“It’s a promise, Barbara. Can you go upstairs by yourself or do you have to be carried…like yesterday?”
“I can go all by my own self.”
“All right, baby. Go up to your room.”
She went to the stairs, took a firm hold on the bannister and climbed up. Just before she reached the top, she darted a glance at Reich and stuck her tongue out. Then she disappeared. Powell crossed to Mary Noyes, removed the gag, checked her pulse, then made her comfortable on the lounge.
“First notch, eh?” he murmured to Reich. “Painful but she’ll recover in an hour.” He went back to Reich and stared down at him, anger darkening his drawn face. “I ought to pay you back for Mary; but what’s the use? It wouldn’t teach you anything. You poor bastard…you’re just no damned good.”
“Kill me!” Reich groaned. “Kill me or let me up and by Christ I’ll kill you!”
Powell picked up the scrambler and cocked an eye at Reich. “Try flexing your muscles a little. Those blocks shouldn’t last more than a few seconds…” He sat down with the scrambler in his lap. “You had a tough break. I wasn’t out of the house five minutes when I realized Chooka’s story was a phoney. You put her up to it, of course.”
“You’re the phoney!” Reich shouted. “You and your ethics and your high talk. You and your phoney goddam—”
“She said the gun killed D’Courtney.” Powell continued imperturbably. “It did, but no one knows what killed D’Courtney…except you and me. I turned around and came back. It was a long take. Almost too long. Try getting up now. You can’t be that sick.”
Reich struggled up, his breath hissing horribly. Suddenly he dipped into his pocket and brought out the cartridge of Detonation Bulbs. Powell arched back in the chair and kicked Reich in the chest with his heel. The cartridge went flying. Reich fell back and collapsed on a sofa.
“When will you people learn you can’t surprise a peeper?” Powell said. He went to the cartridge and picked it up. “You’re quite the arsenal today, aren’t you? You’re acting more like you’re wanted dead or alive than like a free man. Notice I said free. Not innocent.”
“Free how long?” Reich said through his teeth. “I never talked about innocence either. But free how long?”
“Forever. I had a perfect case against you. Every detail right. I checked that when I peeped you with Barbara just now I had every detail except one, and that one flaw blew my case out into deep space. You’re a free man, Reich. We’ve closed your file.”
Reich stared. “Closed the file?”
“Yep. No solution. I’m licked. You can disarm, Reich. Go about your business. No one’s going to bother you.”
“You’re a liar! This is one of your peeper tricks. You—”
“Nope. I’ll lay it out for you. I know all about you… How much you bribed Gus Tate… What you promised Jerry Church… Where you located that Sardine Game… What you did with Wilson Jordan’s Rhodopsin Caps… How you emptied those cartridges for an alibi and then turned them lethal again with a drop of water… So far a perfect chain of evidence. Method and Opportunity. But Motive was the flaw. The courts demand Objective Motive and I can’t produce it. That sets you free.”
“You liar!”
“Of course I could throw this breaking and entering with deadly intent at you…but it’s too small a charge. Like shooting a popgun after you misfire with a cannon. You could probably beat it too. My only witnesses would be a peeper and a sick girl. I—”
“You liar,” Reich growled. “You hypocrite. You lying peeper. Am I supposed to believe you? Am I supposed to listen to the rest of it? You had nothing, Powell. Nothing! I licked you on every point. That’s why you’re booby-trapping me. That’s why you—” Reich broke off abruptly and beat his forehead. “And this is probably the biggest booby-trap of all. And I fell into it. What a damned fool I am. What a—”
“Shut up,” Powell snapped. “When you rave like that I can’t peep you. Now what’s all this about booby-traps? Think it through.”
