The Programmed Man

by Jean Sutton

  He came to a window that was set at an angle to the street and paused to gaze into it. Almost immediately he spotted his tracker, a short, portly, inconsequential-appearing figure who had stopped dutifully behind him, intent on another window. Short and portly, but a bloodhound, Terle knew. August Karsh didn't employ second-rate agents, not even on such an out-of-the-way planet as Anhaus. Regardless of his follower's shape, size or age, he was a formidable adversary; Terle had no doubt of that. He moved on again, considering how best he might dodge his shadow.

  He came to a small park and turned in, walking toward the central plaza while a plan formed in his mind. Slowing his pace, he turned up a side path and immediately stepped behind a screen of shrubbery. Bad, but he had to do it. There was no other way. Taking a stun gun from his pocket, he hefted it, waiting.

  He heard the footsteps first, suddenly quickening as his pursuer entered the wooded path. When the portly figure drew abreast of him, he pushed the weapon through the screen of foliage and fired.

  Pocketing the weapon, Terle walked past the fallen figure without even glancing down. He would be safe for a while, but he still had to hurry. As he turned back into the main thoroughfare, he heard shouts from the park and smiled; the drumming inside of his skull had left. He was safe now. Safe.

  At ten minutes before high noon, Terle entered the Rhonda spaceport and went directly to a communication booth. Opol. The name formed in his mind, followed by a number. With it came the knowledge that Opol also was a double agent. Like Mather Shek, he had only one real master, and that was money. He draped his handkerchief over the visiscreen and punched the number programmed in his mind.

  A woman's voice answered. "Rhonda Imports," she said. The name, he knew, was a cover for Prince Li-Hu's intelligence operations on the planet.

  "Mr. Opol," Terle requested.

  "May I ask who is calling?"

  He paused before saying, "You may not. It's confidential."

  "One moment, please." He heard a click, and moments later a man's voice came on. It was sharp and high.

  "Opol speaking."

  "My name is Terle, Myron Terle. I work for Dr. G."

  "Terle!" the other exclaimed. There was a startled silence before he asked, "Where are you at?" Terle translated the question to read: Where shall I send the police? He gave the name of a hotel.

  "Why didn't you keep your appointment with Mather Shek?" Opol asked.

  Terle had been expecting the question. "I learned he was a double agent. In the pay of August Karsh," he added.

  "Shek? Are you certain?"

  "Positive." Terle found himself enjoying the situation.

  "How did you discover that?" Opol shot back.

  "A third agent," Terle confided. "It was a case of the watcher being watched."

  "Where can I meet you?" Opol asked edgily.

  "This evening, at my hotel. Shall we say six?"

  "Not before?"

  "Business," he responded. Before Opol could answer, he replaced the instrument and, humming, walked out onto the passenger ramp. He felt good, as he always did when he shucked one identity for another. He was no longer Myron Terle, nor was he Dorcus Antol of Varga. He was now Dana Smithson of Marta, fourth of the sun Coulson. He grinned to himself; he had papers to prove it.

  Fifteen minutes later he was en route to Grydo, third of the green-white sun Geddes.

  Golem Gregor, better known as Dr. G, didn't resemble the popular conception of a spy-master, much less director of the ultrasecret intelligence apparatus that served the four planets of the violet Zuman sun. Short and plump, his round, jovial face and smooth features gave him a placid, innocuous appearance that was heightened by an upturned nose and mild blue eyes. At the moment he sat with his hands folded, listening as Zed Zarakov, his chief assistant, outlined the latest moves in Gregor's attempt to crack the secret of the N-bomb.

  As he spoke, Zarakov wondered if his superior really was listening. Caught by the violet light streaming through the windows, Gregor's face held an absent, faraway expression. He neither moved nor gave any sign that he was listening. But Zarakov really knew better; Dr. G always listened.

  Zarakov came to the end of his report and said, "I believe that sums it up. August Karsh has taken the bait nicely. He knows that Myron Terle tried to contact Alphan agents on both Zagar and Anhaus, and for what other reason if not for the bomb? There's nothing else he could think, Golem. If the Empire loses the bomb secret, it will be because of Terle; Karsh is convinced of that."

  "So am I." Gregor smiled placidly.

