped—then tried to tear his pistol out of its holster. Another broken capsule puffed out its invisible message and he dropped out of sight to join his troops.

  As he vanished there was a muffled cheer from the surrounding buildings and the children reappeared, shouting and waving their flags with joy. This time there were more than a few adults with them. There were echoing ha-has of jolly laughter as we pinned a Harapo button onto each police uniform, put a Harapo flag into each dozing hand. After this, happy volunteers rolled aside the vehicle with its unconscious minions of the law; cheers were raised again as the parade continued. More than candy was being given out now. Attached to the flags were the crisp green rectangles of Election Money. Each bill could be exchanged for a bottle of wine and a fried bean sandwich at the evening rally. Things were really beginning to come together.

  But Zapilote was still trying to take them apart. As we drove into the center of the city the crowds grew larger, the cheering louder. The marqu6z and I stood in the back of the

  car, waving, while the election anthem rolled out in eardestroying waves. The stalwart form of my watchdog, Rodriguez, walked alongside the slowly moving vehicle, his grim face grimmer than usual because I had made him leave his recoilless caliber 50 automatic at home. This precaution had

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  been a wise one because I saw him scratching at his empty armpit just as a number of bullets impacted the force field. It was disconcerting to see them suddenly appear before my face, moving slower and slower until they stopped.

  “He’s in that window on the second floor!” Rodriguez said, pointing. I saw a flash of movement that vanished as I looked. “Go get him!” I said.

  Rodriguez buried himself through the crowd like a surfer through the waves—then on into the building. I ordered the

  car to stop as I reached out and caught the still-hot slugs as they oozed out of the force field. Dropping them on the floor at my feet. I touched my lapel microphone and spoke.

  “Did you get that on tape?” I asked, then looked at James in the following car. He raised the camera and patted it as his radioed voice whispered in my earplug receiver. “In the can. Dad!”

  “Good. Keep shooting. We have just had an assassination attempt and our faithful watchdog has gone after the gunman. There he is now.”

  Rodriguez had emerged from the building, a long-barreled

  weapon in one hand, dragging an unconscious man by the other. The crowd murmured and tried to see what was happening as he pushed through them. I switched on the public address system to distract their attention.

  “Lady and gentleman voters of Puerto Azul! It has been my great pleasure to come here to meet you, and I sincerely hope that I will see you all at the monster rally tonight. There will be talks, entertainment, free wine, and bean sandwiches, ice cream for the kiddies and a hundred door prizes, yes indeed. You do not have to pay to participate. But a hundred lucky winners will each take home a dartboard with complete set of darts—and these will not be ordinary dartboards, nosiree. Each of these dartboards has a face on it for a target—and I ask you whose face is it? That’s right—you can throw darts at the ugly mush of the old dictator himself, Julio ‘The Monster’ Zapilote!”

  As you can imagine that produced a gasp or two and drew everyone’s attention. A few of them looked skywards as though they expected a lightning bolt from the heavens to strike and slay me. The car door opened and Rodriguez pushed .the assassin and his gun in onto the floor. I nodded when he rolled the unconscious man over and pointed to his dark ela.sses. Mv arnniififtd vnipp mll~dd r>ii<- aaain

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  “Now you may call that pretty strong talk—but I mean it. I’m hopping mad. I came here to conduct a peaceful election campaign and what happens? Why I get shot at, that’s what happens!” I let the gasp and murmur roll by then turned up the power. “I’m firnous I tell you. Right here in my hand I have one of the bullets that were just fired at me. Right at my feet I have the gunman and his rifle. And you know something funny—even though he was shooting at me from inside that building, this gunman is wearing dark glasses …” The crowd roared and surged forward; I signaled the car to start moving again.

  “Stop!” I ordered—and they obeyed. “I can understand how you feel. But you are going to see justice done. I am going to prefer charges against this man in a court of law and we will see if the law of the land is still observed in this fair city. “

  As soon as we were clear of the press of the crowd we picked up speed, then did not stop again until we got to the hotel. The main reason that the Hotel Gran Parajero had been picked was because of its underground garage. Our little

  convoy hurtled down into it, and all the other cars circled about mine until the area was declared safe. While this was going on I had gone through the gunman’s pockets and had found his identification. He was so stupid that he had actually

  gone out on this assassination mission and taken this along. I read aloud.