Reich uttered a ragged laugh. “As if you don’t know… My stateroom on the liner… My gaffed safe… My Jumper…”
For almost a minute, Powell focussed on Reich, peeping, absorbing, digesting. Then his face began to pale and his respiration quicken. “My God!” he exclaimed. “My God!” He leaped to his feet and began pacing distractedly. “That’s it… That explains it… And Old Man Mose was right. Passion motive, and we thought he was kittenish… And Barbara’s Siamese Twin Image… And D’Courtney’s guilt… No wonder Reich couldn’t kill us at Chooka’s… But—the murder isn’t important any more. It goes deeper. Far deeper. And it’s dangerous… More than I ever dreamed.” He stopped, turned and looked at Reich with blazing eyes.
“If I could kill you,” he cried, “I’d twist your head off with my hands. I’d tear you apart and hang you on a Galacti Gallows, and the Universe would bless me. Do you know how dangerous you are? Does a plague know its peril? Is death conscious?”
Reich goggled at Powell in bewilderment. The Prefect shook his head impatiently. “Why ask you?” he muttered. “You don’t know what I’m talking about. You’ll never know.” He went to a sideboard, selected two brandy ampules and popped them into Reich’s mouth. Reich attempted to spit them out. Powell held his jaws shut.
“Swallow them,” he said crisply. “I want you to pull yourself together and listen to me. Do you want Butylene? Thyric Acid? Can you compose yourself without drugs?”
Reich choked on the brandy and sputtered angrily. Powell shook him silent.
“Get this straight,” Powell said. “I’m going to show you half the pattern. Try to understand it. The case against you is closed. It’s closed because of those booby-traps. If I’d known about them I’d never have started the case. I’d have broken my conditioning and killed you. Try to understand this, Reich…”
Reich stopped sputtering.
“I couldn’t find a motive for your murder. That’s the flaw. When you offered merger to D’Courtney, he accepted. He sent WWHG in answer. That’s acceptance. You had no reason to murder him. You had every objective reason to keep him alive.”
Reich went white. His head began to wobble crazily. “No. No. WWHG. Offer refused. Refusal. Refusal!”
“Acceptance.”
“No. The bastard refused. He—”
“He accepted. When I learned that D’Courtney accepted your offer, I was finished. I knew I couldn’t bring a case to court. But I haven’t been trying to booby-trap you. I did not gaff your stateroom lock. I did not plant those Detonation Bulbs. I’m not the man who’s trying to murder you. That man is trying to kill you because he knows you’re safe from me. He knows you’re safe from Demolition. He’s always known what I’ve just discovered…that you’re the deadly enemy of our entire future.”
Reich tried to speak. He struggled up out of the sofa, gesticulating feebly. Finally he said: “Who is it? Who? Who?”
“He’s your ancient enemy, Reich… A man you’ll never escape. You’ll never be able to run from him…hide from him…and I pray to God you’ll never be able to save yourself from him.”
“Who is it, Powell? WHO IS IT?”
“The Man With No Face.”
Reich emitted a guttural cry of pain. Then he turned and staggered out of the house.
15
Tension, apprehension, and dissension have begun.
Tension, apprehension, and dissension have begun.
Tension, apprehension, and dissension have begun.
Tension, apprehension, and dissension have begun.
“Shut up!” Reich cried.
Eight, sir;
Seven, sir;
Six, sir;
Five, Sir;
“For God’s sake! Shut up!”
Four, Sir;
Three, sir;
Two, sir;
One!
“You’ve got to think. Why don’t you think? What’s happened to you? Why don’t you think?”
Tension,
apprehension and—
“He was lying. You know he was lying. You were right the first time. A giant booby-trap. WWHG. Refusal. Refusal. But why did he lie? How is that going to help him?”
—dissension have begun.
“The Man with No Face. Breen could have told him. Gus Tate could have told him. Think!”
Tension—
“There is no Man With No Face. It’s just a dream. A nightmare!”
Apprehension—
“But the booby-traps? What about the booby-traps? He had me cold in his house. Why didn’t he pull the switch? Telling me I’m free. What’s he up to? Think!”
Dissension—
A hand touched his shoulder.
“Mr. Reich?”
“What?”
“Mr. Reich!”
“What? Who’s that?”