  "Terle can't escape Karsh's net very long," Zarakov warned.

  "Long enough, Zed. Does Gilmore know Karsh's next move?" Gilmore, a Zuman agent who had penetrated the Empire's intelligence apparatus nearly two decades before, had worked his way up until he was now a subdirector working in Karsh's central headquarters, a little drama that afforded Gregor much amusement. Gilmore would be caught eventually, but in the meantime.

  "He's instigated a total effort to snare Terle."

  "I know," Gregor said gently, "but what kind of effort? What action is he taking?"

  "The standard," Zarakov answered. "Watch, search, wait."

  Gregor shook his head. "He can't wait."

  "He hasn't much choice, Golem."

  "He still can't wait, Zed. Not August Karsh."

  "I've worried about that." Zarakov pulled his long face into an even gloomier expression than the one he habitually wore. "Gilmore might get a line on something," he ventured finally.

  "If Karsh believes Terle is the main threat, how does he account for Terle's movements away from Ophiucus rather than toward it?"

  "He knows Terle's a teleport."

  "Not that much of a teleport, Zed."

  "He probably doesn't assess it in terms of degrees," Zarakov ventured. "He probably believes the ability is all or none."

  Gregor moved his head in negation. "Karsh knows better than that. He had York spotting Terle for weeks before we caught on, and right in our own backyard. There was very little that York didn't discover. I'll wager that. A damned clever agent, Zed."

  "He worries me," Zarakov admitted.

  "Also, how does Karsh account for Terle's failure to keep the appointments on Zagar and Anhaus? Did Gilmore mention that?"

  Zarakov nodded. "Terle told the agent on Anhaus -- that's Opol -- that Shek was a double agent."

  "That wouldn't explain his not meeting Opol."

  "Gilmore didn't go into that point. I don't know how Karsh reacted."

  "Did Karsh ask how Terle discovered Shek was a double agent?"

  "He did. Gilmore says Terle claimed the information came from a third agent -- sort of a triple play," explained Zarakov.

  Gregor chuckled. "That'll give Karsh food for thought. He'll probably have every one of his agents under the probe before this one's finished."

  "I hope not, for Gilmore's sake."

  "The chances we take, Zed."

  "I'm glad I'm a headquarters man, Golem." Zarakov raised his head. "Gilmore says it's definite that the N-cruiser Cetus is en route to Ophiucus."

  "I expected that," Gregor said. "The Draco was dispatched as a dire emergency, but I considered that the Admiral of the Galactic Seas might have second thoughts about it. It's not Empire policy to allow an outworlder access to the bomb, even if he is a destroyer captain."

  "Doesn't that complicate matters for us?"

  "I don't believe the Cetus will ever reach Gelhart, at least during the critical time."

  "I don't follow you," said Zarakov. "The Cetus is in hypertime now."

  Gregor lifted his head. "And when Myron Terle pops up on Grydo, the heart of Ophiucus? That's where the action will be, Zed. The Cetus will be diverted to Grydo faster than you can snap a finger. Leave that to Karsh."

  "Why the Cetus?" asked Zarakov. "Why not the Draco? It seems to me that if the Empire can't trust the Draco's captain with the bomb secret -- "
>
  "The Draco can't nova a sun, Zed."

  "Nova a sun?" exclaimed Zarakov. His eyes grew startled. "What sun? I'm not tracking you."

  "Grydo's sun, Geddes."

  "Annihilate Grydo! An inhabited planet?"

  "It's an agricultural planet, Zed. It has little economic or military use to the Empire."

  "But one of their own planets," Zarakov said disbelievingly.

  Gregor looked across the desk. "Try this on the scales of expediency, Zed. Put one small, unimportant planet on one balance arm and the secret of the N-bomb on the other. Which would weigh more heavily?"

  "I still can't see them wiping out a planet, Golem."

  "Don't confuse justice with expediency," Gregor replied drily. "The Empire wasn't built on mercy."

  "But if Terle's going there?"

  "I wouldn't worry about Myron." Gregor glanced away uncomfortably. Inadvertently he had glimpsed Zarakov's mind, witnessing the uncertainty and worry that lay there. Not that he was surprised, but he recognized the peep as an invasion of his assistant's privacy.

