The hands come out of the pockets empty.
“Over against the wall.” He motioned with the gun. Their faces showed shock and fright. “Face the wall and lean against it with your hands.” He knew he did not need to look into the office. Rafe Newton had the reputation for laying excellent traps.
The four had eleven guns and an evil-looking dart projector designed from a stylus. After he had disarmed them, Movius ordered them to a position near the window, backed up to his cubbyhole. He glanced inside. Newton was sprawled on the floor in a spreading pool of blood. Atop a filing cabinet beside the door was a black box with a stutter gun fastened to it. Electric eye trigger. He had heard of them. Movius turned back to the four he had disarmed.
“All right. Walk ahead of me. Go slowly; don’t make any quick movements. We’re going upstairs.”
Warren Gerard stared at the four Movius had lined up against the office wall. “They were to be witnesses to your dreadful accident, eh?” He leaned forward, peered at each one. They fidgeted. “You’re somewhat of a problem.”
The woman cleared her throat, glanced sideways at the three men with her. “Make us an offer.”
Gerard leaned back. “Oh? You’re for sale?” He turned to Movius. “See anything you’d like to buy?”
“I’ve been thinking,” said Movius. “Say we call in Bu-Con and explain that there has been an accident. We show them Newton’s prints on the trap gun.” He looked at the woman. “They are on the trap gun, aren’t they?”
“On the electric eye box. He was going to get rid of the box, leave the gun on the floor with your prints on it. An accident with a gun.”
“On the box,” said Movius. “That’s even better. We’ll say he must’ve been setting a trap for somebody. We’ve no idea who.”
“What’s in it for us?” asked the woman.
The anger flared in Movius. That had been a close one down there. Too close. “There’s immunity from falling seventy-one floors to the courtyard!” he barked, glaring at her.
“You don’t give us any choice,” said one of the men.
“Nobody’s giving you a choice,” said Movius. “Just her.”
“But …”
“Shut up!” Movius turned to Gerard, who was grinning broadly, a cold, sadistic grin. “Do you have anyone who could look after these three? I’ll have to go down with what’s-her-name here to see if the job’s done right.”
Gerard pulled a gun from a drawer. “I’ve still some I can trust. Go ahead.”
Addington sent six men from Bu-Con. Movius had never seen them before, but they knew him, called him by name. They took photographs, measured, dusted for fingerprints, listened to the woman’s story.
“Who was Newton laying the trap for?” A sharp glance at Movius.
She shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“The fingerprints check.” The Bu-Con man studied the woman. “Tell us what happened in your own words.”
The story came out of her mouth with a pat sureness, as though it had been rehearsed. She was merely substituting Newton’s name for Movius.
They took her name. “Tyle Cotton.” And that caused Movius to stare. The cook’s sister, he thought. Now he saw the resemblance. She reminded him of the big, ungainly Marie Cotton. And Gerard’s ex-mistress. Bulb-head hadn’t batted an eye while looking at her, not shown by any sign that he knew her. A cold fish, Gerard.
“Mr. Movius, would you care to come over to Bu-Con and give your statement?”
He almost laughed. “Yes, I’d care. I’d care so much that I’m not going to do it.”
The Bu-Con men tensed.
“If you want out of this building alive you’ll just go quietly,” said Movius. “You know who he was setting the trap gun for. It backfired when he got careless.”
The investigator made a short note on a pad, waved his men out of the room, followed them. Presently, three men arrived with a stretcher, carted away what was left of Newton. Movius remained in the office with Tyle Cotton.
“What did they pay you for this?” asked Movius.
She turned a calculating look on him. “Promises.”
“What kind of promises?” The answer had surprised him; he’d figured she was the kind of work for revenge.
“Two ranks up and all that goes with it.”
He looked at the SIX above her lapel number. “When were you going to collect?”
She looked upward, her face going hard. “When Gerard was low-opped.”
“He’s not going to be,” said Movius.
