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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/30339-0.txt b/30339-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..24c8127 --- /dev/null +++ b/30339-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4020 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Status Quo by Mack Reynolds + + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no +restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under +the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or +online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license + + + +Title: Status Quo + +Author: Mack Reynolds +Author AKA: Dallas McCord Reynolds + +Release Date: October 26, 2009 [Ebook #30339] +Most recently updated: September 19, 2020 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STATUS QUO*** + + + + + + Status Quo + + by Mack Reynolds + + Illustrated by John Schoenherr + + Analog Science Fact & Fiction + + August 1961 + + + + + + +[Transcriber’s Note: This text was produced from Analog Science Fact & +Fiction August 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that +the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] + +In his income bracket and in the suburb in which he lived, government +employees in the twenty-five to thirty-five age group were currently +wearing tweeds. Tweeds were in. Not to wear tweeds was Non-U. + +Lawrence Woolford wore tweeds. His suit, this morning, had first seen the +light of day on a hand loom in Donegal. It had been cut by a Swede widely +patronized by serious young career men in Lawrence Woolford’s status +group; English tailors were out currently and Italians unheard of. + +Woolford sauntered down the walk before his auto-bungalow, scowling at the +sportscar at the curb—wrong year, wrong make. He’d have to trade it in on +a new model. Which was a shame in a way, he liked the car. However, he had +no desire to get a reputation as a weird among colleagues and friends. +What was it Senator Carey MacArthur had said the other day? Show me a +weird and I’ll show you a person who has taken the first step toward being +a Commie. + +Woolford slid under the wheel, dropped the lift lever, depressed gently +the thrust pedal and took off for downtown Greater Washington. +Theoretically, he had another four days of vacation coming to him. He +wondered what the Boss wanted. That was the trouble in being one of the +Boss’ favorite trouble shooters, when trouble arose you wound up in the +middle of it. Lawrence Woolford was to the point where he was thinking in +terms of graduating out of field work and taking on a desk job which meant +promotion in status and pay. + +He turned over his car to a parker at the departmental parking lot and +made his way through the entrance utilized by second-grade departmental +officials. In another year, he told himself, he’d be using that other +door. + +The Boss’ reception secretary looked up when Lawrence Woolford entered the +anteroom where she presided. “Hello, Larry,” she said. “Hear they called +your vacation short. Darn shame.” + +LaVerne Polk was a cute little whizz of efficiency. Like Napoleon and his +army, she knew the name of every member of the department and was on a +first-name basis with all. However, she was definitely a weird. For +instance, styles might come and styles might go, but LaVerne dressed for +comfort, did her hair the way she thought it looked best, and wore +low-heeled walking shoes on the job. In fact, she was ready and willing to +snarl at anyone, no matter how kindly intentioned, who even hinted that +her nonconformity didn’t help her promotion prospects. + +Woolford said, “Hi, LaVerne. I think the Boss is expecting me.” + +“That he is. Go right in, Larry.” + +She looked after him when he turned and left her desk. Lawrence Woolford +cut a pleasant figure as thirty year old bachelors go. + +The Boss looked up from some report on his desk which he’d been frowning +at, nodded to his field man and said, “Sit down, Lawrence. I’ll be with +you in a minute. Please take a look at this while you’re waiting.” He +handed over a banknote. + +Larry Woolford took it and found himself a comfortable chair. He examined +the bill, front and back. It was a fifty dollar note, almost new. + +Finally the Boss, a stocky but impeccable career bureaucrat of the +ultra-latest school, scribbled his initials on the report and tossed it +into an Out chute. He said to Woolford, “I am sorry to cut short your +vacation, Lawrence. I considered giving Walter Foster the assignment, but +I think you’re the better choice.” + +Larry decided the faint praise routine was the best tactic, said earnestly +about his closest rival. “Walt’s a good man, sir.” And then, “What’s the +crisis?” + +“What do you think of that fifty?” + +His trouble shooter looked down at it. “What is there to think about it?” + +The Boss grunted, slid open a desk drawer and brought forth another bill. +“Here, look at this, please.” + +It was another fifty. Larry Woolford frowned at it, not getting whatever +was going on. + +“Observe the serial numbers,” the Boss said impatiently. + +They were identical. + +Woolford looked up. “Counterfeit. Which one is the bad one?” + +“That is exactly what we would like to know,” the Boss said. + +Larry Woolford stared at his superior, blinked and then examined the bills +again. “A beautiful job,” he said, “but what’s it got to do with us, sir? +This is Secret Service jurisdiction, counterfeiting.” + +“They called us in on it. They think it might have international +ramifications.” + +Now they were getting somewhere. Larry Woolford put the two bills on the +Boss’ desk and leaned back in his chair, waiting. + +His superior said, “Remember the Nazis turning out American and British +banknotes during the Second War?” + +“I was just a kid.” + +“I thought you might have read about it. At any rate, obviously a +government—with all its resources—could counterfeit perfectly any currency +in the world. It would have the skills, the equipment, the funds to +accomplish the task. The Germans turned out hundreds of millions of +dollars and pounds with the idea of confounding the Allied financial +basics.” + +“And why didn’t it work?” + +“The difficulty of getting it into circulation, for one thing. However, +they did actually use a quantity. For a time our people were so alarmed +that they wouldn’t allow any bills to come into this country from Mexico +except two-dollar denomination—the one denomination the Germans hadn’t +bothered to duplicate. Oh, they had the Secret Service in a dither for a +time.” + +Woolford was frowning. “What’s this got to do with our current situation?” + +The Boss said, “It is only a conjecture. One of those bills is counterfeit +but such an excellent reproduction that the skill involved is beyond the +resources of any known counterfeiter. Secret Service wants to know if it +might be coming from abroad, and, if so, from where. If it’s a +governmental project, particularly a Soviet Complex one, then it comes +into the ken of our particular cloak-and-dagger department.” + +“Yes, sir.” Woolford said. He got up and examined the two bills again. +“How’d they ever detect that one was bad?” + +“Pure fortune. A bank clerk with an all but eidetic memory was going +through a batch of fifties. It’s not too commonly used a denomination, you +know. Coincidence was involved since in that same sheaf the serial number +was duplicated.” + +“And then?” + +“The reproduction was so perfect that Secret Service was in an immediate +uproar. Short of the Nazi effort, there has never been anything like it. A +perfect duplication of engraving and paper identically the same. The +counterfeiters have even evidently gone to the extent of putting a certain +amount of artificial wear on the bills before putting them into +circulation.” + +Larry Woolford said, “This is out of my line. How were they able to check +further, and how many more did they turn up?” + +“The new I.B.M. sorters help. Secret Service checked every fifty dollar +bill in every institution in town both banking and governmental. Thus far, +they have located ten bills in all.” + +“And other cities?” + +“None. They’ve all been passed in Greater Washington, which is suspicious +in itself. The amount of expense that has gone into the manufacture of +these bills does not allow for only a handful of them being passed. They +should be turning up in number. Lawrence, this reproduction is such that a +pusher could walk into a bank and have his false currency changed by any +clerk.” + +“Wow,” Larry whistled. + +“Indeed.” + +“So you want me to work with Secret Service on this on the off chance that +the Soviet Complex is doing us deliberate dirt.” + +“That is exactly the idea, Lawrence. Get to work, please, and keep in +touch with me. If you need support, I can assign Walter Foster or some of +the other operatives to assist you. This might have endless +ramifications.” + + ------------------------------------- + +Back in the anteroom, Woolford said to the Boss’ receptionist, “I’m on a +local job, LaVerne, how about assigning me a girl?” + +“Can do,” she said. + +“And, look, tell her to get hold of every available work on counterfeiting +and pile it on my desk.” + +“Right. Thinking of going into business, Larry?” + +He grinned down at her. “That’s the idea. Keeping up with the Jones clan +in this man’s town costs roughly twice my income.” + +LaVerne said disapprovingly, “Then why not give it up? With the +classification you’ve got a single man ought to be able to save half his +pay.” She added, more quietly, “Or get married and support a family.” + +“Save half my pay?” Larry snorted. “And get a far out reputation, eh? No +thanks, you can’t afford to be a weird these days.” + +She flushed—and damn prettily, Larry Woolford decided. She could be an +attractive item if it wasn’t for obviously getting her kicks out of being +individualistic. + +Larry said suddenly, “Look, promise like a good girl not to make us +conspicuous and I’ll take you to the Swank Room for dinner tonight.” + +“Is that where all the bright young men currently have to be seen once or +twice a week?” she snapped back at him. “Get lost, Larry. Being a healthy, +normal woman I’m interested in men, but not necessarily in walking +status-symbols.” + +It was his turn to flush, and, he decided wryly, he probably didn’t do it +as prettily as she did. + +On his way to his office, he wondered why the Boss kept her on. +Classically, a secretary-receptionist should have every pore in place, but +in her time LaVerne Polk must have caused more than one bureaucratic +eyebrow to raise. Efficiency was probably the answer; the Boss couldn’t +afford to let her go. + +Larry Woolford’s office wasn’t much more than a cubicle. He sat down at +the desk and banged a drawer or two open and closed. He liked the work, +liked the department, but theoretically he still had several days of +vacation and hated to get back into routine. + +Had he known it, this was hardly going to be routine. + +He flicked the phone finally and asked for an outline. He dialed three +numbers before getting his subject. The phone screen remained blank. + +“Hans?” he said. “Lawrence Woolford.” + +The Teutonic accent was heavy, the voice bluff. “Ah, Larry! you need some +assistance to make your vacation? Perhaps a sinister, exotic young lady, +complete with long cigarette holder?” + +Larry Woolford growled, “How’d you know I was on vacation?” + +The other laughed. “You know better than to ask that, my friend.” + +Larry said, “The vacation is over, Hans. I need some information.” + +The voice was more guarded now. “I owe you a favor or two.” + +“Don’t you though? Look, Hans, what’s new in the Russkie camp?” + +The heartiness was gone. “How do you mean?” + +“Is there anything big stirring? Is there anyone new in this country from +the Soviet Complex?” + +“Well now—” the other’s voice drifted away. + +Larry Woolford said impatiently, “Look, Hans, let’s don’t waste time +fencing. You run a clearing agency for, _ah_, information. You’re strictly +a businessman, nonpartisan, so to speak. Fine, thus far our department has +tolerated you. Perhaps we’ll continue to. Perhaps the reason is that we +figure we get more out of your existence than we lose. The Russkies +evidently figure the same way, the proof being that you’re alive and have +branches in the capitals of every power on Earth.” + +“All right, all right,” the German said. “Let me think a moment. Can you +give me an idea of what you’re looking for?” There was an undernote of +interest in the voice now. + +“No. I just want to know if you’ve heard anything new anti-my-side, from +the other side. Or if you know of any fresh personnel recently from +there.” + +“Frankly, I haven’t. If you could give me a hint.” + +“I can’t,” Larry said. “Look, Hans, like you say, you owe me a favor or +two. If something comes up, let me know. Then I’ll owe you one.” + +The voice was jovial again. “It’s a bargain, my friend.” + +After Woolford had hung up, he scowled at the phone. He wondered if Hans +Distelmayer was lying. The German commanded the largest professional spy +ring in the world. It was possible, but difficult, for anything in +espionage to develop without his having an inkling. + +The phone rang back. It was Steve Hackett of Secret Service on the screen. + +Hackett said, “Woolford, you coming over? I understand you’ve been +assigned to get in our hair on this job.” + +“Huh,” Larry grunted. “The way I hear it, your whole department has given +up, so I’m assigned to help you out of your usual fumble-fingered +confusion.” + +Hackett snorted. “At any rate, can you drop over? I’m to work in liaison +with you.” + +“Coming,” Larry said. He hung up, got to his feet and headed for the door. +If they could crack this thing the first day, he’d take up that vacation +where it’d been interrupted and possibly be able to wangle a few more days +out of the Boss to boot. + +At this time of day, parking would have been a problem, in spite of +automation of the streets. He left his car in the departmental lot and +took a cab. + + ------------------------------------- + +The Counterfeit Division of the Secret Service occupied an impressive +section of an impressive governmental building. Larry Woolford flashed his +credentials here and there, explained to guards and receptionists here and +there, and finally wound up in Steve Hackett’s office which was all but a +duplicate of his own in size and decor. + +Steve Hackett himself was a fairly accurate carbon copy of Woolford, +barring facial resemblance alone. The fact was, Steve was almost +Lincolnesque in his ugliness. Career man, about thirty, good university, +crew cut, six foot, one hundred and seventy, earnest of eye. He wore +Harris tweed. Larry Woolford made a note of that; possibly herringbone was +coming back in. He winced at the thought of a major change in his +wardrobe; it’d cost a fortune. + +They’d worked on a few cases together before when Steve Hackett had been +assigned to the presidential bodyguard and co-operated well. + +Steve came to his feet and shook hands. “Thought that you were going to be +down in Florida bass fishing this month. You like your work so well you +can’t stay away, or is it a matter of trying to impress your chief?” + +Larry growled, “Fine thing. Secret Service bogs down and they’ve got to +call me in to clean up the mess.” + +Steve motioned him to a chair and immediately went serious. “Do you know +anything about pushing queer, Woolford?” + +“That means passing counterfeit money, doesn’t it? All I know is what’s +in the TriD crime shows.” + +“I can see you’re going to be a lot of help. Have you got anywhere at all +on the possibility that the stuff might be coming from abroad?” + +“Nothing positive,” Larry said. “Are you people accomplishing anything?” + +“We’re just getting underway. There’s something off-trail about this deal, +Woolford. It doesn’t fit into routine.” + +Larry Woolford said, “I wouldn’t think so if the stuff is so good not even +a bank clerk can tell the difference.” + +“That’s not what I’m talking about now. Let me give you a run down on +standard counterfeiting.” The Secret Service agent pushed back in his +swivel chair, lit a cigarette, and propped his feet onto the edge of a +partly open desk drawer. “Briefly, it goes like this. Some smart lad gets +himself a set of plates and a platen press and—” + +Larry interrupted, “Where does he get the plates?” + +“That doesn’t matter now,” Steve said. “Various ways. Maybe he makes them +himself, sometimes he buys them from a crooked engraver. But I’m talking +about pushing green goods once it’s printed. Anyway, our friend runs off, +say, a million dollars worth of fives. But he doesn’t try to pass them +himself. He wholesales them around netting, say, fifty thousand dollars. +In other words, he sells twenty dollars in counterfeit for one good +dollar.” + +Larry pursed his lips. “Quite a discount.” + +“Um-m-m. But that’s safest from his angle. The half dozen or so +distributors he sold it to don’t try to pass it either. They also are +playing it carefully. They peddle it, at say ten to one, to the next rung +down the ladder.” + +“And these are the fellows that pass it, eh?” + +“Not even then, usually. These small timers take it and pass it on at five +to one to the suckers in the trade, who take the biggest risks. Most of +these are professional pushers of the queer, as the term goes. Some, +however, are comparative amateurs. Sailors for instance, who buy with the +idea of passing it in some foreign port where seamen’s money flows fast.” + +Larry Woolford shifted in his chair. “So what are you building up to?” + +Steve Hackett rubbed the end of his pug nose with a forefinger in quick +irritation. “Like I say, that’s standard counterfeit procedure. We’re all +set up to meet it, and do a pretty good job. Where we have our +difficulties is with amateurs.” + +Woolford scowled at him. + +Hackett said, “Some guy who makes and passes it himself, for instance. +He’s unknown to the stool pigeons, has no criminal record, does up +comparatively small amounts and dribbles his product onto the market over +a period of time. We had one old devil up in New York once who actually +_drew_ one dollar bills. He was a tremendous artist. It took us years to +get him.” + +Larry Woolford said, “Well, why go into all this? We’re hardly dealing +with amateurs now.” + +Steve looked at him. “That’s the trouble. We are.” + +“Are you batty? Not even your own experts can tell this product from real +money.” + +“I didn’t say it was being _made_ by amateurs. It’s being _pushed_ by +amateurs—or maybe amateur is the better word.” + +“How do you know?” + +“For one thing, most professionals won’t touch anything bigger than a +twenty. Tens are better, fives better still. When you pass a fifty, the +person you give it to is apt to remember where he got it.” Steve Hackett +said slowly, “Particularly if you give one as a tip to the _maître +d’hôtel_ in a first-class restaurant. A _maître d’_ holds his job on the +strength of his ability to remember faces and names.” + + [Illustration.] + +“What else makes you think your pushers are amateurs?” + +“Amateur,” Hackett corrected. “Ideally, a pusher is an inconspicuous type. +The kind of person whose face you’d never remember. It’s never a teenage +girl who’s blowing money.” + +It was time to stare now, and Larry Woolford obliged. “A teenager!” + +“We’ve had four descriptions of her, one of them excellent. Fredrick, the +_maître d’_ over at La Calvados, is the one that counts, but the others +jibe. She’s bought perfume and gloves at Michel Swiss, the swankiest shop +in town, a dress at Chez Marie—she passed three fifties there—and a hat at +Paulette’s over on Monroe Street. + +“That’s another sign of the amateur, by the way. A competent pusher buys a +small item and gets change from his counterfeit bill. Our girl’s been +buying expensive items, obviously more interested in the product than in +her change.” + +“This doesn’t seem to make much sense,” Larry Woolford protested. “You +have any ideas at all?” + +“The question is,” Hackett said, “where did she get it? Is she connected +with one of the embassies and acquired the stuff overseas? If so, that +puts it in your lap again possibly—” + +The phone rang and Steve flicked the switch and grumbled, “Yeah? Steven +Hackett speaking.” + +He listened for a moment then banged the phone off and jumped to his feet. +“Come on, Larry,” he snapped. “This is it.” + +Larry stood, too. “Who was that?” + +“Fredrick, over at La Calvados. The girl has come in for lunch. Let’s go!” + + ------------------------------------- + +La Calvados was the swankiest French restaurant in Greater Washington, a +city not devoid of swank restaurants. Only the upper-echelons in +governmental circles could afford its tariffs; the clientele was more apt +to consist of business mucky-mucks and lobbyists on the make. Larry +Woolford had eaten here exactly twice. You could get a reputation spending +money far beyond your obvious pay status. + +Fredrick, the _maître de hôtel_, however, was able to greet them both by +name. “Monsieur Hackett, Monsieur Woolford,” he bowed. He obviously didn’t +approve of La Calvados being used as a hangout where counterfeiters were +picked up the authorities. + +“Where is she?” Steve said, looking out over the public dining room. + +Fredrick said, unprofessionally agitated, “See here, Monsieur Hackett, you +didn’t expect to, ah, arrest the young lady _here_ during our lunch hour?” + +Steve looked at him impatiently. “We don’t exactly beat them over the head +with blackjacks, slip the bracelets on and drag them screaming to the +paddywagon.” + +“Of course not, monsieur, but—” + +Larry Woolford’s chief dined here several times a week and was probably on +the best of terms with Fredrick whose decisions on tables and whose degree +of servility had a good deal of influence on a man’s status in Greater +Washington. Larry said wearily, “We can wait until she leaves. Where is +she?” + +Fredrick had taken them to one side. + +“Do you see the young lady over near the window on the park? The rather +gauche appearing type?” + +It was a teenager, all right. A youngster up to her eyebrows in the +attempt to project sophistication. + +Steve said, “Do you know who she is?” + +“No,” Fredrick said. “Hardly our usual clientele.” + +“Oh?” Larry said. “She looks like money.” + +Fredrick said, “The dress appears as though it is of Chez Marie, but she +wears it as though it came from Klein’s. Her perfume is Chanel, but she +has used approximately three times the quantity one would expect.” + +“That’s our girl, all right,” Steve murmured. “Where can we keep an eye on +her until she leaves?” + +“Why not at the bar here, Messieurs?” + +“Why not?” Larry said. “I could use a drink.” + +Fredrick cleared his throat. “Ah, Messieurs, that fifty I turned over you. +I suppose it turned out to be spurious?” + +Steve grinned at him. “Afraid so, Fredrick. The department is holding it.” + +Larry took out his wallet. “However, we have a certain leeway on expenses +on this assignment and appreciate your co-operation.” He handed two +twenties and a ten to the _maître d’_. Fredrick bowed low, the money +disappearing into his clothes magically. “_Merci bien_, monsieur.” + +At the bar, Steve scowled at his colleague. “Ha!” he said. “Why didn’t I +think of that first? He’ll get down on his knees and bump his head each +time he sees you in the joint from now on.” + +Larry Woolford waggled a finger at the other. “This is a status conscious +town, my boy. Prestige means everything. When I take over my Boss’ job, +maybe we can swing a transfer and I’ll give you a position suitable to +your attainments.” He pursed his lips judiciously. “Although, come to +think of it, that might mean a demotion from the job you’re holding now.” + +“Vodka martini,” Steve told the bartender. “Polish vodka, of course.” + +“Of course, sir.” + +Larry said, “Same for me.” + +The bartender left and Steve muttered, “I hate vodka.” + +“Yeah,” Larry said, “But what’re you going to do in a place like this, +order some weird drink?” + +Steve dug into his pocket for money. “We’re not going to have to drink +them. Here she comes.” + +She walked with her head held high, hauteur in every step. Ignoring the +peasants at the tables she passed. + +“Holy smokes,” Steve grunted. “It’s a wonder Fredrick let her in.” + +She hesitated momentarily before the doorway of the prestige restaurant +allowing the passers-by to realize she’d just emerged, and then turned to +her right to promenade along the shopping street. + +Fifty feet below La Calvados, Steve said, “Let’s go, Woolford.” + +One stepped to one elbow, the other to the other. Steve said quietly, “I +wonder if we could ask you a few questions?” + +Her eyebrows went up, “I _beg_ your pardon!” + +Steve sighed and displayed the badge pinned to his wallet, keeping it +inconspicuous. “Secret Service, Miss,” he murmured. + +“Oh, devil,” she said. She looked up at Larry Woolford, and then back at +Steve. + +Steve said, “Among other things, we’re in charge of counterfeit money.” + +She was about five foot four in her heels, had obviously been on a round +of beauty shops and had obviously instructed them to glamorize her. It +hadn’t come off. She still looked as though she’d be more at home as +cheerleader of the junior class in small town high school. She was honey +blond, green-blue of eye, and had that complexion they seldom carry even +into the twenties. + +“I ... I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her chin began to tremble. + +Larry said gently, “Don’t worry. We just want to ask you some questions.” + +“Well ... like what?” She was going to be blinking back tears in a moment. +At least Larry hoped she’d blink them back. He’d hate to have her start +howling here in public. + +Larry said, “We think you can be of assistance to the government, and we’d +like your help.” + +Steve rolled his eyes upward, but turned and waved for a street level cab. + +In the cab, Larry said, “Suppose we go over to my office, Steve?” + +“O.K. with me,” Steve muttered, “but by the looks of the young lady here, +I think it’s a false alarm from your angle. She’s obviously an American. +What’s your name, Miss?” + +“It’s Zusanette. Well, really, Susan.” + +“Susan what?” + +“I ... I’m not sure I want to tell you. I ... I want a lawyer.” + +“A lawyer!” Steve snorted. “You mean you want the juvenile authorities, +don’t you?” + +“Oh, what a mean thing to say,” she sputtered. + + ------------------------------------- + +In the corridor outside the Boss’ suite of offices, Larry said to Steve, +“You take Miss ... ah, Zusanette to my office, will you Steve. I’ll be +there in a minute.” + +He opened the door to the anteroom and said, “LaVerne, we’ve got a girl in +my office—” + +“Why, Larry!” + +He glowered at her. “A suspect. I want a complete tape of everything said. +As soon as we’re through, have copies made, at least three or four.” + +“And, who, Mr. Woolford, was your girl Friday last year?” + +“This is important, honey. I suppose you’ve supplied me with a secretary +but I haven’t even met her yet. Take care of it, will you?” + +“Sure enough, Larry.” + +He followed Steve and the girl to his office. + +Once seated, the girl and Steve in the only two extra chairs the cubicle +boasted and Larry behind his desk, he looked at her in what he hoped was +reassurance. “Just tell us where you got the money, Zusanette.” + +Steve reached out a hand suddenly and took her bag from her lap. She +gasped and snatched at it, but he eluded her and she sat back, her chin +trembling again. + +Steve came up with a thick sheaf of bills, the top ones, at least, all +fifties and tossed them to Larry’s desk. He took out a school pass and +read, “Susan Self, Elwood Avenue.” He looked up at Larry and said, “That’s +right off Eastern, near Paterson Park in the Baltimore section of town, +isn’t it?” + +Larry said to her, “Zusanette, I think you’d better tell us where you got +all this money.” + +“I found it,” she said defiantly. “You can’t do anything to me if I simply +found it. Anybody can find money. Finders keepers—” + +“But if it’s counterfeit,” Steve interrupted dryly, “it might also be, +finders weepers.” + +“Where did you find it, Zusanette?” Larry said gently. + +She tightened her lips, and the trembling of her chin disappeared. “I ... +I can’t tell you that. But it’s not counterfeit. Daddy ... my father said +it was as good as any money the government prints.” + +“That it is,” Steve said sourly. “But it’s still counterfeit, which makes +it very illegal indeed to spend, Miss Self.” + +She looked from one of them to the other, not clear about her position. +She said to Larry, “You mean it’s not _real_ money?” + +He kept his tone disarming, but shook his head, “I’m afraid not, +Zusanette. Now, tell us, where did you find it?” + +“I can’t. I promised” + +“I see. Then you don’t know to whom it originally belonged?” + +“It didn’t belong to anybody.” + +Steve Hackett made with a disbelieving whistle. He was taking the part of +the tough, suspicious cop; Larry the part of the understanding, +sympathetic officer, trying to give the suspect a break. + +Susan Self turned quickly on Steve. “Well, it didn’t. You don’t even +know.” + +Larry said, “I think she’s telling the truth, Steve. Give her a chance. +She’s playing fair.” He looked back at the girl, and frowned his +puzzlement. “All money belongs to _somebody_ doesn’t it?” + +She had them now. She said superiorly. “Not necessarily to some_body_. It +can belong to, like, an organization.” + +Steve grunted skepticism. “I think we ought to arrest her,” he said. + +Larry held up a hand, his face registering opposition. “I’ll handle this,” +he said sharply. “Zusanette is doing everything she can to co-operate.” He +turned back to the girl. “Now, the question is, what organization did this +money belong to?” + +She looked triumphantly at Steve Hackett. “It belonged to the Movement.” + +They both looked at her. + +Steve said finally, “What movement?” + +She pouted in thought. “That’s the only name they call it.” + +“Who’s they?” Steve snapped nastily. + +“I ... I don’t know.” + +Larry said, “Well, you already told us your father was a member, +Zusanette.” + +Her eyes went wide. “I did? I shouldn’t have said that.” But she evidently +took him at his word. + +Larry said encouragingly, “Well, we might as well go on. Who else is a +member of this Movement besides your father?” + +She shifted in her chair uncomfortably. “I don’t know any of their names.” + +Steve looked down at the school pass in his hands. He said to Larry, “I’d +better make a phone call.” + +He left. + + ------------------------------------- + +Larry said, “Don’t worry about him, Zusanette. Now then, this _movement_. +That’s kind of a funny name, isn’t it? What does it mean?” + +She was evidently glad that the less than handsome Steve Hackett had left +the room. Her words flowed more freely. “Well, Daddy says that they call +it the Movement rather than a revolution....” + +An ice cube manifested itself in the stomach of Lawrence Woolford. + +“... Because people get conditioned, like, to words. Like revolution. +Everybody is against the word because they all think of killing and +everything, and, Daddy says, there doesn’t have to be any shooting or +killing or anything like that at all. It just means a fundamental change +in society. And, Daddy says, take the word propaganda. Everybody’s got to +thinking that it automatically means lies, but it doesn’t at all. It just +means, like, the arguments you use to convince people that what you stand +for is right and it might be lies or it might not. And, Daddy says, take +the word socialism. So many people have the wrong idea of what it means +that the socialists ought to scrap the word and start using something else +to mean what they stand for.” + +Larry said gently, “Your father is a socialist?” + +“Oh, no.” + +He nodded in understanding. “Oh, a Communist, eh?” + +Susan Self was indignant. “Daddy thinks the Communists are strictly awful, +really weird.” + +Steve Hackett came back into the office. He said to Larry, “I sent a +couple of the boys out to pick him up.” + +Susan was on her feet, a hand to mouth. “You mean my father! You’re going +to arrest him!” + +Larry said soothingly, “Sit down, Zusanette. There’s a lot of things about +this that I’m sure your father can explain.” He said to Steve, “She tells +me that the money belonged to a movement. A revolutionary movement which +doesn’t use the term revolutionary because people react unfavorably to +that word. It’s not Commie.” + +Susan said indignantly, “It’s American, not anything foreign!” + +Steve growled, “Let’s get back to the money. What’s this movement doing +with a lot of counterfeit bills and where did you find them?” + +She evidently figured she’d gone too far now to take a stand. “It’s not +Daddy’s fault,” she said. “He took me to headquarters twice.” + +“Where’s headquarters?” Larry said trying to keep his voice soothing. + +“Well ... I don’t know. Daddy was awfully silly about it. He tied his +handkerchief around my eyes near the end. But the others complained about +me anyway, and Daddy got awfully mad and said something about the young +people of the country participating in their emancipation and all, but the +others got mad too, and said there wasn’t any kind of help I could do +around headquarters anyway, and I’d be better off in school. Everybody got +awfully mad, but after the second time Daddy promised not to take me to +headquarters any more.” + +“But where did you find the money, Zusannette?” Larry said. + +“At headquarters. There’s tons and tons of it there.” + +Larry cleared his throat and said, “When you say tons and tons, you mean a +great deal of it, eh?” + +She was proudly definite. “I mean tons and tons. A ton is two thousand +pounds.” + +“Look, Zusanette,” Larry said reasonably. “I don’t know how much money +weighs, exactly, but let’s say a pound would be, say, a thousand bills.” +He took up a pencil and scribbled on a pad before him. “A pound of fifties +would be $50,000. Then if you multiply that by 2,000 pounds to make a ton, +you’d have $100,000,000. And you say there’s tons and tons?” + +“And that’s just the fifties,” Susan said triumphantly. “So you can see +the two little packages I picked up aren’t really important at all. It’s +just like I found them.” + +“I don’t think there’s quite a thousand bills in a pound,” Steve said +weakly. + +Larry said, “How much other money is there?” + +“Oh, piles. Whole rooms. Rooms after rooms. And hundred dollar bills, and +twenties, and fives, and tens—” + +Larry said, “Look, Zusanette, I don’t think you’re in any position to be +telling us whoppers. This whole story doesn’t make much 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. + +“I have an idea that’s for me,” Steve said. + +The screen lit up and LaVerne Polk said, “Call for Steve Hackett, Larry.” + +Larry pushed the phone around so Steve could look into it. LaVerne flicked +off and was replaced by a stranger in uniform. Steve said, “Yeah?” + +The cop said, “He’s 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.” + +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 +will happen to you. You say you managed to pick up two packets of all this +money they have at headquarters. O.K. So you thought it wouldn’t be missed +and you’ve always wanted to spend money the way you see the stars do on +TriD and in the movies.” + +She looked at him, taken back. “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 said 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 still again. + + ------------------------------------- + +Larry summed it up for the Boss later. + +His chief scoffed his disbelief. “The child is full of dreams, Lawrence. +It comes from seeing an over-abundance of these TriD 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 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, but I’m not +happy about this, sir. 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 handfuls 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 against whatever the current government happens to be. +Usually, they are on the point of actual starvation. 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 dryly, +“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 tolerance—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 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 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, Washington. Or the French Revolution with Robespierre, Danton, +Marat, Engels and Lenin. All were well educated intellectuals from the +middle class. But the revolution itself, once it starts, comes from below, +from the mass of people pushed beyond tolerance.” + +It came to Lawrence Woolford that his superior had achieved to 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 trouble shooter 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. 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 an 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 sixteen or seventeen old’s 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 on the St. John’s River. + +He stopped at LaVerne’s desk and gave her his address to be, now that his +vacation was resumed. + +She said, smiling up at him. “Right. The boss already told me to get in +touch with Secret Service and let them know we’re pulling out. What +happened to Susan Self?” + +Larry looked at her. “How’d you know about Susan?” + +Her tone was deprecating. “Remember? You had me cut some tapes on you and +that hulking Steve Hackett grilling the poor kid.” + +Larry snorted. “Poor kid, yet. With her tastes for living-it-up, and that +father she has, she’ll probably spend the rest of her life getting in +Steve’s hair as a counterfeit pusher.” + +“What are they going to do with her? She’s just a child.” + +The agent shrugged. “I feel sorry for her, too, LaVerne. Steve’s got her +in a suite at the Greater Washington Hilton, until things are cleared up. +They don’t want the newspapers to get wind of this until they’ve got that +inventor father of hers and whatever he’s cooked up to turn out perfect +reproductions of Uncle Sam’s money. Look, I won’t be leaving until +tomorrow. What’d you say we go out on the town tonight?” + +“Why, Larry Woolford! How nice of you to ask me. Poor Little, Non-U me. +What do you have in mind? I understand Mort Lenny’s at one of the night +clubs.” + +Larry winced. “You know what he’s been saying about the administration.” + +She smiled sweetly at him. + +Larry said, “Look, we could take in the Brahms concert, then—” + +“Do you like Brahms? I go for popular music myself. Preferably the sort of +thing they wrote back in the 1930s. Something you can dance to, something +you know the words to. Corny, they used to call it. Remember ‘Sunny Side +of the Street,’ and ‘Just the Way You Look Tonight’.” + +Larry winced again. He said, “Look, I admit, I don’t go for concerts +either but it doesn’t hurt you to—” + +“I know,” she said sweetly. “It doesn’t hurt for a bright young bureaucrat +to be seen at concerts.” + +“How about Dixieland?” he said. “It’s all the thing now.” + +“I like corn. Besides, my wardrobe is all out of style. Paris, London, and +Rome just got in a huddle a couple of weeks ago and antiquated everything +I own. You wouldn’t want to be seen with a girl a few weeks out of date, +would you?” + +“Oh, now, LaVerne, get off my back.” He thought about it. “Look, you must +have _something_ you could wear.” + +“Get out of here, you vacant minded conformist! I _like_ Mort Lenny, he +makes me laugh; I _hate_ vodka martinis, they give me sour stomach; I +don’t _like_ the current women’s styles, nor the men’s either.” LaVerne +spun back to her auto-typer and began to dictate into it. + +Larry glared down at her. “All right. O.K. What _do_ you like?” + +She snapped back irrationally, “I like what _I_ like.” + +He laughed at her in ridicule. + +This time she glared at him. “That makes more sense than you’re capable of +assimilating, Mr. Walking Status Symbol. My likes and dislikes aren’t +dictated by someone else. If I like corny music, I’ll listen to it and the +devil with Brahms or Dixieland or anything else that somebody else tells +me is all the thing!” + +He turned on his heel angrily. “O.K., O.K., it takes all sorts to make a +world, weirds and all.” + +“One more label to hang on people,” she snarled after him. “Everything’s +labels. Be sure and never come to any judgments of your own!” + +What a woman! He wondered why he’d ever bothered to ask her for a date. +There were so many women in this town you waded through them, and here he +was exposing himself to be seen in public with a girl everybody in the +department knew was as weird as they came. It didn’t do your standing any +good to be seen around with the type. He wondered all over again why the +Boss tolerated her as his receptionist-secretary. + +He got his car from the parking lot and drove home at a high level. +Ordinarily, the distance being what it was, he drove in the lower and +slower traffic levels but now his frustration demanded some expression. + + ------------------------------------- + +Back at his suburban auto-bungalow, he threw all except the high priority +switch and went on down into his small second cellar den. He didn’t really +feel like a night on the town anyway. A few vodka martinis under his belt +and he’d sleep late and he wanted to get up in time for an early start for +Florida. Besides, in that respect he agreed with the irritating wench. +Vermouth was never meant to mix with Polish vodka. He wished that Sidecars +would come back. + +In his den, he shucked off his jacket, kicked off his shoes and shuffled +into Moroccan slippers. He went over to his current reading rack and +scowled at the paperbacks there. His culture status books were upstairs +where they could be seen. He pulled out a western, tossed it over to the +cocktail table that sat next to his chair, and then went over to the bar. + +Up above in his living room, he had one of the new autobars. You could +dial any one of more than thirty drinks. Autobars were all the rage. The +Boss had one that gave a selection of a hundred. But what difference did +it make when nobody but eccentric old-timers or flighty blondes drank +anything except vodka martinis? He didn’t like autobars anyway. A well +mixed drink is a personal thing, a work of competence, instinct and art, +not something measured to the drop, iced to the degree, shaken or stirred +to a mathematical formula. + +Out of the tiny refrigerator he brought a four-ounce cube of frozen +pineapple juice, touched the edge with his thumbnail and let the ultra +thin plastic peel away. He tossed the cube into his mixer, took up a +bottle of light rum and poured in about two ounces. He brought an egg from +the refrigerator and added that. An ounce of whole milk followed and a +teaspoon of powdered sugar. He flicked the switch and let the +conglomeration froth together. + +He poured it into a king-size highball glass and took it over to his +chair. Vodka martinis be damned, he liked a slightly sweet long drink. + +He sat down in the chair, picked up the book and scowled at the cover. He +ought to be reading that Florentine history of Machiavelli’s, especially +if the Boss had got to the point where he was quoting from the guy. But +the heck with it, he was on vacation. He didn’t think much of the Italian +diplomat of the Renaissance anyway; how could you be that far back without +being dated? + +He couldn’t get beyond the first page or two. + +And when you can’t concentrate on a Western, you just can’t concentrate. + +He finished his drink, went over to his phone and dialed _Department of +Records_ and then _Information_. When the bright young thing answered, he +said, “I’d like the brief on an Ernest Self who lives on Elwood Avenue, +Baltimore section of Greater Washington. I don’t know his code number.” + +She did things with switches and buttons for a moment and then brought a +sheet from a delivery chute. “Do you want me to read it to you, sir?” + +“No, I’ll scan it,” Larry said. + +Her face faded to be replaced by the brief on Ernest Self. + +It was astonishingly short. _Records_ seemed to have slipped up on this +occasion. A rare occurrence. He considered requesting the full dossier, +then changed his mind. Instead he dialed the number of the _Sun-Post_ and +asked for its science columnist. + +Sam Sokolski’s puffy face eventually faded in. + +Larry said to him sourly, “You drink too much. You can begin to see the +veins breaking in your nose.” + +Sam looked at him patiently. + +Larry said, “How’d you like to come over and toss back a few tonight?” + +“I’m working. I thought you were on vacation.” + +Larry sighed. “I am,” he said. “O.K., so you can’t take a night off and +lift a few with an old buddy.” + +“That’s right. Anything else, Larry?” + +“Yes. Look, have you ever heard of an inventor named Ernest Self?” + +“Sure I’ve heard of him. Covered a hassle he got into some years ago. A +nice guy.” + +“I’ll bet,” Larry said. “What does he invent, something to do with +printing presses, or something?” + +“Printing presses? Don’t you remember the story about him?” + +“Brief me,” Larry said. + +“Well—briefly does it—it got out a couple of years ago that some of our +rocketeers had bought a solid fuel formula from an Italian research outfit +for the star probe project. Paid them a big hunk of Uncle’s change for it. +So Self sued.” + +Larry said, “You’re being _too_ brief. What d’ya mean, he sued? Why?” + +“Because he claimed he’d submitted the same formula to the same agency a +full eighteen months earlier and they’d turned him down.” + +“Had he?” + +“Probably.” + +Larry didn’t get it. “Then why’d they turn him down?” + +Sam said, “Oh, the government boys had a good alibi. Crackpots turn up all +over the place and you have to brush them off. Every cellar scientist who +comes along and says he’s got a new super-fuel developed from old coffee +grounds can’t be given the welcome mat. Something was wrong with his math +or something and they didn’t pay much attention to him. Wouldn’t even let +him demonstrate it. But it was the same formula, all right.” + +Larry Woolford was scowling. “Something wrong with his math? What kind of +a degree does he have?” + +Sam grinned in memory. “I got a good quote on that. He doesn’t have any +degree. He said he’d learned to read by the time he’d reached high school +and since then he figured spending time in classrooms was a matter of +interfering with his education.” + +“No wonder they turned him down. No degree at all. You can’t get anywhere +in science like that.” + +Sam said, “The courts rejected his suit but he got a certain amount of +support here and there. Peter Voss, over at the university, claims he’s +one of the great intuitive scientists, whatever that is, of our +generation.” + +“Who said that?” + +“Professor Voss. Not that it makes any difference what he says. Another +crackpot.” + +After Sam’s less than handsome face was gone from the phone, Larry walked +over to the bar with his empty glass and stared at the mixer for several +minutes. He began to make himself another flip, but cut it short in the +middle, put down the ingredients and went back to the phone to dial +_Records_ again. + +He went through first the brief and then the full dossier on Professor +Peter Luther Voss. Aside from his academic accomplishments, particularly +in the fields of political economy and international law, and the dozen or +so books accredited to him, there wasn’t anything particularly noteworthy. +A bachelor in his fifties. No criminal record of any kind, of course, and +no military career. No known political affiliations. Evidently a strong +predilection for Thorstein Veblen’s theories. And he’d been a friend of +Henry Mencken back when that old nonconformist was tearing down +contemporary society seemingly largely for the fun involved in the +tearing. + +On the face of it, the man was no radical, and the term “crackpot” which +Sam had applied was hardly called for. + +Larry Woolford went back to the bar and resumed the job of mixing his own +version of a rum flip. + +But his heart wasn’t in it. _The Professor_, Susan had said. + + ------------------------------------- + +Before he’d gone to bed the night before, Larry Woolford had ordered a +seat on the shuttle jet for Jacksonville and a hover-cab there to take him +to Astor, on the St. Johns River. And he’d requested to be wakened in +ample time to get to the shuttleport. + +But it wasn’t the saccharine pleasant face of the Personal Service +operator which confronted him when he grumpily answered the phone in the +morning. In fact, the screen remained blank. + +Larry decided that sweet long drinks were fine, but that anyone who took +several of them in a row needed to be candied. He grumbled into the phone, +“All right, who is it?” + +A Teutonic voice chuckled and said, “You’re going to have to decide +whether or not you’re on vacation, my friend. At this time of day, why +aren’t you at work?” + +Larry Woolford was waking up. He said, “What can I do for you, +Distelmayer?” The German merchant-of-espionage wasn’t the type to make +personal calls. + +“Have you forgotten so soon, my friend?” the other chuckled. “It was I who +was going to do you a favor.” He hesitated momentarily, before adding, “In +possible return for future—” + +“Yeah, yeah,” Larry said. He was fully awake now. + +The German said slowly, “You asked if any of your friends from, ah, abroad +were newly in the country. Frol Eivazov has recently appeared on the +scene.” + +Eivazov! In various respects, Larry Woolford’s counterpart. Hatchetman for +the _Chrezvychainaya Komissiya_. Woolford had met him on occasion when +they’d both been present at international summit meetings, busily working +at counter-espionage for their respective superiors. Blandly shaking hands +with each other, blandly drinking toasts to peace and international +co-existence, blandly sizing each other up and wondering if it’d ever come +to the point where one would _blandly_ treat the other to a hole in the +head, possibly in some dark alley in Havana or Singapore, Leopoldville or +Saigon. + +Larry said sharply, “Where is he? How’d he get in the country?” + +“My friend, my friend,” the German grunted good-humoredly. “You know +better than to ask the first question. As for the second, Frol’s command +of American-English is at least as good as your own. Do you think his +_Komissiya_ less capable than your own department and unable to do him up +suitable papers so that he could be, perhaps, a ‘returning tourist’ from +Europe?” + +Larry Woolford was impatient with himself for asking. He said now, “It’s +not important. If we want to locate Frol and pick him up, we’ll probably +not have too much trouble doing it.” + +“I wouldn’t think so,” the other said humorously. “Since 1919, when they +were first organized, the so-called Communists in this country, from the +lowest to the highest echelons, have been so riddled with police agents +that a federal judge in New England once refused to prosecute a case +against them on the grounds that the party was a United States government +agency.” + +Larry was in no frame of mind for the other’s heavy humor. “Look, Hans,” +he said, “what I want to know is what Frol is over here for.” + +“Of course you do,” Hans Distelmayer said, unable evidently to keep note +of puzzlement from his voice. “Larry,” he said, “I assume your people know +of the new American underground.” + +“_What_ underground?” Larry snapped. + +The professional spy chief said, his voice strange, “The Soviets seem to +have picked up an idea somewhere, possibly through their membership in +this country, that something is abrewing in the States. That a change is +being engineered.” + +Larry stared at the blank phone screen. + +“What kind of a change?” he said finally. “You mean a change to the Soviet +system?” Surely not even the self-deluding Russkies could think it +possible to overthrow the American socio-economic system in favor of the +Soviet brand. + +“No, no, no,” the German chuckled. “Of course not. It’s not of their +working at all.” + +“Then what’s Frol Eivazov’s interest, if they aren’t engineering it?” + +Distelmayer rumbled his characteristic chuckle with humor. “My dear +friend, don’t be naive. Anything that happens in America is of interest to +the Soviets. There is delicate peace between you now that they have +changed their direction and are occupying themselves largely with the +economic and agricultural development of Asia and such portions of the +world as have come under their hegemony, and while you put all efforts +into modernizing the more backward countries among your satellites.” + +Larry said automatically, “Our allies aren’t satellites.” + +The spy-master went on without contesting the statement. “There is +immediate peace but surely governmental officials on both sides keep +careful watch on the internal developments of the other. True, the current +heads of the Soviet Complex would like to see the governments of all the +Western powers changed—but only if they are changed in the direction of +communism. They are hardly interested in seeing changes made which would +strengthen the West in the, ah, Battle For Men’s Minds.” + +Larry snorted his disgust. “What sort of change in government would +strengthen the United States in—” + +The German interrupted smoothly, “Evidently, that’s what Frol seems to be +here for, Larry. To find out more about this movement and—” + +“This _what_?” Larry blurted. + +“The term seems to be _movement_.” + +Larry Woolford held a long silence before saying, “And Frol is actually +here in this country to buck this ... this movement.” + +“Not necessarily,” the other said impatiently. “He is here to find out +more about it. Evidently Peking and Moscow have heard just enough