Reich’s eyes focussed. He became aware that it was raining heavily. He was lying on his side, knees drawn up, arms folded, his cheek buried in mud. He was drenched, shivering with cold. He was in the esplanade of Bomb Inlet. Around him were sighing, sodden trees. A figure was bending over him.
“Who are you?”
“Galen Chervil, Mr. Reich.”
“What?”
“Galen Chervil, sir. From Maria Beaumont’s party. Can I do you that favor, Mr. Reich?”
“Don’t peep me!” Reich cried.
“I’m not, Mr. Reich. We don’t usually—” Young Chervil caught himself. “I didn’t know you knew I was a peeper. You’d better get up, sir.”
He took Reich’s arm and pulled. Reich groaned and yanked his arm free. Young Chervil took him under the shoulders and raised him, staring at Reich’s frightful appearance.
“Were you mugged, Mr. Reich?”
“What? No. No…”
“Accident, sir?”
“No. No, I… Oh, for God’s sake,” Reich burst out, “get the hell away from me!”
“Certainly, sir. I thought you needed help and I owe you a favor, but—”
“Wait,” Reich interrupted. “Come back.” He rasped the bole of a tree and leaned against it, panting hoarsely. Finally he thrust himself erect and glared at Chervil with bloodshot eyes. “You mean that about the favor?”
“Of course, Mr. Reich.”
“No questions asked. No tales told?”
“Certainly not, Mr. Reich.”
“My problem’s murder, Chervil. I want to find out who’s trying to kill me. Will you do me that favor? Will you peep someone for me?”
“I should imagine the police would be able to—”
“The police?” Reich laughed hysterically, then clutched himself in agony as the broken rib caught.
“I want you to peep a cop for me. Chervil. A big cop. The Commissioner of cops. D’you understand?” He let go of the tree and lurched to Chervil. “I want to visit my friend the Commissioner and ask him a few questions. I want you to be there to tell me the truth. Will you come to Crabbe’s office and peep him for me? Will you just do it and forget about it? Will you?”
“Yes, Mr. Reich… I will.”
“What? An honest peeper! How about that? Come on. Let’s jet.”
Reich stumbled out of the esplanade with a horrible gait. Chervil followed, overwhelmed by the fury in the man that drove him through injury, through fever, through agony to police headquarters. There, Reich hulled and roared past clerks and guards until the mud-streaked blood-smeared figure burst into Commissioner Crabbe’s elaborate ebony and silver office.
“My God, Reich!” Crabbe was aghast. “It is you, isn’t it? Ben Reich?”
“Sit down, Chervil,” Reich said. He turned to Crabbe. “It’s me. Get a full perspective. I’m half a corpse, Crabbe. The red stuff is blood. The rest is slime. I’ve had a great day…a glorious day…and I want to know where the hell the police have been? Where’s your God Almighty Prefect Powell? Where’s your—”
“Half a corpse? What are you telling me, Ben?”
“I’m telling you that I was almost murdered three times today. This boy…” Reich pointed to Chervil. “This boy just found me in the Inlet Esplanade more dead than alive. Look at me, for Christ’s sake. Look at me!”
“Murdered!” Crabbe thumped his desk emphatically. “Of course. That Powell is a fool. I should never have listened to him. The man who killed D’Courtney is trying to kill you.”
Behind his back, Reich motioned savagely to Chervil.
“I told Powell you were innocent. He wouldn’t listen to me,” Crabbe said. “Even when that infernal adding machine in the District Attorney’s office told him you were innocent, he wouldn’t listen.”
“The machine said I was innocent?”
“Of course it did. There’s no case against you. There never was a case against you. And by the sacred Bill of Rights, you’ll have the protection from the murderer that any honest law-abiding citizen deserves. I’ll see to that at once,” Crabbe strode to the door. “And I think this is all I’ll need to settle Mr. Powell’s hash for good! Don’t go, Ben. I want to talk to you about your support for the Solar Senatorship…”
The door opened and slammed. Reich reeled and fought his way back to the world. He looked at three Chervils. “Well?” he muttered. “Well?”
“He’s telling the truth, Mr. Reich.”