“Oh?”
“Never accept promises as payment,” said Movius. “Take what you can get in your hands.” He turned. “Come along.”
Back in Gerard’s office, Movius waved her to a chair. Gerard was standing by an open window, looking down. He closed the window, turned. Just before he closed the window, Movius had heard the faint sound of sirens. With a sick feeling, he had the sudden sure knowledge of what could be seen far down on the paving beneath the window. Three men. He shivered.
“What now?” asked Gerard. Again he gave no sign he had ever seen Tyle Cotton before.
Movius went around the desk, pulled the green pad from a drawer. This was the one, DISTRICT HOUSING—SPECIAL ORDER stamped in the corner. He filled out a fourth rank housing order for Tyle Cotton, forged Gerard’s name to it, tore the order off the pad. He held it toward the woman, but did not release it.
“What’s the price?” she asked, eyeing the order.
“A list of names.”
She glanced toward the window. She knew what was down in the parking area, too.
Gerard found a white notepad and stylus, pushed them across the desk, not looking at her.
What’s he thinking? Movius wondered.
Tyle Cotton hitched her chair forward, began writing. Movius put the housing order beside the notepad. It was a long list. She finished, took up the housing order.
“You can go now,” said Movius. “Report back in the morning.” He watched until the door closed behind her.
“Do you trust her?” asked Gerard. He picked up the list, began reading the names silently, his lips moving.
“You trusted her,” said Movius.
Gerard’s bald head snapped up. “News travels.”
“So it does.” Movius looked at the list. “There isn’t any need to trust her.”
Gerard tapped the list with a fingernail. “Do you think this is accurate?”
“It doesn’t have to be. I wanted her handwriting.”
“Why?” Gerard scratched at his chin with a corner of the paper. “I could have given you that.”
Movius thrust his hands into his pockets. “We have two alternatives. Either she’ll go directly to Addington, tell him she’s given us a false list, or she’ll collect on that apartment, this being a true list of Newton’s friends or a list of her enemies.”
“Then what?”
“Let’s have the list,” said Movius. “I’m going to check it. Then I’m going to post it or one in a duplicate of that handwriting on the door of CR-14.”
“Post it on …”
“Just post it. No threat, nothing but the names.”
“And then?”
“Wait for the missing faces. When they’re out three days we turn them in for evading work order.”
“Addington will give them asylum.”
“Certainly he will. But then we’ll be able to pop off these low-opps legally and with a clear conscious.”
Gerard pulled out his chair, sat down. There was perspiration on his bald head. “I think you frighten me, Movius. You work too fast.”
Movius frowned. “Frighten you? I’m doing this for you to keep you from being frightened.”
The way Gerard’s bald head nodded, Movius could read his thoughts: “Daniel Movius—high loyalty index … Daniel Movius—high loyalty index.” Gerard’s expression was gloating.
Movius suddenly thought of three men falling seventy-one stories to the paving a
nd, with a sick feeling, realized he had put the thought in Gerard’s head. Dream on, Gerard, he thought. The new Daniel Movius is loyal only to Daniel Movius.
Chapter Eighteen
Movius was tired when he reached the apartment, his nerves frayed out by the day. He nodded to the door guards, went up in the elevator. The apartment was empty. Movius sensed it the minute he closed the door. Damn it! Grace wasn’t supposed to go out! A note was pinned to the bedroom door. “Dan: I’ve gone with Navvy to see friends.” No signature.
Friends? Sep business? He could think of nothing she was supposed to do. The organization was running smoothly, the way a good organization should. It hardly required his attention anymore.
The door chimes rang. Movius went to the door, hesitated, palmed the little gun before opening the door wide. It was Janus Peterson, the fat Bu-Trans driver Movius had appointed one of his chief lieutenants. Peterson ducked inside, waited for the door to be closed.
“Can we talk here?” Peterson’s husky voice rumbled in the effort to keep it low.