  Apparently Zarakov hadn't witnessed his discomfiture, for he said, "Now I am confused."

  Gregor's expression was sober. "It's a dangerous gambit, I know, but a necessary one."

  "I still can't see how Terle hopes to get the bomb secret," Zarakov exclaimed wonderingly. "Even if the Alphans use him as a last resource, which I doubt, how do they expect to reach him on Grydo? And if the Cetus closes off the planet or annihilates it -- " He broke off, gazing perplexedly at his chief.

  "Myron's resourceful," Gregor answered mildly.

  "With that deep therapy he underwent?"

  "That was just to protect secrets in case of capture. It doesn't affect his ability to act, Zed."

  "That's something else I don't get -- all that therapy and probing. It seems to me -- "

  "I wouldn't worry about it," Gregor cut in. Changing the subject, he said, "The Draco should be fairly close to the Gelhart system by now."

  "I received word just before I came in," Zarakov replied. "Our man on Upi says she should be out of hypertime, closing with her nuclears."

  "With Daniel York aboard," Gregor supplied. "I wonder if Prince Li-Hu knows that."

  "I doubt it. York is clever."

  "Very clever, Zed. I'm still amazed that he was able to talk his way aboard the Draco. Have you read the dossier on her captain? Corden Hull's his name, and he's one tough character. Most of those destroyer men are."

  "I've read it," Zarakov admitted. "I imagine York had to fall back on his E.I. credentials."

  "Undoubtedly, Zed. Ordinarily the E.I. doesn't mean much to a Navy officer, but right now Karsh must have the Admiral of the Galactic Seas eating out of his hand."

  "In this crisis? I should imagine so."

  "He places a lot of faith in York."

  "Karsh? He certainly should."

  Gregor settled his bulky frame more comfortably. "No matter how this comes out, Prince Li-Hu hasn't a chance. Terle at one end of the play, York at the other. I wonder if he knows that?"

  "I wouldn't underestimate him, Golem. He's managed to take over an Empire N-ship, and no one's ever done that before."

  "It will be interesting to find how he accomplished it."

  "We may never know," Zarakov responded gloomily.

  "Daniel York will know."

  "How does that benefit us?"

  "You can never tell, Zed."

  Zarakov looked at his superior uneasily. "There's something strange about all this. I'm puzzled."

  "Why?" Gregor asked.

  "You speak of Daniel York like you speak of Myron Terle. You make it sound -- " He broke off suddenly, a glint of suspicion leaping into his face. "My God, is York a double agent?"

  "Absolutely not," Gregor denied. "I only wish he were, but he's August Karsh's man right down to the wire."

  "I don't know." Zarakov looked baffled. "There's something about this whole thing that doesn't add up, some piece that's missing. I've worked a thousand cases with you, Golem, but there's something about this one that I don't know."

  "You're right, Zed."

  Zarakov looked startled. "Something I don't know?"

  Gregor nodded and smiled pleasantly. "But don't feel badly, Zed. No one else knows, either."

  "Except you," Zarakov said.

  "And Myron Terle," Gregor amended. "He knows."

  August Karsh, his thin lips drawn wolfishly against his teeth, leaned forward to stare at his assistant. "A Dorcus Antol lands on Zagar, and Terle shows up. A Dorcus Antol lands on Anhaus, and Terle shows up. How do you account for that, Clender?" He tapped a lean finger against the desk. "That's our man -- Dorcus Antol."

  "You're possibly right," Clender answered worriedly.

  "Possibly? I don't believe in coincidences," Karsh snapped. "Not those kinds."

  "There's no record of a Dorcus Antol leaving Anhaus, August. We've checked every ship."

  "I expect he has a dozen passports," Karsh replied acidly.

  "We're trying to cover that contingency."

  "Does it strike you as odd that Terle should contact two of Li-Hu's agents and both times not appear?"

  "Well, if he learned they were double agents -- "

  "Great suns of Centauri!" Karsh exclaimed. "Is that coincidence, each time choosing a double agent?"

  "It is odd," Clender admitted.

  "Come, Clender, it's not odd, it's purposeful," Karsh stated.

  "I don't follow you, August."

