Day After Tomorrow

by Mack Reynolds

  “I don’t think there’d be anything like a thousand bills in a pound,” Steve said weakly.

  Larry said, “How much other money is there? I mean besides the fifties?”

  “Oh, piles. Whole rooms. Rooms after rooms. And hundred dollar bills, and twenties, and fives and tens.”

  Larry said, “Look Zusanette, everything makes it obvious that you are in no position to be telling us whoppers. This whole story doesn’t make sense, does it?”

  Her mouth tightened. “I’m not going to say anything more until Daddy gets here anyway,” she said.

  Which was when the phone rang.

  The screen lit up and LaVerne Polk said, “There’s a call for Steve Hackett, Larry.”

  Larry pushed the phone screen around so that Steve could look into it. LaVerne was faded off and was replaced by a stranger in uniform. Steve said, “Yeah?”

  “Flown the coop, sir. Must have got out just minutes before we arrived. Couldn’t have taken more than a suitcase. Few papers scattered around the room he used for an office. By the looks of things he was ready to take off just any time at all.”

  Susan gasped. “You mean Daddy?”

  Steve Hackett rubbed a hand over his flattened nose. “Holy smokes,” he said. He thanked the cop and flicked off.

  Larry said, “Look Zusanette, everything’s going to be all right. Nothing is going to happen to you. You say you managed to pick up two packets of all this money they have at headquarters. Okay. So you thought it wouldn’t be missed and you thought it was real money, and you’ve always wanted to spend money the way you see the stars do on Tri-Di and in the movies.”

  She looked at him, taken aback. “How did you know?”

  Larry said dryly, “I’ve always wanted to myself. But I would like to know one more thing. The Movement. What was it going to do with all this money?”

  That evidently puzzled her. “The Professor says they were going to spend it on chorus girls. I guess… I guess he was joking or something. But Daddy and I’d just been up to New York and we saw those famous precision dancers at the New Roxy Theatre and all and then when we got back the Professor and Daddy were talking and I heard him say it.”

  Steve said carefully, “Professor who?”

  Susan said, “Just the Professor. That’s all we ever call him.” Her chin went to trembling again.

  VI

  Steve Hackett looked at Larry. “What in the hell will we do with her?”

  Larry thought about it. He turned to the girl. “How old are you… Zusanette.”

  “I’m… I’m nearly eighteen.”

  “You don’t look it.” His eyes went back to Steve Hackett. “She’s too old for the juvenile authorities and too young to throw into the smasher with a bunch of addicts, prostitutes and lesbians. Besides, we’ll want to go over her story some more. If we arrest her, how do we know what this so-called Movement might come up with? We don’t want the Civil Liberties Union, or whoever, bailing her out.”

  “Yeah,” Steve said, unhappily. “This professor and his boys probably control quite a bit of cash, not counting the counterfeit. They’d possibly have her out before the cell door clanked shut. But, on the other hand, we can’t hold her without some kind of a charge.”

  Larry snorted. “Maybe your department can’t. You’d be surprised what ours pulls off from time to time.”

  Susan Self was darting her eyes back and forth between them. She blurted, “What do you mean? What are you talking about? Aren’t you going to let me go? You practically promised. You said all you wanted was to ask me a few questions to help the government.”

  “I better check this out with the chief,” Steve said, eyeing Larry without pleasure.

  “Tell you what,” Larry said. “I’ll take her over to the Hilton and put her in a suite. You check with your chief and find,out what he wants to do. Obviously, there’s no foreign angle here. It’s a pure Secret Service matter. I’ll stay with her until you check back with me.”

  “Right,” Steve came to his feet. He said to Susan, his voice more kindly now. “Don’t worry about it, kid. You’re not under arrest. And you’ll still be living it up as though that pile of fifties was still yours. The Greater Hilton is the biggest hotel in town and everything you eat or drink is on Uncle Sam. You should have the time of your life.” He added wryly, “What with your tastes.”

  Susan said, “What I’d really like is to go home.”