to make +them nervous.” + +Larry said, “You have anything more, Hans?” + +“I’m afraid that’s about it.” + +“All right,” Larry said. He added absently, “Thanks, Hans.” + +“Thank me some day with deeds, not with words,” the German chuckled. + + ------------------------------------- + +Larry Woolford looked at his watch and grimaced. He was either going to +get going now or forget about doing any fishing in Florida this afternoon. + +Grudgingly, he dialed the phone company’s Personal Service and said to the +impossibly cheerful blonde who answered, “Where can I find Professor Peter +Voss who teaches over at the University in Baltimore? I don’t want to talk +with him, just want to know where he’ll be an hour from now.” + +While waiting for his information, he dressed, deciding inwardly that he +hated his job, the department in which he was employed, the Boss and +Greater Washington. On top of that, he hated himself. He’d already been +taken off this assignment, why couldn’t he leave it lay? + +The blonde rang him back. Professor Peter Voss was at home. He had no +classes today. She gave him the address. + +Larry Woolford raised his car from his auto-bungalow in the Brandywine +suburb and headed northwest at a high level for the old Baltimore section +of the city. + +The Professor’s house, he noted, was of an earlier day and located on the +opposite side of Paterson Park from Elwood avenue, the street on which +Susan Self and her father had resided. That didn’t necessarily hold +significance, the park was a large one and the Professor’s section a +well-to-do neighborhood, while Self’s was just short of a slum these days. + +He brought his car down to street level, and parked before the scholar’s +three-story, brick house. Baltimore-like, it was identical to every other +house in the block; Larry wondered vaguely how anybody ever managed to +find his own place when it was very dark out. + +There was an old-fashioned bell at the side of the entrance and Larry +Woolford pushed it. There was no identification screen in the door, +evidently the inhabitants had to open up to see who was calling, a tiring +chore if you were on the far side of the house and the caller nothing more +than a salesman. + +It was obviously the Professor himself who answered. + +He was in shirtsleeves, tieless and with age-old slippers on his +stockingless feet. He evidently hadn’t bothered to shave this morning and +he held a dog-earred pamphlet in his right hand, his forefinger tucked in +it to mark his place. He wore thick-lensed, gold-rimmed glasses through +which he blinked at Larry Woolford questioningly, without speaking. +Professor Peter Voss was a man in his mid fifties, and, on the face of it, +couldn’t care less right now about his physical appearance. + +A weird, Larry decided immediately. He wondered at the University, one of +the nation’s best, keeping on such a figure. + +“Professor Voss?” he said. “Lawrence Woolford.” He brought forth his +identification. + +The Professor blinked down at it. “I see,” he said. “Won’t you come in?” + +The house was old, all right. From the outside, quite acceptable, but the +interior boasted few of the latest amenities which made all the difference +in modern existence. Larry was taken back by the fact that the phone which +he spotted in the _entrada_ hadn’t even a screen—an old model for speaking +only. + +The Professor noticed his glance and said dryly, “The advantages of +combining television and telephone have never seemed valid to me. In my +own home, I feel free to relax, as you can observe. Had I a screen on my +phone, it would be necessary for me to maintain the same appearance as I +must on the streets or before my classes.” + +Larry cleared his throat without saying anything. This was a weird one, +all right. + +The living room was comfortable in a blatantly primitive way. Three or +four paintings on the walls which were probably originals, Larry decided, +and should have been in museums. Not an abstract among them. A Grant Wood, +a Marin, and that over there could only be a Grandma Moses. The sort of +things you might keep in your private den, but hardly to be seen as +culture symbols. + +The chairs were large, of leather, and comfortable and probably belonged +to the period before the Second War. Peter Voss, evidently, was little +short of an exhibitionist. + +The Professor took up a battered humidor. “Cigar?” he said. “Manila. Hard +to get these days.” + +A cigar? Good grief, the man would be offering him a chaw of tobacco next. + +“Thanks, no,” Larry said. “I smoke a pipe.” + +“I see,” the Professor said, lighting his stogie. “Do you really like a +pipe? Personally, I’ve always thought the cigar by far the most +satisfactory method of taking tobacco.” + +What can you say to a question like that? Larry ignored it, as though it +was rhetorical. Actually, he smoked cigarettes in the privacy of his den. +A habit which was on the proletarian side and not consistent with his +status level. + +He said, to get things under way, “Professor Voss, what is an intuitive +scientist?” + +The Professor exhaled blue smoke, shook out the old-time kitchen match +with which he’d lit it, and tossed the matchstick into an ashtray. +“Intuitive scientist?” + +“You once called Ernest Self a great intuitive scientist.” + +“Oh, Self. Yes, indeed. What is he doing these days?” + +Larry said wryly, “That’s what I came to ask you about.” + +The Professor was puzzled. “I’m afraid you came to the wrong place, Mr. +Woolford. I haven’t seen Ernest for quite a time. Why?” + +“Some of his researches seem to have taken him rather far afield. +Actually, I know practically nothing about him. I wonder if you could fill +me in a bit.” + +Peter Voss looked at the ash on the end of his cigar. “I really don’t know +the man that well. He lives across the park. Why don’t—” + +“He’s disappeared,” Larry said. + +The Professor blinked. “I see,” he said. “And in view of the fact that you +are a security officer, I assume under strange circumstances.” Larry +Woolford said nothing and the Professor sank back into his chair and +pursed his lips. “I can’t really tell you much. I became interested in +Self two or three years ago when gathering materials for a paper on the +inadequate manner in which our country rewards its inventors.” + +Larry said, “I’ve heard about his suit against the government.” + +The Professor became more animated. “Ha!” he snorted. “One example among +many. Self is not alone. Our culture is such that the genius is smothered. +The great contributors to our society are ignored, or worse.” + +Larry Woolford was feeling his way. Now he said mildly, “I was under the +impression that American free enterprise gave the individual the best +opportunity to prove himself and that if he had it on the ball he’d get to +the top.” + +“Were you really?” the Professor said snappishly. “And did you know that +Edison died a comparatively poor man with an estate somewhere in the +vicinity of a hundred thousand dollars? An amount that might sound like a +good deal to you or me, but, when you consider his contributions, +shockingly little. Did you know that Eli Whitney realized little, if +anything, from the cotton gin? Or that McCormick didn’t invent the reaper +but gained it in a dubious court victory? Or take Robert Goddard, one of +the best examples of modern times. He developed the basics of rocket +technology—gyroscopic stabilizers, fuel pumps, self-cooling motors, +landing devices. He died in 1945 leaving behind twenty-two volumes of +records that proved priceless. What did he get out of his researches? +Nothing. It was fifteen years later that his widow won her suit against +the government for patent infringements!” + + [Illustration.] + +Larry held up a hand. “Really,” he said. “My interest is in Ernest Self.” + +The Professor relaxed. “Sorry. I’m afraid I get carried away. Self, to get +back to your original question, is a great intuitive scientist. +Unfortunately for him, society being what it is today, he fits into few +grooves. Our educational system was little more than an irritation to him +and consequently he holds no degrees. Needless to say, this interfered +with his gaining employment with the universities and the large +corporations which dominate our country’s research, not to mention +governmental agencies. + +“Ernest Self holds none of the status labels that count. The fact that he +is a genius means nothing. He is supposedly qualified no more than to hold +a janitor’s position in laboratories where his inferiors conduct +experiments in fields where he is a dozenfold more capable than they. No +one is interested in his genius, they want to know what status labels are +pinned to him. Ernest has no respect for labels.” + + ------------------------------------- + +Larry Woolford figured he was picking up background and didn’t force a +change of subject. “Just what do you mean by intuitive scientist?” + +“It’s a term I have used loosely,” the Professor admitted. “Possibly a +scientist who makes a break-through in his field, destroying formerly held +positions—in Self’s case, without the math, without the accepted theories +to back him. He finds something that works, possibly without knowing why +or how and by using unorthodox analytical techniques. An intuitive +scientist, if I may use the term, is a thorn in the side of our +theoretical physicists laden down with their burden of a status label but +who are themselves short of the makings of a Leonardo, a Newton, a +Galileo, or even a Nicholas Christofilos.” + +“I’m afraid that last name escapes me,” Larry said. + +“Similar to Self’s case and Robert Goddard’s,” Voss said, his voice +bitter. “Although his story has a better ending. Christofilos invented the +strong-focusing principle that made possible the multi-billion-volt +particle accelerators currently so widely used in nuclear physics +experimentation. However, he was nothing but a Greek elevator electrical +system engineer and the supposed experts turned him down on the grounds +that his math was faulty. It seems that he submitted the idea in +straight-algebra terms instead of differential equations. He finally won +through after patenting the discovery and rubbing their noses in it. +Previously, none of the physics journals would publish his paper—he didn’t +have the right status labels to impress them.” + +Larry said, almost with amusement, “You seem to have quite a phobia +against the status label, as you call it. However, I don’t see how as +complicated a world as ours could get along without it.” + +The Professor snorted his contempt. “Tell me,” he said, “to which class do +you consider yourself to belong?” + +Larry Woolford shrugged. “I suppose individuals in my bracket are usually +thought of as being middle-middle class.” + +“And you have no feeling of revolt in having such a label hung on you? +Consider this system for a moment. You have lower-lower, middle-lower, and +upper-lower; then you have lower-middle, middle-middle, upper-middle; then +you have lower-upper, middle-upper, and finally we achieve to upper-upper +class. Now tell me, when we get to that rarified category, who do we find? +Do we find an Einstein, a Schweitzer, a Picasso; outstanding scientists, +humanitarians, the great writers, artists and musicians of our day? +Certainly not. We find ultra-wealthy playboys and girls, a former king and +his duchess who eke out their income by accepting fees to attend parties, +the international born set, bearers of meaningless feudalistic titles. +These are your upper-upper class!” + +Larry laughed. + +The Professor snapped, “You think it funny? Let me give you another +example of our status label culture. I have a friend whom I have known +since childhood. I would estimate that Charles has an I.Q. of +approximately 90, certainly no more. His family, however, took such +necessary steps as were needed to get Charles through public school. No +great matter these days, you’ll admit, although on occasion he needed a +bit of tutoring. On graduation, they recognized that the really better +schools might be a bit difficult for Charles so he was entered in a +university with a good name but without—shall we say?—the highest of +scholastic ratings. Charles plodded along, had some more tutoring, +probably had his thesis ghosted, and eventually graduated. At that point +an uncle died and left Charles an indefinite amount to be used in +furthering his education to any extent he wished to go. Charles, motivated +probably by the desire to avoid obtaining a job and competing with his +fellow man, managed to wrangle himself into a medical school and +eventually even graduated. Since funds were still available, he continued +his studies abroad, largely in Vienna.” + +The Professor wound it up. “Eventually, he ran out of schools, or his +uncle’s estate ran out—I don’t know which came first. At any rate, my +friend Charles, laden down with status labels, is today practicing as a +psychiatrist in this fair city of ours.” + +Larry stared at him blankly. + +The Professor said snappishly, “So any time you feel you need to have your +brains unscrambled, you can go to his office and expend twenty-five +dollars an hour or so. His reputation is of the highest.” The Professor +grunted his contempt. “He doesn’t know the difference between an aspirin +tablet and a Rorschach test.” + +Larry Woolford stirred in his chair. “We seem to have gotten far off the +subject. What has this got to do with Self?” + +The Professor seemed angry. “I repeat, I’m afraid I get carried away on +this subject. I’m in revolt against a culture based on the status label. +It eliminates the need to judge a man on his merits. To judge a person by +the clothes he wears, the amount of money he possesses, the car he drives, +the neighborhood in which he lives, the society he keeps, or even his +ancestry, is out of the question in a vital, growing society. You wind up +with nonentities as the leaders of your nation. In these days, we can’t +afford it.” + +He smiled suddenly, rather elfishly, at the security agent. “But +admittedly, this deals with Self only as one of many victims of a culture +based on status labels. Just what is it you wanted to know about Ernest?” + +“When you knew him, evidently he was working on rocket fuels. Have you any +idea whether he later developed a method of producing perfect +counterfeit?” + +The Professor said, “Ernest Self? Surely you are jesting.” + +Larry said unhappily, “Then here’s another question. Have you ever heard +him mention belonging to a movement, or, I think, he might word it _The +Movement_.” + +“Movement?” the Professor said emptily. + +“Evidently a revolutionary group interested in the overthrow of the +government.” + +“Good heavens,” the Professor said. “Just a moment, Mr. Woolford. You +interrupted me just as I was having my second cup of coffee. Do you mind +if I—” + +“Certainly not,” Woolford shook his head. + +“I simply can’t get along until after my third cup,” the Professor said. +“You just wait a moment and I’ll bring the pot in here.” + +He left Larry to sit in the combined study and living room while he +shuffled off in his slippers to the kitchen. Larry Woolford decided that +in his school days he’d had some far out professors himself, but it would +really be something to study under this one. Not that the old boy didn’t +have some points, of course. Almost all nonconformists base their +particular peeves on some actuality, but in this case, what was the +percentage? How could you buck the system? Particularly when, largely, it +worked. + + ------------------------------------- + +The Professor returned with an old-fashioned coffeepot, two cups, and +sugar and cream on a tray. He put them on a side table and said to Larry, +“You’ll join me? How do you take it?” + +Larry still had the slightest of hang-overs from his solitary drinking of +the night before. “Thanks. Make it black,” he said. + +The Professor poured, served, then did up a cup for himself. He sat back +in his chair and said, “Now, where were we? Something about a +revolutionary group. What has that to do with counterfeiting?” + +Larry sipped the strong coffee. “It seems there might be a connection.” + +The Professor shook his head. “It’s hard to imagine Ernest Self being +connected with a criminal pursuit.” + +Larry said carefully, “Susan seemed to be of the opinion that you knew +about a large amount of counterfeit currency that this Movement had on +hand and that you were in favor of spending it upon chorus girls.” + +The Professor gaped at him. + +Larry chuckled uncomfortably. + +Professor Voss said finally, his voice very even, “My dear sir, I am +afraid that I evidently can be of little assistance to you.” + +“Admittedly, it doesn’t seem to make much sense.” + +“Susan—you mean that little sixteen year old?—said _I_ was in favor of +spending counterfeit money on chorus girls?” + +Larry said unhappily, “She used the term _the Professor_.” + +“And why did you assume that the title must necessarily allude to me? Even +if any of the rest of the fantastic story was true.” + +Larry said, “In my profession, Professor Voss, we track down every +possible clue. Thus far, you are the only professor of whom we know who +was connected with Ernest Self.” + +Voss said stiffly, “I can only say, sir, that in my estimation Mr. Self is +a man of the highest integrity. And, in addition, that I have never spent +a penny on a chorus girl in my life and have no intention of beginning, +counterfeit or otherwise.” + +Larry Woolford decided that he wasn’t doing too well and that he’d need +more ammunition if he was going to return to this particular attack. He +was surprised that the old boy hadn’t already ordered him from the house. + +He finished the coffee preparatory to coming to his feet. “Then you think +it’s out of the question, Ernest Self belonging to a revolutionary +organization?” + +The Professor protested. “I didn’t say that at all. Mr. Self is a man of +ideals. I can well see him belonging to such an organization.” + +Larry Woolford decided he’d better hang on for at least a few more words. +“You don’t seem to think, yourself, that a subversive organization is +undesirable in this country.” + +The Professor’s voice was reasonable. “Isn’t that according to what it +means to subvert?” + +“You know what I mean,” Woolford said in irritation. “I don’t usually +think of revolutionists, even when they call themselves simply members of +a _movement_, as exactly idealists.” + +“Then you’re wrong,” the Professor said definitely, pouring himself +another cup of coffee. “History bears out that almost invariably +revolutionists are men of idealism. The fact that they might be either +right or wrong in their revolutionary program is beside the point.” + +Larry Woolford began to say, “Are you sure that you aren’t interested in +this _move—_” + +But it was then that the knockout drops hit him. + + ------------------------------------- + +He came out of the fog feeling nausea and with his head splitting. He +groaned and opened one eye experimentally. + +Steve Hackett, far away, said, “He’s snapping out of it.” + +Larry groaned again, opened the other eye and attempted to focus. + +“What happened?” he muttered. + +“Now that’s an original question,” Steve said. + +Larry Woolford struggled up into a sitting position. He’d been stretched +out on a couch in the Professor’s combined living room and study. + +Steve Hackett, his hands on his hips, was looking down at him +sarcastically. There were two or three others, one of whom Larry vaguely +remembered as being a Secret Service colleague of Steve’s, going about and +in and out of the room. + +Larry said, his fingers pressing into his forehead, “My head’s killing me. +Damn it, what’s going on?” + +Steve said sarcastically, “You’ve been slipped a mickey, my cloak and +dagger friend, and the bird has flown.” + +“You mean the Professor? He’s a bird all right.” + +“Humor we get, yet,” Hackett said, his ugly face scowling. “Listen, I +thought you people had pulled out of this case.” + +Larry sat up and swung his two feet around to the floor. “So did I,” he +moaned, “but there were two or three things that bothered me and I thought +I’d tidy them up before leaving.” + +“You tidied them up all right,” Steve grumbled. “This Professor Voss was +practically the only lead I’ve been able to discover. An old friend of +Self’s. And you allowed him to get away before we even got here.” + +One of Hackett’s men came up and said, “Not a sign of him, Steve. He +evidently burned a few papers, packed a suitcase, and took off. His things +look suspiciously as though he was ready to go into hiding at a moment’s +notice.” + +Steve growled to him, “Give the place the works. He’s probably left some +clues around that’ll give us a line.” + +The other went off and Steve Hackett sat down in one of the leather chairs +and glowered at Larry Woolford. “Listen,” he said, “what did you people +want with Susan Self?” + +Larry shook his head for clarity and looked at him. “Susan? What are you +talking about? You don’t have any aspirin, do you?” + +“No. What’d you mean, what am I talking about? You called Betsy Hughes and +then sent a couple of men over to pick the Self kid up.” + +“Who’s Betsy Hughes?” + +Steve shook his head. “I don’t know what kind of knockout drops the old +boy gave you, but they sure worked. Betsy’s the operative we had minding +Susan Self over in the Greater Washington Hilton. About an hour ago you +got her on the phone, said your department wanted to question Susan, and +that you were sending two men over to pick her up. The two men turned up +with an order from you, and took the girl.” + +Larry stared at him. Finally he said, “What time is it?” + +“About two o’clock.” + +Larry said, “I came into this house in the morning, talked to the +Professor for about half an hour and then was silly enough to let him give +me some loaded coffee. He was such a weird old buzzard that it never +occurred to me he might be dangerous. At any rate, I’ve been unconscious +for several hours. I _couldn’t’ve_ called this Betsy Hughes operative of +yours.” + +It was Steve Hackett’s turn to stare. + +“You mean your department doesn’t have Susan Self?” + +“Not so far as I know. The Boss told me yesterday that we were pulling +out, that it was all in your hands. What would we want with Susan?” + +“Oh, great,” Steve snarled. “There goes our last contact. Ernest Self, +Professor Voss, and now Susan Self; they’ve all disappeared.” + +“Look,” Larry said unhappily, “let’s get me some aspirin and then let’s go +and see my chief. I have a sneaking suspicion our department is back on +this case.” + +Steve snorted sarcastically. “If you can foul things up this well when +you’re off the case, God only knows what you’ll accomplish using your +facilities on an all-out basis.” + + ------------------------------------- + +The Boss said slowly, “Whoever we are working against evidently isn’t +short of resources. Abducting that young lady was no simple matter.” The +career diplomat worked his lips in and out, in all but a pout. + +Larry Woolford, who’d taken time out to go home, shower, change clothes +and medicate himself out of his dope induced hangover, sat across the desk +from him, flanked by Steve Hackett. + +The Boss said sourly, “It would seem that I was in error. That our young +Susan Self was not spouting fantasy. There evidently actually is an +underground movement interested in changing our institutions.” He stirred +in his chair and his scowl went deeper. “And evidently working on a basis +never conceived of by subversive organizations of the past. The fact that +they have successfully remained secret even to this department is the +prime indication that they are attempting to make their revolutionary +changes in a unique manner.” + +Larry said, “The trouble is, we don’t even know what it is they want.” + +“However,” his superior said slowly, “we are beginning to get inklings.” + +Steve Hackett said, “What inklings, sir? This sort of thing might be +routine for you people, but my field is counterfeit. I, frankly, don’t +know what it’s all about.” + +The Boss looked at him. “We have a clue or two, Mr. Hackett. For one +thing, we know that this Movement of ours has no affiliations with the +Soviet Complex, nor, so far as we know, any foreign element whatsoever. If +we take Miss Self’s word, it is strictly an American phenomenon. From what +little we know of Ernest Self and Peter Voss they might be in revolt +against some of our current institutions but there is no reason to believe +them, ah, _un-American_ in the usually accepted sense of the word.” + +The two younger men looked at him as though he was joking. + +He shook his heavy head negatively. “Actually, what do we have on this +so-called Movement thus far? Aside from treating Lawrence, here, to some +knockout drops—and let us remember that Lawrence was present in the +Professor’s home without a warrant—all we have is the suspicion that they +have manufactured a quantity of counterfeit.” + +“A _quantity_ is right,” Steve Hackett blurted. “If we’re to accept what +that Self kid told us, they have a few billion dollars worth of perfect +bills on hand.” + +“A strange amount for counterfeiters to produce,” The Boss said +uncomfortably. “That is what puzzles me. Any revolutionary movement needs +funds. Remember Stalin as a young man? He used to be in charge of the +Bolshevik gang which robbed banks to raise funds for their underground +newspapers. But a billion dollars? What in the world can they expect to +need that amount for?” + +Larry said, “Sir, you keep talking as though these characters were a bunch +of idealistic do-gooders bleeding for the sake of the country. Actually, +from what we know, they’re nothing but a bunch of revolutionists.” + +The Boss was shaking his head. “You’re not thinking clearly, Lawrence. +Revolution, _per se_, is not illegal in the United States. Our +Constitution was probably the first document of its kind which allowed for +its own amendment. The men who wrote it provided for changing it either +slightly or _in toto_. Whenever the majority of the American people decide +completely to abandon the Constitution and govern themselves by new laws, +they have the right to do it.” + +“Then what’s the whole purpose of this department, sir?” Larry argued. +“Why’ve we been formed to combat foreign and domestic subversion?” + +His chief sighed. “You shouldn’t have to ask that, Lawrence. The present +government cannot oppose the will of the majority if it votes, by +constitutional methods, to make any changes it wishes. But we can, and do, +unmask the activities of anyone trying to overthrow the government by +force and violence. Any culture protects itself against that.” + +“What are we getting at, sir?” Steve Hackett said, impatiently. + +The Boss shrugged. “I’m trying to point out that so far as my department +is concerned, thus far we have little against this Movement. Secret +Service may have, what with this wholesale counterfeiting, even though +thus far they seem to have made no attempt to pass the currency they have +allegedly manufactured. We wouldn’t even know of it, weren’t it for our +young Susan pilfering an amount.” + +Larry said, desperately, “Sir, you just pointed out a few minutes ago that +this Movement is a secret organization trying to make changes in some +unique manner. In short, they don’t figure on using the ballot to put over +their revolution. That makes them as illegal as the Commies, doesn’t it?” + +The Boss said, “That’s the difficulty; we don’t know what they want. From +your conversations with Susan Self and especially Professor Voss, +evidently they think the country needs some basic changes. What these +changes are, and how they expect to accomplish them, we don’t know. Unless +a foreign government is involved, or unless they plan to alter our +institutions by violence, this department just doesn’t have much +jurisdiction.” + +Steve Hackett snorted, “Secret Service does! If those bales of money the +Self kid told us about are ever put into circulation, there’ll be hell to +pay.” + +The Boss sighed. “Well,” he said, “Lawrence can continue on the +assignment. If it develops in such manner as to indicate that this +department is justified in further investigation, we’ll put more men on +it. Meanwhile, it is obviously more a Secret Service matter. I am sorry to +intrude upon your vacation again, Lawrence.” + +On awakening in the morning, Larry Woolford stared glumly at the ceiling +for long moments before dragging himself from bed. This was, he decided, +the strangest assignment he’d ever been on. In his day he’d trekked +through South America, Common Europe, a dozen African states, and even +areas of Southern Asia, combatting Commie pressures here, fellow-traveler +organizations there, disrupting plots hatched in the Soviet Complex in the +other place. On his home grounds in the United States he’d covered +everything from out and out Soviet espionage, to exposing Communist +activities of complexions from the faintest of pinks to the rosiest +Trotskyite red. But, he decided he’d never expected to wind up after a +bunch of weirds whose sole actionable activity to date seemed to be the +counterfeiting of a fantastic amount of legal tender which thus far they +were making no attempt to pass. + +He got out of bed and went through the rituals of showering, shaving and +clothing, of coffee, sausage, and eggs, toast and more coffee. + +What amazed Larry Woolford was the shrug-it-off manner in which the Boss +seemed to accept this underground Movement and its admitted subversive +goals—whatever they were. Carry the Boss’ reasoning to its ultimate and +subversion was perfectly all right, just as it didn’t involve force and +violence. If he was in his chief’s position, he would have thrown the full +resources of the department into tracking down these crackpots. As it was, +he, Larry Woolford was the only operative on the job. + +He needed a new angle on which to work. Steve Hackett was undoubtedly +handling the tracing down of the counterfeit with all the resources of the +Secret Service. Possibly there was some way of detecting the source of the +paper they’d used. + +He finished his final cup of coffee in the living room and took up the +pipe he was currently breaking in. He loaded it automatically from a +humidor and lit it with his pocket lighter. Three drags, and he tossed it +back to the table, fumbled in a drawer and located a pack of cigarettes. +Possibly his status group was currently smoking British briars in public, +but, let’s face it, he hated the confounded things. + +He sat down before the phone and dialed the offices of the _Sun-Post_ and +eventually got Sam Sokolski who this time beat him to the punch. + +Sam said, “You shouldn’t drink alone. Listen, Larry, why don’t you get in +touch with Alcoholics Anonymous. It’s a great outfit.” + +“You ought to know,” Larry growled. “Look, Sam, as science columnist for +that rag you work for you probably come in touch with a lot of eggheads.” + +“Laddy-buck, you have said it,” Sam said. + +“Fine. Now look, what I want to know is have you ever heard—even the +slightest of rumors—about an organization called the Movement?” + +“What’d’ya mean, slightest of rumors? Half the weirds I run into are +interested in the outfit. Get two or three intellectuals, scientists, +technicians, or what have you, together and they start knocking themselves +out on the pros and cons of the Movement.” + +Larry Woolford stared at him. “Are you kidding, Sam?” + +The other was mystified. “Why should I kid you? As a matter of fact, I was +thinking of doing a column one of these days on Voss and this Movement of +his.” + +“_Voss_ and this movement of his!” + +“Sure,” Sam said, “he’s the top leader.” + +“Oh, great,” Larry growled. “Look, Sam, eventually there is probably a +story in this for you. Right now, though, we’re trying to keep the lid on +it. Could you brief me a little on this Movement? What are they trying to +put over?” + +“I seem to spend half my time briefing you in information any semi-moron +ought to be up on,” Sam said nastily. “However, _briefly_, they’re in +revolt against social-label judgments. They think it’s fouling up the +country and that eventually it’ll result in the Russkies passing us in all +the fields that really count.” + +“I keep running into this term,” Larry complained. “What do you mean, +social-label judgments, and how can they possibly louse up the country?” + +Sam said, “I was present a month or so ago when Voss gave an informal +lecture to a group of twenty or so. Here’s one of the examples he used. + +“Everybody today wants to be rated on a (1) personal, or, (2) social-label +basis, depending on which basis is to his greatest advantage. The Negro +who is a no-good, lazy, obnoxious person demands to be accepted because +Negroes should not be discriminated against. The highly competent, hard +working, honest and productive Negro wants to be accepted because he is +hard-working, honest and productive—and should be so accepted. + +“See what I mean? This social-label system is intended to relieve the +individual of the necessity of judging, and the consequences of being +judged. If you have poor judgment, and are forced to rely on your own +judgment, you’re almost sure to go under. So persons of poor judgment +support our social-label system. If you’re a louse, and are correctly +judged as being a louse, you’d prefer that the social dictum ‘Human beings +are never lice’ should apply.” + +Larry said, “What in the devil’s this got to do with the race between this +country and the Russkies?” + +Sam said patiently, “Voss and the Movement he leads contend that a +social-label system winds up with incompetents running the country in all +fields. Often incompetent scientists are in charge of our research; +incompetent doctors, in charge of our health; incompetent politicians run +our government; incompetent teachers, laden with social-labels, teach our +youth. Our young people are going to college to secure a degree, not an +education. It’s the label that counts, not the reality. + +“Voss contends that it’s getting progressively worse. That we’re sinking +into an equivalent of a ritual-taboo, tribal social-like situation. This +is the system the low-level human being wants, yearns for and seeks. A +situation in which no one’s judgment is of any use. Then _his_ lack of +judgment is no handicap. + +“According to members of the Movement, today the tribesman type is seeking +to reduce civilization back to ritual-taboo tribalism wherein no one man’s +judgment is of any value. The union wants advancement based on seniority, +not on ability and judgment. The persons with whom you associate socially +judge you by the amount of money you possess, the family from which you +come, the degrees you hold, by social-labels—not by your proven abilities. +Down with judgment! is the cry.” + +“It sounds awfully weird to me,” Larry grumbled in deprecation. + +Sam shrugged. “There’s a lot of sense in it. What the Movement wants is to +develop a socio-economic system in which judgment produces a maximum +advantage.” + +Larry said, “What gets me is that you talk as though half the country was +all caught up in debating this Movement. But I haven’t even heard of it, +neither has my department chief, nor any of my colleagues, so far as I +know. Why isn’t anything about it in the papers or on the TriD?” + +Sam said mildly, “As a matter of fact, I took in Mort Lenny’s show the +other night and he made some cracks about it. But it’s not the sort of +thing that’s even meant to become popular with the man in the street. To +put it bluntly, Voss and his people aren’t particularly keen about the +present conception of the democratic ideal. According to him, true +democracy can only be exercised by peers and society today isn’t composed +of peers. If you have one hundred people, twenty of them competent, +intelligent persons, eighty of them untrained, incompetent and less than +intelligent, then it’s ridiculous to have the eighty dictate to the +twenty.” + +Larry looked accusingly at his long-time friend. “You know, Sam, you sound +as though you approve of all this.” + +Sam said patiently, “I listen to it all, Larry my boy. I think Voss makes +a lot of sense. There’s only one drawback.” + +“And that is?” + +“How’s he going to put it over? This social-label system the Movement +complains about was bad enough ten years ago. But look how much worse it +is today. It’s a progressive thing. And, remember, it’s to the benefit of +the incompetent. Since the incompetent predominates, you’re going to have +a hard time starting up a system based on judgment and ability.” + +Larry thought about it for a moment. + +Sam said, “Look, I’m working, Larry. Was there anything else?” + +Larry said, “You wouldn’t know where I could get hold of Voss, would you?” + +“At his home, I imagine, or at the University.” + +“He’s disappeared. We’re looking for him.” + +Sam laughed. “Gone underground, eh? The old boy is getting romantic.” + +“Does he have any particular friends who might be putting him up?” + +Sam thought about it. “There’s Frank Nostrand. You know, that rocket +expert who was fired when he got in the big hassle with Senator McCord.” + + ------------------------------------- + +When Sam Sokolski had flicked off, Larry stared at the vacant phone screen +for a long moment, assimilating what the other had told him. He was +astonished that an organization such as the Movement could have spread to +the extent it evidently had through the country’s intellectual circles, +through the scientifically and technically trained, without his department +being keenly aware of it. + + [Illustration.] + +One result, he decided glumly, of labeling everything contrary to the +_status quo_ as _weird_ and dismissing it with contempt. Admittedly, that +would have been his own reaction only a week ago. + +Suppose that he’d been at a cocktail party, and had drifted up to a group +who were arguing about social-label judgments and the need to develop a +_movement_ to change society’s use of them. The discussion would have gone +in one ear, out the other, and he would have muttered inwardly, “Weirds,” +and have drifted on to get himself another vodka martini. + +Larry snorted and dialed the Department of Records. He’d never heard of +Frank Nostrand before, so he got Information. + +The bright young thing who answered seemed to have a harried expression +untypical of Records employees. Larry said to her, “I’d like the brief on +a Mr. Frank Nostrand who is evidently an expert on rockets. The only other +thing I know about him is that he recently got in the news as the result +of a controversy with Senator McCord.” + +“Just a moment, sir,” the bright young thing said. + +She touched buttons and reached into a delivery chute. When her eyes came +up to meet his again, they were more than ever harried. They were +absolutely confused. + +“Mr. Franklin Howard Nostrand,” she said, “currently employed by Madison +Air as a rocket research technician.” + +“That must be him,” Larry said. “I’m in a hurry, Miss. What’s his +background?” + +Her eyes rounded. “It says ... it says he’s an Archbishop of the Anglican +Church.” + +Larry Woolford looked at her. + +She looked back, pleadingly. + +Larry scowled and said, “His university degrees, please.” + +Her eyes darted to the report and she swallowed. “A bachelor in Home +Economics, sir.” + +“Look here, Miss, how could a Home Economics degree result in his becoming +either an Archbishop or a rocket technician?” + +“I’m sorry, sir. That’s what it says.” + +Larry was fuming but there was no point in taking it out on this junior +employee of the Department of Records. He snapped, “Just give me his +address, please.” + +She said agonizingly, “Sir, it says, Lhasa, Tibet.” + +A red light flicked at the side of his phone and he said to her, “I’ll +call you back. I’m getting a priority call.” + +He flicked her off, and flicked the incoming call in. It was LaVerne Polk. +She seemed to be on the harried side, too. + +“Larry,” she said, “you better get over here right away.” + +“What’s up, LaVerne?” + +“This Movement,” she said, “it seems to have started moving! The Boss says +to get over here soonest.” + + ------------------------------------- + +The top of his car was retracted. Larry Woolford slammed down the walk of +his auto-bungalow and vaulted over the side and into the seat. He banged +the start button, dropped the lift lever, depressed the thrust pedal and +took off at maximum acceleration. + +He took the police level for maximum speed and was in downtown Greater +Washington in flat minutes. + +So the Movement had started moving. That could mean almost anything. It +was just enough to keep him stewing until he got to the Boss and found out +what was going on. + +He turned his car over to a parker and made his way to the entrance +utilized by the second-grade department officials. In another year, or at +most two, he told himself all over again, he’d be using that other door. +He had an intuitive feeling that if he licked this current assignment it’d +be the opening wedge he needed and he’d wind up in a status bracket unique +for his age. + +LaVerne looked up when he hurried into her anteroom. She evidently had two +or three calls going on at once, taking orders from one phone, giving them +in another. Something was obviously erupting. She didn’t speak to him, +merely nodded her head at the inner office. + +In the Boss’ office were six or eight others besides Larry’s superior. +Their expressions and attitudes ran from bewilderment to shock. They +weren’t the men you’d expect to have such reactions. At least not those +that Larry Woolford recognized. Three of them, Ben Ruthenberg, Bill Fraina +and Dave Moskowitz were F.B.I. men with whom Larry had worked on occasion. +One of the others he recognized as being a supervisor with the C.I.A. Walt +Foster, Larry’s rival in the Boss’ affections, was also present. + +The Boss growled at him, “Where in the heavens have you been, Lawrence?” + +“Following our leads on this so-called Movement, sir,” Larry told him. +“What’s going on?” + +Ruthenberg, the Department of Justice man, grunted sour amusement. +“So-called Movement, isn’t exactly the correct phrase. It’s a Movement, +all right.” + +The Boss said, “Please dial Records and get your dossier, Lawrence. +That’ll be the quickest way to bring you up on developments.” + +Mystified, but already with a growing premonition, Larry dialed Records. +Knowing his own classification code, he had no need of Information this +time. He got the hundred-word brief and stared at it as it filled the +screen. The only items really correct were his name and present +occupation. Otherwise his education was listed as grammar school only. His +military career had him ending the war as a General of the Armies, and his +criminal career record included four years on Alcatraz for molesting small +children. + +Blankly, he faded the brief and dialed his full dossier. It failed to +duplicate the brief, but that was no advantage. This time he had an M.D. +degree from Johns Hopkins, but his military career listed him as a +dishonorable discharge from the navy where he’d served in the steward +department. His criminal record was happily nil, but his religion was +listed as Holy Roller. Political affiliations had him down as a member of +the Dixiecrats. + +The others were looking at him, most of them blankly, although there were +grins on the faces of Moskowitz and the C.I.A. man. + +Moskowitz said, “With a name like mine, yet, they have me a Bishop of the +Orthodox Greek Catholic Church.” + +Larry said, “What’s it all about?” + +Ruthenberg said unhappily, “It started early this morning. We don’t know +exactly when as yet.” Which didn’t seem to answer the question. + +Larry said, “I don’t get it. Obviously, the Records department is fouled +up in some manner. How, and why?” + +“How, we know,” the Boss rumbled disgustedly. “Why is another matter. +You’ve spent more time than anyone else on this assignment, Lawrence. +Perhaps you can tell us.” He grabbed up a pipe from his desk, tried to +light it noisily, noticed finally that it held no tobacco and threw it to +the desk again. “Evidently, a large group of these Movement individuals +either already worked in Records or wriggled themselves into key positions +in the technical end of the department. Now they’ve sabotaged the files.” + +“We’ve caught most of them already,” one of the F.B.I. men growled, “but +damn little good that does us at this point.” + +The C.I.A. supervisor made a gesture indicating that he gave it all up. +“Not only here but in Chicago and San Francisco as well. All at once. +Evidently perfectly rehearsed. Personnel records from coast to coast are +bollixed. Why?” + +Larry said slowly, “I think I know that now. Yesterday, I wouldn’t have +but I’ve been picking up odds and ends.” + +They all looked at him. + + ------------------------------------- + +Larry sat down and ran a hand back through his hair. “The general idea is +to change the country’s reliance on social-label judgments.” + +“On _what_,” the Boss barked. + +“On one person judging another according to social-labels. Voss and the +others—” + +“Who did you say?” Ruthenberg snapped. + +“Voss. Professor Peter Voss from the University over in Baltimore section. +He’s the ring leader.” + +Ruthenberg snapped to Fraina, “Get on the phone and send out a pick-up +order for him.” + +Fraina was on his feet. “What charge, Ben?” + +Ben Ruthenberg snorted. “Rape, or something. Get moving, we’ll figure out +a charge later. The guy’s a fruitcake.” + +Larry said wearily, “He’s evidently gone into hiding. I’ve been trying to +locate him. He managed to slip me some knockout drops and got away +yesterday.” + +The Boss looked at him in disgust. + +Ruthenberg said evenly, “We’ve had men go into hiding before. Get going, +Fraina.” + +Fraina left the office and the others looked back to Larry. + +The Boss said, “About this social-label nonsense—” + +Larry said, “They think the country is going to pot because of it. People +hold high office or places of responsibility not because of superior +intelligence, or even acquired skill, but because of the social-labels +they’ve accumulated, and these can be based on something as flimsy—from +the Movement’s viewpoint—as who your grandparents were, what school you +attended, how much seniority you have on the job, what part of town you +live in, or what tailor cuts your clothes.” + +Their expressions ran from scowls and frowns to complete puzzlement. + +Walt Foster grumbled, “What’s all this got to do with sabotaging the +country’s Records tapes?” + +Larry shrugged. “I don’t have the complete picture, but one thing is sure. +It’s going to be harder for a while to base your opinions on a quick +hundred-word brief on a man. Yesterday, an employer, considering hiring +somebody, could dial the man’s dossier, check it, and form his opinions by +the status labels the would-be employee could produce. Today, he’s damn +well going to have to exercise his own judgment.” + +LaVerne’s face lit up the screen on the Boss’ desk and she said, “Those +two members of the Movement who were picked up in Alexandria are here, +sir.” + +“Send them in,” the Boss rumbled. He looked at Larry. “The F.B.I. managed +to arrest almost everyone directly involved in the sabotage.” + +The two prisoners seemed more amused than otherwise. They were young men, +in their early thirties—well dressed and obviously intelligent. The Boss +had them seated side by side and glared at them for a long moment before +speaking. Larry and the others took chairs in various parts of the room +and added their own stares to the barrage. + +The Boss said, “Your situation is an unhappy one, gentlemen.” + +One of the two shrugged. + +The Boss said, “You can, ah, hedge your bets, by co-operating with us. It +might make the difference between a year or two in prison—and life.” + +One of them grinned and then yawned. “I doubt it,” he said. + +The Boss tried a slightly different tack. “You have no reason to maintain +a feeling of obligation to Voss and the others. You have obviously been +abandoned. Had they any feeling for you there would have been more +efficacious arrangements for your escape.” + +The more articulate of the two shrugged again. “We were expendable,” he +said. “However, it won’t be long before we’re free again.” + +“You think so?” Ruthenberg grunted. + +The revolutionist looked at him. “Yes, I do,” he said. “Six months from +now and we’ll be heroes since by that time the Movement will have been a +success.” + +The Boss snorted. “Just because you deranged the Records? Why that’s but +temporary.” + +“Not so temporary as you think,” the technician replied. “This country has +allowed itself to get deeply enmeshed in punch-card and tape records. Oh, +it made sense enough. With the population we have, and the endless files +that result from our ultra-complicated society, it was simply a matter +finally of developing a standardized system of records for the nation as a +whole. Now, for all practical purposes, _all_ of our records these days +are kept with the Department of Records, confidential as well as public +records. Why should a university, for instance, keep literally tons of +files, with all the expense and space and time involved, when it can +merely file the same records with the governmental department and have +them safe and easily available at any time? Now, the Movement has +completely and irrevocably destroyed almost all files that deal with the +social-labels to which we object. An excellent first step, in forcing our +country back into judgment based on ability and intelligence.” + +“First step!” Larry blurted. + +The two prisoners looked at him. “That’s right,” the quieter of the two +said. “This is just the first step.” + +“Don’t kid yourselves,” Ben Ruthenberg snapped at them. “It’s also the +last!” + +The two members of the Movement grinned at him. + + ------------------------------------- + +When the others had gone, the Boss looked at Larry Woolford. He said +sourly, “When this department was being formed, I doubt anyone had in mind +this particular type of subversion, Lawrence.” + +Larry grunted. “Give me a good old-fashioned Commie, any time. Look, sir, +what are the Department of Justice boys going to do with those prisoners?” + +“Hold them on any of various charges. We’ve conflicted with the F.B.I. in +the past on overlapping jurisdiction, but thank heavens for them now. +Their manpower is needed.” + +Larry leaned forward. “Sir, we ought to take all members of the Movement +we’ve already arrested, feed them a dose of Scop-Serum, and pressure them +to open up on the organization’s operations.” + +His superior looked at him, waiting for him to continue. + +Larry said urgently, “Those two we just had in here thought the whole +thing was a big joke. The first step, they called it. Sir, there’s +something considerably bigger than this cooking. Uncle Sam might pride +himself on the personal liberties guaranteed by this country, but unless +we break this organization, and do it fast, there’s going to be trouble +that will make this fouling of the records look like the minor matter +those two jokers seemed to think it.” + +The Boss thought about that. He said slowly, “Lawrence, the Supreme Court +ruled against the use of Scop-Serum. Not that it is over efficient, +anyway. Largely, these so-called truth serums don’t accomplish much more +than to lower resistance, slacken natural inhibitions, weaken the will.” + +“Sure,” Larry said. “But give a man a good dose of Scop-Serum and he’d +betray his own mother. Not because he’s helpless to tell a lie, but +because under the influence of the drug he figures it just isn’t important +enough to bother about. Sir, Supreme Court or not, I think those two ought +to be given Scop-Serum along with all other Movement members we’ve picked +up.” + +The Boss was shaking his head. “Lawrence, these men are not wide-eyed +radicals picked up in a street demonstration. They’re highly respected +members of our society. They’re educators, scientists, engineers, +technicians. Anything done to them is going to make headlines. Those that +were actually involved in the sabotage will have criminal charges brought +against them, but they’re going to get a considerable amount of publicity, +and we’re going to be in no position to alienate any of their +constitutional rights.” + +Larry stood up, approached his chief’s desk and leaned over it urgently. +“Sir, that’s fine, but we’ve got to move and move fast. Something’s up and +we don’t even know what! Take that counterfeit money. From Susan Self’s +description, there’s actually billions of dollars worth of it.” + +“Oh, come now, Lawrence. The child exaggerated. Besides, that’s a problem +for Steven Hackett and the Secret Service, we have enough on our hands as +it is. Forget about the counterfeit, Lawrence. I think I shall put you in +complete control of field work on this, to co-operate in liaison with Ben +Ruthenberg and the F.B.I. So far as we’re concerned, the counterfeit angle +belongs to Secret Service, we’re working on subversion, and until the +Civil Liberties Union or whoever else proves otherwise, we’ll consider +this Movement an organization attempting to subvert the country by illegal +means.” + +Larry Woolford made a hard decision quickly. He was shaking his head. +“Sir, I’d rather you gave the administrative end to someone else and let +me continue in the field. I’ve got some leads—I think. If I get bogged +down in interdepartmental red tape, and in paper work here at +headquarters, I’ll never get to the heart of this and I’m laying bets that +we either crack this within days or there are going to be some awfully big +changes in this country.” + +The Boss glared at him. “You mean you’re refusing this assignment, +Woolford. Confound it, don’t you realize