'That is your fuel gauge.' The voice sounded disgusted. 'What we want is the reading on the gauge beside it.'
'Oh. Eight thousand.'
'Good. Maintain that altitude.'
'How?'
'We do not read your last transmission.'
'How do I maintain that altitude? I mean, doesn't this plane have to come down sooner or later?'
'Roger. We understand your predicament. Do not touch any of your instruments. Repeat. Do not touch any of your instruments. Now, reply to this. Reply to this. What is your destination?'
'Anywhere!' I said fervently. 'Anywhere I can put my feet on the ground.'
'We have picked you up on our radar and must advise that you are over Russian territory. Repeat, you are over Russian territory. The United States government takes no responsibility for your unauthorized flight. This message is being broadcast over all frequencies now. The United States government takes no responsibility for unauthorized flight over Russian territory.'
'Well, how do I get away from Russian territory?' I wailed.
'Your current course on our radar will take you deeper into Russia. If your fuel holds out, you may make it to the Chinese border if you continue on that course. But must warn you that Russians will undoubtedly fire on your unidentified flying object before you reach China. Also, the Chinese will fire if-'
'Hold it!' I shouted into the mike. 'I can't hear you. There's some kind of an explosion outside the plane.' I craned my head out the window. There were small puffs of black smoke all around me. I knew what they were. I smiled a Cagney smile and said the word to myself out loud: 'Flak!'
The mike was still on, and it picked up the sound.
'Are you being fired upon?' the voice in my earphones asked.
'Yes.'
'The United States government takes no responsibility for unauthorized flights over Soviet territory.'
'Whose side are you on?' I asked. 'Can't you tell me how to turn this crate around and get the hell out of here?'
'Turn your wheel until the reading on your compass shows thirty-five degrees. That will take you out of Russian territory and back toward Greenland.'
I did as he said. A few moments later I was out of the flak-storm. After that, it was duck soup. They just told me what to do and I did it. I followed their radar beam straight to Greenland.
'Stand by for landing instructions,' I was told. 'All air traffic has been cleared for May Day landing. Now press your throttle forward so that the plane will lose altitude.'
I did as he said and left my stomach somewhere up in the clouds. 'I'm diving!' I shrieked.
'Pull back on your throttle. Do not panic. Do not panic.'
'Who's panicking? It's just that I forgot to buy an insurance policy before I took off.'
'Now, we are going to start you on a glide path. But before we do, keep in mind that your wheels and tail should touch ground at the same time so that you don't nose over.'
'I don't have any wheels!' I remembered.
'Last transmission not understood. Repeat last transmission.'
'I don't have any wheels. There's skis on this plane.'
'Oy!'
'Can you talk him down, Irving?' I heard a new voice ask.
'I don't know how to ski,' the first voice, Irving's, replied.
'Well, do your best.'
'Yes!' I echoed. 'Do your best. My bones break easy.'
'Very well. Start your glide-path. Now, lower your flaps.'
'What?'
'Your flaps! Lower them!'
'I wear jockey shorts. I can't-'
'The lever beside your knee. Pull it!' I pulled it.
'Now pull back on your wheel so that you're level… That's it… Up on the nose a little so you can skid right in and – Look out! You're heading right for this transmission tower! Look out! Look -!'
I shielded my face against the crash. The impact of it hurled me from the plane. I landed right in the lap of a guy sitting in front of a large radio and radar setup.
'I told you to look out,' he said disgustedly. 'Now look what you've done. You wrecked the control tower.'
'Sorry, Irving.' I'd recognized his voice. 'I'll try to see that it never happens again.' My eyes lit on an object which had been hurled out of the wreckage along with me. I hurried to retrieve the four-foot bejeweled phallus.
'What's that?' Irving asked.
'What does it look like?'
'What happened to the rest of it?' Irving peered into the wreckage with worried eyes.
'There is no rest. This is all there is. And it isn't even scratched. That's what I call luck,' I enthused.
'What are you going to do with it?' Irving asked.
'What do you think?'
'I don't know.' He edged away. 'Nothing would surprise me. Not after today. Now, you may not believe this,' he added as he paused in the doorway before taking flight, 'but this is the first time a man with a four-foot long golden dingus has ever crashed a plane into my conning tower!'
I hadn't time to chase after him and explain. I hustled over to the office of the man in charge and persuaded him to let me put in a call to Putnam in London. Putnam put the wheels in motion fast. I was saved from explanations and investigations. He arranged for a plane to fly me to New York immediately.
Just before take-off I spotted Irving walking across the airstrip. A voice called out to him as he passed the hangars. 'Hey, Irv, coming to the New Year's Eve party tonight?'
'No,' Irving replied.
'Why not?'
'It would be anti-climactic,' Irving told him.
I chuckled to myself, hefted the phallus, and climbed aboard the plane. It was quite different from my last flight. It was good to be a passenger again and leave the driving to somebody else.
It was New Year's Day when I landed in New York. Putnam had arranged a room for me at a motel adjacent to the airport, and I went straight to it. I slept for twelve hours straight. The phone ringing beside my bed woke me. It was the room clerk. I had a visitor – 'a friend of Mr. Putnam's.'
I told the clerk to send him up to the room. A few moments later I was shaking hands with Singh Huy-eva. 'I understand you have something for me,' he said when the greetings were over.
'That I do.' I opened the suitcase and produced the jeweled phallus with a flourish. 'Gonads and all,' I told him.
'Now my quest is over,' Singh said. 'But my instructions are to continue to help you if I can.'
'I think you can,' I told him. 'Has S.M.U.T. discovered you're a spy yet?'
'No. Crampdick seems to believe I'm as legitimate as ever. He's back from Toronto now. I don't know why he was recalled. But I suspect something's up.'
'Something is,' I assured him. 'Do you know if that blonde chick from the brothel is back, too?'
'Yes. I saw her up at the S.M.U.T. offices only yesterday.' He looked at me curiously. 'Don't tell me that she's-'
'Dr. Nyet. Right. Do you think you can find out where she's staying?'
'I can try. I'll get on it right away. I'll call you back when I have anything.'
Singh left then. There was nothing for me to do but wait. I waited. Another day went by before he contacted me.
'I followed the young lady,' he said over the phone. 'She's staying at one of the S.M.U.T. branch offices in Forest Hills. People by the name of-'
'Highman.' I finished the sentence for him.