  Steve shook his head. “Look, your father isn’t even there. You’d be alone.”

  Larry stood too. “Let’s go, Zusanette.” He took her arm and ushered her from the small office.

  Susan Self was impressed by the Greater Hilton. She should have been. Short of, possibly, Versailles, Louis the 14th’s pad, there had probably never been a palace in more luxurious bad taste in history. This was not the first time Larry Woolford had kept someone under wraps in the swank hotel. His department maintained several suites on a full time basis. There was no need even for him to register. He led Susan directly across the lobby to the elevator banks.

  The departmental suites were on the 18th floor. He led her down the ornate, all but gaudy, hall to Suite 18 and stood before the identity screen on the door.

  The door opened and a lanky, yawning operative was there. He was dressed in tweeds, of course, Larry noted. Harris tweeds, rather than Donegal, and Larry wondered again if Donegal was going out. He’d have to check with his tailor. Damn it, he had just bought the suit he was wearing two weeks ago.

  The other gave Susan Self the once over then turned his eyes back to Larry. He said, “Hi, Larry, what’s up? Damn it, you know we’re not supposed to bring broads here. Besides, aren’t you robbing the cradle?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Larry Woolford said, escorting Susan inside and closing the door behind them. He saw her to the couch in the lavish living room before turning back to the other. He wondered if the girl knew what ‘robbing the cradle’ meant. Probably. Her generation knew everything. But she was probably too upset to think about it.

  He said, “Listen, Art, this girl’s a kingpin in an operation we’re cooperating with Secret Service on. Whether or not we stay on it, I don’t know. At any rate, we’ll be hearing from Steve Hackett, shortly. You know Steve, don’t you? Meanwhile, post yourself out in the hall. Nobody but Steve gets in unless you clear it with me first.”

  Art had raised his eyebrows, but now he said, “Right, Larry.” He drew his Gyro-jet from the holster beneath his left arm, threw the magazine, checked it, heeled it back into the the butt of the gun, threw a cartridge into the chamber, returned the deadly weapon to its nest and left for the corridor to stand guard.

  Larry lowered himself into a chair across from her. “Well, here we are,” he said. “We’ll probably have a couple of hours or so before we hear from Mr. Hackett. Steven’s boss isn’t the easiest man in the world to get to see.”

  Her under lip trembled slightly again. “You aren’t going to let me go?”

  He said soothingly, “Possibly a little later, Zusanette. There are some other people who will probably want to talk to you.”

  She said hesitantly, “You could let me go… if you wanted to? I mean, you’re the one in charge? I heard the superior way you talked to that other one—Steve.”

  “Sure, sure. You can depend on me. Meanwhile, this isn’t as bad as all that. Let me show you around. There’s a king-size Tri-Di set over there in that wall. And lots of books there on the shelves. If you want anything to eat or drink, just phone for it. This is the most ritzy hotel in Greater Washington. There’s a delivery box in the kitchen over there. They’ll send up everything you want. Consider yourself a guest of the government, Zusanette.”

  He led her about the suite. Two bedrooms, two baths, two dressing rooms, a dining room, a kitchen.

  It was very well done, actually, though somewhat ostentatious. Which he assumed wouldn’t bother her at all. Some real VIPs had stayed here on more than one occasion—usually complete with call gir
ls.

  “It’s very nice,” Susan Self said lowly. “But I’d rather go home.”

  “Your father isn’t even there, you know, Zusanette,” Larry said patiently.

  They were in one of the bedrooms. She turned to him and swallowed. Then her fingers went to the buttons of her blouse and she slowly, obviously trying to be provocative, unbuttoned it.

  Larry Woolford rather doubted that the girl was the nearly eighteen she claimed to be, but whether or not, her breasts were lush. She wore no brassiere, of course, and needed none. Her face was possibly overly made-up but her body could not be corrupted by’her gauche efforts to appear sophisticated.

  She stood there for a moment in silence, then she flushed and said, “You… you like me?”