it’s a promotion?” + +Larry was worriedly dogged. “Sir, I’d rather stay in the field.” + +“Very well,” the other snapped disgustedly, “I hope you deliver some +results, Woolford, otherwise I am afraid I won’t feel particularly happy +about your somewhat cavalier rejection of this opportunity.” He flicked on +the phone and snapped to LaVerne Polk, “Miss Polk, locate Walter Foster +for me. He is to take over our end of this Movement matter.” + +LaVerne said, “Yes, sir,” and her face was gone. + +The Boss looked up, still scowling. “What are you waiting for, Woolford?” + +“Yes, sir,” Larry said. It was just coming home to him now, what he’d +done. There possibly went his yearned for promotion in the department. +There went his chance of an upgrading in status. And Walt Foster, of all +people, in his place. + + ------------------------------------- + +At LaVerne’s desk, Larry stopped off long enough to say, “Did you ever +assign that secretary to me?” + +LaVerne shook her head at him. “She’s come and gone, Larry. She sat around +for a couple of days, after seeing you not even once, and then I gave her +another assignment.” + +“Well, bring her back again, will you? I want her to do up briefs for me +on all the information we accumulate on the Movement. It’ll be coming in +from all sides now. From the Press, from those members we’ve arrested, +from our F.B.I. pals, now that they’re interested, and so forth.” + +“I’ll give you Irene Day,” LaVerne said. “Where are you off to now, +Larry?” + +“Probably a wild goose chase,” Larry growled. “Which reminds me. Do me a +favor, LaVerne. Call Personal Service and find out where Frank Nostrand +is. He’s some kind of rocket technician at Madison Air Laboratories. I’ll +be in my office.” + +“Frank Nostrand,” LaVerne said briskly. “Will do, Larry.” + +Back in his own cubicle, Larry stood for a moment in thought. He was +increasingly aware of the uncomfortable feeling that time was running out +on them. That things were coming to a dangerous head. + +He stared down at the dozen or more books and pamphlets that his never +seen secretary had heaped up for him. Well, he certainly didn’t have time +for them now. + +He sat down at the desk and dialed an inter-office number. + +The harassed looking face of Walter Foster faded in. On seeing Larry +Woolford he growled accusingly, “My pal. You’ve let them dump this whole +thing into my lap.” + +Larry grinned at him. “Better you than me, old buddy. Besides, it’s a +promotion. Pull this off and you’ll be the Boss’ right-hand man.” + +“That’s a laugh,” Foster said. “It’s a madhouse. This Movement gang is as +weird as they come.” + +“I bleed for you,” Larry said. “However, here’s a tip. Frol Eivazov, of +the _Chrezvychainaya Komissiya_ is somewhere in the country.” + +“Frol Eivazov!” Foster blurted. “What’ve the Commies got to do with this? +Is this something the Boss knows about?” + +“Haven’t had time to go into it with him,” Larry said. “However, it seems +that friend Frol is here to find out what the Movement is all about. +Evidently the big boys in Peking and Moscow are nervous about any changes +that might take place over here. I suggest you have him picked up, Walt.” + + [Illustration.] + +Walt Foster said, “O.K. I’ll put some people on it. Maybe the F.B.I. can +help.” + +Larry flicked off as he saw the red priority light on his phone shining. +He pushed it and LaVerne’s face faded in. + +She said, “This Franklin Nostrand you wanted to know about. He’s evidently +working at the laboratories over in Newport News, Larry. He’ll be on the +job until five this afternoon.” + +“Fine,” he said. Larry grinned at her. “When are we going to have that +date, LaVerne?” + +She made a face. “Some day when the program involves having fun instead of +parading around in the right places, driving the right model car, dressed +in exactly the right clothes, and above all associating with the right +people.” + +It was his turn to grimace. “I’m beginning to think you ought to sign up +with Voss and this Movement of his. You’d be right at home with his +weirds.” + +She stuck out her tongue at him, and flicked off. + +He looked at the empty screen and chuckled. He had half a mind to get a +record of their conversation, strip out just the section where she’d stuck +out her tongue, and then play it back to her. She’d be taken aback by +being confronted by her own image making faces at her. + +As he made his way to the parking lot for his car, something in their +conversation nagged at him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He +considered the girl, all over again. She had almost all the qualities he +looked for. She was attractive, without being overly so. He disliked women +out of the ordinarily beautiful, it became too much to live up to. She was +sharp, but not objectionably so. Not to the point of giving you an +inferiority complex. + +But, Holy Smokes, she’d never do as a career man’s wife. He could just see +the Boss’ ultraconservative better half inviting them to dinner. It would +happen exactly once, never again. + +He obtained his car, lifted it to one of the higher levels and headed for +Newport News. It was a half-hour trip and he wasn’t particularly expectant +of results. The tip Sam Sokolski had given him, wasn’t much to go by. +Evidently, Frank Nostrand was a friend of the Professor’s but that didn’t +necessarily mean he was connected with the movement, or that he knew Voss’ +whereabouts. + +He might have saved himself the trip. + +The bird had flown again. Not only was Frank Nostrand not at the Madison +Air Laboratories, but he wasn’t at home either. Larry Woolford, mindful of +his departmental chief’s words on the prestige these people carried, took +a full hour in acquiring a search warrant before breaking into the +Nostrand home. + +Nostrand was supposedly a bachelor, but the auto-bungalow, similar to +Larry Woolford’s own, showed signs of double occupancy, and there was +little indication that the guest had been a woman. + +Disgruntled, Larry Woolford dialed the offices, asked for Walt Foster. It +took nearly ten minutes before his colleague faded in. + +“I’m up to my eyebrows, Larry. What’d you want?” + +Larry gave him Frank Nostrand’s address. “This guy’s disappeared, Walt.” + +“So?” + +“He was a close friend of Professor Voss. I got a warrant to search his +house. It shows signs that he had a guest. Possibly it was the Professor. +Do you want to get some of the boys down here to go through the place? +Possibly there’s some clue to where they took off for. The Professor’s on +the run and he’s no professional at this. If we can pick _him_ up, I’ve +got a sneaking suspicion we’ll have the so-called Movement licked.” + +Walt Foster slapped a hand to his face in anguish. “You knew where the +Professor was hiding, and you tried to pick him up on your own and let him +get away. Why didn’t you discuss this with either the Boss or me? I’m in +charge of this operation! I would have had a dozen men down there. You’ve +fouled this up!” + +Larry stared at him. Already Walt Foster was making sounds like an enraged +superior. + +He said mildly, “Sorry, Walt. I came down here on a very meager tip. I +didn’t really expect it to pan out.” + +“Well, in the future, clear with either me or the Boss before running off +half cocked into something, Woolford. Yesterday, you had this whole +assignment on your own. Today, it’s no longer a minor matter. Our +department has fifty people on it. The F.B.I. must have five times as many +and that’s not even counting the Secret Service’s interest. It’s no longer +your individual baby.” + +“Sorry,” Larry repeated mildly. Then, “I don’t imagine you’ve got hold of +Frol Eivazov yet?” + +The other was disgusted. “You think we’re magicians? We just put out the +call for him a few hours ago. He’s no amateur. If he doesn’t want to be +picked up, he’ll go to ground and we’ll have our work cut out for us +finding him. I can’t see that it’s particularly important anyway.” + +“Maybe you’re right,” Larry said. “But you never know. He might know +things we don’t. See you later.” + +Walt Foster stared at him for a moment as though about to say something, +but then tightened his lips and faded off. + +Larry looked at the phone screen for a moment. “Did that phony expect me +to call him _sir_,” he muttered. + + ------------------------------------- + +The next two days dissolved into routine. + +Frustrated, Larry Woolford spent most of his time in his office digesting +developments, trying to find a new line of attack. + +For want of something else, he put his new secretary, a brightly efficient +girl, as style and status conscious as LaVerne Polk wasn’t, to work typing +up the tapes he’d had cut on Susan Self and the various phone calls he’d +had with Hans Distelmayer and Sam Sokolski. From memory, he dictated to +her his conversation with Professor Peter Voss. + +He carefully read the typed sheets over and over again. He continually had +the feeling in this case that there were loose ends dangling around. +Several important points he should be able to put his finger upon. + +On the morning of the third day he dialed Steve Hackett and on seeing the +other’s worried, pug-ugly face fade in on the phone, decided that if +nothing else the Movement was undermining the United States government by +dispensing ulcers to its employees. + +Steve growled, “What is it Woolford? I’m as busy as a whirling dervish in +a revolving door.” + +“This is just the glimmer of an idea, Steve. Look, remember that +conversation with Susan, when she described her father taking her to +headquarters?” + +“So?” Steve said impatiently. + +“Remember her description of headquarters?” + +“Go on,” Steve rapped. + +“What did it remind you of?” + +“What are you leading to?” + +“This is just a hunch,” Larry persisted, “but the way she described the +manner in which her father took her to headquarters suggests they’re in +the Greater Washington area.” + +Steve was staring at him disgustedly. How obvious could you get? + +Larry hurried on. “What’s the biggest business in this area, Steve?” + +“Government.” + +“Right. And the way she described headquarters of the Movement, was rooms, +after rooms, after rooms into which they’d stored the money.” + +“And?” + +Larry said urgently, “Steve, I think in some way the Movement has taken +over some governmental buildings, or storage warehouse. Possibly some +older buildings no longer in use. It would be a perfect hideout. Who would +expect a subversive organization to be in governmental buildings? All +they’d need would be a few officials here and there who were on their side +and—” + +Steve said wearily, “You couldn’t have thought of this two days ago.” + +Larry cut himself off sharply, “Eh?” + +Steve said, “We found their headquarters. One of their members cracked. +Ben Ruthenberg of the F.B.I. found he had a morals rap against him some +years ago and scared him into talking by threats of exposure. At any rate, +you’re right. They had established themselves in some government buildings +going back to Spanish-American War days. We’ve arrested eight or ten +officials that were involved.” + +“But the money?” + +“The money was gone,” Steve said bitterly. “But Susan was right. There had +evidently been room after room of it, stacked to the ceiling. Literally +billions of dollars. They’d moved out hurriedly, but they left kicking +around enough loose hundreds, fifties, twenties, tens and fives to give us +an idea. Look, Woolford, I thought you’d been pulled off this case and +that Walt Foster was handling it.” + +Larry said sourly, “I’m beginning to think so, too. They’re evidently not +even bothering to let me know about developments like this. See you later, +Steve.” + +The other’s face faded off. + +Larry Woolford looked across the double desk at Irene Day. “Look,” he +said, “when you’re offered a promotion, take it. If you don’t, someone +else will and you’ll be out in the cold.” + +Irene Day said brightly, “I’ve always know that, sir.” + +He looked at her. The typical eager beaver. Sharp as a whip. Bright as a +button. “I’ll bet you have,” he muttered. + +“I beg your pardon, Mr. Woolford?” + +The phone lit as LaVerne said, “The Boss wants to talk to you, Larry.” Her +face faded and Larry’s superior was scowling at him. + +He snapped, “Did you get anything on this medical records thing, +Woolford?” + +“Medical records?” Larry said blankly. + +The Boss grunted in deprecation. “No, I suppose you haven’t. I wish you +would snap into it, Woolford. I don’t know what has happened to you of +late. I used to think that you were a good field man.” He flicked off +abruptly. + +Larry dialed LaVerne Polk. “What in the world was the Boss just talking +about, LaVerne? About medical records?” + +LaVerne said, frowning, “Didn’t you know? The Movement’s been at it again. +They’ve fouled up the records of the State Medical Licensing bureaus, at +the same time sabotaging the remaining records of most, if not all, of the +country’s medical schools. They struck simultaneously, throughout the +country.” + +He looked at her, expressionlessly. + +LaVerne said, “We’ve caught several hundred of those responsible. It’s the +same thing. Attack of the social-label. From now on, if a man tells you +he’s an Ear, Eye and Throat specialist, you’d better do some investigation +before letting him amputate your tongue. You’d better use your judgment +before letting _any_ doctor you don’t really know about, work on you. It’s +a madhouse, Larry.” + + ------------------------------------- + +Larry Woolford, for long moments after LaVerne had broken the connection, +stared unseeingly at his secretary across from him until she stirred. + +He brought his eyes back to the present. “Another preliminary move, not +the important thing, yet. Not the big explosion they’re figuring on. Where +have they taken that money, and why?” + +Irene Day blinked at him. “I don’t know, I’m sure, sir.” + +Larry said, “Get me Mr. Foster on the phone, Irene.” + +When Walt Foster’s unhappy face faded in, Larry said, “Walt did you get +Frol Eivazov?” + +“Eivazov?” the other said impatiently. “No. We haven’t spent much effort +on it. I think this hunch of yours is like the other ones you’ve been +having lately, Woolford. Frol Eivazov was last reported by our operatives +as being in North Korea.” + +“It wasn’t a hunch,” Larry said tightly. “He’s in this country on an +assignment dealing with the Movement.” + +“Well, that’s your opinion,” Foster said snappishly. “I’m busy, Woolford. +See here, at present you’re under my orders on this job. In the way of +something to do, instead of sitting around in that office, why don’t you +follow up this Eivazov thing yourself?” He considered it a moment. “That’s +an order, Woolford. Even if you don’t locate him, it’ll keep you out of +our hair.” + +After the other was gone, Larry Woolford leaned back in his chair, his +face flushed as though the other had slapped it. In a way, he had. + +Larry said slowly, “Miss Day, dial me Hans Distelmayer. His offices are +over in the Belmont Building.” + +As always, the screen remained blank as the German spy master spoke. + +Larry said, “Hans, I want to talk to Frol Eivazov.” + +“Ah?” + +“I want to know where I can find him.” + +The German’s voice was humorously gruff. “My friend, my friend.” + +Larry said impatiently, “I’m not interested in arresting him at this time. +I want to talk to him.” + +The other said heavily. “This goes beyond favors, my friend. On the face +of it, I am not in business for my health. And what you ask is dangerous +from my viewpoint. You realize that upon occasion my organization does +small tasks for the Soviets....” + +“Ha!” Larry said bitterly. + +“... And,” the German continued, unruffled, “it is hardly to my interest +to gain the reputation of betraying my sometimes employers. Were you on an +assignment in, say, Bulgaria or Hungary, would you expect me to betray you +to the _Chrezvychainaya Komissiya_?” + +“Not unless somebody paid you enough to make it worth while,” Larry said +dryly. + +“Exactly,” the espionage chief said. + +“Look,” Larry said. “Send your bill to this department, Hans. I’ve been +given carte blanche on this matter and I want to talk to Frol. Now, where +is he?” + +The German chuckled heavily. “At the Soviet Embassy.” + +“What! You mean they’ve got the gall to house their top spy right in—” + +Distelmayer interrupted him. “Friend Eivazov is currently accredited as a +military attaché and quite correctly. He holds the rank of colonel, you +know. He entered this country quite legally, the only precaution taken was +to use his second name, Kliment, instead of Frol, on his papers. +Evidently, your people passed him by without a second look. Ah, I +understand he went to the trouble of making some minor changes in his +facial appearance.” + +“We’ll expect your bill, Distelmayer,” Larry said. “Good-by.” + +He got up and reached for his hat, saying to Irene Day, “I don’t know how +long I’ll be gone.” He added, wryly, “If either Foster or the Boss try to +get in touch with me, tell them I’m carrying out orders.” + +He drove over to the Soviet Embassy, parked his car directly before the +building. + + ------------------------------------- + +The American plainclothesmen stationed near the entrance, gave him only a +quick onceover as he passed. Inside the gates, the impassive Russian +guards didn’t bother to flicker an eyelid. + +At the reception desk in the immense entrada, he identified himself. “I’d +like to see Colonel Frol Eivazov.” + +“I am afraid—” the clerk began stiffly. + +“I suppose you have him on the records as Kliment Eivazov.” + +The clerk had evidently touched a concealed button. A door opened and a +junior embassy official approached them. + +Larry restated his desire. The other began to open his mouth in denial, +then shrugged. “Just a moment,” he said. + +He was gone a full twenty minutes. When he returned, he said briefly, +“This way, please.” + +Frol Eivazov was in an inner office, in full uniform. He came to his feet +when Larry Woolford entered and said to the clerk, “That will be all, +Vova.” He was a tall man, as Slavs go, but heavy of build and heavy of +face. + +He shook hands with Larry. “It’s been a long time,” he said in perfect +English. “That conference in Warsaw, wasn’t it? Have a chair, Mr. +Woolford.” + +Larry took the offered chair and said, “How in the world did you expect to +get by with this nonsense? We’ll have you declared _persona non grata_ in +a matter of hours.” + +“It’s not important,” Eivazov shrugged. “I have found what I came to find. +I was about to return to report any way.” + +“We won’t do anything to hinder you, colonel,” Larry said dryly. + +Eivazov snapped his fingers. “It’s all amusing,” he said. “In our country +we would quickly deal with this Movement nonsense. You Americans with your +pseudo-democracy, your labels without reality, your—” + +Larry said wearily, “Please, Frol, I promise not to convert you if you +promise not to convert me. Needless to say, my department isn’t happy +about your presence in this country. You’ll be watched from now on. We’ve +been busy with other matters....” + +Here the Russian laughed. + +“... Or we’d already have flushed you.” He allowed his voice to go +curious. “We’ve wondered about your interest in this phase of our internal +affairs.” + +The Russian agent let his facade slip over farther, his heavy lips +sneering. “We are interested in all phases of your antiquated +socio-economic system, Mr. Woolford. In the present peaceful economic +competition between East and West, we would simply _loathe_ to see +anything happen to your present culture.” He hesitated deliberately. “If +you can call it a culture.” + +Larry said, unprovoked, “If I understand you correctly, you are not in +favor of the changes the Movement advocates.” + +The Russian shrugged hugely. “I doubt if they are possible of achievement. +The organization is a sloppy one. Revolutionary? Nonsense,” he scoffed. +“They have no plans to change the government. No plans for overthrowing +the regime. Ultimately, what this country needs is true Communism. This +so-called Movement doesn’t have that as its eventual goal. It is +laughable.” + +Larry said, interestedly, “Then perhaps you’ll tell me what little you’ve +found out about the group.” + +“Why not?” The Russian pursed his lips. “They are composed of impractical +idealists. Scientists, intellectuals, a few admitted scholars and even a +few potential leaders. Their sabotage of your Department of Records was an +amusing farce, but, frankly, I have been unable to discover the purpose of +their interest in rockets. For a time I contemplated the possibility that +they had a scheme to develop a nuclear bomb, and to explode it over +Greater Washington in the belief that in the resulting confusion they +might seize power. But, on the face of it their membership is incapable of +such an effort.” + +“Their interest in rockets?” Larry said softly. + +“Yes, as you’ve undoubtedly discovered, half the rocket technicians of +your country seem to have joined with them. We got the tip through”—the +Russian cleared his throat—“several of our converts who happen to be +connected with your space efforts groups.” + +“Is that so?” Larry said. “I wondered what you thought about their +interest in money.” + +It was the other’s turn to look blank. “Money?” he said. + +“That’s right. Large quantities of money.” + +The Russian said, frowning, “I suppose most citizens in your capitalist +countries are interested largely in money. One of your basic failings.” + + ------------------------------------- + +Driving back to the office, Larry Woolford let it pile up on him. + +Ernest Self had been a specialist in solid fuel for rockets. When Larry +had questioned Professor Voss that worthy had particularly stressed his +indignation at how Professor Goddard, the rocket pioneer, had been treated +by his contemporaries. Franklin Nostrand had been employed as a technician +on rocket research at Madison Air Laboratories. It was too darn much for +coincidence. + +And now something else that had been nagging away at the back of his mind +suddenly came clear. + +Susan Self had said that she and her father had seen the precision dancers +at the New Roxy Theater in New York and later the Professor had said they +were going to spend the money on chorus girls. Susan had got it wrong. The +Rockettes—the precision chorus girls. The Professor had said they were +going to spend the money on _rockets_, and Susan had misunderstood. + +But billions of dollars expended on rockets? How? But, above all, to what +end? + +If he’d only been able to hold onto Susan, or her father; or to Voss or +Nostrand, for that matter. Someone to work on. But each had slipped +through his fingers. + +Which brought something else up from his subconscious. Something which had +been tugging at him. + +At the office, Irene Day was packing her things as he entered. Packing as +though she was leaving for good. + +“What goes on?” Larry growled. “I’m going to be needing you. Things are +coming to a head.” + +She said, a bit snippishly, Larry thought, “Miss Polk, in the Boss’ +office, said for you to see her as soon as you came in, Mr. Woolford.” + +“Oh?” + +He made his way to LaVerne’s office, his attention actually on the ideas +churning in his mind. + +She looked up when he entered. + +Larry said, “The Boss wanted to see me?” + +LaVerne ducked her head, as though embarrassed. “Not exactly, Larry.” + +He gestured with his thumb in the direction of his own cubicle office. +“Irene just said you wanted me.” + +LaVerne looked up into his face. “The Boss and Mr. Foster, too, are +boiling about your authorizing that Distelmayer man to bill this +department for information he gave you. The Boss hit the roof. Something +about the Senate Appropriations Committee getting down on him if it came +out that we bought information from professional espionage agents.” + +Larry said, “It was information we needed, and Foster gave me the go ahead +on locating Frol Eivazov. Maybe I’d better see the Boss.” + +LaVerne said, “I don’t think he wants to see you, Larry. They’re up to +their ears in this Movement thing. It’s in the papers _now_ and nobody +knows what to do next. The President is going to make a speech on TriD, +and the Boss has to supply the information. His orders are for you to +resume your vacation. To take a month off and then see him when you get +back.” + +Larry sank down into a chair. “I see,” he said, “And at that time he’ll +probably transfer me to janitor service.” + +“Larry,” LaVerne said, almost impatiently, “why in the world didn’t you +take that job Walt Foster has now when the Boss offered it to you?” + +“Because I’m stupid, I suppose,” Larry said bitterly. “I thought I could +do more working alone than at an administrative post tangled in red tape +and bureaucratic routine.” + +She said, “Sorry, Larry.” She sounded as though she meant it. + +Larry stood up. “Well, tonight I’m going to hang one on, and tomorrow it’s +back to Florida.” He said in a rush, “Look LaVerne, how about that date +we’ve been talking about for six months or more?” + +She looked up at him. “I can’t stand vodka martinis.” + +“Neither can I,” he said glumly. + +“And I don’t get a kick out of prancing around, a stuffed shirt among +fellow stuffed shirts, at some goings-on that supposedly improves my +culture status.” + +Larry said “At the house I have every known brand of drinkable, and a +stack of ... what did you call it? ... corny music. We can mix our own +drinks and dance all by ourselves.” + +She tucked her head to one side and looked at him suspiciously. “Are your +intentions honorable?” + +“We can even discuss that later,” he said sourly. + +She laughed. “It’s a date, Larry.” + + ------------------------------------- + +He picked her up after work, and they drove to his Brandywine +auto-bungalow, largely quiet the whole way. + +At one point she touched his hand with hers and said, “It’ll work out, +Larry.” + +“Yeah,” he said sourly. “I’ve put ten years into ingratiating myself with +the Boss. Now, overnight, he’s got a new boy. I suppose there’s some moral +involved.” + +When they pulled up before his auto-bungalow, LaVerne whistled +appreciatively. “Quite a neighborhood you’re in.” + +He grunted. “A good address. What our friend Professor Voss would call one +more status symbol, one more social-label. For it I pay about fifty per +cent more rent than my budget can afford.” + +He ushered her inside and took her jacket. “Look,” he said, indicating his +living room with a sweep of hand. “See that volume of Klee reproductions +there next to my reading chair? That proves I’m not a weird. Indicates my +culture status. Actually, my appreciation of modern art doesn’t go any +further than the Impressionists. But don’t tell anybody. See those books +up on my shelves. Same thing. You’ll find everything there that _ought_ to +be on the shelves of any ambitious young career man.” + +She looked at him from the side of her eyes. “You’re really soured, +Larry.” + +“Come along,” he said. “I want to show you something.” + +He took her down the tiny elevator to his den. + +“How hypocritical can you get?” he asked her. “This is where I really +live. But I seldom bring anyone here. Wouldn’t want to get a reputation as +a weird. Sit down, LaVerne, I’ll make a drink. How about a Sidecar?” + +She sank onto the couch, kicked her shoes off and slipped her feet under +her. “I’d love one,” she said. + +His back to her, he brought brandy and cointreau from his liquor cabinet, +lemon and ice from the tiny refrigerator. + +“What?” LaVerne said mockingly. “No auto-bar?” + +“Upstairs with the rest of the status symbols,” Larry grunted. + +He put her drink before her and turned and went to the record player. + +“In the way of corny music, how do you like that old-timer, Nat Cole?” + +“King Cole? Love him,” LaVerne said. + +The strains of “For All We Know” penetrated the room. + +Larry sat down across from her, finished half his drink in one swallow. + +“I’m beginning to wonder whether or not this Movement doesn’t have +something,” he said. + +She didn’t answer that. They sat in silence for a while, appreciating the +drink. Nat Cole was singing “The Very Thought of You” now. Larry got up +and made two more cocktails. This time he sat next to her. He leaned his +head back on the couch and closed his eyes. + +Finally he said softly, “When Steve Hackett and I were questioning Susan, +there was only one other person who knew that we’d picked her up. There +was only one person other than Steve and me who could have warned Ernest +Self to make a getaway. Later on, there was only one person who could have +warned Frank Nostrand so that he and the Professor could find a new +hideout.” + +She said sleepily, “How long have you known about that, darling?” + +“A while,” Larry said, his own voice quiet. “I figured it out when I also +decided how Susan Self was spirited out of the Greater Washington Hilton, +before we had the time to question her further. Somebody who had access to +tapes made of me while I was making phone calls cut out a section and +dubbed in a voice so that Betsy Hughes, the Secret Service matron who was +watching Susan, was fooled into believing it was I ordering the girl to be +turned over to the two Movement members who came to get her.” + +LaVerne stirred comfortably and let her head sink onto his shoulder. +“You’re so warm and ... comfortable,” she said. + +Larry said softly, “What does the Movement expect to do with all that +counterfeit money, LaVerne?” + +She stirred against his shoulder, as though bothered by the need to talk. +“Give it all away,” she said. “Distribute it all over the country and +destroy the nation’s social currency.” + +It took him a long moment to assimilate that. + +“What have the rockets to do with it?” + +She stirred once again, as though wishing he’d be silent. “That’s how it +will be distributed. About twenty rockets, strategically placed, each with +a _warhead_ of a couple of tons of money. Fired to an altitude of a couple +of hundred miles and then the money is spewed out. In falling, it will be +distributed over cities and countryside, everywhere. Billions upon +billions of dollars worth.” + +Larry said, so softly as hardly to be heard, “What will that accomplish?” + +“Money is the greatest social-label of them all. The Professor believes +that through this step the Movement will have accomplished its purpose. +That people will be forced to utilize their judgment, rather than depend +upon social-labels.” + +Larry didn’t follow that, but he had no time to go further now. He said, +still evenly soft, “And when is the Movement going to do this?” + +La Verne moved comfortably. “The trucks go out to distribute the money +tonight. The rockets are waiting. The firing will take place in a few +days.” + +“And where is the Professor now?” + +“Where the money and the trucks are hidden, darling. What difference does +it make?” LaVerne said sleepily. + +“And where is that?” + +“At the Greater Washington Trucking Corporation. It’s owned by one of the +Movement’s members.” + +He said. “There’s a password. What is it?” + +“Judgment.” + +Larry Woolford bounced to his feet. He looked down at her, then over at +the phone. In three quick steps he was over to it. He grasped its wires +and yanked them from the wall, silencing it. He slipped into the tiny +elevator, locking the door to the den behind him. + +As the door slid closed, her voice wailed, still sleepily husky, “Larry, +darling, where are you—” + +He ran down the walk of the house, vaulted into the car and snapped on its +key. He slammed down the lift lever, kicked the thrust pedal and was +thrown back against the seat by the acceleration. + +Even while he was climbing, he flicked on the radio-phone, called Personal +Service for the location of the Greater Washington Trucking Corporation. + +Fifteen minutes later, he parked a block away from his destination, noting +with satisfaction that it was still an hour or more to go until dark. His +intuition, working doubletime now, told him that they’d probably wait +until nightfall to start their money-laden trucks to rolling. + +He hesitated momentarily before turning on the phone and dialing the Boss’ +home address. + +When the other’s face faded in, it failed to display pleasure when the +caller’s identity was established. His superior growled, “Confound it, +Woolford, you know my privacy is to be respected. This phone is to be used +only in extreme emergency.” + +“Yes, sir,” Larry said briskly. “It’s the Movement—” + +The other’s face darkened still further. “You’re not on that assignment +any longer, Woolford. Walter Foster has taken over and I’m sympathetic to +his complaints that you’ve proven more a hindrance than anything else.” + +Larry ignored his words, “Sir, I’ve tracked them down. Professor Voss is +at the Greater Washington Trucking Corporation garages here in the +Alexandria section of town. Any moment now, they’re going to start +distribution of all that counterfeit money on some scatterbrain plan to +disrupt the country’s exchange system.” + +Suddenly alert, the department chief snapped, “Where are you, Woolford?” + +“Outside the garages, sir. But I’m going in now.” + +“You stay where you are,” the other snapped. “I’ll have every department +man and every Secret Service man in town over there within twenty minutes. +You hang on. Those people are lunatics, and probably desperate.” + +Inwardly, Larry Woolford grinned. He wasn’t going to lose this opportunity +to finish up the job with him on top. He said flatly, “Sir, we can’t +chance it. They might escape. I’m going in!” He flicked off the set, +dialed again and raised Sam Sokolski. + +“Sam,” he said, his voice clipped. “I’ve cornered the Movement’s leader +and am going in for the finish. Maybe some of you journalist boys better +get on over here.” He gave the other the address and flicked off before +there were any questions. + + ------------------------------------- + +From the dash compartment he brought a heavy automatic, and checked the +clip. He put it in his hip pocket and left the car and walked toward the +garages. Time was running out now. + +He strode into the only open door, without shift of pace. Two men were +posted nearby, neither of them truckmen by appearance. They looked at him +in surprise. + +Larry clipped out, “The password is _Judgment_. I’ve got to see Professor +Voss immediately.” + +One of them frowned questioningly, but the other was taken up with the +urgency in Woolford’s voice. He nodded with his head. “He’s over there in +the office.” + +Now ignoring them completely, Larry strode past the long rows of sealed +delivery vans toward the office. + +He pushed the door open, entered and closed it behind him. + +Professor Peter Voss was seated at a paper-littered desk. There was a cot +with an army blanket in a corner of the room, some soiled clothing and two +or three dirty dishes on a tray. The room was being lived in, obviously. + +At the agent’s entry, the little man looked up and blinked in distress +through his heavy lenses. + +Larry snapped, “You’re under arrest, Voss.” + +The professor was obviously dismayed, but he said in as vigorous a voice +as he could muster, “Nonsense! On what charge?” + +“Counterfeiting, among many. Your whole scheme has fallen apart, Voss. You +and your Movement, so-called, are finished.” + +The professor’s eyes darted, left, right. To Larry Woolford’s surprise, +the Movement’s leader was alone in here. Undoubtedly, he was awaiting +others, drivers of the trucks, technicians involved in the rockets, other +subordinates. But right now he was alone. + +If Woolford correctly diagnosed the situation, Voss was playing for time, +waiting for the others. Good enough, so was Larry Woolford. Had the +Professor only known it, a shout would have brought at least two followers +and the government agent would have had his work cut out for him. + +Woodford played along. “Just what is this fantastic scheme of yours for +raining down money over half the country, Voss? The very insanity of it +proves your whole outfit is composed of a bunch of nonconformist weirds.” + +The Professor was indignant—and stalling for time. He said, +“Nonconformists is correct! He who conforms in an incompetent society is +an incompetent himself.” + +Larry stood, his legs apart and hands on hips. He shook his head in +simulated pity at the angry little man. “What’s all this about raining +money down over the country?” + +“Don’t you see?” the other said. “The perfect method for disrupting our +present system of social-labels. With billions of dollars, perfect +counterfeit, strewing the streets, the fields, the trees, available for +anyone to pick up, all social currency becomes worthless. Utterly +unusable. And it’s no use to attempt to print more with another design, +because we can duplicate it as well. Our experts are the world’s best, +we’re not a group of sulking criminals but capable, trained, dedicated +men. + +“Very well! We will have made it absolutely impossible to have any form of +mass-produced social currency.” + +Larry stared at him. “It would completely foul the whole business system! +You’d have chaos!” + +“At first. Private individuals, once the value of money was seen to be +zero, would have lost the amount of cash they had on hand. But banks and +such institutions would lose little. They have accurate records that show +the actual values they held at the time our money rains down.” + +Larry was bewildered. “But what are you getting at? What do you expect to +accomplish?” + +The Professor, on his favorite subject, said triumphantly, “The only form +of currency that can be used under these conditions is the _personal_ +check. It’s not mass produced, and mass-production can’t duplicate it. +It’s immune to the attack. Business has to go on, or people will starve—so +personal checks will have to replace paper money. Credit cards and +traveler’s checks won’t do—we can counterfeit them, too, and will, if +necessary. Realize of course that hard money will still be valid, but it +can’t be utilized practically for any but small transactions. Try taking +enough silver dollars to buy a refrigerator down to the store with you.” + +“But what’s the purpose?” Larry demanded, flabbergasted. + +“Isn’t it obvious? Our whole Movement is devoted to the destruction of +social-label judgments. It’s all very well to say: _You should not judge +your fellow men_ but when it comes to accepting another man’s personal +check, friend, you damn well have to! The bum check artist might have a +field day to begin with—but only to begin with.” + +Larry shook his head in exasperation. “You people are a bunch of +anarchists,” he accused. + +“No,” the Professor denied. “Absolutely not. We are the antithesis of the +anarchist. The anarchist says, ‘No man is capable of judging another.’ We +say, ‘Each man must judge his fellow, must demand proper evaluation of +him.’ To judge a man by his clothes, the amount of money he owns, the car +he drives, the neighborhood in which he lives, or the society he keeps, is +out of the question in a vital culture.” + +Larry said sourly, “Well, whether or not you’re right, Voss, you’ve lost. +This place is surrounded. My men will be breaking in shortly.” + +Voss laughed at him. “Nonsense. All you’ve done is prevent us from +accomplishing this portion of our program. What will you do after my +arrest? You’ll bring me to trial. Do you remember the Scopes’ Monkey Trial +back in the 1920s which became a world appreciated farce and made +Tennessee a laughingstock? Well, just wait until you get _me_ into court +backed by my organization’s resources. We’ll bring home to every thinking +person, not only in this country, but in the world, the fantastic +qualities of our existing culture. Why, +Mr.-Secret-Agent-of-Anti-Subversive-Activity you aren’t doing me an injury +by giving me the opportunity to have my day in court. You’re doing me a +favor. Newspapers, radios, TriD will give me the chance to expound my +program in the home of every thinking person in the world.” + +There was a fiery dedication in the little man’s eyes. “This will be my +victory, not my defeat!” + +There were sounds now, coming from the other rooms—the garages. Some +shouts and scuffling. Faintly, Larry Woolford could hear Steve Hackett’s +voice. + +He was staring at the Professor, his eyes narrower. + +The Professor was on his feet. He said in defiant triumph, “You think that +you’ll win prestige and honor as a result of tracking the Movement down, +don’t you, Mr. Woolford? Well, let me tell you, you won’t! In six months +from now, Mr. Woolford, you’ll be a laughingstock.” + +That did it. + +Larry said, “You’re under arrest. Turn around with your back to me.” + +The Professor snorted his contempt, turned his back and held up his hands, +obviously expecting to be searched. + +In a fluid motion, Larry Woolford drew his gun and fired twice. The other +with no more than a grunt of surprise and pain, stumbled forward to his +knees and then to the floor, his arms and legs akimbo. + +The door broke open and Steve Hackett, gun in hand, burst in. + +“Woolford!” he barked. “What’s up?” + +Larry indicated the body on the floor. “There you are, Steve,” he said. +“The head of the counterfeit ring. He was trying to escape. I had to shoot +him.” + +Behind Steve Hackett crowded Ben Ruthenberg of the F.B.I. and behind him +half a dozen others of various departments. + +The Boss came pushing his way through. + +He glared down at the Professor’s body, then up at Larry Woolford. + +“Good work, Lawrence,” he said. “How did you bring it off?” + +Larry replaced the gun in his holster and shrugged modestly. “The Polk +girl gave me the final tip-off, sir. I gave her some Scop-Serum in a drink +and she talked. Evidently, she was a member of the Movement.” + +The Boss was nodding wisely. “I’ve had my eye on her, Lawrence. An obvious +weird. But we will have to suppress that Scop-Serum angle.” He slapped his +favorite field man on the arm jovially. “Well, boy, this means promotion, +of course.” + +Larry grinned. “Thanks, sir. All in a day’s work. I don’t think we’ll have +much trouble with the remnants of this Movement thing. The pitch is to +treat them as counterfeiters, not subversives. Try them for that. Their +silly explanations of what they were going to do with the money will never +be taken seriously.” He looked down at the small corpse. “Particularly now +that their kingpin is gone.” + +A new wave of agents, F.B.I. men and prisoners washed into the room and +Steve Hackett and Larry were for a moment pushed back into a corner by +themselves. + +Steve looked at him strangely and said, “There’s one thing I’d like to +know: Did you really have to shoot him, Woolford?” + +Larry brushed it off. “What’s the difference? He was as weird as they +come, wasn’t he?” + +THE END + + + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STATUS QUO*** + + + +CREDITS + + +October 26, 2009 + + Project Gutenberg TEI edition 1 + Produced by Greg Weeks, David King, and the Online Distributed + Proofreading Team at <http://www.pgdp.net/>. + + + +A WORD FROM PROJECT GUTENBERG + + +This file should be named 30339-0.txt or 30339-0.zip. + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + + + http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/0/3/3/30339/ + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one — the old editions will be +renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one +owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and +you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission +and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, + give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project + Gutenberg License <a href="#pglicense" class="tei tei-ref">included with this + eBook</a> or online at <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license" class="tei tei-xref">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a></p></div><pre class="pre tei tei-div" style="margin-bottom: 3.00em; margin-top: 3.00em">Title: Status Quo + +Author: Mack Reynolds +Author AKA: Dallas McCord Reynolds + +Release Date: October 26, 2009 [Ebook #30339] +Most recently updated: September 19, 2020 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STATUS QUO*** +</pre></div> + </div> + <div class="tei tei-div" style="margin-bottom: 5.00em; margin-top: 5.00em"> + + </div> + + <hr class="page" /><div class="tei tei-div" style="margin-bottom: 5.00em; margin-top: 5.00em"> + <p class="tei tei-p" style="text-align: center; margin-bottom: 1.73em"><span style="font-size: 173%">Status Quo</span></p> + <p class="tei tei-p" style="text-align: center; margin-bottom: 1.73em"><span style="font-size: 173%">by Mack Reynolds</span></p> + <p class="tei tei-p" style="text-align: center; margin-bottom: 1.20em"><span style="font-size: 120%">Illustrated by John Schoenherr</span></p> + <p class="tei tei-p" style="text-align: center; margin-bottom: 1.00em">Analog Science Fact & Fiction</p> + <p class="tei tei-p" style="text-align: center; margin-bottom: 1.00em">August 1961</p> + </div> + + </div> +<div class="tei tei-body" style="margin-bottom: 6.00em; margin-top: 6.00em"> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page004">[pg 004]</span><a name="Pg004" id="Pg004" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<div class="tei tei-div" style="margin-bottom: 5.00em; margin-top: 5.00em"> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +[Transcriber's Note: This text was produced from Analog Science Fact & +Fiction August 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed.] +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +In his income bracket +and in the suburb in +which he lived, government +employees in the +twenty-five to thirty-five +age group were currently wearing +tweeds. Tweeds were in. Not to wear +tweeds was Non-U. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Lawrence Woolford wore tweeds. +His suit, this morning, had first seen +the light of day on a hand loom in +Donegal. It had been cut by a Swede +widely patronized by serious young +career men in Lawrence Woolford's +status group; English tailors were out +currently and Italians unheard of. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Woolford sauntered down the walk +before his auto-bungalow, scowling at +the sportscar at the curb—wrong year, +wrong make. He'd have to trade +it in on a new model. Which was a +shame in a way, he liked the car. +However, he had no desire to get a +reputation as a weird among colleagues +and friends. What was it +Senator Carey MacArthur had said +the other day? Show me a weird and +I'll show you a person who has taken +the first step toward being a Commie. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Woolford slid under the wheel, +dropped the lift lever, depressed gently +the thrust pedal and took off for +downtown Greater Washington. Theoretically, +he had another four days of +vacation coming to him. He wondered +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page006">[pg 006]</span><a name="Pg006" id="Pg006" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +what the Boss wanted. That +was the trouble in being one of the +Boss' favorite trouble shooters, when +trouble arose you wound up in the +middle of it. Lawrence Woolford was +to the point where he was thinking in +terms of graduating out of field work +and taking on a desk job which +meant promotion in status and pay. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He turned over his car to a parker +at the departmental parking lot and +made his way through the entrance +utilized by second-grade departmental +officials. In another year, he told +himself, he'd be using that other +door. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss' reception secretary +looked up when Lawrence Woolford +entered the anteroom where she presided. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Hello, Larry,”</span> she said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Hear +they called your vacation short. Darn +shame.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +LaVerne Polk was a cute little +whizz of efficiency. Like Napoleon +and his army, she knew the name of +every member of the department and +was on a first-name basis with all. +However, she was definitely a weird. +For instance, styles might come and +styles might go, but LaVerne dressed +for comfort, did her hair the way she +thought it looked best, and wore low-heeled +walking shoes on the job. In +fact, she was ready and willing to +snarl at anyone, no matter how kindly +intentioned, who even hinted that +her nonconformity didn't help her +promotion prospects. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Woolford said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Hi, LaVerne. I +think the Boss is expecting me.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“That he is. Go right in, Larry.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She looked after him when he +turned and left her desk. Lawrence +Woolford cut a pleasant figure as thirty +year old bachelors go. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss looked up from some report +on his desk which he'd been +frowning at, nodded to his field man +and said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Sit down, Lawrence. I'll be +with you in a minute. Please take a +look at this while you're waiting.”</span> He +handed over a banknote. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford took it and found +himself a comfortable chair. He examined +the bill, front and back. It +was a fifty dollar note, almost new. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Finally the Boss, a stocky but impeccable +career bureaucrat of the ultra-latest +school, scribbled his initials +on the report and tossed it into an +Out chute. He said to Woolford, <span class="tei tei-q">“I +am sorry to cut short your vacation, +Lawrence. I considered giving Walter +Foster the assignment, but I think +you're the better choice.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry decided the faint praise routine +was the best tactic, said earnestly +about his closest rival. <span class="tei tei-q">“Walt's a good +man, sir.”</span> And then, <span class="tei tei-q">“What's the +crisis?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“What do you think of that fifty?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +His trouble shooter looked down at +it. <span class="tei tei-q">“What is there to think about it?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss grunted, slid open a desk +drawer and brought forth another bill. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Here, look at this, please.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +It was another fifty. Larry Woolford +frowned at it, not getting whatever +was going on. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Observe the serial numbers,”</span> the +Boss said impatiently. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +They were identical. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Woolford looked up. <span class="tei tei-q">“Counterfeit. +Which one is the bad one?”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page007">[pg 007]</span><a name="Pg007" id="Pg007" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“That is exactly what we would like +to know,”</span> the Boss said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford stared at his superior, +blinked and then examined the +bills again. <span class="tei tei-q">“A beautiful job,”</span> he said, +<span class="tei tei-q">“but what's it got to do with us, sir? +This is Secret Service jurisdiction, +counterfeiting.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“They called us in on it. They +think it might have international +ramifications.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Now they were getting somewhere. +Larry Woolford put the two +bills on the Boss' desk and leaned +back in his chair, waiting. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +His superior said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Remember the +Nazis turning out American and +British banknotes during the Second +War?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I was just a kid.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I thought you might have read +about it. At any rate, obviously a government—with +all its resources—could +counterfeit perfectly any currency in +the world. It would have the skills, +the equipment, the funds to accomplish +the task. The Germans turned +out hundreds of millions of dollars +and pounds with the idea of confounding +the Allied financial basics.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“And why didn't it work?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“The difficulty of getting it into +circulation, for one thing. However, +they did actually use a quantity. For a +time our people were so alarmed that +they wouldn't allow any bills to come +into this country from Mexico except +two-dollar denomination—the one +denomination the Germans hadn't +bothered to duplicate. Oh, they had +the Secret Service in a dither for a +time.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Woolford was frowning. <span class="tei tei-q">“What's +this got to do with our current situation?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss said, <span class="tei tei-q">“It is only a conjecture. +One of those bills is counterfeit +but such an excellent reproduction +that the skill involved is beyond the +resources of any known counterfeiter. +Secret Service wants to know if it +might be coming from abroad, +and, if so, from where. If it's a governmental +project, particularly a Soviet +Complex one, then it comes into +the ken of our particular cloak-and-dagger +department.