The elevator stopped. The doors slid back. They were in the subsurface level of the White House. Kongrosian and Pembroke stepped out into the hall— A man, whom both of them recognized, stood waiting for them. “I want you to listen, Kongrosian,” Bertold Goltz said to the pianist. Swiftly, in a fraction of a second, the NP Commissioner had his pistol out. He aimed at Goltz and fired. But Goltz had already vanished. A piece of folded paper lay on the floor where he had stood. Goltz had dropped it. Stooping, Kongrosian reached for it. “Don’t touch that!” Pembroke said sharply. It was too late.
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