  His throat felt thick. Steve Hackett had been quite correct when he had accused Larry Woolford of going for the young stuff. He said, “Yes, of course. But what in the world do you think you’re doing, pretending that I’m trying to compromise you?”

  Her fingers went to the side of her skirt. She said, her voice embarassed, as though he might reject her offerings, “Don’t you want me to lay for you?”

  She stepped out of the skirt, remaining in nothing more than shoes, stocking, garter belt and the flimsiest of bikini type briefs.

  He goggled at her. “Lay for me? Aren’t you a little on the young side to be climbing out of your clothes in a bedroom with a man?”

  Susan Self stood there, a touch of pride in her highly held head now. She said, “I’ve… I’ve done it ever so many times. If a girl doesn’t put out for a boy these days, she never gets any dates.”

  He licked a dry lower lip. “I… well… why not?”

  He supposed that he should be feeling like a son of a bitch, but he didn’t. Hell, the girl had asked for it. Asked for it? Hell, she’d grabbed it. He went into the bathroom to clean himself up a bit, and when he returned began to dress.

  She was still on the bed, completely nude. She blinked at him as he climbed into his pants. She said, “Didn’t you want to… to do me again?”

  He regarded her sceptically. “Now I know you’re telling the truth, that you’ve never been with an older man. But that’s not all of it, Susan. You’d better get dressed and see if you can remake that bed, a bit. It might be awhile until Steve gets back here, but you never know.”

  She got up from the bed, a pathetic quality there. She took up her bikini briefs and said wistfully, “You mean… you mean you’re not going to let me go?”

  At the room’s dresser he retied his tie, avoiding looking into her face through the mirror. He said reproachfully, “Now Zusanette, you know better than that. I’m in no position to let you go home. There are a good many questions various people will undoubtedly want to ask you.”

  “But you said…”

  “No I didn’t.”

  “But I laid for you and all.” Her voice was broken.

  He said disgustedly, “What would Steve Hackett say when he came back, if I let you go?”

  She blinked and said, “I could put out for him, too.”

  He shook his head and muttered, “What a way to solve all problems.” And then louder. “I doubt it. Steve’s married. He undoubtedly gets all he wants.”

  She said, “Some men cheat on their wives. I could let him do me and go on home. And then you two could pretend that you’d never caught me.”

  He sighed. “Zusanette, our conversation down at my office was taped. There’s no way of pretending we never caught you.” His voice became something more curt. “You’re involved in one of the biggest counterfeiting romps in history. You don’t buy yourself out of that with a couple of rolls in the hay.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No, you don’t. Now get your clothes on and remake the bed and come on back into the other room. We’ll order something to eat and drink. Do you drink? God knows, you kids seem to do everything else these days.”

  She said lowly, getting into her skirt, “Daddy lets me drink wine with our meals.”

  VII

  Larry Woolford summed it up for the Boss later after Steve had returned and taken over.

  His chief scowled his disbelief, and said, “The child is full of dreams, Lawrence. It comes from seeing an over-abundance of these Tri-Di shows. I have a girl the same age. I don’t know what is happening to the country. They have no sense of reality.”

  Larry Woolford said mildly, “Well, she might be full of nonsense but she did have the fifties and she’s our only connection with whoever printed them, whether it’s a movement to overthrow the government, or what.”

  The Boss said tolerantly, “Movement indeed. Obviously, her father produced them and she purloined a quantity before he was ready to attempt to pass them. Have you a run down on him as yet?”

  “Susan Self says her father, Ernest Self, is an inventor. Steve Hackett is working on locating him.”

  “He’s an inventor indeed. Evidently, he has invented a perfect counterfeiting device. However, that is the Secret Service’s headache, not ours. Do you wish to resume that vacation of yours, Lawrence?”

  His operative twisted his face in a grimace. “Sure I do, sir, but I’m not happy about this. What happens if there really is an organization, a Movement, like she said? That brings it back under our jurisdiction, anti-subversion.”