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Yes, sir.”</span> Woolford said. He got +up and examined the two bills again. +<span class="tei tei-q">“How'd they ever detect that one was +bad?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Pure fortune. A bank clerk with +an all but eidetic memory was going +through a batch of fifties. It's not too +commonly used a denomination, you +know. Coincidence was involved +since in that same sheaf the serial +number was duplicated.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“And then?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“The reproduction was so perfect +that Secret Service was in an immediate +uproar. Short of the Nazi effort, +there has never been anything like it. +A perfect duplication of engraving +and paper identically the same. The +counterfeiters have even evidently +gone to the extent of putting a certain +amount of artificial wear on the +bills before putting them into circulation.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford said, <span class="tei tei-q">“This is out +of my line. How were they able to +check further, and how many more +did they turn up?”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page008">[pg 008]</span><a name="Pg008" id="Pg008" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“The new I.B.M. sorters help. Secret +Service checked every fifty dollar +bill in every institution in town +both banking and governmental. +Thus far, they have located ten bills +in all.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“And other cities?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“None. They've all been passed in +Greater Washington, which is suspicious +in itself. The amount of expense +that has gone into the manufacture +of these bills does not allow +for only a handful of them being +passed. They should be turning up in +number. Lawrence, this reproduction +is such that a pusher could walk into +a bank and have his false currency +changed by any clerk.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Wow,”</span> Larry whistled. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Indeed.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“So you want me to work with Secret +Service on this on the off chance +that the Soviet Complex is doing us +deliberate dirt.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“That is exactly the idea, Lawrence. +Get to work, please, and keep in +touch with me. If you need support, +I can assign Walter Foster or some of +the other operatives to assist you. +This might have endless ramifications.”</span> +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Back in the anteroom, Woolford +said to the Boss' receptionist, <span class="tei tei-q">“I'm on +a local job, LaVerne, how about assigning +me a girl?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Can do,”</span> she said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“And, look, tell her to get hold of +every available work on counterfeiting +and pile it on my desk.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Right. Thinking of going into +business, Larry?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He grinned down at her. <span class="tei tei-q">“That's +the idea. Keeping up with the Jones +clan in this man's town costs roughly +twice my income.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +LaVerne said disapprovingly, +<span class="tei tei-q">“Then why not give it up? With the +classification you've got a single man +ought to be able to save half +his pay.”</span> She added, more quietly, <span class="tei tei-q">“Or +get married and support a family.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Save half my pay?”</span> Larry snorted. +<span class="tei tei-q">“And get a far out reputation, eh? +No thanks, you can't afford to be a +weird these days.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She flushed—and damn prettily, +Larry Woolford decided. She could be +an attractive item if it wasn't for obviously +getting her kicks out of being +individualistic. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said suddenly, <span class="tei tei-q">“Look, promise +like a good girl not to make us +conspicuous and I'll take you to the +Swank Room for dinner tonight.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Is that where all the bright young +men currently have to be seen +once or twice a week?”</span> she snapped +back at him. <span class="tei tei-q">“Get lost, Larry. Being a +healthy, normal woman I'm interested +in men, but not necessarily in +walking status-symbols.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +It was his turn to flush, and, he decided +wryly, he probably didn't do it +as prettily as she did. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +On his way to his office, he wondered +why the Boss kept her on. +Classically, a secretary-receptionist +should have every pore in place, but +in her time LaVerne Polk must have +caused more than one bureaucratic +eyebrow to raise. Efficiency was probably +the answer; the Boss couldn't +afford to let her go. +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page009">[pg 009]</span><a name="Pg009" id="Pg009" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford's office wasn't +much more than a cubicle. He sat +down at the desk and banged a drawer +or two open and closed. He liked +the work, liked the department, but +theoretically he still had several days +of vacation and hated to get back into +routine. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Had he known it, this was hardly +going to be routine. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He flicked the phone finally and +asked for an outline. He dialed three +numbers before getting his subject. +The phone screen remained blank. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Hans?”</span> he said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Lawrence Woolford.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Teutonic accent was heavy, +the voice bluff. <span class="tei tei-q">“Ah, Larry! you need +some assistance to make your vacation? +Perhaps a sinister, exotic young +lady, complete with long cigarette +holder?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford growled, <span class="tei tei-q">“How'd +you know I was on vacation?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The other laughed. <span class="tei tei-q">“You know +better than to ask that, my friend.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“The vacation is over, +Hans. I need some information.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The voice was more guarded now. +<span class="tei tei-q">“I owe you a favor or two.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Don't you though? Look, Hans, +what's new in the Russkie camp?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The heartiness was gone. <span class="tei tei-q">“How do +you mean?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Is there anything big stirring? Is +there anyone new in this country +from the Soviet Complex?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Well now—”</span> the other's voice +drifted away. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford said impatiently, +<span class="tei tei-q">“Look, Hans, let's don't waste time +fencing. You run a clearing agency +for, <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">ah</span></em>, information. You're strictly a +businessman, nonpartisan, so to speak. +Fine, thus far our department has +tolerated you. Perhaps we'll continue +to. Perhaps the reason is that we +figure we get more out of your existence +than we lose. The Russkies +evidently figure the same way, the proof +being that you're alive and +have branches in the capitals of every +power on Earth.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“All right, all right,”</span> the German +said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Let me think a moment. Can +you give me an idea of what you're +looking for?”</span> There was an undernote +of interest in the voice now. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“No. I just want to know if you've +heard anything new anti-my-side, +from the other side. Or if you know +of any fresh personnel recently from +there.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Frankly, I haven't. If you could +give me a hint.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I can't,”</span> Larry said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Look, Hans, +like you say, you owe me a favor or +two. If something comes up, let me +know. Then I'll owe you one.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The voice was jovial again. <span class="tei tei-q">“It's a +bargain, my friend.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +After Woolford had hung up, he +scowled at the phone. He wondered +if Hans Distelmayer was lying. The +German commanded the largest professional +spy ring in the world. It was +possible, but difficult, for anything in +espionage to develop without his having +an inkling. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The phone rang back. It was Steve +Hackett of Secret Service on the +screen. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Hackett said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Woolford, you coming +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page010">[pg 010]</span><a name="Pg010" id="Pg010" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +over? I understand you've been +assigned to get in our hair on this +job.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Huh,”</span> Larry grunted. <span class="tei tei-q">“The way I +hear it, your whole department has +given up, so I'm assigned to help you +out of your usual fumble-fingered +confusion.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Hackett snorted. <span class="tei tei-q">“At any rate, can +you drop over? I'm to work in liaison +with you.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Coming,”</span> Larry said. He hung up, +got to his feet and headed for the +door. If they could crack this thing +the first day, he'd take up that vacation +where it'd been interrupted and +possibly be able to wangle a few +more days out of the Boss to boot. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +At this time of day, parking would +have been a problem, in spite of automation +of the streets. He left his +car in the departmental lot and took a +cab. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Counterfeit Division of the +Secret Service occupied an impressive +section of an impressive governmental +building. Larry Woolford +flashed his credentials here and there, +explained to guards and receptionists +here and there, and finally wound up +in Steve Hackett's office which was +all but a duplicate of his own in size +and decor. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve Hackett himself was a fairly +accurate carbon copy of Woolford, +barring facial resemblance alone. The +fact was, Steve was almost Lincolnesque +in his ugliness. Career man, +about thirty, good university, crew +cut, six foot, one hundred and seventy, +earnest of eye. He wore Harris tweed. +Larry Woolford made a note of that; +possibly herringbone was coming +back in. He winced at the thought of +a major change in his wardrobe; it'd +cost a fortune. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +They'd worked on a few cases together +before when Steve Hackett +had been assigned to the presidential +bodyguard and co-operated well. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve came to his feet and shook +hands. <span class="tei tei-q">“Thought that you were going +to be down in Florida bass fishing this +month. You like your work so well +you can't stay away, or is it a matter +of trying to impress your chief?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry growled, <span class="tei tei-q">“Fine thing. Secret +Service bogs down and they've got to +call me in to clean up the mess.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve motioned him to a chair and +immediately went serious. <span class="tei tei-q">“Do you +know anything about pushing queer, +Woolford?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“That means passing counterfeit +money, doesn't it? All I know is what's +in the TriD crime shows.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I can see you're going to be a lot +of help. Have you got anywhere at all +on the possibility that the stuff might +be coming from abroad?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Nothing positive,”</span> Larry said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Are +you people accomplishing anything?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“We're just getting underway. +There's something off-trail about this +deal, Woolford. It doesn't fit into +routine.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford said, <span class="tei tei-q">“I wouldn't +think so if the stuff is so good not +even a bank clerk can tell the difference.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“That's not what I'm talking about +now. Let me give you a run down on +standard counterfeiting.”</span> The Secret +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page011">[pg 011]</span><a name="Pg011" id="Pg011" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +Service agent pushed back in his +swivel chair, lit a cigarette, and +propped his feet onto the edge of a +partly open desk drawer. <span class="tei tei-q">“Briefly, it +goes like this. Some smart lad gets +himself a set of plates and a platen +press and—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry interrupted, <span class="tei tei-q">“Where does he +get the plates?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“That doesn't matter now,”</span> Steve +said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Various ways. Maybe he makes +them himself, sometimes he buys them +from a crooked engraver. But +I'm talking about pushing green +goods once it's printed. Anyway, our +friend runs off, say, a million dollars +worth of fives. But he doesn't try to +pass them himself. He wholesales +them around netting, say, fifty thousand +dollars. In other words, he sells +twenty dollars in counterfeit for +one good dollar.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry pursed his lips. <span class="tei tei-q">“Quite a discount.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Um-m-m. But that's safest from +his angle. The half dozen or so distributors +he sold it to don't try to pass +it either. They also are playing it +carefully. They peddle it, at say ten +to one, to the next rung down the +ladder.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“And these are the fellows that +pass it, eh?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Not even then, usually. These +small timers take it and pass it on at +five to one to the suckers in the trade, +who take the biggest risks. Most of +these are professional pushers of the +queer, as the term goes. Some, however, +are comparative amateurs. Sailors +for instance, who buy with the +idea of passing it in some foreign +port where seamen's money flows +fast.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford shifted in his +chair. <span class="tei tei-q">“So what are you building up +to?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve Hackett rubbed the end of +his pug nose with a forefinger in +quick irritation. <span class="tei tei-q">“Like I say, that's +standard counterfeit procedure. We're +all set up to meet it, and do a pretty +good job. Where we have our difficulties +is with amateurs.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Woolford scowled at him. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Hackett said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Some guy who makes +and passes it himself, for instance. +He's unknown to the stool pigeons, +has no criminal record, does up comparatively +small amounts and dribbles +his product onto the market over +a period of time. We had one old +devil up in New York once who actually +<em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">drew</span></em> one dollar bills. He was a +tremendous artist. It took us years to +get him.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Well, why go +into all this? We're hardly dealing +with amateurs now.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve looked at him. <span class="tei tei-q">“That's the +trouble. We are.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Are you batty? Not even your +own experts can tell this product +from real money.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I didn't say it was being <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">made</span></em> by +amateurs. It's being <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">pushed</span></em> by amateurs—or +maybe amateur is the better +word.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“How do you know?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“For one thing, most professionals +won't touch anything bigger than a +twenty. Tens are better, fives better +still. When you pass a fifty, the person +you give it to is apt to remember +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page012">[pg 012]</span><a name="Pg012" id="Pg012" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +where he got it.”</span> Steve Hackett said +slowly, <span class="tei tei-q">“Particularly if you give one +as a tip to the <span lang="fr" class="tei tei-foreign" xml:lang="fr"><span style="font-style: italic">maître d'hôtel</span></span> in a +first-class restaurant. A <span lang="fr" class="tei tei-foreign" xml:lang="fr"><span style="font-style: italic">maître d'</span></span> holds +his job on the strength of his ability +to remember faces and names.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="text-align: center; margin-bottom: 1.00em"> + </p><div class="tei tei-figure" style="width: 30%; text-align: center"><img src="images/p12.png" width="230" height="700" alt="Illustration." /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“What else makes you think your +pushers are amateurs?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Amateur,”</span> Hackett corrected. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Ideally, a pusher is an inconspicuous +type. The kind of person whose face +you'd never remember. It's never a +teenage girl who's blowing money.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +It was time to stare now, and Larry +Woolford obliged. <span class="tei tei-q">“A teenager!”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“We've had four descriptions of +her, one of them excellent. Fredrick, +the <span lang="fr" class="tei tei-foreign" xml:lang="fr"><span style="font-style: italic">maître d'</span></span> over at La Calvados, is +the one that counts, but the others +jibe. She's bought perfume and gloves +at Michel Swiss, the swankiest shop +in town, a dress at Chez Marie—she +passed three fifties there—and a hat +at Paulette's over on Monroe Street.</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“That's another sign of the amateur, +by the way. A competent pusher +buys a small item and gets change +from his counterfeit bill. Our girl's +been buying expensive items, obviously +more interested in the product +than in her change.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“This doesn't seem to make much +sense,”</span> Larry Woolford protested. +<span class="tei tei-q">“You have any ideas at all?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“The question is,”</span> Hackett said, +<span class="tei tei-q">“where did she get it? Is she connected +with one of the embassies and +acquired the stuff overseas? If so, that +puts it in your lap again possibly—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The phone rang and Steve flicked +the switch and grumbled, <span class="tei tei-q">“Yeah? +Steven Hackett speaking.”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page013">[pg 013]</span><a name="Pg013" id="Pg013" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He listened for a moment then +banged the phone off and jumped to +his feet. <span class="tei tei-q">“Come on, Larry,”</span> he +snapped. <span class="tei tei-q">“This is it.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry stood, too. <span class="tei tei-q">“Who was that?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Fredrick, over at La Calvados. The +girl has come in for lunch. Let's go!”</span> +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +La Calvados was the swankiest +French restaurant in Greater Washington, +a city not devoid of swank +restaurants. Only the upper-echelons +in governmental circles could afford +its tariffs; the clientele was more apt +to consist of business mucky-mucks +and lobbyists on the make. Larry +Woolford had eaten here exactly +twice. You could get a reputation +spending money far beyond your obvious +pay status. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Fredrick, the <span lang="fr" class="tei tei-foreign" xml:lang="fr"><span style="font-style: italic">maître de hôtel</span></span>, however, +was able to greet them both by +name. <span class="tei tei-q">“Monsieur Hackett, Monsieur +Woolford,”</span> he bowed. He obviously +didn't approve of La Calvados being +used as a hangout where counterfeiters +were picked up the authorities. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Where is she?”</span> Steve said, looking +out over the public dining room. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Fredrick said, unprofessionally agitated, +<span class="tei tei-q">“See here, Monsieur Hackett, +you didn't expect to, ah, arrest the +young lady <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">here</span></em> during our lunch +hour?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve looked at him impatiently. +<span class="tei tei-q">“We don't exactly beat them over the +head with blackjacks, slip the bracelets +on and drag them screaming to +the paddywagon.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Of course not, monsieur, but—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford's chief dined +here several times a week and was +probably on the best of terms with +Fredrick whose decisions on tables +and whose degree of servility had a +good deal of influence on a man's +status in Greater Washington. Larry +said wearily, <span class="tei tei-q">“We can wait until she +leaves. Where is she?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Fredrick had taken them to one +side. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Do you see the young lady over +near the window on the park? The +rather gauche appearing type?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +It was a teenager, all right. A +youngster up to her eyebrows in the +attempt to project sophistication. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Do you know who she +is?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“No,”</span> Fredrick said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Hardly our +usual clientele.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Oh?”</span> Larry said. <span class="tei tei-q">“She looks like +money.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Fredrick said, <span class="tei tei-q">“The dress appears as +though it is of Chez Marie, but she +wears it as though it came from +Klein's. Her perfume is Chanel, but +she has used approximately three +times the quantity one would expect.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“That's our girl, all right,”</span> Steve +murmured. <span class="tei tei-q">“Where can we keep an +eye on her until she leaves?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Why not at the bar here, Messieurs?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Why not?”</span> Larry said. <span class="tei tei-q">“I could +use a drink.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Fredrick cleared his throat. <span class="tei tei-q">“Ah, +Messieurs, that fifty I turned over +you. I suppose it turned out to be +spurious?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve grinned at him. <span class="tei tei-q">“Afraid so, +Fredrick. The department is holding +it.”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page014">[pg 014]</span><a name="Pg014" id="Pg014" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry took out his wallet. <span class="tei tei-q">“However, +we have a certain leeway on expenses +on this assignment and appreciate +your co-operation.”</span> He +handed two twenties and a ten to the +<span lang="fr" class="tei tei-foreign" xml:lang="fr"><span style="font-style: italic">maître d'</span></span>. Fredrick bowed low, the +money disappearing into his clothes +magically. <span class="tei tei-q">“<span lang="fr" class="tei tei-foreign" xml:lang="fr"><span style="font-style: italic">Merci bien</span></span>, monsieur.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +At the bar, Steve scowled at his +colleague. <span class="tei tei-q">“Ha!”</span> he said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Why didn't +I think of that first? He'll get +down on his knees and bump his +head each time he sees you in the +joint from now on.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford waggled a finger +at the other. <span class="tei tei-q">“This is a status conscious +town, my boy. Prestige means +everything. When I take over my +Boss' job, maybe we can swing a +transfer and I'll give you a position +suitable to your attainments.”</span> He +pursed his lips judiciously. <span class="tei tei-q">“Although, +come to think of it, that +might mean a demotion from the job +you're holding now.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Vodka martini,”</span> Steve told the +bartender. <span class="tei tei-q">“Polish vodka, of course.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Of course, sir.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Same for me.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The bartender left and Steve muttered, +<span class="tei tei-q">“I hate vodka.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Yeah,”</span> Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“But what're +you going to do in a place like this, +order some weird drink?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve dug into his pocket for +money. <span class="tei tei-q">“We're not going to have to +drink them. Here she comes.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She walked with her head held +high, hauteur in every step. Ignoring +the peasants at the tables she passed. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Holy smokes,”</span> Steve grunted. +<span class="tei tei-q">“It's a wonder Fredrick let her in.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She hesitated momentarily before +the doorway of the prestige restaurant +allowing the passers-by to realize +she'd just emerged, and then +turned to her right to promenade +along the shopping street. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Fifty feet below La Calvados, Steve +said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Let's go, Woolford.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +One stepped to one elbow, the +other to the other. Steve said quietly, +<span class="tei tei-q">“I wonder if we could ask you a few +questions?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Her eyebrows went up, <span class="tei tei-q">“I <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">beg</span></em> your +pardon!”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve sighed and displayed the +badge pinned to his wallet, keeping +it inconspicuous. <span class="tei tei-q">“Secret Service, +Miss,”</span> he murmured. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Oh, devil,”</span> she said. She looked up +at Larry Woolford, and then back at +Steve. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Among other things, +we're in charge of counterfeit money.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She was about five foot four in her +heels, had obviously been on a round +of beauty shops and had obviously +instructed them to glamorize her. It +hadn't come off. She still looked as +though she'd be more at home as +cheerleader of the junior class in +small town high school. She was +honey blond, green-blue of eye, and +had that complexion they seldom +carry even into the twenties. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I ... I don't know what you're +talking about.”</span> Her chin began to +tremble. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said gently, <span class="tei tei-q">“Don't worry. +We just want to ask you some questions.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Well ... like what?”</span> She was +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page015">[pg 015]</span><a name="Pg015" id="Pg015" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +going to be blinking back tears in a +moment. At least Larry hoped she'd +blink them back. He'd hate to have +her start howling here in public. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“We think you can be of +assistance to the government, and +we'd like your help.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve rolled his eyes upward, but +turned and waved for a street level +cab. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +In the cab, Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Suppose we +go over to my office, Steve?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“O.K. with me,”</span> Steve muttered, +<span class="tei tei-q">“but by the looks of the young lady +here, I think it's a false alarm from +your angle. She's obviously an American. +What's your name, Miss?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“It's Zusanette. Well, really, Susan.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Susan what?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I ... I'm not sure I want to tell +you. I ... I want a lawyer.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“A lawyer!”</span> Steve snorted. <span class="tei tei-q">“You +mean you want the juvenile authorities, +don't you?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Oh, what a mean thing to say,”</span> +she sputtered. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +In the corridor outside the Boss' +suite of offices, Larry said to Steve, +<span class="tei tei-q">“You take Miss ... ah, Zusanette +to my office, will you Steve. I'll be +there in a minute.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He opened the door to the anteroom +and said, <span class="tei tei-q">“LaVerne, we've got a +girl in my office—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Why, Larry!”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He glowered at her. <span class="tei tei-q">“A suspect. I +want a complete tape of everything +said. As soon as we're through, have +copies made, at least three or four.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“And, who, Mr. Woolford, was +your girl Friday last year?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“This is important, honey. I suppose +you've supplied me with a secretary +but I haven't even met her +yet. Take care of it, will you?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Sure enough, Larry.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He followed Steve and the girl to +his office. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Once seated, the girl and Steve in +the only two extra chairs the cubicle +boasted and Larry behind his desk, +he looked at her in what he hoped +was reassurance. <span class="tei tei-q">“Just tell us where +you got the money, Zusanette.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve reached out a hand suddenly +and took her bag from her lap. +She gasped and snatched at it, but +he eluded her and she sat back, her +chin trembling again. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve came up with a thick sheaf +of bills, the top ones, at least, all +fifties and tossed them to Larry's +desk. He took out a school pass and +read, <span class="tei tei-q">“Susan Self, Elwood Avenue.”</span> +He looked up at Larry and said, +<span class="tei tei-q">“That's right off Eastern, near Paterson +Park in the Baltimore section of +town, isn't it?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said to her, <span class="tei tei-q">“Zusanette, I think +you'd better tell us where you got all +this money.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I found it,”</span> she said defiantly. +<span class="tei tei-q">“You can't do anything to me if I +simply found it. Anybody can find +money. Finders keepers—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“But if it's counterfeit,”</span> Steve interrupted +dryly, <span class="tei tei-q">“it might also be, +finders weepers.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Where did you find it, Zusanette?”</span> +Larry said gently. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She tightened her lips, and the +trembling of her chin disappeared. +<span class="tei tei-q">“I ... I can't tell you that. But it's +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page016">[pg 016]</span><a name="Pg016" id="Pg016" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +not counterfeit. Daddy ... my father +said it was as good as any money +the government prints.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“That it is,”</span> Steve said sourly. +<span class="tei tei-q">“But it's still counterfeit, which +makes it very illegal indeed to spend, +Miss Self.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She looked from one of them +to the other, not clear about her position. +She said to Larry, <span class="tei tei-q">“You mean +it's not <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">real</span></em> money?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He kept his tone disarming, but +shook his head, <span class="tei tei-q">“I'm afraid not, Zusanette. +Now, tell us, where did you +find it?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I can't. I promised”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I see. Then you don't know to +whom it originally belonged?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“It didn't belong to anybody.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve Hackett made with a disbelieving +whistle. He was taking the +part of the tough, suspicious cop; +Larry the part of the understanding, +sympathetic officer, trying to give the +suspect a break. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Susan Self turned quickly on Steve. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Well, it didn't. You don't even +know.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“I think she's telling the +truth, Steve. Give her a chance. She's +playing fair.”</span> He looked back at the +girl, and frowned his puzzlement. +<span class="tei tei-q">“All money belongs to <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">somebody</span></em> +doesn't it?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She had them now. She said superiorly. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Not necessarily to some<em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">body</span></em>. +It can belong to, like, an organization.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve grunted skepticism. <span class="tei tei-q">“I think +we ought to arrest her,”</span> he said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry held up a hand, his face registering +opposition. <span class="tei tei-q">“I'll handle this,”</span> +he said sharply. <span class="tei tei-q">“Zusanette is doing +everything she can to co-operate.”</span> He +turned back to the girl. <span class="tei tei-q">“Now, the +question is, what organization did this +money belong to?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She looked triumphantly at Steve +Hackett. <span class="tei tei-q">“It belonged to the Movement.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +They both looked at her. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve said finally, <span class="tei tei-q">“What movement?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She pouted in thought. <span class="tei tei-q">“That's the +only name they call it.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Who's they?”</span> Steve snapped nastily. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I ... I don't know.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Well, you already told +us your father was a member, Zusanette.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Her eyes went wide. <span class="tei tei-q">“I did? I +shouldn't have said that.”</span> But she +evidently took him at his word. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said encouragingly, <span class="tei tei-q">“Well, +we might as well go on. Who else is +a member of this Movement besides +your father?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She shifted in her chair uncomfortably. +<span class="tei tei-q">“I don't know any of their names.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve looked down at the school +pass in his hands. He said to Larry, +<span class="tei tei-q">“I'd better make a phone call.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He left. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Don't worry about him, +Zusanette. Now then, this <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">movement</span></em>. +That's kind of a funny name, isn't it? +What does it mean?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She was evidently glad that the less +than handsome Steve Hackett had +left the room. Her words flowed more +freely. <span class="tei tei-q">“Well, Daddy says that they +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page017">[pg 017]</span><a name="Pg017" id="Pg017" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +call it the Movement rather than a +revolution....”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +An ice cube manifested itself in +the stomach of Lawrence Woolford. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“... Because people get conditioned, +like, to words. Like revolution. +Everybody is against the word +because they all think of killing and +everything, and, Daddy says, there +doesn't have to be any shooting or +killing or anything like that at all. It +just means a fundamental change in +society. And, Daddy says, take the +word propaganda. Everybody's got to +thinking that it automatically means +lies, but it doesn't at all. It just means, +like, the arguments you use to convince +people that what you stand for +is right and it might be lies or it +might not. And, Daddy says, take the +word socialism. So many people have +the wrong idea of what it means that +the socialists ought to scrap the word +and start using something else to +mean what they stand for.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said gently, <span class="tei tei-q">“Your father is +a socialist?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Oh, no.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He nodded in understanding. <span class="tei tei-q">“Oh, +a Communist, eh?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Susan Self was indignant. <span class="tei tei-q">“Daddy +thinks the Communists are strictly +awful, really weird.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve Hackett came back into the +office. He said to Larry, <span class="tei tei-q">“I sent a couple +of the boys out to pick him up.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Susan was on her feet, a hand to +mouth. <span class="tei tei-q">“You mean my father! You're +going to arrest him!”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said soothingly, <span class="tei tei-q">“Sit down, +Zusanette. There's a lot of things +about this that I'm sure your father +can explain.”</span> He said to Steve, <span class="tei tei-q">“She +tells me that the money belonged to +a movement. A revolutionary movement +which doesn't use the term +revolutionary because people react +unfavorably to that word. It's not +Commie.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Susan said indignantly, <span class="tei tei-q">“It's American, +not anything foreign!”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve growled, <span class="tei tei-q">“Let's get back to +the money. What's this movement doing +with a lot of counterfeit bills and +where did you find them?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She evidently figured she'd gone +too far now to take a stand. <span class="tei tei-q">“It's not +Daddy's fault,”</span> she said. <span class="tei tei-q">“He took me +to headquarters twice.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Where's headquarters?”</span> Larry said +trying to keep his voice soothing. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Well ... I don't know. Daddy +was awfully silly about it. He tied his +handkerchief around my eyes near +the end. But the others complained +about me anyway, and Daddy got awfully +mad and said something about +the young people of the country participating +in their emancipation and +all, but the others got mad too, and +said there wasn't any kind of help I +could do around headquarters anyway, +and I'd be better off in school. +Everybody got awfully mad, but after +the second time Daddy promised not +to take me to headquarters any more.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“But where did you find the money, +Zusannette?”</span> Larry said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“At headquarters. There's tons and +tons of it there.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry cleared his throat and said, +<span class="tei tei-q">“When you say tons and tons, you +mean a great deal of it, eh?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She was proudly definite. <span class="tei tei-q">“I mean +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page018">[pg 018]</span><a name="Pg018" id="Pg018" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +tons and tons. A ton is two thousand +pounds.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Look, Zusanette,”</span> Larry said reasonably. +<span class="tei tei-q">“I don't know how much +money weighs, exactly, but let's say a +pound would be, say, a thousand bills.”</span> +He took up a pencil and scribbled on +a pad before him. <span class="tei tei-q">“A pound of fifties +would be $50,000. Then if you multiply +that by 2,000 pounds to make a +ton, you'd have $100,000,000. And +you say there's tons and tons?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“And that's just the fifties,”</span> Susan +said triumphantly. <span class="tei tei-q">“So you can see +the two little packages I picked up +aren't really important at all. It's just +like I found them.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I don't think there's quite a thousand +bills in a pound,”</span> Steve said weakly. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“How much other money +is there?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Oh, piles. Whole rooms. Rooms +after rooms. And hundred dollar bills, +and twenties, and fives, and tens—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Look, Zusanette, +I don't think you're in any position to be +telling us whoppers. This whole story +doesn't make much sense, does it?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Her mouth tightened. <span class="tei tei-q">“I'm not going +to say anything more until Daddy +gets here, anyway,”</span> she said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Which was when the phone rang. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I have an idea that's for me,”</span> +Steve said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The screen lit up and LaVerne Polk +said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Call for Steve Hackett, Larry.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry pushed the phone around so +Steve could look into it. LaVerne +flicked off and was replaced by a +stranger in uniform. Steve said, +<span class="tei tei-q">“Yeah?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The cop said, <span class="tei tei-q">“He's 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.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Susan gasped, <span class="tei tei-q">“You mean Daddy?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve Hackett rubbed a hand over +his flattened nose. <span class="tei tei-q">“Holy Smokes,”</span> he +said. He thanked the cop and flicked +off. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Look Zusanette, everything's +going to be all right. Nothing +will happen to you. You say you managed +to pick up two packets of all +this money they have at headquarters. +O.K. So you thought it wouldn't be +missed and you've always wanted to +spend money the way you see the +stars do on TriD and in the movies.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She looked at him, taken back. +<span class="tei tei-q">“How did you know?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said dryly, <span class="tei tei-q">“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?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +That evidently puzzled her. <span class="tei tei-q">“The +Professor said 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.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve said, carefully, <span class="tei tei-q">“Professor +who?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Susan said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Just the Professor. +That's all we ever call him.”</span> Her chin +went to trembling still again. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page019">[pg 019]</span><a name="Pg019" id="Pg019" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry summed it up for the Boss +later. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +His chief scoffed his disbelief. <span class="tei tei-q">“The +child is full of dreams, Lawrence. It +comes from seeing an over-abundance +of these TriD shows. I have a girl the +same age. I don't know what is happening +to the country. They have no +sense of reality.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford said mildly, <span class="tei tei-q">“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.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss said tolerantly, <span class="tei tei-q">“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 yet?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Susan Self says her father, Ernest +Self, is an inventor. Steve Hackett is +working on locating him.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“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?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +His operative twisted his face in a +grimace. <span class="tei tei-q">“Sure, I do, but I'm not happy +about this, sir. What happens if there +really is an organization, a +Movement, like she said? That brings +it back under our jurisdiction, anti-subversion.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The other shook his head tolerantly. +<span class="tei tei-q">“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 handfuls 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 against +whatever the current government happens to be. Usually, +they are on the point of actual +starvation. Have you ever read Machiavelli?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Niccolo Machiavelli was currently +<em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">the thing</span></em> to read. Larry said with a +certain dignity, <span class="tei tei-q">“I've gone through +<span class="tei tei-q">‘The Prince,’</span> the <span class="tei tei-q">‘Discourses’</span> and currently +I'm amusing myself with his +<span class="tei tei-q">‘History of Florence.’</span> ”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Anybody who can amuse himself +reading Machiavelli,”</span> the Boss said +dryly, <span class="tei tei-q">“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 tolerance—but it's always within +their tolerance zone.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry frowned and said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Well, +what's your point, sir?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss said patiently, <span class="tei tei-q">“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 +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page020">[pg 020]</span><a name="Pg020" id="Pg020" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +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 <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">masses</span></em> to moving. You +have to give speeches, print newspapers, +books, pamphlets, you have +got to send your organizers out to intensify +interest in your program.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“I see what you mean. +If this so-called Movement actually +existed it couldn't expect to get anywhere +as long as remained secret.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss nodded. <span class="tei tei-q">“That is correct. +The <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">leaders</span></em> of a revolutionary movement +might be intellectuals, social +scientists, scholars—in fact they usually +are—take our own American +Revolution with Jefferson, Madison, +Franklin, Washington. Or the French +Revolution with Robespierre, Danton, +Marat, Engels and Lenin. All were +well educated intellectuals from +the middle class. But the revolution itself, +once it starts, comes from below, +from the mass of people pushed beyond +tolerance.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +It came to Lawrence Woolford that +his superior had achieved to his +prominent office not through any +fluke. He knew what he was talking +about. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss wound it up. <span class="tei tei-q">“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.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +His trouble shooter cleared his +throat. <span class="tei tei-q">“I suppose you're right, sir.”</span> +He added hesitantly. <span class="tei tei-q">“We could always +give Susan Self a few drops of +Scop-Serum, sir.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss scowled disapprovingly. +<span class="tei tei-q">“You know how the Supreme Court +ruled on that, Lawrence. And particularly +since the medics revealed its effect +on reducing sexual inhibitions. +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.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry came to his feet. <span class="tei tei-q">“Well, then, +I'll resume my vacation, eh?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +His chief took up a report from his +desk an frowned at it, his attention +already passing to other matters. He +grunted, <span class="tei tei-q">“Clear it with LaVerne, +please. Tell her I said to take another +week to make up for our intruding +on you in this manner.”</span> +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +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 sixteen or seventeen +old's go, picked up such ideas as the +fact that people developed prejudices +against words like revolution and +propaganda? +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +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 +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page021">[pg 021]</span><a name="Pg021" id="Pg021" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +and the bass fishing on the +St. John's River. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He stopped at LaVerne's desk and +gave her his address to be, now that +his vacation was resumed. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She said, smiling up at him. <span class="tei tei-q">“Right. +The boss already told me to get in +touch with Secret Service and let +them know we're pulling out. What +happened to Susan Self?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry looked at her. <span class="tei tei-q">“How'd you +know about Susan?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Her tone was deprecating. <span class="tei tei-q">“Remember? +You had me cut some +tapes on you and that hulking Steve +Hackett grilling the poor kid.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry snorted. <span class="tei tei-q">“Poor kid, yet. With +her tastes for living-it-up, and that +father she has, she'll probably spend +the rest of her life getting in Steve's +hair as a counterfeit pusher.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“What are they going to do with +her? She's just a child.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The agent shrugged. <span class="tei tei-q">“I feel sorry +for her, too, LaVerne. Steve's got her +in a suite at the Greater Washington +Hilton, until things are cleared up. +They don't want the newspapers to +get wind of this until they've got that +inventor father of hers and whatever +he's cooked up to turn out perfect +reproductions of Uncle Sam's money. +Look, I won't be leaving until tomorrow. +What'd you say we go out on +the town tonight?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Why, Larry Woolford! How nice +of you to ask me. Poor Little, Non-U +me. What do you have in mind? I +understand Mort Lenny's at one of +the night clubs.