You did it! You were able to keep from thinking about your escape plans!

Soon you are summoned again by the U-TY. They guide you into an automated shuttlecraft, which carries you down through the Earth's atmosphere with incredible speed and smoothness. At 11:50 p.m. you step out onto the Great Lawn near the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. Robots float out of the craft and hover near the wall of the museum. They direct their antennae at the building. A section of the rear wall dissolves. The robots lead you through the hole in the wall. You watch in amazement as they dart about the building, grabbing paintings and statues like bees gathering nectar from flowers.

The alarm sounds. Two guards are running toward you, guns drawn. One of them yells, “Hal, or I’ll shoot!”

A U-TY robot swoops toward you, but you don't want to be taken back to the ship! You dive onto the floor between the two guards.

The air is split by the sound of a siren.

“Help! Save me!” you yell at the guards.

They step back. One of them has you covered with his revolver, and you stand,  rush toward you. The U-TY robots are gone. A guard handcuffs you and leads you to the front entrance, while the others run around shouting at each other. Squad cars have already blocked off the Avenue. Half a dozen policemen are running up the broad steps leading up from the sidewalk. Others are headed around the sides of the building.

A half-hour later you are at police headquarters. You are seated at a small wooden table in a dingy room lit by a single bulb overhead. Two officers stand over you. One is a big, swarthy fellow with curly black hair. The other officer is a short, red-faced man. Their badges show that the big one is Lieutenant Fitch; the other, Captain Mackin.

“Well. What's your story?” says Fitch.

“This is going to be hard for you to believe,” you say, “but I wasn't in on this. I was captured by aliens in a UFO. They're the ones who took the art...”

“Let's not waste time being cute,” Mackin interrupts. “You couldn't have been part of a team that stole thirty million dollars’ worth of art in ten minutes unless you knew exactly what you were doing!”

Fitch lays a heavy hand on your shoulder. “Look, kid, we don't want to send you to jail, but we have to get that art. Come clean and you'll get out of this, but, if you want to make up fairy tales, things will go very hard for you.”

“Very hard,” Mackin adds.

The door flies open. Fitch and Mackin jump to their feet. You can tell that the grim, leather-faced man standing there must be a high-ranking police inspector.

He takes a long look at you and then tums to the others and says, “We've just verified that this was the kid reported missing from Air France Flight 2 — the  jet from New York to Paris — and presumed dead!”

“Doesn't look dead to me,” Mackin says.

Fitch laughs. “The report just might be wrong.”

The Inspector points a cigar at the two officers. “Not according to the CIA and the man I just talked to on the phone — chief of staff to the president. The report is right, but it's being kept secret. We've been ordered to let this kid go with no further questions.”

“But... what about the art robbery?” asks Mackin.

“It will never be solved,” the inspector says. “It's enough for you to know that it's a military secret—at least for now.”

The two policemen start to speak. But the Inspector silences them with a wave of his hand. “Your family is on the way to pick you up. I don't think you'll find many people who will believe your story about being captured by aliens from outer space. There will only be a few, like me, who will ever know for sure that you really were inside a UFO.”

/ENDING Nº23/