“You are now conversant with a privilege of Upper Rank,” said Movius. “A master scrambler on the building. It prevents any kind of tapping.”
Peterson’s eyes blinked. “A courier came in from Madrid today.”
Something occurred to Movius. “How’d you get in here? Nobody’s allowed in this building without a permit and the place is crawling with guards.”
Peterson grinned, pulled out a thin leather folder. “What kind of a permit do you need?” He pulled out a building maintenance permit signed with Warren Gerard’s unmistakable scrawl. “Traced the signature from a regular Bu-Trans order.”
“Anybody could do that,” said Movius.
“Anybody with enough brass,” said Peterson.
“Well, come in and sit down.” Movius waited for Peterson to crowd his barrel-shape into a chair, then perched on the arm of a chair opposite. “What’s the word?”
“People are all ready to revolt. Capetown was set to go it on their own. Now they say they’ll wait for the word from here. They like the idea of all moving at once.”
“How many are ready?”
“Maybe one hundred cities—the big ones. More coming in every day.”
“How’re we coming on the new headquarters?”
“Furniture goes in today,” said Peterson. “It’ll be ready by tomorrow night.”
Movius nodded. “All right. Here’s a message for you to take to Phil Henry: get the parts for the beam trap into a shipment to Bu-Psych by tomorrow morning. Have the men start assembling it tomorrow night. Got that?”
Peterson nodded. “I’m still not sure what that thing will do.”
“It’ll cause the biggest furor this government has ever seen,” said Movius. “The Coor is like Montcalm ignoring the Cliffs of Abraham.”
“What’s that?”
“That’s out of a history book,” said Movius. “A general once lost an ancient city called Quebec because he thought there was one way the enemy could not reach him and failed to guard that way.”
“Oh.”
“The Coor and all of his advisors believe it’s impossible to trap a communications beam without jamming it so that the effort would be noticeable. Phil Henry and I figured out a way to do it way back when we were in Comp Section together. Only we didn’t think there was any use for the idea and dropped it.”
“I’ll see that Phil gets the word today,” said Janus. “Soon’s I can.”
Movius got to his feet. “How many new recruits?”
Peterson wiped perspiration from his face with a soiled handkerchief. “Over two hundred today. That makes it sixty thousand in this city alone.”
“That’s a lot of people to trust.”
Peterson shook his head. “It isn’t hard to trust angry people. And it’s not hard to find out who’s angry and why. The Madrid courier said all of the people he talked to like the way you’re operating. They listened close to your recordings. He said they like the way you’re putting it over on the High-Opps.”
The door rattled, opened. Grace stood in the doorway with a package in her arms. She looked at Peterson questioningly.
“I was just going,” said Peterson.
“No need to leave on my account, Janus,” said Grace.
“Have to be getting back,” said Peterson. He lifted his bulk out of the chair, went to the door, turned sideways to go past Grace. Movius noted amusedly that Peterson was no thinner that way than across the beam.
Grace closed the door, dropped her package on the hall table, met him halfway across the room. They clung to each other for a moment without speaking. Grace pushed away.
Movius said, “Janus and I …”
“Will it wait?” She smoothed a non-existent wrinkle from his lapel, turned away from him. “You must stay away from my father. Don’t let my father or Navvy get near you.”
“But your note said you’d gone with Navvy to …”
“I made him drop me off downstairs in the basement driveway.”
“Why?” he asked. “Because your father is spying on me for O’Brien?”
She whirled on him. “Don’t be an oaf! I knew the second I told you about my father’s phone call the other night that you’d planted the story with O’Brien.” She twisted her hands. “You’re going to hate me.”
“I couldn’t do that.” Why did the lie come so easily? “I’m in love with you.” Somewhere in his mind a tiny thought said, “That’s right. You are in love with her.” He’d known it for three days now—three days and nights.
“You shouldn’t have gone out,” he said. “It’s dangerous.”
“I thought I’d be back before you got home and …”
“And what?” He moved to her, stroked her hair.