  “This says that he is a member of the Federal Health Alteration Committee. What in the world is that?” The marqu6z nodded grimly.

  “You would not know. But that is the official name of the Ultimados. Killers!”

  “But not too good at it.” As though to prove my words the unconscious Ultimado came to life and pulled a large knife from his belt. I kicked him in the head and he dropped it and sank back again. I bent and seized him up and threw him over

  my shoulder. “I’ll carry him, de Torres, you bring the gun. The press will be waiting and we will really give them something to write about. “

  We made an impressive sight as we barged into the main ballroom which had’ been set up for the press meeting. Cameras whirled and flashed and the crowd of newsmen buzzed and stirred like a hornet’s nest. They were all there,

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  newspapers, radio, TV, everything. Now the campaign would really begin.

  I dropped the Ultimado onto the floor at my feet, then turned to face the press. I raised a clenched fist over my head and glared out ominously as I leaned close to the waiting microphones.

  “Do you know what is in my hand? Bullets. Bullets that

  were fired at me just a few minutes ago.” I threw the slugs down and pointed to the limp figure. “And this is the man who fired those bullets at me—from the very gun that the Marquez de la Rosa is waving angrily over his head. He is as angry as I am. We have just begun this peaceful and democratic campaign when we have been shot at. And not by any common assassin. I have this creature’s ID here. Do you recognize it? He is an Ultimado, one of the criminals employed by the dictator Zapilote. Now you know why you must reject this evil dictator at the ballot box and vote for me!

  “For I will bring peace and freedom to ParaisoAqui at last. Vote for me and this planet will finally live up to its

  name. Vote! Vote! Vote!”

  The campaign had begun. And when the news came out the entire world would know what was really happening.

  Chapter 21

  “Not a mention of any kind!” Angelina famed. “Nothing in the evening papers, nothing on television—not a single word

  on the radio. There is a complete news blackout.” “Of course,” I said, nodding sagely as I brushed bits of dinner from my beard. “We expected nothing less. Did you have any doubts at all that the press was compromised? But doubts are one thing, proof another. And now we can prove it. We’ll see if we can make tomorrow’s news just a mite more interesting. But for the moment we must think about the rally. How is it going?”

  “The stadium has been filled to overflowing for the last hour and we are running out of bean sandwiches. Viewing

  screens and loudspeakers have been set up all around the stadium for those who couldn’t get in.” “Any tourists in the crowd?”

  “A lot of them. They seem to think that the whole thing is

  a lot of fun. “

  “It would be a lot less fun if they weren’t there. Zapilote must be getting desperate by now. I doubt if he will do anything drastic during the rally with the tourists present. But afterwards …” “You watch your step.”

  “My love, I have every intention of doing just that. Shall

  we go?”

  We went. With all the defensive screens of the votemobile full on. And other precautions as well. We remained inside the garage until a spotter in the hotel above gave us the go-ahead signal. As soon as this arrived the car gunned out into the street—to slip into the gap between two tourist buses. The ofiworlders were still my best insurance. When

  we left the highway at the stadium we picked up an escort of pink outrider cars and continued in convoy as we worked our

  way through the crowds. There was something new outside

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  the entrance. A flexiglass tent with a dozen or more disgruntledlooking men inside it. A jeering crowd surrounded them and pelted the tent with empty wine bottles and stale bean sandwiches.

  “And the significance of this?” I asked James, who came forward to greet us.

  “We had an empty stadium to start with because there was this gang of police spies stationed just outside the entrance. They were taking pictures of everyone coming to the rally, which meant a decided drop in public interest. This was cutting down on the attendance as you can well imagine. Bolivar and I convinced them that they should give us the cameras and then get into that tent.”

  “Don’t tell me how you did it—I’m a man of peace. Was this the only hitch?”

  “The only one. Are you ready for your grand entrance, Dad? I mean Sir Harapo.” “Never felt more ready. And you, Marquez?” “The same. This meeting will go down in history. Proceed!” I did. Down the aisle through the cheering crowd, shaking my hands over my head, smiling for the tourists’ cameras, blowing kisses at the babies—but not the babes, for I knew Angelina’s steely gaze was upon me. Climbing to the platform and waiting for the shouting to die away. There was a splendid fanfare of recorded trumpets and the marquez stepped forward.