  The other shook his head tolerantly. “See here, Lawrence, when you begin scheming a social revolution you can’t plan on an organization composed of a small number of persons who keep their existence secret. In spite of what a good many persons seem to believe, revolutions are not accomplished by little groups of conspirators hiding in cellars and eventually overthrowing society by dramatically shooting the President, or King, or Czar, or whoever. Revolutions are precipitated by masses of people. People who have ample cause to be dissatisfied, possibly having been pushed to the brink of starvation, though other things can sometimes be the cause of revolt. Have you ever read Machiavelli?”

  Niccolo Machiavelli was currently the thing to read.

  Larry said with a certain dignity, “I’ve gone through ‘The Prince,’ the ‘Discourses’ and currently I’m amusing myself with his ‘History of Florence.’

  “Anybody who can amuse himself reading Machiavelli,” the Boss said wryly, “has a macabre sense of humor. At any rate what I was alluding to was where he stated that the Prince cannot rule indefinitely in the face of the active opposition of his people. Therefore, the people always get a government that lies within the limits of their tolerance. It may be on one edge or the other of their limits of toleration—but it’s always within their tolerance zone.”

  Larry frowned and said, “Well, what’s your point, sir?

  The Boss said patiently, “I’m just observing that cultures aren’t overthrown by little handfuls of secret conspirators. You might eliminate a few individuals in that manner, in other words change the personnel of the government, but you aren’t going to alter a socio-economic system. That can’t be done until your people have been pushed outside their limits of tolerance. Very well then. A revolutionary organization must get out and propagandize. It has got to convince the people that they are being pushed beyond endurance. You have got to get the masses to moving. You have got to give speeches, print newspapers, books, pamphlets, you have got to send your organizers out to intensify interest in your program.”

  Larry said, “I see what you mean. If this so-called Movement actually existed it couldn’t expect to get anywhere as long as it remained secret.”

  The Boss nodded. “That is correct. The leaders of a revolutionary movement might be intellectuals, social scientists, scholars—in fact they usually are—take our own American Revolution with Jefferson, Madison, Franklin, Paine. Or the French Revolution with Robespierre, Danton, Marat. For that matter take Marx, Engels, Lenin. All were well educated intellectuals from the middle class. But the revolution itself, once it starts, comes from below, from the masses of people pushed beyond tolerance.”

&nb
sp; It came to Lawrence Woolford that his superior had achieved his prominent office not through any fluke. He knew what he was talking about.

  The Boss wound it up. “If there was such an organization as this Movement, then this department would know about it. You don’t keep a revolutionary movement secret. It doesn’t make sense to even try. Even if it is forced underground, it makes as much noise as it can.”

  His troubleshooter cleared his throat. “I suppose you’re right, sir.” He added hesitantly, “We could always give Susan Self a few drops of Scop-Serum, sir.”

  The Boss scowled disapprovingly. “You know how the Supreme Court ruled on that, Lawrence. And particularly since the medics revealed its effect on reducing sexual inhibitions. It’s one of the most effective aphrodisiacs ever come upon. No, Mr. Hackett and Secret Service will have to get the truth out of the girl by some other means. At any rate, it is out of our hands.”

  Larry came to his feet. “Well, then, I’ll resume my vacation, eh?”

  His chief took up a report from his desk and frowned at it, his attention already passing to other matters. He grunted, “Clear it with LaVerne, please. Tell her I said to take another week to make up for our intruding on you in this manner.”

  In the back of his head, Larry Woolford had misgivings. For one thing, where had the kid, who on the face of her performance was no great brain even as teenagers go, picked up such ideas as the fact that people developed prejudices against words like revolution and propaganda?

  However, he was clear of it now. Let Steve Hackett and his people take over. He, Lawrence Woolford, was due for a quick return to Astor, Florida and the bass fishing there which was, in his book, the best in the world. A ten-pound large-mouthed bass, practically unknown elsewhere, was an ordinary thing on the St. Johns. In his time, Larry had landed bass that went as high as fourteen pounds and they were by no means record breakers. He stopped at LaVerne’s desk and gave her his address to be, now that his vacation was resumed.