“Cagal!” the officer said, stuffing, his gun back into the holster. “These alcoholics don’t have a transmitter.”
“Could be the street outside, other side of the wall, A moving vehicle.”
“Let’s go!”
The door slammed shut behind them. The barman wiped his glass. “This happen very”often around here?” I asked. “Yeah. This is sure an uptight base.”
Morton snored heavily and I poked the crushed remains of the stainless steel rat with my toe. An omen? A gear wheel rolled out and rattled on the floor.
“Set them up again,” I called out. “And take one yourself since the rest of these cagal-kopfs are in dreamland.”
“You’re all heart, sarge. Just ship in?”
“Today.”
“An uptight base like I say—”
His voice was drowned out by the loud whistle from the TV as it turned itself on. The blackclad military announcer glared out of the screen just one more time.
“The spy who landed in Marhaveno has been identified. He attempted to disguise himself as a harmless draftee and was inducted into the army. Resolute police work has identified him by his clothing.”
Some police work. They just looked at their mail. I was beginning to think that sending my clothing from the reception center to the police station was not at all as funny as it had seemed at the time. There was a scratch of static and the announcer vanished from the screen to be replaced by another officer.
“Now hear this,” he shouted. “As of this moment this entire base is sealed to outgoing. I repeat, Mortstertoro is locked tight, gates sealed, aircraft departures canceled. The spy who landed in Marhaveno has been identified as a recruit who w~s shipped to this base. Here is his picture.” My heart skipped a beat or two, then settled down as the blurred photo of Jak, from my stolen ID, appeared on the screen. I was still one jump ahead of them. It would soon be discovered that Jak5138 was no longer on the base and the search would go elsewhere. I took my drink and went back to the table to stare into the wide and frightened eyes of Morton.
“You want a drink?” I asked before he could speak. He gurgled and pointed at the screen.
“Did you hear that?” I asked, and kicked him under the table. “Can’t be much of a spy if he lets himself get drafted. Some spy! I’ll bet you five he’s caught and dead before dark.” When he relaxed slightly I went on in a hoarse whisper. “It will take a long time to search this base…”
“No it won’t—because they know just where to look. They know who you are, Jak. They’ll go to Sergeant Klutz who will tell them he transferred you to Corporal Gow. Then they’ll find Gow and…”
“And the trail will run cold. It will take them days to search a camp this size. And .when they don’t find the spy the first time they’ll just do it again. They are not bright enough to consider having the computer check the records for the spy.”
“Attention!” the announcer on the screen called out, waving a sheet of paper. “I have just been given this new information. The spy—and an accomplice—have managed to have themselves transferred from this base by illegal use of the base computer. All computer personnel are now under arrest and will probably be shot.” I turned away, not able to look Morton in the eye.
“Now that they know where to look,” Morton asked hollowly, “how long will it take them to discover that we were never on that shipment? And then find out that a corporal and a sergeant who really were on that shipment were not on that shipment and are still here on the base?”
“How long?” I laughed, but there was a very hollow ring to it. “Could take days, weeks, no way to tell.”
“How long?” I sighed deeply. “They got some hotshot computer pro-
grams. Good security. I would say that we have maybe thirty minutes before they start looking for us.” His body shook as though he had received ten thousand volts and he started to jump to his feet. I reached out and held him down, then glanced at the bartender. He was looking at the TV.
“You’re right,” I said. “We get out of here, but slowly. On your feet. Follow me.”
As we started toward the door the bartender glanced in our direction.
“Where’s the transient bart-acks?” I said. “Out the back door, turn right. See you.”
“Yeah. See you.”
We strolled out the back door and turned left. It was getting dark which might help.
“You got a plan?” Morton said, eagerness in his voice. “You know a way to get us out of this.”
“Of course,” I said, clapping him on the back. “Every step planned. We go this way.”
I could hear the forced joviality in my voice; I hoped that he couldn’t. He had to think that I knew what I was doing or he might crack. It was a white lie for the sake of his morale.
But what about my morale? I was holding it down successfully for the moment, but I could feel an awareness of dark panic knocking and ready to come in. I kept it at bay. We walked on down the company street, the lights coming on, lost in the milling military mass. How long would this last? The question was the answer: not very. The panic pushed a little harder.
I have heard it said that when a man knows that he is to be hanged, it concentrates his mind wonderfully. I wasn’t going to be hanged, not for the present at least, but the foul breath of military prosecution on my neck was concentrating my mind almost as well. So much so that when an officer passed I turned to look at him. Turned and stopped until he vanished in the crowd. Morton was pulling feebly at my arm.
“What are you looking at? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing wrong. Everything right. I know now exactly what we must do next.”
“What?”
“Just come with me. I know that it is back this way, I noticed it when we passed. ”
“What, what?”
“BOQ.” Before he could say What? What? What? I explained. “Bachelor Officers Quarters. Where the officers live when they are not getting drunk and making life a hell for the enlisted men. That is where we are going. There.” I pointed to the brightly lit building, guards at the front entrance, officers in their military finery pouring from it.
“That’s suicide!” Morion said. The edge of hysteria back in his voice.