  “I am the Marquez de la Rosa, as everyone knows. It is my pleasure to run for vicepresident of this world, under the leadership of my kinsman. Sir Hector Harapo, Knight of the Beeday, gentleman botanist and ftill-time recluse. Who has left the quiet of his laboratory and gardens to come to the aid of his planet. Without further ado, let me introduce to you the next President of ParaisoAqui . , . Sir Hector!” Screams, whistles, yells, you know the sort of thing. I waved until my arms were tired, then gave the signal for the fanfare again, while at the same time I pressed the floor button with my toe that sent a quick shot of subsonics through the floor of the stadium. This sound could not be heard, but it would produce a depressant effect on everyone present. The crowd was instantly silent, and I saw tears in more than

  one eye. Must remember to turn down the subsonic volume. I spoke into the waiting silence.

  “Men and women voters, welcome visitors from other worlds, I bring you news of great joy. ” I turned off the depressants

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  and toed in the stimulants. The crowd began to smile with great joy even before they heard the news. “Within a few weeks we are going to have an election. At that time you will have a chance to vote for me for president. And why should

  you vote for me you might ask? Well I’ll give you one very important reason. I’m not Julio Zapilote, that’s why!” That produced a good deal of enthusiastic reaction and I took the opportunity to pour out some water-flavored gin from the carafe before me. I took a few good swallows before I carried on.

  “Vote for me and end corruption in high places. Vote for

  me and I’ll have the Ultimados working as swimming instructors on a shark farm. Vote-for me and see what honest government can really be like. I promise an ox in every pot, a gallon of wine in the cupboard, an abolition of all taxes, six weeks annual holiday with pay, a thirty-hour work week, retirement with full pay at the age of fifty for every registered member of the Nobles and Peasants and Workers Party— volunteers will pass among you handing out membership forms—free bull fights every Sunday, off-track betting by licensed bookmakers, plus a few other things that I will think of soon …”

  My last words were drowned out by enthusiastic cheering that had no need of subsonics. If the voting were held at this moment—and the machines not rigged—1 would have received

  every vote. I sat down, still waving, then sipped at my restorative glass.

  “Didn’t you promise a few things you can’t deliver?” Angelina asked. I nodded.

  “No one believes election promises, particularly the politicians who make them. The purpose of the talk and this rally is just to stir up enthusiasm.” “Well you certainly have done that.”

  “Good. A few more speeches and we call it a day. Because

  we have a busy night’s work ahead of us.”

  And busy indeed it was. The rally finally ended, we fought

  our way through the enthusiastic crowds to the cars, then moved out onto the highway with the other traffic. The return trip was happily uneventful and no sooner had we entered the hotel suite than the action began. “Are you ready boys?” I asked, tearing out great handfuls of beard in my enthusiasm to get into action.

  “We are!” they chorused.

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  “Then report. ” I slipped out of my formal clothes and into

  my fighting gear. Bolivar read from his notes.

  “All major news items are issued by the Ministry of Information to the various media. Resident censors monitor the final copy at each newspaper and at the Broadcasting Center. Pre-recorded news goes from there to the satellites for rebroadcast on radio and television.” “How many satellites are there?”

  “Eighteen of them, in geostationary orbits. They blanket the planet. Their signals are either received by personal dish antennas or communal piped systems.”

  “That’s the news I have been waiting to hear,” I chortled as I zipped up my soft-soled shoes. “We will just have to forget the newspapers for the moment. It would be too much trouble to sabotage each and every one of them. In any case. I’m

  sure the broadcast media are the most popular. And vulnerable. What we need next are floorplans of the Broadcasting Center and a diagram of their technical setup. ” Bolivar handed me the first, James the second. It was almost too much. I coughed away what might have been a sob and hoped they didn’t notice the glisten in the old stainless steel rat’s eyes. What fine lads they were, how intelligent in the application of their benevolent crockery!

  “We’ve compared one to the other,” Bolivar said, flipping through the floorplans, then stabbing down his finger.

  “And are pretty sure that we have found the weak spot,” James said, finishing the sentence, a finger firmly planted on his diagram. I bent to look as they traced their way through the details.