“About me? About Powell?”
“Well…” Chervil paused judiciously, weighing the truth.
“Jet, you bastard,” Reich groaned. “How long do you think I can keep my fuses from blowing.”
“He’s telling the truth about you,” Chervil said quickly. “The Prosecution Computer has declined to authorize any action against you for the D’Courtney murder. Mr. Powell has been forced to abandon the case and…well…his career is very much in jeopardy.”
“Is that true!” Reich staggered to the boy and seized his shoulders. “Is that true, Chervil? I’ve been cleared? I can go about my business? No one’s going to bother me?”
“You’ve been dropped, Mr. Reich. You can go about your business. No one’s going to bother you.”
Reich burst into a roar of triumphant laughter. The pain of his bruised and broken body made him groan as he laughed, and his eyes smarted with tears. He pulled himself up, brushed past Chervil and left the Commissioner’s office. He was more a Neanderthal vestige as he paraded down headquarters’ corridors streaked with blood and mud, laughing and groaning, bearing himself with limping arrogance. He needed a stag’s carcass on his shoulders or a cave bear borne in triumph behind him to complete the picture.
“I’ll complete the picture with Powell’s head,” he told himself. “Stuffed and mounted on my wall. I’ll complete the picture with the D’Courtney Cartel stuffed into my pockets. By God give me time I’ll complete a picture with the Galaxy inside the frame!”
He passed through the steel portals of headquarters and stood for a moment on the steps gazing at the rain-swept streets…at the amusement center across the square, block after block blazing under a single mutual transparent dome…at the open shops lining the upper footways, all bustle and brilliance as the city’s night shopping began…the towering office buildings in the background great two-hundred story cubes…the lace tracery of skyways linking them together…the twinkling running lights of Jumpers bobbing up and down like a plague of crimson-eyed grasshoppers in a field…
“And I’ll own you!” he shouted, raising his arms to engulf the universe. “I’ll own you all! Bodies, passions, and souls!”
Then his eye caught the tall, ominous, familiar figure crossing the square, watching him covertly over its shoulder. A figure of black shadows sparkling with raindrop jewels…looking looming, silent, horrible… A Man With No Face.
There was a strangled cry. The fuses blew. Like a blighted tree, Reich fell to the ground.
At one minute to nine, ten of the fifteen members of the Esper Guild Council assembled in President T’sung’s office. Emergency business required their attention. At one minute after nine, the meeting was adjoumed wi
th the business completed. Within those one hundred and twenty Esper seconds, the following took place:
A gavel pounding
A clock face
Hour hand at 9
Minute hand at 59
Second hand at 60
EMERGENCY MEETING
To examine a request for Mass Cathexis with Lincoln Powell as the human canal for the Capitalized energy.
(Consternation)
T’sung:
You can’t be serious, Powell. How can you make such a request? What can possibly require such an extraordinary and dangerous measure?
Powell:
An astonishing development in the D’Courtney Case which I would like you all to examine.
(Examination)
Powell:
You all know that Reich is our most dangerous enemy. He is supporting the Anti-Esper smear campaign. Unless that is blocked we may suffer the usual history of minority groups.
@kins:
True enough.
Powell:
He is also supporting the League of Esper Patriots. Unless that organization is blocked we may be plunged into a civil war and be lost forever in a morass of internal chaos.
Franion:
That’s true too.
Powell:
But there is an additional development which you have all examined. Reich is about to become a Galactic focal point… A crucial link between the positive past and the probable future. He is on the verge of a powerful reorganization at this moment. Time is of the essence. If Reich can readjust and reorient before I can reach him, he will become immune to our reality, invulnerable to our attack, and the deadly enemy of Galactic reason and reality.
(Alarm)
@kins:
Surely, you’re exaggerating, Powell.
Powell:
Am I? Inspect the picture with me. Look at Reich’s position in time and space. Will not his beliefs become the world’s belief? Will not his reality become the world’s reality? Is he not, in his critical position of power, energy, and intellect, a sure road to utter destruction?
The Demolished Man Page 18