“Easy does it,” I cozened. “We do not enter the building by this portal. Suicide as you say. But what has a front surely has a back. And from the exodus visible from that officerial snakepit it looks like everyone is on duty tonight. Everyone except us, that is.” I chortled darkly and he looked at me out of the corners of his eyes as if I had gone mad. Perhaps I had. We would soon find out.
There was a wall behind the BOQ which we followed. A sort of alley led next to it, badly lit and just what I wanted. There was a door here let into the wall with a light above it. As we strolled past I read the sign, OFFICERS ONLY, and bent over and tied my shoe: it needed only a single glance to identify the lock. Then stood and on. I stopped in the shadows between two lights and bent to my shoe again. Only this time I came up with the lockpick.
“All right, here we go. The lock is nothing, single tumbler, pick it as easy as I pick my teeth. We walk back now and if no one is in sight we walk through it. Got that?” The chatter of his teeth was the only response. I took his quivering arm and squeezed it. “It’s all right, Morton. You’ll see. Just do as I say and we’ll soon be safe. Nice and quiet—here we go.”
I tried not to catch any of Morton’s fears, but they were very contagious. We stopped under the light, I put the lockoick into the kevhole. Felt and twisted. It didn’t ooen.
“Someone’s coming,” Morton wailed.
“Piece of cake,” I muttered, perspiration running down my face. “Opened these with my eyes shut.”
“Getting closer!”
“Eyes shut!”
It wouldn’t open. I shut my eyes, closed out all sensations, felt for the tumblers. Clicked it open.
“Inside!” I said, pulling him after me, closing the gate behind us. We stood with our b
acks to it, shivering in the darkness as the footsteps came closer, came to the gate… L Passed it and went on.
“There, wasn’t that easy?” I said, ruining the effect as my voice cracked and squeaked. Not that Morton noticed; he was shivering so hard that I could hear his teeth clatter. “Look, nice garden. Pathways for strolling, love seats for loving, all the nice things to keep the officerial classes happy. And beyond the garden the dark windows of their quarters, dark because the occupants have all gone
. out. So now all that we have to do is find a window to open – . .” ’ “Jak—what are we doing here?”
“I thought that was obvious. The military powers are looking for one recruit now. When their computer coughs out the next bit of news they will be looking for a corporal and a sergeant.” I tried to ignore his moan. “So we get into this building and become officers. As simple as that. “ I caught him as he dropped and laid him gently on the grass. “That’s it. Have a little rest. I’ll be right back.” The third window I tried was unlocked. I opened it and looked in. A mussed bed, open closet, empty room. Perfect. I found my way back to Morton who was just sitting up. He recoiled as I appeared out of the darkness and my quick hand over his mouth muffled his scream. “Everything is fine. Almost finished.”
I boosted him through the window and let him drop onto the bed, then closed and locked the window behind us. There was a key in the door which made everything very much easier.
TUB eniMi BCC erKBi aaT MTC nDfBTBn
“Look,” I said, “lie here and recuperate. I’m going to lock you in. The building is empty as far as I can see, so what I have to do should not be long. Take a rest and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
I went carefully, but the building was empty of life and silent as the tomb. Its occupants away and hopefully hard at work. I had time to pick and choose, make my selections and select the right sizes. I heard a muffled moan of agony when I let myself back into the room, to which I responded as cheerfully as I could.
“New uniform—new persona!” I handed them over to Morton. “Get dressed and give me our old clothes. There’s enough light from outside to make that easy. Here, let me tie that necktie, you are all butterfingers today.” Dressed and ready, our caps square upon our heads,
our old clothes buried in a laundry basket, we sauntered forth into the corridor. Morton looked at me and gasped and fell away.
“Cheer up—you look the same way. Except that you are a second lieutenant while I am a captain. It is a young army.”
“B-but,” he stammered. “You are a… Military Policeman!”
“And so are you. No one ever questions a cop.” We turned the corner as I said this and approached the front entrance. The major standing there with a clipboard looked up at us and scowled.
“Now I have vou.” he said.
Chapter 12
I snapped to attention, I could think of nothing else to do—and hoped Morton was not too paralyzed to do the same. There were just two of them, the major and the guard at the door. After I dropped the major could I reach the guard before he could get out his gun? A neat problem. The major was looking at his clipboard. Now—get him!
He looked up as I swayed forward. The guard was looking at me too. I swayed back.
“I missed you at the airport,” the major said. “You must have come on the earlier flight. But these shipping orders say two captains. Who is this lieutenant?”
Shipping orders? Two captains? I stopped my eyeballs spinning and finally threw my brain into gear.
“Could be an error, sir. Lot of confusion today. Might I see the orders?”
He grunted uncommunicatively and passed them over. I ran my finger down the list of crossed-off names to the remaining two at the bottom. Then passed them back.
“Error like I said, sir. I’m Captain Drem. This is Lieutenant Hesk, not captain the way they got it here.”
“Right,” he said, making the change on his sheet. “Let’s go-” We went. Outside the door was a truck stuffed with Military Police, a very disgusting sight. The major climbed into the cab, rank does have its privileges, and I led Morton to the rear. Moving quickly because I saw something that I hoped the major had not seen. Two MP officers, both captains, walking toward us. They scowled and passed and turned into the BOQ. I scowled in return, turning the scowl into a glare when I looked into the back of the truck and saw that there were no officers among the redhats there.