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry winced. <span class="tei tei-q">“You know what +he's been saying about the administration.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She smiled sweetly at him. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Look, we could take in +the Brahms concert, then—”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page022">[pg 022]</span><a name="Pg022" id="Pg022" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Do you like Brahms? I go for +popular music myself. Preferably the +sort of thing they wrote back in the +1930s. Something you can dance to, +something you know the words to. +Corny, they used to call it. Remember +<span class="tei tei-q">‘Sunny Side of the Street,’</span> and <span class="tei tei-q">‘Just +the Way You Look Tonight’</span>.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry winced again. He said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Look, +I admit, I don't go for concerts either +but it doesn't hurt you to—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I know,”</span> she said sweetly. <span class="tei tei-q">“It +doesn't hurt for a bright young bureaucrat +to be seen at concerts.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“How about Dixieland?”</span> he said. +<span class="tei tei-q">“It's all the thing now.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I like corn. Besides, my wardrobe +is all out of style. Paris, London, and +Rome just got in a huddle a couple of +weeks ago and antiquated everything +I own. You wouldn't want to be seen +with a girl a few weeks out of date, +would you?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Oh, now, LaVerne, get off my +back.”</span> He thought about it. <span class="tei tei-q">“Look, +you must have <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">something</span></em> you could +wear.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Get out of here, you vacant minded +conformist! I <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">like</span></em> Mort Lenny, he +makes me laugh; I <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">hate</span></em> vodka martinis, +they give me sour stomach; I +don't <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">like</span></em> the current women's styles, +nor the men's either.”</span> LaVerne spun +back to her auto-typer and began to +dictate into it. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry glared down at her. <span class="tei tei-q">“All +right. O.K. What <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">do</span></em> you like?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She snapped back irrationally, <span class="tei tei-q">“I +like what <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">I</span></em> like.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He laughed at her in ridicule. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +This time she glared at him. <span class="tei tei-q">“That +makes more sense than you're capable +of assimilating, Mr. Walking Status +Symbol. My likes and dislikes aren't +dictated by someone else. If I like +corny music, I'll listen to it and the +devil with Brahms or Dixieland or +anything else that somebody else tells +me is all the thing!”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He turned on his heel angrily. +<span class="tei tei-q">“O.K., O.K., it takes all sorts to make a +world, weirds and all.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“One more label to hang on people,”</span> +she snarled after him. <span class="tei tei-q">“Everything's +labels. Be sure and never +come to any judgments of your own!”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +What a woman! He wondered why +he'd ever bothered to ask her for a +date. There were so many women in +this town you waded through them, +and here he was exposing himself to +be seen in public with a girl everybody +in the department knew was as +weird as they came. It didn't do your +standing any good to be seen around +with the type. He wondered all over +again why the Boss tolerated her as +his receptionist-secretary. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He got his car from the parking lot +and drove home at a high level. Ordinarily, +the distance being what it +was, he drove in the lower and slower +traffic levels but now his frustration +demanded some expression. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Back at his suburban auto-bungalow, +he threw all except the high +priority switch and went on down +into his small second cellar den. He +didn't really feel like a night on the +town anyway. A few vodka martinis +under his belt and he'd sleep late and +he wanted to get up in time for an +early start for Florida. Besides, in that +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page023">[pg 023]</span><a name="Pg023" id="Pg023" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +respect he agreed with the irritating +wench. Vermouth was never meant to +mix with Polish vodka. He wished +that Sidecars would come back. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +In his den, he shucked off his jacket, +kicked off his shoes and shuffled into +Moroccan slippers. He went over to +his current reading rack and scowled +at the paperbacks there. His culture +status books were upstairs where they +could be seen. He pulled out a western, +tossed it over to the cocktail table +that sat next to his chair, and then +went over to the bar. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Up above in his living room, he +had one of the new autobars. You +could dial any one of more than thirty +drinks. Autobars were all the rage. +The Boss had one that gave a selection +of a hundred. But what difference +did it make when nobody but +eccentric old-timers or flighty blondes +drank anything except vodka martinis? +He didn't like autobars anyway. +A well mixed drink is a personal +thing, a work of competence, instinct +and art, not something measured to +the drop, iced to the degree, shaken +or stirred to a mathematical formula. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Out of the tiny refrigerator he +brought a four-ounce cube of frozen +pineapple juice, touched the edge +with his thumbnail and let the ultra +thin plastic peel away. He tossed the +cube into his mixer, took up a bottle +of light rum and poured in about +two ounces. He brought an egg from +the refrigerator and added that. An +ounce of whole milk followed and a +teaspoon of powdered sugar. He +flicked the switch and let the conglomeration +froth together. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He poured it into a king-size +highball glass and took it over to his +chair. Vodka martinis be damned, he +liked a slightly sweet long drink. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He sat down in the chair, picked up +the book and scowled at the cover. He +ought to be reading that Florentine +history of Machiavelli's, especially if +the Boss had got to the point where +he was quoting from the guy. But the +heck with it, he was on vacation. He +didn't think much of the Italian diplomat +of the Renaissance anyway; +how could you be that far back without +being dated? +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He couldn't get beyond the first +page or two. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +And when you can't concentrate +on a Western, you just can't concentrate. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He finished his drink, went over to +his phone and dialed <span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">Department of +Records</span></span> and then <span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">Information</span></span>. When +the bright young thing answered, he +said, <span class="tei tei-q">“I'd like the brief on an Ernest +Self who lives on Elwood Avenue, +Baltimore section of Greater Washington. +I don't know his code number.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She did things with switches and +buttons for a moment and then +brought a sheet from a delivery chute. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Do you want me to read it to you, +sir?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“No, I'll scan it,”</span> Larry said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Her face faded to be replaced by +the brief on Ernest Self. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +It was astonishingly short. <span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">Records</span></span> +seemed to have slipped up on this occasion. +A rare occurrence. He considered +requesting the full dossier, then +changed his mind. Instead he dialed +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page024">[pg 024]</span><a name="Pg024" id="Pg024" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +the number of the <span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">Sun-Post</span></span> and +asked for its science columnist. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Sam Sokolski's puffy face eventually +faded in. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said to him sourly, <span class="tei tei-q">“You +drink too much. You can begin to see +the veins breaking in your nose.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Sam looked at him patiently. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“How'd you like to +come over and toss back a few tonight?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I'm working. I thought you were +on vacation.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry sighed. <span class="tei tei-q">“I am,”</span> he said. <span class="tei tei-q">“O.K., +so you can't take a night off and lift a +few with an old buddy.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“That's right. Anything else, Larry?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Yes. Look, have you ever heard of +an inventor named Ernest Self?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Sure I've heard of him. Covered a +hassle he got into some years ago. A +nice guy.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I'll bet,”</span> Larry said. <span class="tei tei-q">“What does he +invent, something to do with printing +presses, or something?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Printing presses? Don't you remember +the story about him?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Brief me,”</span> Larry said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Well—briefly does it—it got out a +couple of years ago that some of our +rocketeers had bought a solid fuel formula +from an Italian research outfit +for the star probe project. Paid them +a big hunk of Uncle's change for it. +So Self sued.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“You're being <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">too</span></em> brief. +What d'ya mean, he sued? Why?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Because he claimed he'd submitted +the same formula to the same +agency a full eighteen months earlier +and they'd turned him down.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Had he?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Probably.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry didn't get it. <span class="tei tei-q">“Then why'd +they turn him down?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Sam said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Oh, the government +boys had a good alibi. Crackpots turn +up all over the place and you have to +brush them off. Every cellar scientist +who comes along and says he's got a +new super-fuel developed from old +coffee grounds can't be given the welcome +mat. Something was wrong +with his math or something and they +didn't pay much attention to him. +Wouldn't even let him demonstrate +it. But it was the same formula, all +right.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford was scowling. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Something wrong with his math? +What kind of a degree does he have?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Sam grinned in memory. <span class="tei tei-q">“I got a +good quote on that. He doesn't have +any degree. He said he'd learned to +read by the time he'd reached high +school and since then he figured +spending time in classrooms was a +matter of interfering with his education.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“No wonder they turned him down. +No degree at all. You can't get anywhere +in science like that.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Sam said, <span class="tei tei-q">“The courts rejected his +suit but he got a certain amount of +support here and there. Peter Voss, +over at the university, claims he's one +of the great intuitive scientists, whatever +that is, of our generation.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Who said that?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Professor Voss. Not that it makes +any difference what he says. Another +crackpot.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +After Sam's less than handsome face +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page025">[pg 025]</span><a name="Pg025" id="Pg025" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +was gone from the phone, Larry +walked over to the bar with his empty +glass and stared at the mixer for several +minutes. He began to make himself +another flip, but cut it short in +the middle, put down the ingredients +and went back to the phone to dial +<span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">Records</span></span> again. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He went through first the brief and +then the full dossier on Professor +Peter Luther Voss. Aside from his +academic accomplishments, particularly +in the fields of political economy +and international law, and the dozen +or so books accredited to him, there +wasn't anything particularly noteworthy. +A bachelor in his fifties. No +criminal record of any kind, of course, +and no military career. No known political +affiliations. Evidently a strong +predilection for Thorstein Veblen's +theories. And he'd been a friend of +Henry Mencken back when that old +nonconformist was tearing down contemporary +society seemingly largely +for the fun involved in the tearing. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +On the face of it, the man was no +radical, and the term <span class="tei tei-q">“crackpot”</span> +which Sam had applied was hardly +called for. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford went back to the +bar and resumed the job of mixing +his own version of a rum flip. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +But his heart wasn't in it. <span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">The Professor</span></span>, +Susan had said. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Before he'd gone to bed the night +before, Larry Woolford had ordered a +seat on the shuttle jet for Jacksonville +and a hover-cab there to take +him to Astor, on the St. Johns River. +And he'd requested to be wakened in +ample time to get to the shuttleport. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +But it wasn't the saccharine pleasant +face of the Personal Service operator +which confronted him when he +grumpily answered the phone in the +morning. In fact, the screen remained +blank. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry decided that sweet long +drinks were fine, but that anyone who +took several of them in a row needed +to be candied. He grumbled into the +phone, <span class="tei tei-q">“All right, who is it?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +A Teutonic voice chuckled and +said, <span class="tei tei-q">“You're going to have to decide +whether or not you're on vacation, my +friend. At this time of day, why aren't +you at work?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford was waking up. He +said, <span class="tei tei-q">“What can I do for you, Distelmayer?”</span> +The German merchant-of-espionage +wasn't the type to make +personal calls. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Have you forgotten so soon, my +friend?”</span> the other chuckled. <span class="tei tei-q">“It was I +who was going to do you a favor.”</span> He +hesitated momentarily, before adding, +<span class="tei tei-q">“In possible return for future—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Yeah, yeah,”</span> Larry said. He was +fully awake now. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The German said slowly, <span class="tei tei-q">“You +asked if any of your friends from, ah, +abroad were newly in the country. +Frol Eivazov has recently appeared on +the scene.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Eivazov! In various respects, Larry +Woolford's counterpart. Hatchetman +for the <span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">Chrezvychainaya Komissiya</span></span>. +Woolford had met him on occasion +when they'd both been present at international +summit meetings, busily +working at counter-espionage for +their respective superiors. Blandly +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page026">[pg 026]</span><a name="Pg026" id="Pg026" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +shaking hands with each other, blandly +drinking toasts to peace and international +co-existence, blandly sizing +each other up and wondering if it'd +ever come to the point where one +would <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">blandly</span></em> treat the other to a +hole in the head, possibly in some +dark alley in Havana or Singapore, +Leopoldville or Saigon. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said sharply, <span class="tei tei-q">“Where is he? +How'd he get in the country?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“My friend, my friend,”</span> the German +grunted good-humoredly. <span class="tei tei-q">“You +know better than to ask the first question. +As for the second, Frol's command +of American-English is at least +as good as your own. Do you think +his <span class="tei tei-foreign"><span style="font-style: italic">Komissiya</span></span> less capable than your +own department and unable to do +him up suitable papers so that he +could be, perhaps, a <span class="tei tei-q">‘returning tourist’</span> +from Europe?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford was impatient with +himself for asking. He said now, <span class="tei tei-q">“It's +not important. If we want to locate +Frol and pick him up, we'll probably +not have too much trouble doing it.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I wouldn't think so,”</span> the other +said humorously. <span class="tei tei-q">“Since 1919, when +they were first organized, the so-called +Communists in this country, +from the lowest to the highest echelons, +have been so riddled with police +agents that a federal judge in New +England once refused to prosecute a +case against them on the grounds that +the party was a United States government +agency.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry was in no frame of mind for +the other's heavy humor. <span class="tei tei-q">“Look, +Hans,”</span> he said, <span class="tei tei-q">“what I want to know +is what Frol is over here for.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Of course you do,”</span> Hans Distelmayer +said, unable evidently to keep +note of puzzlement from his voice. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Larry,”</span> he said, <span class="tei tei-q">“I assume your people +know of the new American underground.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“<em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">What</span></em> underground?”</span> Larry +snapped. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The professional spy chief said, his +voice strange, <span class="tei tei-q">“The Soviets seem to +have picked up an idea somewhere, +possibly through their membership in +this country, that something is abrewing +in the States. That a change is +being engineered.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry stared at the blank phone +screen. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“What kind of a change?”</span> he said +finally. <span class="tei tei-q">“You mean a change to the +Soviet system?”</span> Surely not even the +self-deluding Russkies could think it +possible to overthrow the American +socio-economic system in favor of the +Soviet brand. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“No, no, no,”</span> the German chuckled. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Of course not. It's not of their +working at all.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Then what's Frol Eivazov's interest, +if they aren't engineering it?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Distelmayer rumbled his characteristic +chuckle with humor. <span class="tei tei-q">“My dear +friend, don't be naive. Anything that +happens in America is of interest to +the Soviets. There is delicate peace +between you now that they have +changed their direction and are occupying +themselves largely with the +economic and agricultural development +of Asia and such portions of +the world as have come under their +hegemony, and while you put all efforts +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page027">[pg 027]</span><a name="Pg027" id="Pg027" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +into modernizing the more backward +countries among your satellites.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said automatically, <span class="tei tei-q">“Our allies +aren't satellites.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The spy-master went on without +contesting the statement. <span class="tei tei-q">“There is +immediate peace but surely governmental +officials on both sides keep +careful watch on the internal developments +of the other. True, the current +heads of the Soviet Complex +would like to see the governments of +all the Western powers changed—but +only if they are changed in the direction +of communism. They are hardly +interested in seeing changes made +which would strengthen the West in +the, ah, Battle For Men's Minds.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry snorted his disgust. <span class="tei tei-q">“What +sort of change in government would +strengthen the United States in—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The German interrupted smoothly, +<span class="tei tei-q">“Evidently, that's what Frol seems to +be here for, Larry. To find out more +about this movement and—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“This <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">what</span></em>?”</span> Larry blurted. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“The term seems to be <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">movement</span></em>.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford held a long silence +before saying, <span class="tei tei-q">“And Frol is actually +here in this country to buck this ... +this movement.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Not necessarily,”</span> the other said +impatiently. <span class="tei tei-q">“He is here to find out +more about it. Evidently Peking and +Moscow have heard just enough to +make them nervous.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“You have anything +more, Hans?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I'm afraid that's about it.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“All right,”</span> Larry said. He added +absently, <span class="tei tei-q">“Thanks, Hans.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Thank me some day with deeds, +not with words,”</span> the German chuckled. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford looked at his watch +and grimaced. He was either going to +get going now or forget about doing +any fishing in Florida this afternoon. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Grudgingly, he dialed the phone +company's Personal Service and said +to the impossibly cheerful blonde +who answered, <span class="tei tei-q">“Where can I find +Professor Peter Voss who teaches +over at the University in Baltimore? I +don't want to talk with him, just want +to know where he'll be an hour from +now.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +While waiting for his information, +he dressed, deciding inwardly that he +hated his job, the department in +which he was employed, the Boss and +Greater Washington. On top of that, +he hated himself. He'd already been +taken off this assignment, why couldn't +he leave it lay? +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The blonde rang him back. Professor +Peter Voss was at home. He had +no classes today. She gave him the +address. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford raised his car from +his auto-bungalow in the Brandywine +suburb and headed northwest at a +high level for the old Baltimore section +of the city. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor's house, he noted, +was of an earlier day and located on +the opposite side of Paterson Park +from Elwood avenue, the street on +which Susan Self and her father had +resided. That didn't necessarily hold +significance, the park was a large one +and the Professor's section a well-to-do +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page028">[pg 028]</span><a name="Pg028" id="Pg028" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +neighborhood, while Self's was +just short of a slum these days. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He brought his car down to street +level, and parked before the scholar's +three-story, brick house. Baltimore-like, +it was identical to every +other house in the block; Larry wondered +vaguely how anybody ever +managed to find his own place when +it was very dark out. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +There was an old-fashioned bell at +the side of the entrance and Larry +Woolford pushed it. There was no +identification screen in the door, evidently +the inhabitants had to open up +to see who was calling, a tiring chore +if you were on the far side of the +house and the caller nothing more +than a salesman. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +It was obviously the Professor himself +who answered. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He was in shirtsleeves, tieless and +with age-old slippers on his stockingless +feet. He evidently hadn't bothered +to shave this morning and he +held a dog-earred pamphlet in his +right hand, his forefinger tucked in it +to mark his place. He wore thick-lensed, +gold-rimmed glasses through +which he blinked at Larry Woolford +questioningly, without speaking. Professor +Peter Voss was a man in his +mid fifties, and, on the face of it, +couldn't care less right now about his +physical appearance. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +A weird, Larry decided immediately. +He wondered at the University, +one of the nation's best, keeping on +such a figure. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Professor Voss?”</span> he said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Lawrence +Woolford.”</span> He brought forth +his identification. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor blinked down at it. +<span class="tei tei-q">“I see,”</span> he said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Won't you come +in?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The house was old, all right. From +the outside, quite acceptable, but the +interior boasted few of the latest +amenities which made all the difference +in modern existence. Larry was +taken back by the fact that the phone +which he spotted in the <span class="tei tei-foreign"><span style="font-style: italic">entrada</span></span> hadn't +even a screen—an old model for +speaking only. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor noticed his glance +and said dryly, <span class="tei tei-q">“The advantages of +combining television and telephone +have never seemed valid to me. In my +own home, I feel free to relax, as you +can observe. Had I a screen on my +phone, it would be necessary for me +to maintain the same appearance as I +must on the streets or before my +classes.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry cleared his throat without +saying anything. This was a weird +one, all right. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The living room was comfortable +in a blatantly primitive way. Three or +four paintings on the walls which +were probably originals, Larry decided, +and should have been in museums. +Not an abstract among them. +A Grant Wood, a Marin, and that +over there could only be a Grandma +Moses. The sort of things you might +keep in your private den, but hardly to +be seen as culture symbols. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The chairs were large, of leather, +and comfortable and probably belonged +to the period before the Second +War. Peter Voss, evidently, was +little short of an exhibitionist. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor took up a battered +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page029">[pg 029]</span><a name="Pg029" id="Pg029" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +humidor. <span class="tei tei-q">“Cigar?”</span> he said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Manila. +Hard to get these days.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +A cigar? Good grief, the man +would be offering him a chaw of tobacco +next. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Thanks, no,”</span> Larry said. <span class="tei tei-q">“I smoke +a pipe.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I see,”</span> the Professor said, lighting +his stogie. <span class="tei tei-q">“Do you really like a pipe? +Personally, I've always thought the +cigar by far the most satisfactory +method of taking tobacco.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +What can you say to a question like +that? Larry ignored it, as though it +was rhetorical. Actually, he smoked +cigarettes in the privacy of his den. A +habit which was on the proletarian +side and not consistent with his status +level. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He said, to get things under way, +<span class="tei tei-q">“Professor Voss, what is an intuitive +scientist?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor exhaled blue smoke, +shook out the old-time kitchen match +with which he'd lit it, and tossed the +matchstick into an ashtray. <span class="tei tei-q">“Intuitive +scientist?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“You once called Ernest Self a +great intuitive scientist.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Oh, Self. Yes, indeed. What is he +doing these days?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said wryly, <span class="tei tei-q">“That's what I +came to ask you about.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor was puzzled. <span class="tei tei-q">“I'm +afraid you came to the wrong place, +Mr. Woolford. I haven't seen Ernest +for quite a time. Why?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Some of his researches seem to +have taken him rather far afield. Actually, +I know practically nothing +about him. I wonder if you could fill +me in a bit.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Peter Voss looked at the ash on the +end of his cigar. <span class="tei tei-q">“I really don't know +the man that well. He lives across the +park. Why don't—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“He's disappeared,”</span> Larry said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor blinked. <span class="tei tei-q">“I see,”</span> he +said. <span class="tei tei-q">“And in view of the fact that you +are a security officer, I assume under +strange circumstances.”</span> Larry Woolford +said nothing and the Professor +sank back into his chair and pursed +his lips. <span class="tei tei-q">“I can't really tell you much. +I became interested in Self two or +three years ago when gathering materials +for a paper on the inadequate +manner in which our country rewards +its inventors.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“I've heard about his suit +against the government.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor became more animated. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Ha!”</span> he snorted. <span class="tei tei-q">“One example +among many. Self is not alone. +Our culture is such that the genius is +smothered. The great contributors to +our society are ignored, or worse.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford was feeling his +way. Now he said mildly, <span class="tei tei-q">“I was under +the impression that American +free enterprise gave the individual +the best opportunity to prove himself +and that if he had it on the ball +he'd get to the top.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Were you really?”</span> the Professor +said snappishly. <span class="tei tei-q">“And did you know +that Edison died a comparatively poor +man with an estate somewhere in the +vicinity of a hundred thousand dollars? +An amount that might sound +like a good deal to you or me, +but, when you consider his contributions, +shockingly little. Did you know +that Eli Whitney realized little, if +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page030">[pg 030]</span><a name="Pg030" id="Pg030" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +anything, from the cotton gin? Or +that McCormick didn't invent the +reaper but gained it in a dubious +court victory? Or take Robert Goddard, +one of the best examples of +modern times. He developed the basics +of rocket technology—gyroscopic +stabilizers, fuel pumps, self-cooling +motors, landing devices. He died in +1945 leaving behind twenty-two volumes +of records that proved priceless. +What did he get out of his researches? +Nothing. It was fifteen years later +that his widow won her suit against +the government for patent infringements!”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="text-align: center; margin-bottom: 1.00em"> + </p><div class="tei tei-figure" style="width: 60%; text-align: center"><img src="images/p30.png" width="700" height="531" alt="Illustration." /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry held up a hand. <span class="tei tei-q">“Really,”</span> he +said. <span class="tei tei-q">“My interest is in Ernest Self.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor relaxed. <span class="tei tei-q">“Sorry. I'm +afraid I get carried away. Self, to get +back to your original question, is a +great intuitive scientist. Unfortunately +for him, society being what it is +today, he fits into few grooves. Our +educational system was little more +than an irritation to him and consequently +he holds no degrees. Needless +to say, this interfered with his +gaining employment with the universities +and the large corporations +which dominate our country's research, +not to mention governmental +agencies.</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Ernest Self holds none of the status +labels that count. The fact that he +is a genius means nothing. He is supposedly +qualified no more than to +hold a janitor's position in laboratories +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page031">[pg 031]</span><a name="Pg031" id="Pg031" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +where his inferiors conduct experiments +in fields where he is a +dozenfold more capable than they. +No one is interested in his genius, +they want to know what status labels +are pinned to him. Ernest has no respect +for labels.”</span> +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford figured he was +picking up background and didn't +force a change of subject. <span class="tei tei-q">“Just what +do you mean by intuitive scientist?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“It's a term I have used loosely,”</span> +the Professor admitted. <span class="tei tei-q">“Possibly a +scientist who makes a break-through +in his field, destroying formerly held +positions—in Self's case, without the +math, without the accepted theories to +back him. He finds something that +works, possibly without knowing why +or how and by using unorthodox analytical +techniques. An intuitive scientist, +if I may use the term, is a +thorn in the side of our theoretical +physicists laden down with their burden +of a status label but who are +themselves short of the makings of a +Leonardo, a Newton, a Galileo, or +even a Nicholas Christofilos.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I'm afraid that last name escapes +me,”</span> Larry said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Similar to Self's case and Robert +Goddard's,”</span> Voss said, his voice bitter. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Although his story has a better ending. +Christofilos invented the strong-focusing +principle that made possible +the multi-billion-volt particle accelerators +currently so widely used in +nuclear physics experimentation. +However, he was nothing but a Greek +elevator electrical system engineer +and the supposed experts turned him +down on the grounds that his math +was faulty. It seems that he submitted +the idea in straight-algebra terms instead +of differential equations. He finally +won through after patenting the +discovery and rubbing their noses in +it. Previously, none of the physics +journals would publish his paper—he +didn't have the right status labels to +impress them.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, almost with amusement, +<span class="tei tei-q">“You seem to have quite a phobia +against the status label, as you call it. +However, I don't see how as complicated +a world as ours could get +along without it.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor snorted his contempt. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Tell me,”</span> he said, <span class="tei tei-q">“to which +class do you consider yourself to +belong?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford shrugged. <span class="tei tei-q">“I suppose +individuals in my bracket are +usually thought of as being middle-middle +class.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“And you have no feeling of revolt +in having such a label hung on you? +Consider this system for a moment. +You have lower-lower, middle-lower, +and upper-lower; then you have lower-middle, +middle-middle, upper-middle; +then you have lower-upper, +middle-upper, and finally we achieve +to upper-upper class. Now tell me, +when we get to that rarified category, +who do we find? Do we find an Einstein, +a Schweitzer, a Picasso; outstanding +scientists, humanitarians, the +great writers, artists and musicians of +our day? Certainly not. We find ultra-wealthy +playboys and girls, a former +king and his duchess who eke out +their income by accepting fees to attend +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page032">[pg 032]</span><a name="Pg032" id="Pg032" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +parties, the international born +set, bearers of meaningless feudalistic +titles. These are your upper-upper +class!”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry laughed. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor snapped, <span class="tei tei-q">“You think +it funny? Let me give you another +example of our status label culture. I +have a friend whom I have known +since childhood. I would estimate +that Charles has an I.Q. of approximately +90, certainly no more. His +family, however, took such necessary +steps as were needed to get Charles +through public school. No great matter +these days, you'll admit, although +on occasion he needed a bit of tutoring. +On graduation, they recognized +that the really better schools might be +a bit difficult for Charles so he was +entered in a university with a good +name but without—shall we say?—the +highest of scholastic ratings. +Charles plodded along, had some +more tutoring, probably had his thesis +ghosted, and eventually graduated. At +that point an uncle died and left +Charles an indefinite amount to be +used in furthering his education to +any extent he wished to go. Charles, +motivated probably by the desire to +avoid obtaining a job and competing +with his fellow man, managed to +wrangle himself into a medical school +and eventually even graduated. Since +funds were still available, he continued +his studies abroad, largely in +Vienna.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor wound it up. <span class="tei tei-q">“Eventually, +he ran out of schools, or his +uncle's estate ran out—I don't know +which came first. At any rate, my +friend Charles, laden down with status +labels, is today practicing as a psychiatrist +in this fair city of ours.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry stared at him blankly. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor said snappishly, <span class="tei tei-q">“So +any time you feel you need to have +your brains unscrambled, you can go +to his office and expend twenty-five +dollars an hour or so. His reputation +is of the highest.”</span> The Professor +grunted his contempt. <span class="tei tei-q">“He doesn't +know the difference between an aspirin +tablet and a Rorschach test.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford stirred in his chair. +<span class="tei tei-q">“We seem to have gotten far off the +subject. What has this got to do with +Self?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor seemed angry. <span class="tei tei-q">“I repeat, +I'm afraid I get carried away on +this subject. I'm in revolt against a +culture based on the status label. It +eliminates the need to judge a man +on his merits. To judge a person by +the clothes he wears, the amount of +money he possesses, the car he drives, +the neighborhood in which he lives, +the society he keeps, or even his ancestry, +is out of the question in a vital, +growing society. You wind up with +nonentities as the leaders of your nation. +In these days, we can't afford it.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He smiled suddenly, rather elfishly, +at the security agent. <span class="tei tei-q">“But admittedly, +this deals with Self only as one of +many victims of a culture based on +status labels. Just what is it you +wanted to know about Ernest?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“When you knew him, evidently +he was working on rocket fuels. Have +you any idea whether he later developed +a method of producing perfect +counterfeit?”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page033">[pg 033]</span><a name="Pg033" id="Pg033" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Ernest Self? +Surely you are jesting.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said unhappily, <span class="tei tei-q">“Then here's +another question. Have you ever heard +him mention belonging to a movement, +or, I think, he might word it +<span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">The Movement</span></span>.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Movement?”</span> the Professor said +emptily. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Evidently a revolutionary group +interested in the overthrow of the +government.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Good heavens,”</span> the Professor said. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Just a moment, Mr. Woolford. You +interrupted me just as I was having +my second cup of coffee. Do you +mind if I—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Certainly not,”</span> Woolford shook +his head. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I simply can't get along until after +my third cup,”</span> the Professor said. +<span class="tei tei-q">“You just wait a moment and I'll +bring the pot in here.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He left Larry to sit in the combined +study and living room while he +shuffled off in his slippers to the +kitchen. Larry Woolford decided that +in his school days he'd had some far +out professors himself, but it would +really be something to study under +this one. Not that the old boy didn't +have some points, of course. Almost +all nonconformists base their particular +peeves on some actuality, but in +this case, what was the percentage? +How could you buck the system? +Particularly when, largely, it worked. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor returned with an +old-fashioned coffeepot, two cups, +and sugar and cream on a tray. He put +them on a side table and said to Larry, +<span class="tei tei-q">“You'll join me? How do you take +it?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry still had the slightest of +hang-overs from his solitary drinking +of the night before. <span class="tei tei-q">“Thanks. Make +it black,”</span> he said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor poured, served, then +did up a cup for himself. He sat back +in his chair and said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Now, where +were we? Something about a revolutionary +group. What has that to do +with counterfeiting?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry sipped the strong coffee. <span class="tei tei-q">“It +seems there might be a connection.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor shook his head. <span class="tei tei-q">“It's +hard to imagine Ernest Self being +connected with a criminal pursuit.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said carefully, <span class="tei tei-q">“Susan seemed +to be of the opinion that you knew +about a large amount of counterfeit +currency that this Movement had on +hand and that you were in favor of +spending it upon chorus girls.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor gaped at him. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry chuckled uncomfortably. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Professor Voss said finally, his +voice very even, <span class="tei tei-q">“My dear sir, I am +afraid that I evidently can be of little +assistance to you.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Admittedly, it doesn't seem to +make much sense.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Susan—you mean that little sixteen +year old?—said <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">I</span></em> was in favor of +spending counterfeit money on chorus +girls?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said unhappily, <span class="tei tei-q">“She used the +term <span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">the Professor</span></span>.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“And why did you assume that the +title must necessarily allude to me? +Even if any of the rest of the fantastic +story was true.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“In my profession, Professor +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page034">[pg 034]</span><a name="Pg034" id="Pg034" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +Voss, we track down every +possible clue. Thus far, you are the +only professor of whom we know +who was connected with Ernest Self.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Voss said stiffly, <span class="tei tei-q">“I can only say, sir, +that in my estimation Mr. Self is a +man of the highest integrity. And, in +addition, that I have never spent a +penny on a chorus girl in my life and +have no intention of beginning, counterfeit +or otherwise.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford decided that he +wasn't doing too well and that he'd +need more ammunition if he was going +to return to this particular attack. +He was surprised that the old boy +hadn't already ordered him from the +house. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He finished the coffee preparatory +to coming to his feet. <span class="tei tei-q">“Then you +think it's out of the question, Ernest +Self belonging to a revolutionary organization?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor protested. <span class="tei tei-q">“I didn't +say that at all. Mr. Self is a man of +ideals. I can well see him belonging +to such an organization.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford decided he'd better +hang on for at least a few more +words. <span class="tei tei-q">“You don't seem to think, +yourself, that a subversive organization +is undesirable in this country.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor's voice was reasonable. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Isn't that according to what it +means to subvert?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“You know what I mean,”</span> Woolford +said in irritation. <span class="tei tei-q">“I don't usually +think of revolutionists, even when +they call themselves simply members +of a <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">movement</span></em>, as exactly idealists.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Then you're wrong,”</span> the Professor +said definitely, pouring himself another +cup of coffee. <span class="tei tei-q">“History bears out +that almost invariably revolutionists +are men of idealism. The fact that +they might be either right or wrong in +their revolutionary program is beside +the point.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford began to say, <span class="tei tei-q">“Are +you sure that you aren't interested in +this <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">move—</span></em>”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +But it was then that the knockout +drops hit him. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He came out of the fog feeling +nausea and with his head splitting. +He groaned and opened one eye experimentally. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve Hackett, far away, said, <span class="tei tei-q">“He's +snapping out of it.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry groaned again, opened the +other eye and attempted to focus. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“What happened?”</span> he muttered. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Now that's an original question,”</span> +Steve said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford struggled up into a +sitting position. He'd been stretched +out on a couch in the Professor's combined +living room and study. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve Hackett, his hands on his +hips, was looking down at him sarcastically. +There were two or three others, +one of whom Larry vaguely remembered +as being a Secret Service +colleague of Steve's, going about and +in and out of the room. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, his fingers pressing into +his forehead, <span class="tei tei-q">“My head's killing me. +Damn it, what's going on?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve said sarcastically, <span class="tei tei-q">“You've +been slipped a mickey, my cloak and +dagger friend, and the bird has flown.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“You mean the Professor? He's a +bird all right.”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page035">[pg 035]</span><a name="Pg035" id="Pg035" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Humor we get, yet,”</span> Hackett said, +his ugly face scowling. <span class="tei tei-q">“Listen, I +thought you people had pulled out of +this case.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry sat up and swung his two feet +around to the floor. <span class="tei tei-q">“So did I,”</span> he +moaned, <span class="tei tei-q">“but there were two or three +things that bothered me and I thought +I'd tidy them up before leaving.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“You tidied them up all right,”</span> +Steve grumbled. <span class="tei tei-q">“This Professor Voss +was practically the only lead I've been +able to discover. An old friend of +Self's. And you allowed him to get +away before we even got here.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +One of Hackett's men came up and +said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Not a sign of him, Steve. He +evidently burned a few papers, +packed a suitcase, and took off. His +things look suspiciously as though he +was ready to go into hiding at a moment's +notice.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve growled to him, <span class="tei tei-q">“Give the +place the works. He's probably left +some clues around that'll give us a +line.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The other went off and Steve Hackett +sat down in one of the leather +chairs and glowered at Larry Woolford. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Listen,”</span> he said, <span class="tei tei-q">“what did you +people want with Susan Self?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry shook his head for clarity and +looked at him. <span class="tei tei-q">“Susan? What are you +talking about? You don't have any +aspirin, do you?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“No. What'd you mean, what am I +talking about? You called Betsy +Hughes and then sent a couple of +men over to pick the Self kid up.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Who's Betsy Hughes?