“I had to find out what they’re planning,” she said. She leaned against him, her cheek against his chin. “I had Navvy take me to father’s apartment to get some things I’d left there. I got away from Navvy and looked in a special place. I found a note for Navvy. It said, ‘We’ll have to do without.’ And …”
“What does that mean?”
“It means they plan to kill you.” She began to cry.
He held her away, looked at her. “How do you know?”
The tears rolled down her cheeks. “Because he was going to send me that message once.”
Movius jerked away from her. “Until you became untrustworthy!”
She nodded.
“That’s why they let you marry me. They wanted a scorpion in my bedroom. A trained scorpion that’d sting me when they gave the word.”
Again she nodded. The tears were now a steady pulse out of her eyes.
The agony in Grace’s expression came through the numbness in him. She risked me hating her, he thought. She risked it rather than let me be killed. He pulled her to him, stroked her head.
“I knew he was cold,” he said, “but …”
She pulled her head back, looked up at him. “He’s not really. He just can’t feel anything but the need for revenge. He wants to strike back for what they did to my mother.”
“No revenge is worth that.”
She stared at him. “Not even your revenge?”
“No, not even mine.” He took her arm. “Come in here and sit down. I want you to tell me their whole plan, why they called on me. Everything you know.”
She held back. “First I have to know something.”
“What?”
“These nights … have you …”
He looked at her, loving the little-girl expression of hesitancy. “I started to make love to you out of pity, but …”
“But?” The hurt showed near the surface of her eyes.
“But somewhere along the way I found you had more pity than I have.” He shook his head. “Men aren’t very good at this sort of thing. We try to do everything by logic and lose touch with our own feelings.”
“Dan.” Her face glowed. “Let’s apply for sparse area resettlement. We cou
ld go away and …”
“Grace!”
The glow left her face.
“You know better than that, Grace. We’re riding the tiger now. We can’t get off the tiger until we tame it.”
Chapter Nineteen
The ruthless side was certain to come out,” said O’Brien. He stood by the window of his office, looking out at the river. “Newton was a threat. Ergo: stamp on Newton. Those other three were a threat. Ergo: dump them out a window.” O’Brien turned and looked at Quilliam London where the angular man stood looking at Movius’ chart.
“I see his decision index still goes up.”
O’Brien crossed to his side. “Up and up. The logical brilliance of the man is uncanny.”
“He once told me he doesn’t use logic,” said London. “The right answer just occurs to him.”
“You told me.”
“So I did. Up he goes. I take it this line contains the decisions of the past few days, including the one which may have smoked out our relationship.”
“Yes.”
“Either way the decision index must go up,” said London. “If he actually has seduced my daughter and made her pregnant, that was an excellent tactical move. If it was fabrication, it shows tremendous insight.”
“You talk about it coldly enough,” said O’Brien.
“I shall take a great deal of pleasure in pulling the trigger myself,” said London.
“Unless you happen to fall out a window first.”
London nodded his angular grey head, the hunter eyes going speculative. “You were going to bring me up to date. This running around in disguise has its drawbacks. I seldom know what’s really going on until I get up here with you.”
O’Brien returned to his chair across the table, sat down. “Movius got Janus Peterson to ferret out the names of Newton’s crowd in Bu-Trans. The list didn’t coincide with one the late Tyle Cotton gave him and …”
“The late Tyle Cotton? In Roper’s name, what happened to her? Did she go out a window, too?”
“Sorry, I keep forgetting you’re out of touch with things.”
“That is an understatement.”
“Hmmmm.” O’Brien pursed his lips. “Tyle tried to buy her way out of Bu-Trans and into Bu-Con with a fake list of Newton’s friends. She was way out of her depth. Movius anticipated her, took the list Janus gave him and copied it in her handwriting. He posted that list on the door of CR-14. Eighty-one Bu-Trans employees failed to show for work and Tyle’s body was found floating in the river.”
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