“What is this—a meeting of the girls’ club,” I snarled. “Move back, make room, shut up, give us a hand.” All of this was done with alacrity. Morton and I sat on the recently vacated bench and the truck pulled forward. I let out my breath slowly—from between still-snarling teeth. We bumped and swayed our way through the night and I began to feel very, very tired. It had been that kind of day.
“Do you know where we are going, captain?” a burly sergeant asked. “Shut up!”
“Thank you, sir.”
There was only silence after this witty exchange. Cold silence that continued until we ground to a stop and the major reappeared. “Climb out,” he ordered. “Captain, follow me.”
“Fall these men in, lieutenant,” I told Morton. He stumbled after me his face white with despair in the glare of the street lights.
“How, what, glug,” he whispered.
“Order a sergeant to do it,” I whispered back. “Pass the buck, that’s the army way.”
I trotted after the major who had stopped before the entrance of a large building and was going through an immense ring of keys. I stood at ease and looked at the large posters beside the door. Then looked closer when I realized they were 3Ds, in living color, of a number of naked young women. When my head moved they moved and I swayed slightly.
“Knock that off. caotain.” the maior ordered and I snapped to attention, my eyes still focused on the sign that read BASE BURLESQUE—OFFICERS ONLY. The major found the key he was looking for and turned it in the lock. “No performance tonight,” he said. “We’ve commandeered the place for an emergency meeting. Top security. As soon as the techs get here I want the entire theatre swept clean. And I mean clean. I want an MP with every tech and I want a headcount and I am making you responsible. Got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m going to check aU the other doors personally to make sure they are locked. Get cracking, we only have an hour.”
I threw a salute as he moved off around the building and wondered just what I had gotten myself into. The rumble of engines cut through my thoughts as a truck pulled up at the curb before me. A sergeant climbed down from the cab and saluted me.
“And what do we have here?” I asked.
“Instrument technicians, sir. We were ordered…”
“I’ll bet you were. Unload them and fall them in.”
“Yes, sir.”
I stamped back to the MPs who were neatly lined up at attention and pointed my finger at Morton. “You, Lieutenant Hesk, get over in frdnt of that entrance. No one in or out without my permission.”
My heart dropped as Morton started to look over his shoulder. Memory of his new name apparently filtered through because he recovered himself and hurried away. I turned back and scowled at the MPs, with particular attention to the sergeant who stood before them. Grayhaired, skin like an old boot, stripes and hashmarks clogging his sleeve.
“You senior NCO?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Bight. Here is the drill. Those techs are going to sweep this theatre. I want one MP with every tech. I want every man counted in and counted out and I want no
TUB CTAiNteee sreeL BAT eers iwuTEn errors. And I want the sweep complete and overlapping and that building clean. Any questions?”
“No, captain. They’ll snap-cagal for me.”
“I thought they would. Get cracking.”
He turned on his heel, inflated his lungs—and let out a blast of orders that blew the cap off the nearest MP. They moved. I stepped back and nodded approval. Then stamped over and positi
oned myself next to Morton.
“Something big coming down,” I said quietly. “Secret meeting in an hour and we are in charge of security.” I ignored his moan of anguish. “Just stand around and look military and stay away from the major when he gets back. I don’t know about you, but I find this very interesting.” He moaned again and I strolled over to inspect the arrangements.
The technicians had shouldered their backpacks and were adjusting dials on the control panels that each of them wore slung about the chest. One of them pointed his detector wand at the side of the truck and I could see the needles jump; there was a squeal from the earphones that he had hung about his neck.
“Captain. Some trouble here.” I turned around. “What is it, sergeant.”
“This cagal-kopf says he got a malfunction.” He had a white-faced tech by the arm and was shaking him like a dog with a bone.
“Battery, sir,” the man wailed. “Checked… it’s a malfunction… fuse!”
“Arrest him, sergeant. The charge is sabotage. Have him shot at dawn.” The sergeant smiled, the tech moaned and I bent until my face was close to his. “Or can you manage to trace and repair this malfunction in the next sixty seconds?”
“It’s fixed, sir! I know how! Borrow a fuse!” He stumbled away with the sergeant right behind him. I was falling into my role and beginning to enjoy myself. Though I was sure I would hate myself in the morning.
More MPs had arrived; the major reappeared and spread ,hpm arrninrl titt* tttf~QtTrfi anA in frrmf nf tnfi pntrunfv* T could see Morton begin to shiver at their presence so I hurried to take over from him.
“You can open that door now, lieutenant. No one goes in except these search teams. I want a head count going in and coming out.”
Under the verbal abuse of the sergeant the search was finished just in time. The first official cars were appearing as the techs were being loaded back into the trucks. “How did it go, sergeant?” I asked.
“Lot of beer cans, cagal like that. Swept secure, captain.”
“Good. Move the troops out of the way, but keep them around in case we need them again.”
The Stainless Steel Rat Gets Drafted ssr-7 Page 11