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve shook his head. <span class="tei tei-q">“I don't +know what kind of knockout drops +the old boy gave you, but they sure +worked. Betsy's the operative we had +minding Susan Self over in the +Greater Washington Hilton. About +an hour ago you got her on the phone, +said your department wanted to question +Susan, and that you were sending +two men over to pick her up. The two +men turned up with an order from +you, and took the girl.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry stared at him. Finally he said, +<span class="tei tei-q">“What time is it?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“About two o'clock.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“I came into this house +in the morning, talked to the Professor +for about half an hour and then +was silly enough to let him give me +some loaded coffee. He was such a +weird old buzzard that it never occurred +to me he might be dangerous. +At any rate, I've been unconscious for +several hours. I <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">couldn't've</span></em> called this +Betsy Hughes operative of yours.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +It was Steve Hackett's turn to +stare. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“You mean your department doesn't +have Susan Self?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Not so far as I know. The Boss told +me yesterday that we were pulling +out, that it was all in your hands. +What would we want with Susan?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Oh, great,”</span> Steve snarled. <span class="tei tei-q">“There +goes our last contact. Ernest Self, +Professor Voss, and now Susan Self; +they've all disappeared.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Look,”</span> Larry said unhappily, <span class="tei tei-q">“let's +get me some aspirin and then let's go +and see my chief. I have a sneaking +suspicion our department is back on +this case.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve snorted sarcastically. <span class="tei tei-q">“If you +can foul things up this well when +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page036">[pg 036]</span><a name="Pg036" id="Pg036" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +you're off the case, God only knows +what you'll accomplish using your +facilities on an all-out basis.”</span> +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss said slowly, <span class="tei tei-q">“Whoever +we are working against evidently +isn't short of resources. Abducting +that young lady was no simple matter.”</span> +The career diplomat worked his +lips in and out, in all but a pout. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford, who'd taken time +out to go home, shower, change +clothes and medicate himself out of +his dope induced hangover, sat across +the desk from him, flanked by Steve +Hackett. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss said sourly, <span class="tei tei-q">“It would +seem that I was in error. That our +young Susan Self was not spouting +fantasy. There evidently actually is an +underground movement interested in +changing our institutions.”</span> He stirred +in his chair and his scowl went deeper. +<span class="tei tei-q">“And evidently working on a basis +never conceived of by subversive +organizations of the past. The fact +that they have successfully remained +secret even to this department is the +prime indication that they are attempting +to make their revolutionary +changes in a unique manner.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“The trouble is, we +don't even know what it is they +want.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“However,”</span> his superior said slowly, +<span class="tei tei-q">“we are beginning to get inklings.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve Hackett said, <span class="tei tei-q">“What inklings, +sir? This sort of thing might be routine +for you people, but my field is +counterfeit. I, frankly, don't know +what it's all about.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss looked at him. <span class="tei tei-q">“We have +a clue or two, Mr. Hackett. For one +thing, we know that this Movement +of ours has no affiliations with the +Soviet Complex, nor, so far as we +know, any foreign element whatsoever. +If we take Miss Self's word, it is +strictly an American phenomenon. +From what little we know of Ernest +Self and Peter Voss they might be in +revolt against some of our current institutions +but there is no reason to +believe them, ah, <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">un-American</span></em> in the +usually accepted sense of the word.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The two younger men looked at +him as though he was joking. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He shook his heavy head negatively. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Actually, what do we have on +this so-called Movement thus far? +Aside from treating Lawrence, here, +to some knockout drops—and let us +remember that Lawrence was present +in the Professor's home without a +warrant—all we have is the suspicion +that they have manufactured a quantity +of counterfeit.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“A <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">quantity</span></em> is right,”</span> Steve Hackett +blurted. <span class="tei tei-q">“If we're to accept what that +Self kid told us, they have a few billion +dollars worth of perfect bills on +hand.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“A strange amount for counterfeiters +to produce,”</span> The Boss said uncomfortably. +<span class="tei tei-q">“That is what puzzles +me. Any revolutionary movement +needs funds. Remember Stalin as a +young man? He used to be in charge +of the Bolshevik gang which robbed +banks to raise funds for their underground +newspapers. But a billion dollars? +What in the world can they expect +to need that amount for?”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page037">[pg 037]</span><a name="Pg037" id="Pg037" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Sir, you keep talking as +though these characters were a bunch +of idealistic do-gooders bleeding for +the sake of the country. Actually, +from what we know, they're nothing +but a bunch of revolutionists.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss was shaking his head. +<span class="tei tei-q">“You're not thinking clearly, Lawrence. +Revolution, <span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">per se</span></span>, is not illegal +in the United States. Our Constitution +was probably the first document +of its kind which allowed for +its own amendment. The men who +wrote it provided for changing it +either slightly or <span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">in toto</span></span>. Whenever +the majority of the American people +decide completely to abandon the +Constitution and govern themselves +by new laws, they have the right to do +it.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Then what's the whole purpose of +this department, sir?”</span> Larry argued. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Why've we been formed to combat +foreign and domestic subversion?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +His chief sighed. <span class="tei tei-q">“You shouldn't +have to ask that, Lawrence. The present +government cannot oppose the +will of the majority if it votes, by +constitutional methods, to make any +changes it wishes. But we can, and +do, unmask the activities of anyone +trying to overthrow the government +by force and violence. Any culture +protects itself against that.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“What are we getting at, sir?”</span> +Steve Hackett said, impatiently. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss shrugged. <span class="tei tei-q">“I'm trying to +point out that so far as my department +is concerned, thus far we have +little against this Movement. Secret +Service may have, what with this +wholesale counterfeiting, even though +thus far they seem to have made no +attempt to pass the currency they +have allegedly manufactured. We +wouldn't even know of it, weren't it +for our young Susan pilfering an +amount.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, desperately, <span class="tei tei-q">“Sir, you +just pointed out a few minutes ago +that this Movement is a secret organization +trying to make changes in +some unique manner. In short, they +don't figure on using the ballot to put +over their revolution. That makes +them as illegal as the Commies, doesn't +it?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss said, <span class="tei tei-q">“That's the difficulty; +we don't know what they want. +From your conversations with Susan +Self and especially Professor Voss, +evidently they think the country +needs some basic changes. What these +changes are, and how they expect to +accomplish them, we don't know. Unless +a foreign government is involved, +or unless they plan to alter our institutions +by violence, this department +just doesn't have much jurisdiction.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve Hackett snorted, <span class="tei tei-q">“Secret Service +does! If those bales of money the +Self kid told us about are ever put +into circulation, there'll be hell to +pay.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss sighed. <span class="tei tei-q">“Well,”</span> he said, +<span class="tei tei-q">“Lawrence can continue on the assignment. +If it develops in such manner +as to indicate that this department +is justified in further investigation, +we'll put more men on it. Meanwhile, +it is obviously more a Secret +Service matter. I am sorry to intrude +upon your vacation again, Lawrence.”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page038">[pg 038]</span><a name="Pg038" id="Pg038" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +On awakening in the morning, Larry +Woolford stared glumly at the +ceiling for long moments before +dragging himself from bed. This was, +he decided, the strangest assignment +he'd ever been on. In his day he'd +trekked through South America, +Common Europe, a dozen African +states, and even areas of Southern +Asia, combatting Commie pressures +here, fellow-traveler organizations +there, disrupting plots hatched in the +Soviet Complex in the other place. +On his home grounds in the United +States he'd covered everything from +out and out Soviet espionage, to exposing +Communist activities of complexions +from the faintest of pinks to +the rosiest Trotskyite red. But, he decided +he'd never expected to wind up +after a bunch of weirds whose sole +actionable activity to date seemed to +be the counterfeiting of a fantastic +amount of legal tender which thus far +they were making no attempt to pass. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He got out of bed and went +through the rituals of showering, +shaving and clothing, of coffee, sausage, +and eggs, toast and more +coffee. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +What amazed Larry Woolford was +the shrug-it-off manner in which the +Boss seemed to accept this underground +Movement and its admitted +subversive goals—whatever they +were. Carry the Boss' reasoning to its +ultimate and subversion was perfectly +all right, just as it didn't involve +force and violence. If he was in his +chief's position, he would have +thrown the full resources of the department +into tracking down these +crackpots. As it was, he, Larry Woolford +was the only operative on the +job. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He needed a new angle on which +to work. Steve Hackett was undoubtedly +handling the tracing down of +the counterfeit with all the resources +of the Secret Service. Possibly there +was some way of detecting the source +of the paper they'd used. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He finished his final cup of coffee +in the living room and took up the +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page039">[pg 039]</span><a name="Pg039" id="Pg039" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +pipe he was currently breaking in. +He loaded it automatically from a +humidor and lit it with his pocket +lighter. Three drags, and he tossed it +back to the table, fumbled in a drawer +and located a pack of cigarettes. +Possibly his status group was currently +smoking British briars in public, +but, let's face it, he hated the confounded +things. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He sat down before the phone and +dialed the offices of the <span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">Sun-Post</span></span> and +eventually got Sam Sokolski who this +time beat him to the punch. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Sam said, <span class="tei tei-q">“You shouldn't drink +alone. Listen, Larry, why don't you +get in touch with Alcoholics Anonymous. +It's a great outfit.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“You ought to know,”</span> Larry growled. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Look, Sam, as science columnist for +that rag you work for you probably +come in touch with a lot of eggheads.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Laddy-buck, you have said it,”</span> +Sam said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Fine. Now look, what I want to +know is have you ever heard—even +the slightest of rumors—about an organization +called the Movement?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“What'd'ya mean, slightest of rumors? +Half the weirds I run into are +interested in the outfit. Get two or +three intellectuals, scientists, technicians, +or what have you, together and +they start knocking themselves out on +the pros and cons of the Movement.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford stared at him. <span class="tei tei-q">“Are +you kidding, Sam?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The other was mystified. <span class="tei tei-q">“Why +should I kid you? As a matter of fact, +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page040">[pg 040]</span><a name="Pg040" id="Pg040" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +I was thinking of doing a column one +of these days on Voss and this Movement +of his.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“<em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">Voss</span></em> and this movement of his!”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Sure,”</span> Sam said, <span class="tei tei-q">“he's the top +leader.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Oh, great,”</span> Larry growled. <span class="tei tei-q">“Look, +Sam, eventually there is probably a +story in this for you. Right now, +though, we're trying to keep the lid on +it. Could you brief me a little on this +Movement? What are they trying to +put over?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I seem to spend half my time +briefing you in information any semi-moron +ought to be up on,”</span> Sam said +nastily. <span class="tei tei-q">“However, <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">briefly</span></em>, they're in +revolt against social-label judgments. +They think it's fouling up the country +and that eventually it'll result in +the Russkies passing us in all the +fields that really count.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I keep running into this term,”</span> +Larry complained. <span class="tei tei-q">“What do you +mean, social-label judgments, and +how can they possibly louse up the +country?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Sam said, <span class="tei tei-q">“I was present a month or +so ago when Voss gave an informal +lecture to a group of twenty or so. +Here's one of the examples he used.</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Everybody today wants to be rated +on a (1) personal, or, (2) social-label +basis, depending on which basis +is to his greatest advantage. The Negro +who is a no-good, lazy, obnoxious +person demands to be accepted because +Negroes should not be discriminated +against. The highly competent, +hard working, honest and productive +Negro wants to be accepted because +he is hard-working, honest and productive—and +should be so accepted.</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“See what I mean? This social-label +system is intended to relieve the +individual of the necessity of judging, +and the consequences of being +judged. If you have poor judgment, +and are forced to rely on your own +judgment, you're almost sure to go +under. So persons of poor judgment +support our social-label system. If +you're a louse, and are correctly +judged as being a louse, you'd prefer +that the social dictum <span class="tei tei-q">‘Human beings +are never lice’</span> should apply.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“What in the devil's +this got to do with the race between +this country and the Russkies?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Sam said patiently, <span class="tei tei-q">“Voss and the +Movement he leads contend that a +social-label system winds up with incompetents +running the country in all +fields. Often incompetent scientists +are in charge of our research; incompetent +doctors, in charge of our +health; incompetent politicians run +our government; incompetent teachers, +laden with social-labels, teach our +youth. Our young people are going to +college to secure a degree, not an +education. It's the label that counts, +not the reality.</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Voss contends that it's getting +progressively worse. That we're sinking +into an equivalent of a ritual-taboo, +tribal social-like situation. This +is the system the low-level human being +wants, yearns for and seeks. A +situation in which no one's judgment +is of any use. Then <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">his</span></em> lack of judgment +is no handicap.</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“According to members of the +Movement, today the tribesman type +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page041">[pg 041]</span><a name="Pg041" id="Pg041" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +is seeking to reduce civilization back +to ritual-taboo tribalism wherein no +one man's judgment is of any value. +The union wants advancement based +on seniority, not on ability and judgment. +The persons with whom you +associate socially judge you by the +amount of money you possess, the +family from which you come, the degrees +you hold, by social-labels—not +by your proven abilities. Down with +judgment! is the cry.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“It sounds awfully weird to me,”</span> +Larry grumbled in deprecation. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Sam shrugged. <span class="tei tei-q">“There's a lot of +sense in it. What the Movement +wants is to develop a socio-economic +system in which judgment produces +a maximum advantage.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“What gets me is that +you talk as though half the country +was all caught up in debating this +Movement. But I haven't even heard +of it, neither has my department +chief, nor any of my colleagues, so far +as I know. Why isn't anything about +it in the papers or on the TriD?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Sam said mildly, <span class="tei tei-q">“As a matter of +fact, I took in Mort Lenny's show the +other night and he made some cracks +about it. But it's not the sort of thing +that's even meant to become popular +with the man in the street. To put it +bluntly, Voss and his people aren't +particularly keen about the present +conception of the democratic ideal. +According to him, true democracy +can only be exercised by peers and +society today isn't composed of peers. +If you have one hundred people, +twenty of them competent, intelligent +persons, eighty of them untrained, +incompetent and less than intelligent, +then it's ridiculous to have +the eighty dictate to the twenty.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry looked accusingly at his long-time +friend. <span class="tei tei-q">“You know, Sam, you +sound as though you approve of all +this.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Sam said patiently, <span class="tei tei-q">“I listen to it +all, Larry my boy. I think Voss makes +a lot of sense. There's only one drawback.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“And that is?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“How's he going to put it over? +This social-label system the Movement +complains about was bad +enough ten years ago. But look how +much worse it is today. It's a progressive +thing. And, remember, it's to the +benefit of the incompetent. Since the +incompetent predominates, you're going +to have a hard time starting up a +system based on judgment and ability.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry thought about it for a moment. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Sam said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Look, I'm working, Larry. +Was there anything else?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“You wouldn't know +where I could get hold of Voss, +would you?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“At his home, I imagine, or at the +University.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“He's disappeared. We're looking +for him.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Sam laughed. <span class="tei tei-q">“Gone underground, +eh? The old boy is getting romantic.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Does he have any particular +friends who might be putting him +up?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Sam thought about it. <span class="tei tei-q">“There's +Frank Nostrand. You know, that rocket +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page042">[pg 042]</span><a name="Pg042" id="Pg042" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +expert who was fired when he got +in the big hassle with Senator McCord.”</span> +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +When Sam Sokolski had flicked off, +Larry stared at the vacant phone +screen for a long moment, assimilating +what the other had told him. He +was astonished that an organization +such as the Movement could have +spread to the extent it evidently had +through the country's intellectual circles, +through the scientifically and +technically trained, without his department +being keenly aware of it. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="text-align: center; margin-bottom: 1.00em"> + </p><div class="tei tei-figure" style="width: 60%; text-align: center"><img src="images/p42.png" width="700" height="430" alt="Illustration." /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +One result, he decided glumly, of +labeling everything contrary to the +<span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">status quo</span></span> as <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">weird</span></em> and dismissing it +with contempt. Admittedly, that +would have been his own reaction +only a week ago. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Suppose that he'd been at a cocktail +party, and had drifted up to a group +who were arguing about social-label +judgments and the need to develop a +<em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">movement</span></em> to change society's use of +them. The discussion would have +gone in one ear, out the other, and he +would have muttered inwardly, +<span class="tei tei-q">“Weirds,”</span> and have drifted on to get +himself another vodka martini. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry snorted and dialed the Department +of Records. He'd never +heard of Frank Nostrand before, so he +got Information. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The bright young thing who answered +seemed to have a harried expression +untypical of Records employees. +Larry said to her, <span class="tei tei-q">“I'd like the +brief on a Mr. Frank Nostrand who is +evidently an expert on rockets. The +only other thing I know about him is +that he recently got in the news as the +result of a controversy with Senator +McCord.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Just a moment, sir,”</span> the bright +young thing said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She touched buttons and reached +into a delivery chute. When her eyes +came up to meet his again, they were +more than ever harried. They were +absolutely confused. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Mr. Franklin Howard Nostrand,”</span> +she said, <span class="tei tei-q">“currently employed by +Madison Air as a rocket research technician.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“That must be him,”</span> Larry said. +<span class="tei tei-q">“I'm in a hurry, Miss. What's his +background?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Her eyes rounded. <span class="tei tei-q">“It says ... it +says he's an Archbishop of the Anglican +Church.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford looked at her. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She looked back, pleadingly. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry scowled and said, <span class="tei tei-q">“His university +degrees, please.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Her eyes darted to the report and +she swallowed. <span class="tei tei-q">“A bachelor in Home +Economics, sir.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Look here, Miss, how could a +Home Economics degree result in his +becoming either an Archbishop or a +rocket technician?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I'm sorry, sir. That's what it says.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry was fuming but there was no +point in taking it out on this junior +employee of the Department of Records. +He snapped, <span class="tei tei-q">“Just give me his +address, please.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She said agonizingly, <span class="tei tei-q">“Sir, it says, +Lhasa, Tibet.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +A red light flicked at the side of +his phone and he said to her, <span class="tei tei-q">“I'll call +you back. I'm getting a priority call.”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page043">[pg 043]</span><a name="Pg043" id="Pg043" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He flicked her off, and flicked the +incoming call in. It was LaVerne Polk. +She seemed to be on the harried side, +too. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Larry,”</span> she said, <span class="tei tei-q">“you better get +over here right away.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“What's up, LaVerne?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“This Movement,”</span> she said, <span class="tei tei-q">“it +seems to have started moving! The +Boss says to get over here soonest.”</span> +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The top of his car was retracted. +Larry Woolford slammed down the +walk of his auto-bungalow and vaulted +over the side and into the seat. He +banged the start button, dropped the +lift lever, depressed the thrust pedal +and took off at maximum acceleration. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He took the police level for maximum +speed and was in downtown +Greater Washington in flat minutes. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +So the Movement had started moving. +That could mean almost anything. +It was just enough to keep him +stewing until he got to the Boss and +found out what was going on. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He turned his car over to a parker +and made his way to the entrance +utilized by the second-grade department +officials. In another year, or at +most two, he told himself all over +again, he'd be using that other door. +He had an intuitive feeling that if he +licked this current assignment it'd be +the opening wedge he needed and +he'd wind up in a status bracket +unique for his age. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +LaVerne looked up when he hurried +into her anteroom. She evidently +had two or three calls going on at +once, taking orders from one phone, +giving them in another. Something +was obviously erupting. She didn't +speak to him, merely nodded her head +at the inner office. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +In the Boss' office were six or eight +others besides Larry's superior. Their +expressions and attitudes ran from +bewilderment to shock. They weren't +the men you'd expect to have such reactions. +At least not those that Larry +Woolford recognized. Three of them, +Ben Ruthenberg, Bill Fraina and +Dave Moskowitz were F.B.I. men +with whom Larry had worked on occasion. +One of the others he recognized +as being a supervisor with the +C.I.A. Walt Foster, Larry's rival in the +Boss' affections, was also present. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss growled at him, <span class="tei tei-q">“Where +in the heavens have you been, Lawrence?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Following our leads on this so-called +Movement, sir,”</span> Larry told him. +<span class="tei tei-q">“What's going on?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Ruthenberg, the Department of +Justice man, grunted sour amusement. +<span class="tei tei-q">“So-called Movement, isn't exactly +the correct phrase. It's a Movement, +all right.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Please dial Records +and get your dossier, Lawrence. That'll +be the quickest way to bring you +up on developments.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Mystified, but already with a growing +premonition, Larry dialed Records. +Knowing his own classification +code, he had no need of Information +this time. He got the hundred-word +brief and stared at it as it filled the +screen. The only items really correct +were his name and present occupation. +Otherwise his education was +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page044">[pg 044]</span><a name="Pg044" id="Pg044" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +listed as grammar school only. His +military career had him ending the +war as a General of the Armies, and +his criminal career record included +four years on Alcatraz for molesting +small children. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Blankly, he faded the brief and +dialed his full dossier. It failed to +duplicate the brief, but that was no +advantage. This time he had an M.D. +degree from Johns Hopkins, but his +military career listed him as a dishonorable +discharge from the navy where +he'd served in the steward department. +His criminal record was happily +nil, but his religion was listed as +Holy Roller. Political affiliations had +him down as a member of the Dixiecrats. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The others were looking at him, +most of them blankly, although there +were grins on the faces of Moskowitz +and the C.I.A. man. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Moskowitz said, <span class="tei tei-q">“With a name +like mine, yet, they have me a Bishop +of the Orthodox Greek Catholic +Church.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“What's it all about?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Ruthenberg said unhappily, <span class="tei tei-q">“It +started early this morning. We don't +know exactly when as yet.”</span> Which +didn't seem to answer the question. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“I don't get it. Obviously, +the Records department is fouled +up in some manner. How, and why?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“How, we know,”</span> the Boss rumbled +disgustedly. <span class="tei tei-q">“Why is another matter. +You've spent more time than anyone +else on this assignment, Lawrence. +Perhaps you can tell us.”</span> He grabbed +up a pipe from his desk, tried to light +it noisily, noticed finally that it held +no tobacco and threw it to the desk +again. <span class="tei tei-q">“Evidently, a large group of +these Movement individuals either already +worked in Records or wriggled +themselves into key positions in the +technical end of the department. +Now they've sabotaged the files.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“We've caught most of them already,”</span> +one of the F.B.I. men growled, +<span class="tei tei-q">“but damn little good that does us at +this point.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The C.I.A. supervisor made a gesture +indicating that he gave it all up. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Not only here but in Chicago and +San Francisco as well. All at once. +Evidently perfectly rehearsed. Personnel +records from coast to coast are +bollixed. Why?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said slowly, <span class="tei tei-q">“I think I know +that now. Yesterday, I wouldn't have +but I've been picking up odds and +ends.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +They all looked at him. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry sat down and ran a hand back +through his hair. <span class="tei tei-q">“The general idea is +to change the country's reliance on +social-label judgments.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“On <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">what</span></em>,”</span> the Boss barked. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“On one person judging another +according to social-labels. Voss and +the others—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Who did you say?”</span> Ruthenberg +snapped. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Voss. Professor Peter Voss from +the University over in Baltimore section. +He's the ring leader.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Ruthenberg snapped to Fraina, +<span class="tei tei-q">“Get on the phone and send out a +pick-up order for him.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Fraina was on his feet. <span class="tei tei-q">“What +charge, Ben?”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page045">[pg 045]</span><a name="Pg045" id="Pg045" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Ben Ruthenberg snorted. <span class="tei tei-q">“Rape, +or something. Get moving, we'll figure +out a charge later. The guy's a +fruitcake.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said wearily, <span class="tei tei-q">“He's evidently +gone into hiding. I've been trying to +locate him. He managed to slip me +some knockout drops and got away +yesterday.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss looked at him in disgust. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Ruthenberg said evenly, <span class="tei tei-q">“We've +had men go into hiding before. Get +going, Fraina.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Fraina left the office and the others +looked back to Larry. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss said, <span class="tei tei-q">“About this social-label +nonsense—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“They think the country +is going to pot because of it. People +hold high office or places of responsibility +not because of superior intelligence, +or even acquired skill, but because +of the social-labels they've accumulated, +and these can be based on +something as flimsy—from the Movement's +viewpoint—as who your +grandparents were, what school you +attended, how much seniority you +have on the job, what part of town +you live in, or what tailor cuts your +clothes.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Their expressions ran from scowls +and frowns to complete puzzlement. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Walt Foster grumbled, <span class="tei tei-q">“What's all +this got to do with sabotaging the +country's Records tapes?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry shrugged. <span class="tei tei-q">“I don't have the +complete picture, but one thing is +sure. It's going to be harder for a +while to base your opinions on a +quick hundred-word brief on a man. +Yesterday, an employer, considering +hiring somebody, could dial the man's +dossier, check it, and form his opinions +by the status labels the would-be +employee could produce. Today, he's +damn well going to have to exercise +his own judgment.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +LaVerne's face lit up the screen on +the Boss' desk and she said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Those +two members of the Movement who +were picked up in Alexandria are +here, sir.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Send them in,”</span> the Boss rumbled. +He looked at Larry. <span class="tei tei-q">“The F.B.I. managed +to arrest almost everyone directly +involved in the sabotage.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The two prisoners seemed more +amused than otherwise. They were +young men, in their early thirties—well +dressed and obviously intelligent. +The Boss had them seated side +by side and glared at them for a long +moment before speaking. Larry and +the others took chairs in various parts +of the room and added their own +stares to the barrage. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Your situation is +an unhappy one, gentlemen.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +One of the two shrugged. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss said, <span class="tei tei-q">“You can, ah, hedge +your bets, by co-operating with us. It +might make the difference between a +year or two in prison—and life.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +One of them grinned and then +yawned. <span class="tei tei-q">“I doubt it,”</span> he said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss tried a slightly different +tack. <span class="tei tei-q">“You have no reason to maintain +a feeling of obligation to Voss +and the others. You have obviously +been abandoned. Had they any feeling +for you there would have been +more efficacious arrangements for +your escape.”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page046">[pg 046]</span><a name="Pg046" id="Pg046" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The more articulate of the two +shrugged again. <span class="tei tei-q">“We were expendable,”</span> +he said. <span class="tei tei-q">“However, it won't be +long before we're free again.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“You think so?”</span> Ruthenberg +grunted. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The revolutionist looked at him. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Yes, I do,”</span> he said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Six months from +now and we'll be heroes since by that +time the Movement will have been a +success.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss snorted. <span class="tei tei-q">“Just because +you deranged the Records? Why +that's but temporary.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Not so temporary as you think,”</span> +the technician replied. <span class="tei tei-q">“This country +has allowed itself to get deeply +enmeshed in punch-card and tape records. +Oh, it made sense enough. +With the population we have, and the +endless files that result from our +ultra-complicated society, it was simply +a matter finally of developing a +standardized system of records for the +nation as a whole. Now, for all practical +purposes, <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">all</span></em> of our records these +days are kept with the Department of +Records, confidential as well as public +records. Why should a university, +for instance, keep literally tons of +files, with all the expense and space +and time involved, when it can merely +file the same records with the governmental +department and have them +safe and easily available at any time? +Now, the Movement has completely +and irrevocably destroyed almost all +files that deal with the social-labels to +which we object. An excellent first +step, in forcing our country back into +judgment based on ability and intelligence.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“First step!”</span> Larry blurted. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The two prisoners looked at him. +<span class="tei tei-q">“That's right,”</span> the quieter of the two +said. <span class="tei tei-q">“This is just the first step.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Don't kid yourselves,”</span> Ben Ruthenberg +snapped at them. <span class="tei tei-q">“It's also the +last!”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The two members of the Movement +grinned at him. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +When the others had gone, the +Boss looked at Larry Woolford. He +said sourly, <span class="tei tei-q">“When this department +was being formed, I doubt anyone +had in mind this particular type of +subversion, Lawrence.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry grunted. <span class="tei tei-q">“Give me a good +old-fashioned Commie, any time. +Look, sir, what are the Department of +Justice boys going to do with those +prisoners?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Hold them on any of various +charges. We've conflicted with the +F.B.I. in the past on overlapping +jurisdiction, but thank heavens for +them now. Their manpower is needed.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry leaned forward. <span class="tei tei-q">“Sir, we +ought to take all members of the +Movement we've already arrested, feed +them a dose of Scop-Serum, and +pressure them to open up on the organization's +operations.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +His superior looked at him, waiting +for him to continue. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said urgently, <span class="tei tei-q">“Those two we +just had in here thought the whole +thing was a big joke. The first step, +they called it. Sir, there's something +considerably bigger than this cooking. +Uncle Sam might pride himself +on the personal liberties guaranteed +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page047">[pg 047]</span><a name="Pg047" id="Pg047" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +by this country, but unless we break +this organization, and do it fast, +there's going to be trouble that will +make this fouling of the records look +like the minor matter those two jokers +seemed to think it.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss thought about that. He +said slowly, <span class="tei tei-q">“Lawrence, the Supreme +Court ruled against the use of Scop-Serum. +Not that it is over efficient, +anyway. Largely, these so-called truth +serums don't accomplish much more +than to lower resistance, slacken natural +inhibitions, weaken the will.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Sure,”</span> Larry said. <span class="tei tei-q">“But give a man +a good dose of Scop-Serum and he'd +betray his own mother. Not because +he's helpless to tell a lie, but because +under the influence of the drug he +figures it just isn't important enough +to bother about. Sir, Supreme Court +or not, I think those two ought to be +given Scop-Serum along with all other +Movement members we've picked +up.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss was shaking his head. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Lawrence, these men are not wide-eyed +radicals picked up in a street +demonstration. They're highly respected +members of our society. +They're educators, scientists, engineers, +technicians. Anything done to +them is going to make headlines. +Those that were actually involved in +the sabotage will have criminal +charges brought against them, but +they're going to get a considerable +amount of publicity, and we're going +to be in no position to alienate any of +their constitutional rights.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry stood up, approached his +chief's desk and leaned over it urgently. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Sir, that's fine, but we've got +to move and move fast. Something's +up and we don't even know what! +Take that counterfeit money. From +Susan Self's description, there's actually +billions of dollars worth of it.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Oh, come now, Lawrence. The +child exaggerated. Besides, that's a +problem for Steven Hackett and the +Secret Service, we have enough on +our hands as it is. Forget about the +counterfeit, Lawrence. I think I shall +put you in complete control of field +work on this, to co-operate in liaison +with Ben Ruthenberg and the F.B.I. +So far as we're concerned, the counterfeit +angle belongs to Secret Service, +we're working on subversion, +and until the Civil Liberties Union or +whoever else proves otherwise, we'll +consider this Movement an organization +attempting to subvert the country +by illegal means.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford made a hard decision +quickly. He was shaking his +head. <span class="tei tei-q">“Sir, I'd rather you gave the administrative +end to someone else and +let me continue in the field. I've got +some leads—I think. If I get bogged +down in interdepartmental red tape, +and in paper work here at headquarters, +I'll never get to the heart of this +and I'm laying bets that we either +crack this within days or there are going +to be some awfully big changes +in this country.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss glared at him. <span class="tei tei-q">“You +mean you're refusing this assignment, +Woolford. Confound it, don't you +realize it's a promotion?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry was worriedly dogged. <span class="tei tei-q">“Sir, +I'd rather stay in the field.”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page048">[pg 048]</span><a name="Pg048" id="Pg048" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Very well,”</span> the other snapped disgustedly, +<span class="tei tei-q">“I hope you deliver some +results, Woolford, otherwise I am +afraid I won't feel particularly happy +about your somewhat cavalier rejection +of this opportunity.”</span> He flicked +on the phone and snapped to LaVerne +Polk, <span class="tei tei-q">“Miss Polk, locate Walter +Foster for me. He is to take over our +end of this Movement matter.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +LaVerne said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Yes, sir,”</span> and her +face was gone. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss looked up, still scowling. +<span class="tei tei-q">“What are you waiting for, Woolford?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Yes, sir,”</span> Larry said. It was just +coming home to him now, what he'd +done. There possibly went his yearned +for promotion in the department. +There went his chance of an upgrading +in status. And Walt Foster, of all +people, in his place. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +At LaVerne's desk, Larry stopped +off long enough to say, <span class="tei tei-q">“Did you ever +assign that secretary to me?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +LaVerne shook her head at him. +<span class="tei tei-q">“She's come and gone, Larry. She sat +around for a couple of days, after seeing +you not even once, and then I +gave her another assignment.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Well, bring her back again, will +you? I want her to do up briefs for +me on all the information we accumulate +on the Movement. It'll be coming +in from all sides now. From the +Press, from those members we've arrested, +from our F.B.I. pals, now that +they're interested, and so forth.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I'll give you Irene Day,”</span> LaVerne +said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Where are you off to +now, Larry?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Probably a wild goose chase,”</span> Larry +growled. <span class="tei tei-q">“Which reminds me. Do +me a favor, LaVerne. Call Personal +Service and find out where Frank +Nostrand is. He's some kind of rocket +technician at Madison Air Laboratories. +I'll be in my office.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Frank Nostrand,”</span> LaVerne said +briskly. <span class="tei tei-q">“Will do, Larry.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Back in his own cubicle, Larry +stood for a moment in thought. He +was increasingly aware of the uncomfortable +feeling that time was running +out on them. That things were +coming to a dangerous head. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He stared down at the dozen or +more books and pamphlets that his +never seen secretary had heaped up +for him. Well, he certainly didn't have +time for them now. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He sat down at the desk and dialed +an inter-office number. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The harassed looking face of Walter +Foster faded in. On seeing Larry +Woolford he growled accusingly, <span class="tei tei-q">“My +pal. You've let them dump this +whole thing into my lap.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry grinned at him. <span class="tei tei-q">“Better you +than me, old buddy. Besides, it's a +promotion. Pull this off and you'll be +the Boss' right-hand man.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“That's a laugh,”</span> Foster said. <span class="tei tei-q">“It's a +madhouse. This Movement gang is +as weird as they come.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I bleed for you,”</span> Larry said. +<span class="tei tei-q">“However, here's a tip. Frol Eivazov, +of the <span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">Chrezvychainaya Komissiya</span></span> is +somewhere in the country.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Frol Eivazov!”</span> Foster blurted. +<span class="tei tei-q">“What've the Commies got to do with +this? Is this something the Boss +knows about?”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page049">[pg 049]</span><a name="Pg049" id="Pg049" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Haven't had time to go into it +with him,”</span> Larry said. <span class="tei tei-q">“However, it +seems that friend Frol is here to find +out what the Movement is all about. +Evidently the big boys in Peking +and Moscow are nervous about any +changes that might take place over +here. I suggest you have him picked +up, Walt.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="text-align: center; margin-bottom: 1.00em"> + </p><div class="tei tei-figure" style="width: 30%; text-align: center"><img src="images/p49.png" width="210" height="700" alt="Illustration." /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Walt Foster said, <span class="tei tei-q">“O.K. I'll put +some people on it. Maybe the F.B.I. +can help.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry flicked off as he saw the red +priority light on his phone shining. +He pushed it and LaVerne's face +faded in. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She said, <span class="tei tei-q">“This Franklin Nostrand +you wanted to know about. He's evidently +working at the laboratories +over in Newport News, Larry. He'll +be on the job until five this afternoon.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Fine,”</span> he said. Larry grinned at +her. <span class="tei tei-q">“When are we going to have +that date, LaVerne?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She made a face. <span class="tei tei-q">“Some day when +the program involves having fun instead +of parading around in the right +places, driving the right model car, +dressed in exactly the right clothes, +and above all associating with the +right people.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +It was his turn to grimace. <span class="tei tei-q">“I'm beginning +to think you ought to sign up +with Voss and this Movement of his. +You'd be right at home with his +weirds.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She stuck out her tongue at him, +and flicked off. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He looked at the empty screen and +chuckled. He had half a mind to get a +record of their conversation, strip out +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page050">[pg 050]</span><a name="Pg050" id="Pg050" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +just the section where she'd stuck out +her tongue, and then play it back to +her. She'd be taken aback by being +confronted by her own image making +faces at her. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +As he made his way to the parking +lot for his car, something in their +conversation nagged at him, but he +couldn't put his finger on it. He considered +the girl, all over again. She +had almost all the qualities he looked +for. She was attractive, without being +overly so. He disliked women out of +the ordinarily beautiful, it became too +much to live up to. She was sharp, +but not objectionably so. Not to the +point of giving you an inferiority +complex. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +But, Holy Smokes, she'd never do +as a career man's wife. He could just +see the Boss' ultraconservative better +half inviting them to dinner. It +would happen exactly once, never +again. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He obtained his car, lifted it to one +of the higher levels and headed for +Newport News. It was a half-hour +trip and he wasn't particularly expectant +of results. The tip Sam Sokolski +had given him, wasn't much to +go by. Evidently, Frank Nostrand was +a friend of the Professor's but that +didn't necessarily mean he was connected +with the movement, or that he +knew Voss' whereabouts. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He might have saved himself the +trip. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The bird had flown again. Not +only was Frank Nostrand not at the +Madison Air Laboratories, but he +wasn't at home either. Larry Woolford, +mindful of his departmental +chief's words on the prestige these +people carried, took a full hour in acquiring +a search warrant before breaking +into the Nostrand home. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Nostrand was supposedly a bachelor, +but the auto-bungalow, similar to +Larry Woolford's own, showed signs +of double occupancy, and there was +little indication that the guest had +been a woman. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Disgruntled, Larry Woolford dialed +the offices, asked for Walt Foster. It +took nearly ten minutes before his +colleague faded in. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I'm up to my eyebrows, Larry. +What'd you want?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry gave him Frank Nostrand's +address. <span class="tei tei-q">“This guy's disappeared, +Walt.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“So?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“He was a close friend of Professor +Voss. I got a warrant to search his +house. It shows signs that he had a +guest. Possibly it was the Professor. +Do you want to get some of the boys +down here to go through the place? +Possibly there's some clue to where +they took off for. The Professor's on +the run and he's no professional at +this. If we can pick <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">him</span></em> up, I've got a +sneaking suspicion we'll have the so-called +Movement licked.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Walt Foster slapped a hand to his +face in anguish. <span class="tei tei-q">“You knew where +the Professor was hiding, and you +tried to pick him up on your own and +let him get away. Why didn't you +discuss this with either the Boss or +me? I'm in charge of this operation! +I would have had a dozen men down +there. You've fouled this up!”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry stared at him. Already Walt +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page051">[pg 051]</span><a name="Pg051" id="Pg051" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +Foster was making sounds like an +enraged superior. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He said mildly, <span class="tei tei-q">“Sorry, Walt. I +came down here on a very meager +tip. I didn't really expect it to pan +out.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Well, in the future, clear with +either me or the Boss before running +off half cocked into something, Woolford. +Yesterday, you had this whole +assignment on your own. Today, it's +no longer a minor matter. Our department +has fifty people on it. The +F.B.I. must have five times as many +and that's not even counting the Secret +Service's interest. It's no longer +your individual baby.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Sorry,”</span> Larry repeated mildly. +Then, <span class="tei tei-q">“I don't imagine you've got +hold of Frol Eivazov yet?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The other was disgusted. <span class="tei tei-q">“You +think we're magicians? We just put +out the call for him a few hours ago. +He's no amateur. If he doesn't want +to be picked up, he'll go to ground +and we'll have our work cut out for us +finding him. I can't see that it's particularly +important anyway.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Maybe you're right,”</span> Larry said. +<span class="tei tei-q">“But you never know. He might +know things we don't. See you later.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Walt Foster stared at him for a +moment as though about to say something, +but then tightened his lips and +faded off. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry looked at the phone screen +for a moment. <span class="tei tei-q">“Did that phony expect +me to call him <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">sir</span></em>,”</span> he muttered. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The next two days dissolved into +routine. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Frustrated, Larry Woolford spent +most of his time in his office digesting +developments, trying to find a new +line of attack. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +For want of something else, he put +his new secretary, a brightly efficient +girl, as style and status conscious as +LaVerne Polk wasn't, to work typing +up the tapes he'd had cut on Susan +Self and the various phone calls he'd +had with Hans Distelmayer and Sam +Sokolski. From memory, he dictated +to her his conversation with Professor +Peter Voss. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He carefully read the typed sheets +over and over again. He continually +had the feeling in this case that there +were loose ends dangling around. +Several important points he should be +able to put his finger upon. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +On the morning of the third day he +dialed Steve Hackett and on seeing +the other's worried, pug-ugly face +fade in on the phone, decided that if +nothing else the Movement was undermining +the United States government +by dispensing ulcers to its employees. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve growled, <span class="tei tei-q">“What is it Woolford? +I'm as busy as a whirling dervish +in a revolving door.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“This is just the glimmer of an +idea, Steve. Look, remember that conversation +with Susan, when she described +her father taking her to +headquarters?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“So?”</span> Steve said impatiently. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Remember her description of +headquarters?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Go on,”</span> Steve rapped. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“What did it remind you of?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“What are you leading to?”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page052">[pg 052]</span><a name="Pg052" id="Pg052" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“This is just a hunch,”</span> Larry persisted, +<span class="tei tei-q">“but the way she described the +manner in which her father took her +to headquarters suggests they're in +the Greater Washington area.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve was staring at him disgustedly. +How obvious could you get? +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry hurried on. <span class="tei tei-q">“What's the biggest +business in this area, Steve?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Government.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Right. And the way she described +headquarters of the Movement, was +rooms, after rooms, after rooms into +which they'd stored the money.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“And?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said urgently, <span class="tei tei-q">“Steve, I think +in some way the Movement has taken +over some governmental buildings, or +storage warehouse. Possibly some +older buildings no longer in use. It +would be a perfect hideout. Who +would expect a subversive organization +to be in governmental buildings? +All they'd need would be a few +officials here and there who were on +their side and—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve said wearily, <span class="tei tei-q">“You couldn't +have thought of this two days ago.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry cut himself off sharply, +<span class="tei tei-q">“Eh?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve said, <span class="tei tei-q">“We found their headquarters. +One of their members +cracked. Ben Ruthenberg of the +F.B.I. found he had a morals rap +against him some years ago and scared +him into talking by threats of exposure. +At any rate, you're right. They +had established themselves in some +government buildings going back to +Spanish-American War days. We've +arrested eight or ten officials that +were involved.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“But the money?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“The money was gone,”</span> Steve said +bitterly. <span class="tei tei-q">“But Susan was right. There +had evidently been room after room +of it, stacked to the ceiling. Literally +billions of dollars. They'd moved out +hurriedly, but they left kicking around +enough loose hundreds, fifties, twenties, +tens and fives to give us an idea. +Look, Woolford, I thought you'd +been pulled off this case and that +Walt Foster was handling it.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said sourly, <span class="tei tei-q">“I'm beginning +to think so, too. They're evidently not +even bothering to let me know about +developments like this. See you later, +Steve.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The other's face faded off. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford looked across the +double desk at Irene Day. <span class="tei tei-q">“Look,”</span> he +said, <span class="tei tei-q">“when you're offered a promotion, +take it. If you don't, someone +else will and you'll be out in the +cold.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Irene Day said brightly, <span class="tei tei-q">“I've always +know that, sir.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He looked at her. The typical eager +beaver. Sharp as a whip. Bright as a +button. <span class="tei tei-q">“I'll bet you have,”</span> he muttered. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I beg your pardon, Mr. Woolford?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The phone lit as LaVerne said, +<span class="tei tei-q">“The Boss wants to talk to you, Larry.”</span> +Her face faded and Larry's superior +was scowling at him. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He snapped, <span class="tei tei-q">“Did you get anything +on this medical records thing, +Woolford?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Medical records?”</span> Larry said +blankly. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss grunted in deprecation. +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page053">[pg 053]</span><a name="Pg053" id="Pg053" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +<span class="tei tei-q">“No, I suppose you haven't. I wish +you would snap into it, Woolford. I +don't know what has happened to you +of late. I used to think that you were +a good field man.”</span> He flicked off +abruptly. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry dialed LaVerne Polk. <span class="tei tei-q">“What +in the world was the Boss just talking +about, LaVerne? About medical records?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +LaVerne said, frowning, <span class="tei tei-q">“Didn't +you know? The Movement's been at +it again. They've fouled up the records +of the State Medical Licensing +bureaus, at the same time sabotaging +the remaining records of most, if not +all, of the country's medical schools. +They struck simultaneously, throughout +the country.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He looked at her, expressionlessly. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +LaVerne said, <span class="tei tei-q">“We've caught several +hundred of those responsible. It's +the same thing. Attack of the social-label. +From now on, if a man tells you +he's an Ear, Eye and Throat specialist, +you'd better do some investigation +before letting him amputate your +tongue. You'd better use your judgment +before letting <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">any</span></em> doctor you +don't really know about, work on +you. It's a madhouse, Larry.”</span> +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford, for long moments +after LaVerne had broken the connection, +stared unseeingly at his secretary +across from him until she stirred. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He brought his eyes back to the +present. <span class="tei tei-q">“Another preliminary move, +not the important thing, yet. Not the +big explosion they're figuring on. +Where have they taken that money, +and why?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Irene Day blinked at him. <span class="tei tei-q">“I don't +know, I'm sure, sir.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Get me Mr. Foster on +the phone, Irene.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +When Walt Foster's unhappy face +faded in, Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Walt did you +get Frol Eivazov?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Eivazov?”</span> the other said impatiently. +<span class="tei tei-q">“No. We haven't spent much +effort on it. I think this hunch of +yours is like the other ones you've +been having lately, Woolford. Frol +Eivazov was last reported by our operatives +as being in North Korea.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“It wasn't a hunch,”</span> Larry said +tightly. <span class="tei tei-q">“He's in this country on an +assignment dealing with the Movement.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Well, that's your opinion,”</span> Foster +said snappishly. <span class="tei tei-q">“I'm busy, Woolford. +See here, at present you're under +my orders on this job. In the way +of something to do, instead of sitting +around in that office, why don't you +follow up this Eivazov thing yourself?”</span> +He considered it a moment. +<span class="tei tei-q">“That's an order, Woolford. Even if +you don't locate him, it'll keep you out +of our hair.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +After the other was gone, Larry +Woolford leaned back in his chair, +his face flushed as though the other +had slapped it. In a way, he had. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said slowly, <span class="tei tei-q">“Miss Day, dial +me Hans Distelmayer. His offices are +over in the Belmont Building.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +As always, the screen remained +blank as the German spy master +spoke. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Hans, I want to talk to +Frol Eivazov.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Ah?”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page054">[pg 054]</span><a name="Pg054" id="Pg054" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I want to know where I can find +him.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The German's voice was humorously +gruff. <span class="tei tei-q">“My friend, my friend.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said impatiently, <span class="tei tei-q">“I'm not interested +in arresting him at this time. +I want to talk to him.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The other said heavily. <span class="tei tei-q">“This goes +beyond favors, my friend. On the face +of it, I am not in business for my +health. And what you ask is dangerous +from my viewpoint. You realize +that upon occasion my organization +does small tasks for the Soviets....”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Ha!”</span> Larry said bitterly. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“... And,”</span> the German continued, +unruffled, <span class="tei tei-q">“it is hardly to my interest +to gain the reputation of betraying +my sometimes employers. +Were you on an assignment in, say, +Bulgaria or Hungary, would you +expect me to betray you to the +<span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">Chrezvychainaya Komissiya</span></span>?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Not unless somebody paid you +enough to make it worth while,”</span> +Larry said dryly. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Exactly,”</span> the espionage chief said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Look,”</span> Larry said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Send your bill +to this department, Hans. I've been +given carte blanche on this matter +and I want to talk to Frol. Now, +where is he?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The German chuckled heavily. +<span class="tei tei-q">“At the Soviet Embassy.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“What! You mean they've got the +gall to house their top spy right in—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Distelmayer interrupted him. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Friend Eivazov is currently accredited +as a military attaché and quite +correctly. He holds the rank of colonel, +you know. He entered this country +quite legally, the only precaution +taken was to use his second name, +Kliment, instead of Frol, on his papers. +Evidently, your people passed +him by without a second look. Ah, I +understand he went to the trouble of +making some minor changes in his +facial appearance.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“We'll expect your bill, Distelmayer,”</span> +Larry said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Good-by.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He got up and reached for his hat, +saying to Irene Day, <span class="tei tei-q">“I don't know +how long I'll be gone.”</span> He added, +wryly, <span class="tei tei-q">“If either Foster or the Boss +try to get in touch with me, tell them +I'm carrying out orders.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He drove over to the Soviet Embassy, +parked his car directly before +the building. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The American plainclothesmen +stationed near the entrance, gave him +only a quick onceover as he passed. +Inside the gates, the impassive Russian +guards didn't bother to flicker an +eyelid. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +At the reception desk in the immense +entrada, he identified himself. +<span class="tei tei-q">“I'd like to see Colonel Frol Eivazov.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I am afraid—”</span> the clerk began +stiffly. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I suppose you have him on the +records as Kliment Eivazov.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The clerk had evidently touched a +concealed button. A door opened and +a junior embassy official approached +them. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry restated his desire. The other +began to open his mouth in denial, +then shrugged. <span class="tei tei-q">“Just a moment,”</span> he +said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He was gone a full twenty minutes. +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page055">[pg 055]</span><a name="Pg055" id="Pg055" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +When he returned, he said +briefly, <span class="tei tei-q">“This way, please.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Frol Eivazov was in an inner office, +in full uniform. He came to his +feet when Larry Woolford entered +and said to the clerk, <span class="tei tei-q">“That will be +all, Vova.”</span> He was a tall man, as +Slavs go, but heavy of build and +heavy of face. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He shook hands with Larry. <span class="tei tei-q">“It's +been a long time,”</span> he said in perfect +English. <span class="tei tei-q">“That conference in Warsaw, +wasn't it? Have a chair, Mr. +Woolford.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry took the offered chair and +said, <span class="tei tei-q">“How in the world did you expect +to get by with this nonsense? +We'll have you declared <span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">persona non +grata</span></span> in a matter of hours.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“It's not important,”</span> Eivazov +shrugged. <span class="tei tei-q">“I have found what I came +to find. I was about to return to report +any way.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“We won't do anything to hinder +you, colonel,”</span> Larry said dryly. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Eivazov snapped his fingers. <span class="tei tei-q">“It's +all amusing,”</span> he said. <span class="tei tei-q">“In our country +we would quickly deal with this +Movement nonsense. You Americans +with your pseudo-democracy, your +labels without reality, your—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said wearily, <span class="tei tei-q">“Please, Frol, I +promise not to convert you if you +promise not to convert me. Needless +to say, my department isn't happy +about your presence in this country. +You'll be watched from now on. +We've been busy with other matters....”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Here the Russian laughed. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“... Or we'd already have flushed +you.”</span> He allowed his voice to go +curious. <span class="tei tei-q">“We've wondered about your +interest in this phase of our internal +affairs.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Russian agent let his facade +slip over farther, his heavy lips sneering. +<span class="tei tei-q">“We are interested in all phases +of your antiquated socio-economic +system, Mr. Woolford. In the present +peaceful economic competition between +East and West, we would simply +<em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">loathe</span></em> to see anything happen to +your present culture.”</span> He hesitated +deliberately. <span class="tei tei-q">“If you can call it a +culture.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, unprovoked, <span class="tei tei-q">“If I understand +you correctly, you are not in +favor of the changes the Movement +advocates.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Russian shrugged hugely. <span class="tei tei-q">“I +doubt if they are possible of achievement. +The organization is a sloppy +one. Revolutionary? Nonsense,”</span> he +scoffed. <span class="tei tei-q">“They have no plans to +change the government. No plans for +overthrowing the regime. Ultimately, +what this country needs is true +Communism. This so-called Movement +doesn't have that as its eventual +goal. It is laughable.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, interestedly, <span class="tei tei-q">“Then perhaps +you'll tell me what little you've +found out about the group.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Why not?”</span> The Russian pursed +his lips. <span class="tei tei-q">“They are composed of impractical +idealists. Scientists, intellectuals, +a few admitted scholars and +even a few potential leaders. Their +sabotage of your Department of Records +was an amusing farce, but, +frankly, I have been unable to discover +the purpose of their interest in +rockets. For a time I contemplated +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page056">[pg 056]</span><a name="Pg056" id="Pg056" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +the possibility that they had a scheme +to develop a nuclear bomb, and to +explode it over Greater Washington +in the belief that in the resulting +confusion they might seize power. +But, on the face of it their membership +is incapable of such an effort.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Their interest in rockets?”</span> Larry +said softly. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Yes, as you've undoubtedly discovered, +half the rocket technicians of +your country seem to have joined +with them. We got the tip through”</span>—the +Russian cleared his throat—<span class="tei tei-q">“several +of our converts who happen +to be connected with your space +efforts groups.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Is that so?”</span> Larry said. <span class="tei tei-q">“I wondered +what you thought about their +interest in money.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +It was the other's turn to look +blank. <span class="tei tei-q">“Money?”</span> he said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“That's right. Large quantities of +money.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Russian said, frowning, <span class="tei tei-q">“I suppose +most citizens in your capitalist +countries are interested largely in +money. One of your basic failings.”</span> +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Driving back to the office, Larry +Woolford let it pile up on him. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Ernest Self had been a specialist in +solid fuel for rockets. When Larry +had questioned Professor Voss that +worthy had particularly stressed his +indignation at how Professor Goddard, +the rocket pioneer, had been +treated by his contemporaries. Franklin +Nostrand had been employed as a +technician on rocket research at Madison +Air Laboratories. It was too darn +much for coincidence. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +And now something else that had +been nagging away at the back of his +mind suddenly came clear. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Susan Self had said that she and +her father had seen the precision +dancers at the New Roxy Theater in +New York and later the Professor +had said they were going to spend +the money on chorus girls. Susan had +got it wrong. The Rockettes—the +precision chorus girls. The Professor +had said they were going to spend +the money on <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">rockets</span></em>, and Susan had +misunderstood. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +But billions of dollars expended on +rockets? How? But, above all, to +what end? +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +If he'd only been able to hold onto +Susan, or her father; or to Voss or +Nostrand, for that matter. Someone +to work on. But each had slipped +through his fingers. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Which brought something else up +from his subconscious. Something +which had been tugging at him. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +At the office, Irene Day was packing +her things as he entered. Packing +as though she was leaving for good. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“What goes on?”</span> Larry growled. +<span class="tei tei-q">“I'm going to be needing you. Things +are coming to a head.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She said, a bit snippishly, Larry +thought, <span class="tei tei-q">“Miss Polk, in the Boss' office, +said for you to see her as soon as +you came in, Mr. Woolford.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Oh?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He made his way to LaVerne's office, +his attention actually on the ideas +churning in his mind. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She looked up when he entered. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“The Boss wanted to +see me?”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page057">[pg 057]</span><a name="Pg057" id="Pg057" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +LaVerne ducked her head, as +though embarrassed. <span class="tei tei-q">“Not exactly, +Larry.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He gestured with his thumb in the +direction of his own cubicle office. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Irene just said you wanted me.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +LaVerne looked up into his face. +<span class="tei tei-q">“The Boss and Mr. Foster, too, are +boiling about your authorizing that +Distelmayer man to bill this department +for information he gave you. +The Boss hit the roof. Something +about the Senate Appropriations +Committee getting down on him if it +came out that we bought information +from professional espionage agents.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“It was information we +needed, and Foster gave me the go +ahead on locating Frol Eivazov. Maybe +I'd better see the Boss.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +LaVerne said, <span class="tei tei-q">“I don't think he +wants to see you, Larry. They're up +to their ears in this Movement thing. +It's in the papers <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">now</span></em> and nobody +knows what to do next. The President +is going to make a speech on TriD, +and the Boss has to supply the information. +His orders are for you to +resume your vacation. To take a +month off and then see him when +you get back.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry sank down into a chair. <span class="tei tei-q">“I +see,”</span> he said, <span class="tei tei-q">“And at that time he'll +probably transfer me to janitor service.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Larry,”</span> LaVerne said, almost impatiently, +<span class="tei tei-q">“why in the world didn't +you take that job Walt Foster has +now when the Boss offered it to +you?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Because I'm stupid, I suppose,”</span> +Larry said bitterly. <span class="tei tei-q">“I thought I could +do more working alone than at an administrative +post tangled in red tape +and bureaucratic routine.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Sorry, Larry.”</span> She sounded +as though she meant it. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry stood up. <span class="tei tei-q">“Well, tonight I'm +going to hang one on, and tomorrow +it's back to Florida.”</span> He said in a +rush, <span class="tei tei-q">“Look LaVerne, how about that +date we've been talking about for six +months or more?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She looked up at him. <span class="tei tei-q">“I can't +stand vodka martinis.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Neither can I,”</span> he said glumly. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“And I don't get a kick out of +prancing around, a stuffed shirt +among fellow stuffed shirts, at some +goings-on that supposedly improves +my culture status.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said <span class="tei tei-q">“At the house I have +every known brand of drinkable, and +a stack of ... what did you call it? ... corny +music. We can mix our +own drinks and dance all by ourselves.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She tucked her head to one side +and looked at him suspiciously. <span class="tei tei-q">“Are +your intentions honorable?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“We can even discuss that later,”</span> +he said sourly. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She laughed. <span class="tei tei-q">“It's a date, Larry.”</span> +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He picked her up after work, and +they drove to his Brandywine auto-bungalow, +largely quiet the whole +way. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +At one point she touched his hand +with hers and said, <span class="tei tei-q">“It'll work out, +Larry.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Yeah,”</span> he said sourly. <span class="tei tei-q">“I've put +ten years into ingratiating myself +with the Boss. Now, overnight, he's +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page058">[pg 058]</span><a name="Pg058" id="Pg058" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +got a new boy. I suppose there's some +moral involved.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +When they pulled up before his +auto-bungalow, LaVerne whistled appreciatively. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Quite a neighborhood +you're in.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He grunted. <span class="tei tei-q">“A good address. +What our friend Professor Voss +would call one more status symbol, +one more social-label. For it I pay +about fifty per cent more rent than +my budget can afford.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He ushered her inside and took her +jacket. <span class="tei tei-q">“Look,”</span> he said, indicating his +living room with a sweep of hand. +<span class="tei tei-q">“See that volume of Klee reproductions +there next to my reading chair? +That proves I'm not a weird. Indicates +my culture status. Actually, my +appreciation of modern art doesn't go +any further than the Impressionists. +But don't tell anybody. See those +books up on my shelves. Same thing. +You'll find everything there that +<em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">ought</span></em> to be on the shelves of any ambitious +young career man.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She looked at him from the side of +her eyes. <span class="tei tei-q">“You're really soured, Larry.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Come along,”</span> he said. <span class="tei tei-q">“I want to +show you something.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He took her down the tiny elevator +to his den. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“How hypocritical can you get?”</span> +he asked her. <span class="tei tei-q">“This is where I really +live. But I seldom bring anyone here. +Wouldn't want to get a reputation as +a weird. Sit down, LaVerne, I'll make +a drink. How about a Sidecar?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She sank onto the couch, kicked her +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page059">[pg 059]</span><a name="Pg059" id="Pg059" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +shoes off and slipped her feet under +her. <span class="tei tei-q">“I'd love one,”</span> she said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +His back to her, he brought brandy +and cointreau from his liquor cabinet, +lemon and ice from the tiny refrigerator. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“What?”</span> LaVerne said mockingly. +<span class="tei tei-q">“No auto-bar?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Upstairs with the rest of the status +symbols,”</span> Larry grunted. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He put her drink before her and +turned and went to the record player. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“In the way of corny music, how do +you like that old-timer, Nat Cole?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“King Cole? Love him,”</span> LaVerne +said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The strains of <span class="tei tei-q">“For All We Know”</span> +penetrated the room. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry sat down across from her, finished +half his drink in one swallow. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I'm beginning to wonder whether +or not this Movement doesn't have +something,”</span> he said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She didn't answer that. They sat in +silence for a while, appreciating the +drink. Nat Cole was singing <span class="tei tei-q">“The +Very Thought of You”</span> now. Larry got +up and made two more cocktails. This +time he sat next to her. He leaned his +head back on the couch and closed +his eyes. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Finally he said softly, <span class="tei tei-q">“When Steve +Hackett and I were questioning Susan, +there was only one other person +who knew that we'd picked her up. +There was only one person other +than Steve and me who could have +warned Ernest Self to make a getaway. +Later on, there was only one +person who could have warned Frank +Nostrand so that he and the Professor +could find a new hideout.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She said sleepily, <span class="tei tei-q">“How long have +you known about that, darling?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“A while,”</span> Larry said, his own voice +quiet. <span class="tei tei-q">“I figured it out when I also decided +how Susan Self was spirited +out of the Greater Washington Hilton, +before we had the time to question +her further. Somebody who had +access to tapes made of me while I +was making phone calls cut out a section +and dubbed in a voice so that +Betsy Hughes, the Secret Service matron +who was watching Susan, was +fooled into believing it was I ordering +the girl to be turned over to the two +Movement members who came to +get her.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +LaVerne stirred comfortably and +let her head sink onto his shoulder. +<span class="tei tei-q">“You're so warm and ... comfortable,”</span> +she said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said softly, <span class="tei tei-q">“What does the +Movement expect to do with all that +counterfeit money, LaVerne?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She stirred against his shoulder, as +though bothered by the need to talk. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Give it all away,”</span> she said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Distribute +it all over the country and +destroy the nation's social currency.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +It took him a long moment to assimilate +that. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“What have the rockets to do with +it?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She stirred once again, as though +wishing he'd be silent. <span class="tei tei-q">“That's how it +will be distributed. About twenty +rockets, strategically placed, each with +a <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">warhead</span></em> of a couple of tons of +money. Fired to an altitude of a couple +of hundred miles and then the +money is spewed out. In falling, it +will be distributed over cities and +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page060">[pg 060]</span><a name="Pg060" id="Pg060" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +countryside, everywhere. Billions +upon billions of dollars worth.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, so softly as hardly to be +heard, <span class="tei tei-q">“What will that accomplish?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Money is the greatest social-label +of them all. The Professor believes +that through this step the Movement +will have accomplished its purpose. +That people will be forced to utilize +their judgment, rather than depend +upon social-labels.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry didn't follow that, but he had +no time to go further now. He said, +still evenly soft, <span class="tei tei-q">“And when is the +Movement going to do this?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +La Verne moved comfortably. <span class="tei tei-q">“The +trucks go out to distribute the money +tonight. The rockets are waiting. The +firing will take place in a few days.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“And where is the Professor now?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Where the money and the trucks +are hidden, darling. What difference +does it make?”</span> LaVerne said sleepily. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“And where is that?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“At the Greater Washington +Trucking Corporation. It's owned by +one of the Movement's members.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He said. <span class="tei tei-q">“There's a password. What +is it?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Judgment.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford bounced to his feet. +He looked down at her, then over at +the phone. In three quick steps he +was over to it. He grasped its wires +and yanked them from the wall, silencing +it. He slipped into the tiny +elevator, locking the door to the den +behind him. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +As the door slid closed, her voice +wailed, still sleepily husky, <span class="tei tei-q">“Larry, +darling, where are you—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He ran down the walk of the house, +vaulted into the car and snapped on +its key. He slammed down the lift +lever, kicked the thrust pedal and +was thrown back against the seat by +the acceleration. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Even while he was climbing, he +flicked on the radio-phone, called +Personal Service for the location of +the Greater Washington Trucking +Corporation. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Fifteen minutes later, he parked a +block away from his destination, noting +with satisfaction that it was still +an hour or more to go until dark. His +intuition, working doubletime now, +told him that they'd probably wait until +nightfall to start their money-laden +trucks to rolling. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He hesitated momentarily before +turning on the phone and dialing the +Boss' home address. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +When the other's face faded in, it +failed to display pleasure when the +caller's identity was established. His +superior growled, <span class="tei tei-q">“Confound it, +Woolford, you know my privacy is to +be respected. This phone is to be +used only in extreme emergency.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Yes, sir,”</span> Larry said briskly. <span class="tei tei-q">“It's +the Movement—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The other's face darkened still further. +<span class="tei tei-q">“You're not on that assignment +any longer, Woolford. Walter Foster +has taken over and I'm sympathetic to +his complaints that you've proven +more a hindrance than anything +else.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry ignored his words, <span class="tei tei-q">“Sir, I've +tracked them down. Professor Voss is +at the Greater Washington Trucking +Corporation garages here in the Alexandria +section of town. Any moment +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page061">[pg 061]</span><a name="Pg061" id="Pg061" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +now, they're going to start distribution +of all that counterfeit money on +some scatterbrain plan to disrupt the +country's exchange system.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Suddenly alert, the department +chief snapped, <span class="tei tei-q">“Where are you, Woolford?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Outside the garages, sir. But I'm +going in now.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“You stay where you are,”</span> the other +snapped. <span class="tei tei-q">“I'll have every department +man and every Secret Service man in +town over there within twenty minutes. +You hang on. Those people are +lunatics, and probably desperate.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Inwardly, Larry Woolford grinned. +He wasn't going to lose this opportunity +to finish up the job with him on +top. He said flatly, <span class="tei tei-q">“Sir, we can't +chance it. They might escape. I'm going +in!”</span> He flicked off the set, dialed +again and raised Sam Sokolski. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Sam,”</span> he said, his voice clipped. +<span class="tei tei-q">“I've cornered the Movement's leader +and am going in for the finish. Maybe +some of you journalist boys better get +on over here.”</span> He gave the other the +address and flicked off before there +were any questions. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +From the dash compartment he +brought a heavy automatic, and +checked the clip. He put it in his hip +pocket and left the car and walked +toward the garages. Time was running +out now. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He strode into the only open door, +without shift of pace. Two men were +posted nearby, neither of them truckmen +by appearance. They looked at +him in surprise. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry clipped out, <span class="tei tei-q">“The password +is <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">Judgment</span></em>. I've got to see Professor +Voss immediately.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +One of them frowned questioningly, +but the other was taken up with +the urgency in Woolford's voice. He +nodded with his head. <span class="tei tei-q">“He's over +there in the office.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Now ignoring them completely, +Larry strode past the long rows of +sealed delivery vans toward the office. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He pushed the door open, entered +and closed it behind him. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Professor Peter Voss was seated at +a paper-littered desk. There was a cot +with an army blanket in a corner of +the room, some soiled clothing and +two or three dirty dishes on a tray. +The room was being lived in, obviously. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +At the agent's entry, the little man +looked up and blinked in distress +through his heavy lenses. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry snapped, <span class="tei tei-q">“You're under arrest, +Voss.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The professor was obviously dismayed, +but he said in as vigorous a +voice as he could muster, <span class="tei tei-q">“Nonsense! +On what charge?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Counterfeiting, among many. +Your whole scheme has fallen apart, +Voss. You and your Movement, so-called, +are finished.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The professor's eyes darted, left, +right. To Larry Woolford's surprise, +the Movement's leader was alone in +here. Undoubtedly, he was awaiting +others, drivers of the trucks, technicians +involved in the rockets, other +subordinates. But right now he was +alone. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +If Woolford correctly diagnosed +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page062">[pg 062]</span><a name="Pg062" id="Pg062" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +the situation, Voss was playing for +time, waiting for the others. Good +enough, so was Larry Woolford. Had +the Professor only known it, a shout +would have brought at least two followers +and the government agent +would have had his work cut out for +him. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Woodford played along. <span class="tei tei-q">“Just what +is this fantastic scheme of yours for +raining down money over half the +country, Voss? The very insanity of it +proves your whole outfit is composed +of a bunch of nonconformist weirds.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor was indignant—and +stalling for time. He said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Nonconformists +is correct! He who conforms +in an incompetent society is an incompetent +himself.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry stood, his legs apart and +hands on hips. He shook his head in +simulated pity at the angry little man. +<span class="tei tei-q">“What's all this about raining money +down over the country?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Don't you see?”</span> the other said. +<span class="tei tei-q">“The perfect method for disrupting +our present system of social-labels. +With billions of dollars, perfect counterfeit, +strewing the streets, the fields, +the trees, available for anyone to pick +up, all social currency becomes worthless. +Utterly unusable. And it's no use +to attempt to print more with another +design, because we can duplicate +it as well. Our experts are the +world's best, we're not a group of +sulking criminals but capable, trained, +dedicated men.</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Very well! We will have made it +absolutely impossible to have any +form of mass-produced social currency.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry stared at him. <span class="tei tei-q">“It would completely +foul the whole business system! +You'd have chaos!”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“At first. Private individuals, once +the value of money was seen to be +zero, would have lost the amount of +cash they had on hand. But banks +and such institutions would lose little. +They have accurate records that +show the actual values they held at +the time our money rains down.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry was bewildered. <span class="tei tei-q">“But what +are you getting at? What do you expect +to accomplish?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor, on his favorite subject, +said triumphantly, <span class="tei tei-q">“The only +form of currency that can be used +under these conditions is the <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">personal</span></em> +check. It's not mass produced, and +mass-production can't duplicate it. +It's immune to the attack. Business +has to go on, or people will starve—so +personal checks will have to replace +paper money. Credit cards and +traveler's checks won't do—we can +counterfeit them, too, and will, if +necessary. Realize of course that hard +money will still be valid, but it can't +be utilized practically for any but +small transactions. Try taking enough +silver dollars to buy a refrigerator +down to the store with you.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“But what's the purpose?”</span> Larry +demanded, flabbergasted. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Isn't it obvious? Our whole Movement +is devoted to the destruction of +social-label judgments. It's all very +well to say: <span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">You should not judge +your fellow men</span></span> but when it comes to +accepting another man's personal +check, friend, you damn well have to! +The bum check artist might have a +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page063">[pg 063]</span><a name="Pg063" id="Pg063" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +field day to begin with—but only to +begin with.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry shook his head in exasperation. +<span class="tei tei-q">“You people are a bunch of +anarchists,”</span> he accused. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“No,”</span> the Professor denied. <span class="tei tei-q">“Absolutely +not. We are the antithesis of +the anarchist. The anarchist says, <span class="tei tei-q">‘No +man is capable of judging another.’</span> +We say, <span class="tei tei-q">‘Each man must judge his fellow, +must demand proper evaluation +of him.’</span> To judge a man by his +clothes, the amount of money he +owns, the car he drives, the neighborhood +in which he lives, or the society +he keeps, is out of the question in a +vital culture.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said sourly, <span class="tei tei-q">“Well, whether +or not you're right, Voss, you've lost. +This place is surrounded. My men +will be breaking in shortly.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Voss laughed at him. <span class="tei tei-q">“Nonsense. +All you've done is prevent us from +accomplishing this portion of our +program. What will you do after my +arrest? You'll bring me to trial. Do +you remember the Scopes' Monkey +Trial back in the 1920s which became +a world appreciated farce and +made Tennessee a laughingstock? +Well, just wait until you get <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">me</span></em> into +court backed by my organization's resources. +We'll bring home to every +thinking person, not only in this +country, but in the world, the fantastic +qualities of our existing culture. +Why, Mr.-Secret-Agent-of-Anti-Subversive-Activity +you aren't doing me +an injury by giving me the opportunity +to have my day in court. You're +doing me a favor. Newspapers, radios, +TriD will give me the chance to expound +my program in the home of +every thinking person in the world.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +There was a fiery dedication in the +little man's eyes. <span class="tei tei-q">“This will be my +victory, not my defeat!”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +There were sounds now, coming +from the other rooms—the garages. +Some shouts and scuffling. Faintly, +Larry Woolford could hear Steve +Hackett's voice. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He was staring at the Professor, his +eyes narrower. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor was on his feet. He +said in defiant triumph, <span class="tei tei-q">“You think +that you'll win prestige and honor as +a result of tracking the Movement +down, don't you, Mr. Woolford? +Well, let me tell you, you won't! In +six months from now, Mr. Woolford, +you'll be a laughingstock.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +That did it. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“You're under arrest. +Turn around with your back to me.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor snorted his contempt, +turned his back and held up +his hands, obviously expecting to be +searched. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +In a fluid motion, Larry Woolford +drew his gun and fired twice. The +other with no more than a grunt of +surprise and pain, stumbled forward +to his knees and then to the floor, his +arms and legs akimbo. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The door broke open and Steve +Hackett, gun in hand, burst in. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Woolford!”</span> he barked. <span class="tei tei-q">“What's +up?