Free Thefts of Nick Velvet by Edward D. Hoch

rooms there had been obvious attempts to copy the decor of the White House in Washington, but the venture had been ruined by a tasteless plushness more, in keeping with kings than presidents.
    “Our country was founded in 1899 by the great revolutionary leader Palidez,” General Tras explained as he led them on a brief tour. “He wrote our constitution and built this house. Nueve— that was the word he lived by. This is called the Casa Nueve , a fitting name.”
    Nick nodded. “The New House,” he translated, “for a new country.”
    Maria shot him an odd glance and started to say something, but then Asignar joined them with Pop Hastin and Roswell, the publicity man. “Shall we go in to dinner?” the Minister of Information suggested.
    Roswell was seated next to Nick, and as they sat down the publicity man said, “We might make something out of this yet, no thanks to you.”
    “Oh?”
    “Pop thinks it’s a great publicity break for the team, and he’s right, of course. Every magazine in the country will want our story when we get back.”
    Later, after a meal of wild boar more fitted to a medieval monarch than a Caribbean president, Nick had an opportunity for a private word with Pop Hastin. “I’m glad you realize the publicity value in all this,” he said.
    Pop reached for some chewing tobacco. “I was upset at first, but now I’m beginning to like the idea. All season long I’ve listened to sports commentators chuckle about the Meager Beavers, and at my age that wasn’t easy to take. But now we’ve been kidnaped by you and brought down here to play the Jabali team. You didn’t kidnap the Yankees or Cards or Pirates—you kidnaped the Beavers!”
    “Well, yes,” Nick admitted. He wasn’t about to mention that he’d picked the Beavers simply because they were last in the league standing.
    “Coming out to the practice tomorrow?” Pop asked.
    “I’ll be there.”
    By morning the news of the stolen Beavers had made headlines around the world. The storm was particularly heavy in Washington, as Nick had feared, but Pop’s statement to the American Ambassador that they were well-treated and anxious to play the game had done much to cool the tense situation.
    At the stadium for the practice session Pop Hastin had a further statement for reporters. “We are here as guests of the President and we consider it an honor to be so chosen. We’ll be returning home after the exhibition game tomorrow.” In answer to persistent questions he added, “We are not being held against our wills or mistreated in any way.”
    Nick breathed a sigh of relief as he settled onto a bench to watch the practice. At least Pop’s statement should take some of the pressure off him. He glanced up to see Tras and his daughter coming over to join him. The President was obviously excited, like a small boy on a Sunday afternoon at Yankee Stadium. The General watched intently as Stan Karowitz took batting practice and actually cheered when the tall first baseman hit a line drive to the farthest corner of left field.
    “Do you think your team can take them?” Nick asked.
    “The Beavers are very good. It will be a real event for my people and I do not really care which team is victorious. But of course I will be cheering for Jabali.” He watched the pitchers for a time and then added, “Jorge has suggested a patriotic pageant before the game tomorrow. Our independence day is in a few weeks—on September 9th—and he thinks an early celebration is in order. He’s to speak to both teams about taking part.”
    Nick grunted and lit a cigarette. A few minutes later, when General Tras went down on the field to speak with his own brightly uniformed team, Maria moved next to Nick. “Something’s troubling you,” she observed.
    “I’m running low on American cigarettes.”
    “Something besides that. I’ve known you only a day, but I can see the worried look in your eyes.”
    “It’s just this whole setup,” he admitted. “I