  Karsh patiently explained. "If Terle knew Shek and Opol were double agents, he wouldn't have contacted them unless he wanted to draw attention to himself. If he hadn't known, how could he have determined the fact between the time he called and the time of the appointments? And why did he stall the appointments for overnight? To give him time to escape, Clender, and that's exactly what he did. The passenger records show he left Heraska within fifteen minutes after contacting Shek. Do you mean to tell me that within those few minutes he determined that Shek was a double agent and fled? Don't ask me to believe that, Clender. And can you imagine an agent as clever as Terle using the same passport twice? No, Clender, he had just one objective in mind -- to draw our attention."

  "But why?" asked Clender perplexedly.

  "To make us believe that the Zuman government's trying to establish some sort of alliance with Li-Hu," Karsh replied softly.

  "What's the sense of that, August?"

  "He's demonstrating that the attempts have failed, that no alliance has been effected."

  "You're losing me," declared Clender. "Why should he do that?"

  "To mask the fact that such an alliance has already been effected," Karsh answered. "It's logical."

  Clender asked, "What does Terle gain in either case?"

  "If we knew that such an alliance were in effect, we would link the Zuman government with Li-Hu's attempt to snatch the bomb secret. In effect, Terle is exempting his government from participation in the plot by demonstrating that no such alliance exists."

  Clender shook his head negatively. "That's farfetched, August."

  "It's a hypothesis," Karsh replied.

  "Why would they use Terle? Why not someone more expendable?"

  "Because Terle's accomplishing a double function," Karsh answered. "Do you notice that he's moving farther and farther from Ophiucus? Why? Because he knows that we'll be intent on watching him. In effect, he's trying to draw our attention from what is happening in Ophiucus. It's the only way I can reason this thing, Clender."

  "There must be a more simple reason, August. The Alphans might hold possession of the Rigel, but they can't return the bomb. You said that yourself. And they can't hold the Rigel very long," Clender declared grimly. "The N-cruiser Cetus is out of hypertime now, to say nothing of the Draco. Another few days and we'll have York there."

  "And probably Terle, too," Karsh replied drily. "Or very close by."

 
"How do you figure that? Terle's moving in an almost opposite direction."

  "As long as we're watching him, yes." Karsh slapped the desk. "Perhaps that's it, Clender. How long would it take him to backtrack, get to Ophiucus? Not long. And in the meantime, we're supposed to be looking in the other direction. How do we know where he is now? We don't, and we might not know where he pops up next until it's too late."

  "By Jupiter, you might be right!" exclaimed Clender.

  "It's a hypothesis." Karsh pressed a button and leaned toward a desk mike. "What's the nearest inhabited planet to the star Gelhart, region of Ophiucus?" he asked.

  Within ten seconds a voice said, "The planet Grydo, third of the green-white sun Geddes. The distance is six hours and ten minutes hypertime, using the Mayfax drive, seven hours with the Oldex. Do you wish the planetary data?"

  "Type and value," Karsh responded.

  "Colonial planet of agricultural status; its economic index is point zero-zero-five."

  "That will be all," Karsh snapped. He closed the channel and looked at Clender. "I want you to check every space terminal on Anhaus, list any passenger that might have departed for Grydo."

  "Right away," Clender acknowledged.

  "I also want a wall of men placed around Grydo's spaceport," Karsh continued. "And agents in every hotel, every public place."

  "We're too late for that," Clender objected. "If Terle's en route to Grydo, he'll arrive before the order can be put into effect."

  Karsh said softly, "He might arrive there, Clender, but I want to make certain he doesn't get off."

  "A teleport, August?"

  "We can seal off the planet, isolate it completely."

  "You still might not catch him."

  Karsh smiled grimly. "A planet with an economic index of point zero-zero-five? We can reduce that to zero-zero period, if we must."

  "Annihilate Grydo!" exclaimed Clender.

  "If necessary." Karsh pressed the button and again spoke into the mike. "Get me the Admiral of the Galactic Seas immediately."

  Alone in his office, Karsh stared through the windows at Sol's soft golden rays. It was all a game, he mused. To the billions of citizens of the hundreds of planets the Zumans were freaks, mutants, the alien spawn of an ungodly star. That message had been drummed home in the public media until, in the course of repetition, propaganda had become gospel. But he knew better. Sitting back, he folded his hands and contemplated it.