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry indicated the body on the +floor. <span class="tei tei-q">“There you are, Steve,”</span> he said. +<span class="tei tei-q">“The head of the counterfeit ring. He +was trying to escape. I had to shoot +him.”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page064">[pg 064]</span><a name="Pg064" id="Pg064" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Behind Steve Hackett crowded Ben +Ruthenberg of the F.B.I. and behind +him half a dozen others of various +departments. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss came pushing his way +through. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He glared down at the Professor's +body, then up at Larry Woolford. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Good work, Lawrence,”</span> he +said. <span class="tei tei-q">“How did you bring it off?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry replaced the gun in his holster +and shrugged modestly. <span class="tei tei-q">“The +Polk girl gave me the final tip-off, +sir. I gave her some Scop-Serum in a +drink and she talked. Evidently, she +was a member of the Movement.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss was nodding wisely. <span class="tei tei-q">“I've +had my eye on her, Lawrence. An obvious +weird. But we will have to suppress +that Scop-Serum angle.”</span> He +slapped his favorite field man on the +arm jovially. <span class="tei tei-q">“Well, boy, this means +promotion, of course.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry grinned. <span class="tei tei-q">“Thanks, sir. All in +a day's work. I don't think we'll +have much trouble with the remnants +of this Movement thing. The pitch is +to treat them as counterfeiters, not +subversives. Try them for that. Their +silly explanations of what they were +going to do with the money will never +be taken seriously.”</span> He looked down +at the small corpse. <span class="tei tei-q">“Particularly now +that their kingpin is gone.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +A new wave of agents, F.B.I. men +and prisoners washed into the room +and Steve Hackett and Larry were for +a moment pushed back into a corner +by themselves. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve looked at him strangely and +said, <span class="tei tei-q">“There's one thing I'd like to +know: Did you really have to shoot +him, Woolford?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry brushed it off. <span class="tei tei-q">“What's the +difference? He was as weird as they +come, wasn't he?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +THE END +</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr class="doublepage" /><div class="tei tei-back" style="margin-bottom: 2.00em; margin-top: 6.00em"> + <hr class="doublepage" /><div class="tei tei-div" style="margin-bottom: 5.00em; margin-top: 5.00em"> + <div id="pgfooter" class="tei tei-div" style="margin-bottom: 4.00em; margin-top: 4.00em"><pre class="pre tei tei-div" style="margin-bottom: 3.00em; margin-top: 3.00em">***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STATUS QUO*** +</pre><hr class="doublepage" /><div class="tei tei-div" style="margin-bottom: 3.00em; margin-top: 3.00em"><a name="rightpageheader1" id="rightpageheader1"></a><a name="pgtoc2" id="pgtoc2"></a><a name="pdf3" id="pdf3"></a><h1 class="tei tei-head" style="text-align: left; margin-bottom: 3.46em; margin-top: 3.46em"><span style="font-size: 173%">Credits</span></h1><table summary="This is a list." class="tei tei-list" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em; margin-top: 1.00em"><tbody><tr><th class="tei tei-label tei-label-gloss">October 26, 2009 </th></tr><tr><td class="tei tei-item"><table summary="This is a list." class="tei tei-list" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em; margin-top: 1.00em"><tbody><tr class="tei tei-labelitem"><th class="tei tei-label"></th><td class="tei tei-item">Project Gutenberg TEI edition 1</td></tr><tr class="tei tei-labelitem"><th class="tei tei-label"></th><td class="tei tei-item"><span class="tei tei-respStmt"> + <span class="tei tei-name"> + Produced by Greg Weeks, David King, and the Online + Distributed Proofreading Team at <http://www.pgdp.net/>. + </span> + </span></td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr></tbody></table></div><hr class="doublepage" /><div class="tei tei-div" style="margin-bottom: 3.00em; margin-top: 3.00em"><a name="rightpageheader4" id="rightpageheader4"></a><a name="pgtoc5" id="pgtoc5"></a><a name="pdf6" id="pdf6"></a><h1 class="tei tei-head" style="text-align: left; margin-bottom: 3.46em; margin-top: 3.46em"><span style="font-size: 173%">A Word from Project Gutenberg</span></h1><p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em">This file should be named + 30339-h.html or + 30339-h.zip.</p><p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em">This and all associated files of various formats will be found + in: + + <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/0/3/3/30339/" class="block tei tei-xref" style="margin-bottom: 1.80em; margin-left: 3.60em; margin-top: 1.80em; margin-right: 3.60em"><span style="font-size: 90%">http://www.gutenberg.org</span><span style="font-size: 90%">/dirs/3/0/3/3/30339/</span></a></p><p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em">Updated editions will replace the previous one — the old + editions will be renamed.</p><p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em">Creating the works from public domain print editions means that + no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the + Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United + States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. + Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this + license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works + to protect the Project Gutenberg™ concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it + away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg + License online at www.gutenberg.org/license</p> + </availability> + </publicationStmt> + <sourceDesc> + <bibl> + Created electronically. + </bibl> + </sourceDesc> + </fileDesc> + <encodingDesc> + </encodingDesc> + <profileDesc> + <langUsage> + <language id="en"></language> + <language id="fr"></language> + </langUsage> + </profileDesc> + <revisionDesc> + <change> + <date value="2020-09-19">September 19, 2020</date> + <respStmt> + <name> + Produced by Greg Weeks, David King, and the Online + Distributed Proofreading Team at <http://www.pgdp.net/>. + </name> + </respStmt> + <item>Project Gutenberg TEI edition 1</item> + </change> + </revisionDesc> +</teiHeader> + +<pgExtensions> + <pgStyleSheet> + .boxed { x-class: boxed } + .shaded { x-class: shaded } + .rules { x-class: rules; rules: all } + .indent { margin-left: 2 } + .bold { font-weight: bold } + .italic { font-style: italic } + .smallcaps { font-variant: small-caps } + </pgStyleSheet> + + <pgCharMap formats="txt.iso-8859-1"> + <char id="U0x2014"> + <charName>mdash</charName> + <desc>EM DASH</desc> + <mapping>--</mapping> + </char> + <char id="U0x2003"> + <charName>emsp</charName> + <desc>EM SPACE</desc> + <mapping> </mapping> + </char> + <char id="U0x2026"> + <charName>hellip</charName> + <desc>HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS</desc> + <mapping>...</mapping> + </char> + </pgCharMap> +</pgExtensions> + +<text lang="en"> + <front> + <div> + <divGen type="pgheader" /> + </div> + <div> + <divGen type="encodingDesc" /> + </div> + + <div rend="page-break-before: always"> + <p rend="font-size: xx-large; text-align: center">Status Quo</p> + <p rend="font-size: xx-large; text-align: center">by Mack Reynolds</p> + <p rend="font-size: large; text-align: center">Illustrated by John Schoenherr</p> + <p rend="text-align: center">Analog Science Fact & Fiction</p> + <p rend="text-align: center">August 1961</p> + </div> + + </front> +<body> + +<pb n='004'/><anchor id='Pg004'/> + +<div> + +<p> +[Transcriber's Note: This text was produced from Analog Science Fact & +Fiction August 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed.] +</p> + +<p> +In his income bracket +and in the suburb in +which he lived, government +employees in the +twenty-five to thirty-five +age group were currently wearing +tweeds. Tweeds were in. Not to wear +tweeds was Non-U. +</p> + +<p> +Lawrence Woolford wore tweeds. +His suit, this morning, had first seen +the light of day on a hand loom in +Donegal. It had been cut by a Swede +widely patronized by serious young +career men in Lawrence Woolford's +status group; English tailors were out +currently and Italians unheard of. +</p> + +<p> +Woolford sauntered down the walk +before his auto-bungalow, scowling at +the sportscar at the curb—wrong year, +wrong make. He'd have to trade +it in on a new model. Which was a +shame in a way, he liked the car. +However, he had no desire to get a +reputation as a weird among colleagues +and friends. What was it +Senator Carey MacArthur had said +the other day? Show me a weird and +I'll show you a person who has taken +the first step toward being a Commie. +</p> + +<p> +Woolford slid under the wheel, +dropped the lift lever, depressed gently +the thrust pedal and took off for +downtown Greater Washington. Theoretically, +he had another four days of +vacation coming to him. He wondered +<pb n='006'/><anchor id='Pg006'/> +what the Boss wanted. That +was the trouble in being one of the +Boss' favorite trouble shooters, when +trouble arose you wound up in the +middle of it. Lawrence Woolford was +to the point where he was thinking in +terms of graduating out of field work +and taking on a desk job which +meant promotion in status and pay. +</p> + +<p> +He turned over his car to a parker +at the departmental parking lot and +made his way through the entrance +utilized by second-grade departmental +officials. In another year, he told +himself, he'd be using that other +door. +</p> + +<p> +The Boss' reception secretary +looked up when Lawrence Woolford +entered the anteroom where she presided. +<q>Hello, Larry,</q> she said. <q>Hear +they called your vacation short. Darn +shame.</q> +</p> + +<p> +LaVerne Polk was a cute little +whizz of efficiency. Like Napoleon +and his army, she knew the name of +every member of the department and +was on a first-name basis with all. +However, she was definitely a weird. +For instance, styles might come and +styles might go, but LaVerne dressed +for comfort, did her hair the way she +thought it looked best, and wore low-heeled +walking shoes on the job. In +fact, she was ready and willing to +snarl at anyone, no matter how kindly +intentioned, who even hinted that +her nonconformity didn't help her +promotion prospects. +</p> + +<p> +Woolford said, <q>Hi, LaVerne. I +think the Boss is expecting me.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>That he is. Go right in, Larry.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She looked after him when he +turned and left her desk. Lawrence +Woolford cut a pleasant figure as thirty +year old bachelors go. +</p> + +<p> +The Boss looked up from some report +on his desk which he'd been +frowning at, nodded to his field man +and said, <q>Sit down, Lawrence. I'll be +with you in a minute. Please take a +look at this while you're waiting.</q> He +handed over a banknote. +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford took it and found +himself a comfortable chair. He examined +the bill, front and back. It +was a fifty dollar note, almost new. +</p> + +<p> +Finally the Boss, a stocky but impeccable +career bureaucrat of the ultra-latest +school, scribbled his initials +on the report and tossed it into an +Out chute. He said to Woolford, <q>I +am sorry to cut short your vacation, +Lawrence. I considered giving Walter +Foster the assignment, but I think +you're the better choice.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry decided the faint praise routine +was the best tactic, said earnestly +about his closest rival. <q>Walt's a good +man, sir.</q> And then, <q>What's the +crisis?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>What do you think of that fifty?</q> +</p> + +<p> +His trouble shooter looked down at +it. <q>What is there to think about it?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss grunted, slid open a desk +drawer and brought forth another bill. +<q>Here, look at this, please.</q> +</p> + +<p> +It was another fifty. Larry Woolford +frowned at it, not getting whatever +was going on. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Observe the serial numbers,</q> the +Boss said impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +They were identical. +</p> + +<p> +Woolford looked up. <q>Counterfeit. +Which one is the bad one?</q> +</p> + +<pb n='007'/><anchor id='Pg007'/> + +<p> +<q>That is exactly what we would like +to know,</q> the Boss said. +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford stared at his superior, +blinked and then examined the +bills again. <q>A beautiful job,</q> he said, +<q>but what's it got to do with us, sir? +This is Secret Service jurisdiction, +counterfeiting.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>They called us in on it. They +think it might have international +ramifications.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Now they were getting somewhere. +Larry Woolford put the two +bills on the Boss' desk and leaned +back in his chair, waiting. +</p> + +<p> +His superior said, <q>Remember the +Nazis turning out American and +British banknotes during the Second +War?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I was just a kid.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I thought you might have read +about it. At any rate, obviously a government—with +all its resources—could +counterfeit perfectly any currency in +the world. It would have the skills, +the equipment, the funds to accomplish +the task. The Germans turned +out hundreds of millions of dollars +and pounds with the idea of confounding +the Allied financial basics.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>And why didn't it work?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>The difficulty of getting it into +circulation, for one thing. However, +they did actually use a quantity. For a +time our people were so alarmed that +they wouldn't allow any bills to come +into this country from Mexico except +two-dollar denomination—the one +denomination the Germans hadn't +bothered to duplicate. Oh, they had +the Secret Service in a dither for a +time.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Woolford was frowning. <q>What's +this got to do with our current situation?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss said, <q>It is only a conjecture. +One of those bills is counterfeit +but such an excellent reproduction +that the skill involved is beyond the +resources of any known counterfeiter. +Secret Service wants to know if it +might be coming from abroad, +and, if so, from where. If it's a governmental +project, particularly a Soviet +Complex one, then it comes into +the ken of our particular cloak-and-dagger +department.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Yes, sir.</q> Woolford said. He got +up and examined the two bills again. +<q>How'd they ever detect that one was +bad?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Pure fortune. A bank clerk with +an all but eidetic memory was going +through a batch of fifties. It's not too +commonly used a denomination, you +know. Coincidence was involved +since in that same sheaf the serial +number was duplicated.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>And then?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>The reproduction was so perfect +that Secret Service was in an immediate +uproar. Short of the Nazi effort, +there has never been anything like it. +A perfect duplication of engraving +and paper identically the same. The +counterfeiters have even evidently +gone to the extent of putting a certain +amount of artificial wear on the +bills before putting them into circulation.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford said, <q>This is out +of my line. How were they able to +check further, and how many more +did they turn up?</q> +</p> + +<pb n='008'/><anchor id='Pg008'/> + +<p> +<q>The new I.B.M. sorters help. Secret +Service checked every fifty dollar +bill in every institution in town +both banking and governmental. +Thus far, they have located ten bills +in all.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>And other cities?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>None. They've all been passed in +Greater Washington, which is suspicious +in itself. The amount of expense +that has gone into the manufacture +of these bills does not allow +for only a handful of them being +passed. They should be turning up in +number. Lawrence, this reproduction +is such that a pusher could walk into +a bank and have his false currency +changed by any clerk.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Wow,</q> Larry whistled. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Indeed.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>So you want me to work with Secret +Service on this on the off chance +that the Soviet Complex is doing us +deliberate dirt.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>That is exactly the idea, Lawrence. +Get to work, please, and keep in +touch with me. If you need support, +I can assign Walter Foster or some of +the other operatives to assist you. +This might have endless ramifications.</q> +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +Back in the anteroom, Woolford +said to the Boss' receptionist, <q>I'm on +a local job, LaVerne, how about assigning +me a girl?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Can do,</q> she said. +</p> + +<p> +<q>And, look, tell her to get hold of +every available work on counterfeiting +and pile it on my desk.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Right. Thinking of going into +business, Larry?</q> +</p> + +<p> +He grinned down at her. <q>That's +the idea. Keeping up with the Jones +clan in this man's town costs roughly +twice my income.</q> +</p> + +<p> +LaVerne said disapprovingly, +<q>Then why not give it up? With the +classification you've got a single man +ought to be able to save half +his pay.</q> She added, more quietly, <q>Or +get married and support a family.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Save half my pay?</q> Larry snorted. +<q>And get a far out reputation, eh? +No thanks, you can't afford to be a +weird these days.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She flushed—and damn prettily, +Larry Woolford decided. She could be +an attractive item if it wasn't for obviously +getting her kicks out of being +individualistic. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said suddenly, <q>Look, promise +like a good girl not to make us +conspicuous and I'll take you to the +Swank Room for dinner tonight.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Is that where all the bright young +men currently have to be seen +once or twice a week?</q> she snapped +back at him. <q>Get lost, Larry. Being a +healthy, normal woman I'm interested +in men, but not necessarily in +walking status-symbols.</q> +</p> + +<p> +It was his turn to flush, and, he decided +wryly, he probably didn't do it +as prettily as she did. +</p> + +<p> +On his way to his office, he wondered +why the Boss kept her on. +Classically, a secretary-receptionist +should have every pore in place, but +in her time LaVerne Polk must have +caused more than one bureaucratic +eyebrow to raise. Efficiency was probably +the answer; the Boss couldn't +afford to let her go. +</p> + +<pb n='009'/><anchor id='Pg009'/> + +<p> +Larry Woolford's office wasn't +much more than a cubicle. He sat +down at the desk and banged a drawer +or two open and closed. He liked +the work, liked the department, but +theoretically he still had several days +of vacation and hated to get back into +routine. +</p> + +<p> +Had he known it, this was hardly +going to be routine. +</p> + +<p> +He flicked the phone finally and +asked for an outline. He dialed three +numbers before getting his subject. +The phone screen remained blank. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Hans?</q> he said. <q>Lawrence Woolford.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Teutonic accent was heavy, +the voice bluff. <q>Ah, Larry! you need +some assistance to make your vacation? +Perhaps a sinister, exotic young +lady, complete with long cigarette +holder?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford growled, <q>How'd +you know I was on vacation?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The other laughed. <q>You know +better than to ask that, my friend.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>The vacation is over, +Hans. I need some information.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The voice was more guarded now. +<q>I owe you a favor or two.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Don't you though? Look, Hans, +what's new in the Russkie camp?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The heartiness was gone. <q>How do +you mean?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Is there anything big stirring? Is +there anyone new in this country +from the Soviet Complex?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Well now—</q> the other's voice +drifted away. +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford said impatiently, +<q>Look, Hans, let's don't waste time +fencing. You run a clearing agency +for, <emph>ah</emph>, information. You're strictly a +businessman, nonpartisan, so to speak. +Fine, thus far our department has +tolerated you. Perhaps we'll continue +to. Perhaps the reason is that we +figure we get more out of your existence +than we lose. The Russkies +evidently figure the same way, the proof +being that you're alive and +have branches in the capitals of every +power on Earth.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>All right, all right,</q> the German +said. <q>Let me think a moment. Can +you give me an idea of what you're +looking for?</q> There was an undernote +of interest in the voice now. +</p> + +<p> +<q>No. I just want to know if you've +heard anything new anti-my-side, +from the other side. Or if you know +of any fresh personnel recently from +there.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Frankly, I haven't. If you could +give me a hint.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I can't,</q> Larry said. <q>Look, Hans, +like you say, you owe me a favor or +two. If something comes up, let me +know. Then I'll owe you one.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The voice was jovial again. <q>It's a +bargain, my friend.</q> +</p> + +<p> +After Woolford had hung up, he +scowled at the phone. He wondered +if Hans Distelmayer was lying. The +German commanded the largest professional +spy ring in the world. It was +possible, but difficult, for anything in +espionage to develop without his having +an inkling. +</p> + +<p> +The phone rang back. It was Steve +Hackett of Secret Service on the +screen. +</p> + +<p> +Hackett said, <q>Woolford, you coming +<pb n='010'/><anchor id='Pg010'/> +over? I understand you've been +assigned to get in our hair on this +job.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Huh,</q> Larry grunted. <q>The way I +hear it, your whole department has +given up, so I'm assigned to help you +out of your usual fumble-fingered +confusion.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Hackett snorted. <q>At any rate, can +you drop over? I'm to work in liaison +with you.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Coming,</q> Larry said. He hung up, +got to his feet and headed for the +door. If they could crack this thing +the first day, he'd take up that vacation +where it'd been interrupted and +possibly be able to wangle a few +more days out of the Boss to boot. +</p> + +<p> +At this time of day, parking would +have been a problem, in spite of automation +of the streets. He left his +car in the departmental lot and took a +cab. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +The Counterfeit Division of the +Secret Service occupied an impressive +section of an impressive governmental +building. Larry Woolford +flashed his credentials here and there, +explained to guards and receptionists +here and there, and finally wound up +in Steve Hackett's office which was +all but a duplicate of his own in size +and decor. +</p> + +<p> +Steve Hackett himself was a fairly +accurate carbon copy of Woolford, +barring facial resemblance alone. The +fact was, Steve was almost Lincolnesque +in his ugliness. Career man, +about thirty, good university, crew +cut, six foot, one hundred and seventy, +earnest of eye. He wore Harris tweed. +Larry Woolford made a note of that; +possibly herringbone was coming +back in. He winced at the thought of +a major change in his wardrobe; it'd +cost a fortune. +</p> + +<p> +They'd worked on a few cases together +before when Steve Hackett +had been assigned to the presidential +bodyguard and co-operated well. +</p> + +<p> +Steve came to his feet and shook +hands. <q>Thought that you were going +to be down in Florida bass fishing this +month. You like your work so well +you can't stay away, or is it a matter +of trying to impress your chief?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry growled, <q>Fine thing. Secret +Service bogs down and they've got to +call me in to clean up the mess.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve motioned him to a chair and +immediately went serious. <q>Do you +know anything about pushing queer, +Woolford?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>That means passing counterfeit +money, doesn't it? All I know is what's +in the TriD crime shows.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I can see you're going to be a lot +of help. Have you got anywhere at all +on the possibility that the stuff might +be coming from abroad?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Nothing positive,</q> Larry said. <q>Are +you people accomplishing anything?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>We're just getting underway. +There's something off-trail about this +deal, Woolford. It doesn't fit into +routine.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford said, <q>I wouldn't +think so if the stuff is so good not +even a bank clerk can tell the difference.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>That's not what I'm talking about +now. Let me give you a run down on +standard counterfeiting.</q> The Secret +<pb n='011'/><anchor id='Pg011'/> +Service agent pushed back in his +swivel chair, lit a cigarette, and +propped his feet onto the edge of a +partly open desk drawer. <q>Briefly, it +goes like this. Some smart lad gets +himself a set of plates and a platen +press and—</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry interrupted, <q>Where does he +get the plates?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>That doesn't matter now,</q> Steve +said. <q>Various ways. Maybe he makes +them himself, sometimes he buys them +from a crooked engraver. But +I'm talking about pushing green +goods once it's printed. Anyway, our +friend runs off, say, a million dollars +worth of fives. But he doesn't try to +pass them himself. He wholesales +them around netting, say, fifty thousand +dollars. In other words, he sells +twenty dollars in counterfeit for +one good dollar.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry pursed his lips. <q>Quite a discount.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Um-m-m. But that's safest from +his angle. The half dozen or so distributors +he sold it to don't try to pass +it either. They also are playing it +carefully. They peddle it, at say ten +to one, to the next rung down the +ladder.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>And these are the fellows that +pass it, eh?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Not even then, usually. These +small timers take it and pass it on at +five to one to the suckers in the trade, +who take the biggest risks. Most of +these are professional pushers of the +queer, as the term goes. Some, however, +are comparative amateurs. Sailors +for instance, who buy with the +idea of passing it in some foreign +port where seamen's money flows +fast.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford shifted in his +chair. <q>So what are you building up +to?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve Hackett rubbed the end of +his pug nose with a forefinger in +quick irritation. <q>Like I say, that's +standard counterfeit procedure. We're +all set up to meet it, and do a pretty +good job. Where we have our difficulties +is with amateurs.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Woolford scowled at him. +</p> + +<p> +Hackett said, <q>Some guy who makes +and passes it himself, for instance. +He's unknown to the stool pigeons, +has no criminal record, does up comparatively +small amounts and dribbles +his product onto the market over +a period of time. We had one old +devil up in New York once who actually +<emph>drew</emph> one dollar bills. He was a +tremendous artist. It took us years to +get him.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford said, <q>Well, why go +into all this? We're hardly dealing +with amateurs now.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve looked at him. <q>That's the +trouble. We are.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Are you batty? Not even your +own experts can tell this product +from real money.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I didn't say it was being <emph>made</emph> by +amateurs. It's being <emph>pushed</emph> by amateurs—or +maybe amateur is the better +word.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>How do you know?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>For one thing, most professionals +won't touch anything bigger than a +twenty. Tens are better, fives better +still. When you pass a fifty, the person +you give it to is apt to remember +<pb n='012'/><anchor id='Pg012'/> +where he got it.</q> Steve Hackett said +slowly, <q>Particularly if you give one +as a tip to the <foreign lang='fr' rend='italic'>maître d'hôtel</foreign> in a +first-class restaurant. A <foreign lang='fr' rend='italic'>maître d'</foreign> holds +his job on the strength of his ability +to remember faces and names.</q> +</p> + +<p rend='text-align: center'> + <figure url='images/p12.png' rend='width: 30%'> + <figDesc>Illustration.</figDesc> + </figure> +</p> + +<p> +<q>What else makes you think your +pushers are amateurs?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Amateur,</q> Hackett corrected. +<q>Ideally, a pusher is an inconspicuous +type. The kind of person whose face +you'd never remember. It's never a +teenage girl who's blowing money.</q> +</p> + +<p> +It was time to stare now, and Larry +Woolford obliged. <q>A teenager!</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q rend='pre'>We've had four descriptions of +her, one of them excellent. Fredrick, +the <foreign lang='fr' rend='italic'>maître d'</foreign> over at La Calvados, is +the one that counts, but the others +jibe. She's bought perfume and gloves +at Michel Swiss, the swankiest shop +in town, a dress at Chez Marie—she +passed three fifties there—and a hat +at Paulette's over on Monroe Street.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>That's another sign of the amateur, +by the way. A competent pusher +buys a small item and gets change +from his counterfeit bill. Our girl's +been buying expensive items, obviously +more interested in the product +than in her change.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>This doesn't seem to make much +sense,</q> Larry Woolford protested. +<q>You have any ideas at all?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>The question is,</q> Hackett said, +<q>where did she get it? Is she connected +with one of the embassies and +acquired the stuff overseas? If so, that +puts it in your lap again possibly—</q> +</p> + +<p> +The phone rang and Steve flicked +the switch and grumbled, <q>Yeah? +Steven Hackett speaking.</q> +</p> + +<pb n='013'/><anchor id='Pg013'/> + +<p> +He listened for a moment then +banged the phone off and jumped to +his feet. <q>Come on, Larry,</q> he +snapped. <q>This is it.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry stood, too. <q>Who was that?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Fredrick, over at La Calvados. The +girl has come in for lunch. Let's go!</q> +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +La Calvados was the swankiest +French restaurant in Greater Washington, +a city not devoid of swank +restaurants. Only the upper-echelons +in governmental circles could afford +its tariffs; the clientele was more apt +to consist of business mucky-mucks +and lobbyists on the make. Larry +Woolford had eaten here exactly +twice. You could get a reputation +spending money far beyond your obvious +pay status. +</p> + +<p> +Fredrick, the <foreign lang='fr' rend='italic'>maître de hôtel</foreign>, however, +was able to greet them both by +name. <q>Monsieur Hackett, Monsieur +Woolford,</q> he bowed. He obviously +didn't approve of La Calvados being +used as a hangout where counterfeiters +were picked up the authorities. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Where is she?</q> Steve said, looking +out over the public dining room. +</p> + +<p> +Fredrick said, unprofessionally agitated, +<q>See here, Monsieur Hackett, +you didn't expect to, ah, arrest the +young lady <emph>here</emph> during our lunch +hour?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve looked at him impatiently. +<q>We don't exactly beat them over the +head with blackjacks, slip the bracelets +on and drag them screaming to +the paddywagon.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Of course not, monsieur, but—</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford's chief dined +here several times a week and was +probably on the best of terms with +Fredrick whose decisions on tables +and whose degree of servility had a +good deal of influence on a man's +status in Greater Washington. Larry +said wearily, <q>We can wait until she +leaves. Where is she?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Fredrick had taken them to one +side. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Do you see the young lady over +near the window on the park? The +rather gauche appearing type?</q> +</p> + +<p> +It was a teenager, all right. A +youngster up to her eyebrows in the +attempt to project sophistication. +</p> + +<p> +Steve said, <q>Do you know who she +is?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>No,</q> Fredrick said. <q>Hardly our +usual clientele.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Oh?</q> Larry said. <q>She looks like +money.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Fredrick said, <q>The dress appears as +though it is of Chez Marie, but she +wears it as though it came from +Klein's. Her perfume is Chanel, but +she has used approximately three +times the quantity one would expect.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>That's our girl, all right,</q> Steve +murmured. <q>Where can we keep an +eye on her until she leaves?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Why not at the bar here, Messieurs?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Why not?</q> Larry said. <q>I could +use a drink.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Fredrick cleared his throat. <q>Ah, +Messieurs, that fifty I turned over +you. I suppose it turned out to be +spurious?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve grinned at him. <q>Afraid so, +Fredrick. The department is holding +it.</q> +</p> + +<pb n='014'/><anchor id='Pg014'/> + +<p> +Larry took out his wallet. <q>However, +we have a certain leeway on expenses +on this assignment and appreciate +your co-operation.</q> He +handed two twenties and a ten to the +<foreign lang='fr' rend='italic'>maître d'</foreign>. Fredrick bowed low, the +money disappearing into his clothes +magically. <q><foreign lang='fr' rend='italic'>Merci bien</foreign>, monsieur.</q> +</p> + +<p> +At the bar, Steve scowled at his +colleague. <q>Ha!</q> he said. <q>Why didn't +I think of that first? He'll get +down on his knees and bump his +head each time he sees you in the +joint from now on.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford waggled a finger +at the other. <q>This is a status conscious +town, my boy. Prestige means +everything. When I take over my +Boss' job, maybe we can swing a +transfer and I'll give you a position +suitable to your attainments.</q> He +pursed his lips judiciously. <q>Although, +come to think of it, that +might mean a demotion from the job +you're holding now.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Vodka martini,</q> Steve told the +bartender. <q>Polish vodka, of course.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Of course, sir.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>Same for me.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The bartender left and Steve muttered, +<q>I hate vodka.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Yeah,</q> Larry said, <q>But what're +you going to do in a place like this, +order some weird drink?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve dug into his pocket for +money. <q>We're not going to have to +drink them. Here she comes.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She walked with her head held +high, hauteur in every step. Ignoring +the peasants at the tables she passed. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Holy smokes,</q> Steve grunted. +<q>It's a wonder Fredrick let her in.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She hesitated momentarily before +the doorway of the prestige restaurant +allowing the passers-by to realize +she'd just emerged, and then +turned to her right to promenade +along the shopping street. +</p> + +<p> +Fifty feet below La Calvados, Steve +said, <q>Let's go, Woolford.</q> +</p> + +<p> +One stepped to one elbow, the +other to the other. Steve said quietly, +<q>I wonder if we could ask you a few +questions?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Her eyebrows went up, <q>I <emph>beg</emph> your +pardon!</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve sighed and displayed the +badge pinned to his wallet, keeping +it inconspicuous. <q>Secret Service, +Miss,</q> he murmured. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Oh, devil,</q> she said. She looked up +at Larry Woolford, and then back at +Steve. +</p> + +<p> +Steve said, <q>Among other things, +we're in charge of counterfeit money.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She was about five foot four in her +heels, had obviously been on a round +of beauty shops and had obviously +instructed them to glamorize her. It +hadn't come off. She still looked as +though she'd be more at home as +cheerleader of the junior class in +small town high school. She was +honey blond, green-blue of eye, and +had that complexion they seldom +carry even into the twenties. +</p> + +<p> +<q>I ... I don't know what you're +talking about.</q> Her chin began to +tremble. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said gently, <q>Don't worry. +We just want to ask you some questions.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Well ... like what?</q> She was +<pb n='015'/><anchor id='Pg015'/> +going to be blinking back tears in a +moment. At least Larry hoped she'd +blink them back. He'd hate to have +her start howling here in public. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>We think you can be of +assistance to the government, and +we'd like your help.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve rolled his eyes upward, but +turned and waved for a street level +cab. +</p> + +<p> +In the cab, Larry said, <q>Suppose we +go over to my office, Steve?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>O.K. with me,</q> Steve muttered, +<q>but by the looks of the young lady +here, I think it's a false alarm from +your angle. She's obviously an American. +What's your name, Miss?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>It's Zusanette. Well, really, Susan.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Susan what?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I ... I'm not sure I want to tell +you. I ... I want a lawyer.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>A lawyer!</q> Steve snorted. <q>You +mean you want the juvenile authorities, +don't you?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Oh, what a mean thing to say,</q> +she sputtered. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +In the corridor outside the Boss' +suite of offices, Larry said to Steve, +<q>You take Miss ... ah, Zusanette +to my office, will you Steve. I'll be +there in a minute.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He opened the door to the anteroom +and said, <q>LaVerne, we've got a +girl in my office—</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Why, Larry!</q> +</p> + +<p> +He glowered at her. <q>A suspect. I +want a complete tape of everything +said. As soon as we're through, have +copies made, at least three or four.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>And, who, Mr. Woolford, was +your girl Friday last year?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>This is important, honey. I suppose +you've supplied me with a secretary +but I haven't even met her +yet. Take care of it, will you?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Sure enough, Larry.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He followed Steve and the girl to +his office. +</p> + +<p> +Once seated, the girl and Steve in +the only two extra chairs the cubicle +boasted and Larry behind his desk, +he looked at her in what he hoped +was reassurance. <q>Just tell us where +you got the money, Zusanette.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve reached out a hand suddenly +and took her bag from her lap. +She gasped and snatched at it, but +he eluded her and she sat back, her +chin trembling again. +</p> + +<p> +Steve came up with a thick sheaf +of bills, the top ones, at least, all +fifties and tossed them to Larry's +desk. He took out a school pass and +read, <q>Susan Self, Elwood Avenue.</q> +He looked up at Larry and said, +<q>That's right off Eastern, near Paterson +Park in the Baltimore section of +town, isn't it?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said to her, <q>Zusanette, I think +you'd better tell us where you got all +this money.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I found it,</q> she said defiantly. +<q>You can't do anything to me if I +simply found it. Anybody can find +money. Finders keepers—</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>But if it's counterfeit,</q> Steve interrupted +dryly, <q>it might also be, +finders weepers.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Where did you find it, Zusanette?</q> +Larry said gently. +</p> + +<p> +She tightened her lips, and the +trembling of her chin disappeared. +<q>I ... I can't tell you that. But it's +<pb n='016'/><anchor id='Pg016'/> +not counterfeit. Daddy ... my father +said it was as good as any money +the government prints.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>That it is,</q> Steve said sourly. +<q>But it's still counterfeit, which +makes it very illegal indeed to spend, +Miss Self.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She looked from one of them +to the other, not clear about her position. +She said to Larry, <q>You mean +it's not <emph>real</emph> money?</q> +</p> + +<p> +He kept his tone disarming, but +shook his head, <q>I'm afraid not, Zusanette. +Now, tell us, where did you +find it?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I can't. I promised</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I see. Then you don't know to +whom it originally belonged?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>It didn't belong to anybody.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve Hackett made with a disbelieving +whistle. He was taking the +part of the tough, suspicious cop; +Larry the part of the understanding, +sympathetic officer, trying to give the +suspect a break. +</p> + +<p> +Susan Self turned quickly on Steve. +<q>Well, it didn't. You don't even +know.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>I think she's telling the +truth, Steve. Give her a chance. She's +playing fair.</q> He looked back at the +girl, and frowned his puzzlement. +<q>All money belongs to <emph>somebody</emph> +doesn't it?</q> +</p> + +<p> +She had them now. She said superiorly. +<q>Not necessarily to some<emph>body</emph>. +It can belong to, like, an organization.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve grunted skepticism. <q>I think +we ought to arrest her,</q> he said. +</p> + +<p> +Larry held up a hand, his face registering +opposition. <q>I'll handle this,</q> +he said sharply. <q>Zusanette is doing +everything she can to co-operate.</q> He +turned back to the girl. <q>Now, the +question is, what organization did this +money belong to?</q> +</p> + +<p> +She looked triumphantly at Steve +Hackett. <q>It belonged to the Movement.</q> +</p> + +<p> +They both looked at her. +</p> + +<p> +Steve said finally, <q>What movement?</q> +</p> + +<p> +She pouted in thought. <q>That's the +only name they call it.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Who's they?</q> Steve snapped nastily. +</p> + +<p> +<q>I ... I don't know.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>Well, you already told +us your father was a member, Zusanette.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes went wide. <q>I did? I +shouldn't have said that.</q> But she +evidently took him at his word. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said encouragingly, <q>Well, +we might as well go on. Who else is +a member of this Movement besides +your father?</q> +</p> + +<p> +She shifted in her chair uncomfortably. +<q>I don't know any of their names.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve looked down at the school +pass in his hands. He said to Larry, +<q>I'd better make a phone call.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He left. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>Don't worry about him, +Zusanette. Now then, this <emph>movement</emph>. +That's kind of a funny name, isn't it? +What does it mean?</q> +</p> + +<p> +She was evidently glad that the less +than handsome Steve Hackett had +left the room. Her words flowed more +freely. <q>Well, Daddy says that they +<pb n='017'/><anchor id='Pg017'/> +call it the Movement rather than a +revolution....</q> +</p> + +<p> +An ice cube manifested itself in +the stomach of Lawrence Woolford. +</p> + +<p> +<q>... Because people get conditioned, +like, to words. Like revolution. +Everybody is against the word +because they all think of killing and +everything, and, Daddy says, there +doesn't have to be any shooting or +killing or anything like that at all. It +just means a fundamental change in +society. And, Daddy says, take the +word propaganda. Everybody's got to +thinking that it automatically means +lies, but it doesn't at all. It just means, +like, the arguments you use to convince +people that what you stand for +is right and it might be lies or it +might not. And, Daddy says, take the +word socialism. So many people have +the wrong idea of what it means that +the socialists ought to scrap the word +and start using something else to +mean what they stand for.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said gently, <q>Your father is +a socialist?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Oh, no.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He nodded in understanding. <q>Oh, +a Communist, eh?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Susan Self was indignant. <q>Daddy +thinks the Communists are strictly +awful, really weird.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve Hackett came back into the +office. He said to Larry, <q>I sent a couple +of the boys out to pick him up.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Susan was on her feet, a hand to +mouth. <q>You mean my father! You're +going to arrest him!</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said soothingly, <q>Sit down, +Zusanette. There's a lot of things +about this that I'm sure your father +can explain.</q> He said to Steve, <q>She +tells me that the money belonged to +a movement. A revolutionary movement +which doesn't use the term +revolutionary because people react +unfavorably to that word. It's not +Commie.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Susan said indignantly, <q>It's American, +not anything foreign!</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve growled, <q>Let's get back to +the money. What's this movement doing +with a lot of counterfeit bills and +where did you find them?</q> +</p> + +<p> +She evidently figured she'd gone +too far now to take a stand. <q>It's not +Daddy's fault,</q> she said. <q>He took me +to headquarters twice.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Where's headquarters?</q> Larry said +trying to keep his voice soothing. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Well ... I don't know. Daddy +was awfully silly about it. He tied his +handkerchief around my eyes near +the end. But the others complained +about me anyway, and Daddy got awfully +mad and said something about +the young people of the country participating +in their emancipation and +all, but the others got mad too, and +said there wasn't any kind of help I +could do around headquarters anyway, +and I'd be better off in school. +Everybody got awfully mad, but after +the second time Daddy promised not +to take me to headquarters any more.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>But where did you find the money, +Zusannette?</q> Larry said. +</p> + +<p> +<q>At headquarters. There's tons and +tons of it there.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry cleared his throat and said, +<q>When you say tons and tons, you +mean a great deal of it, eh?</q> +</p> + +<p> +She was proudly definite. <q>I mean +<pb n='018'/><anchor id='Pg018'/> +tons and tons. A ton is two thousand +pounds.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Look, Zusanette,</q> Larry said reasonably. +<q>I don't know how much +money weighs, exactly, but let's say a +pound would be, say, a thousand bills.</q> +He took up a pencil and scribbled on +a pad before him. <q>A pound of fifties +would be $50,000. Then if you multiply +that by 2,000 pounds to make a +ton, you'd have $100,000,000. And +you say there's tons and tons?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>And that's just the fifties,</q> Susan +said triumphantly. <q>So you can see +the two little packages I picked up +aren't really important at all. It's just +like I found them.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I don't think there's quite a thousand +bills in a pound,</q> Steve said weakly. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>How much other money +is there?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Oh, piles. Whole rooms. Rooms +after rooms. And hundred dollar bills, +and twenties, and fives, and tens—</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>Look, Zusanette, +I don't think you're in any position to be +telling us whoppers. This whole story +doesn't make much sense, does it?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Her mouth tightened. <q>I'm not going +to say anything more until Daddy +gets here, anyway,</q> she said. +</p> + +<p> +Which was when the phone rang. +</p> + +<p> +<q>I have an idea that's for me,</q> +Steve said. +</p> + +<p> +The screen lit up and LaVerne Polk +said, <q>Call for Steve Hackett, Larry.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry pushed the phone around so +Steve could look into it. LaVerne +flicked off and was replaced by a +stranger in uniform. Steve said, +<q>Yeah?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The cop said, <q>He's 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.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Susan gasped, <q>You mean Daddy?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve Hackett rubbed a hand over +his flattened nose. <q>Holy Smokes,</q> he +said. He thanked the cop and flicked +off. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>Look Zusanette, everything's +going to be all right. Nothing +will happen to you. You say you managed +to pick up two packets of all +this money they have at headquarters. +O.K. So you thought it wouldn't be +missed and you've always wanted to +spend money the way you see the +stars do on TriD and in the movies.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him, taken back. +<q>How did you know?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said dryly, <q>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?</q> +</p> + +<p> +That evidently puzzled her. <q>The +Professor said 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.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve said, carefully, <q>Professor +who?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Susan said, <q>Just the Professor. +That's all we ever call him.</q> Her chin +went to trembling still again. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<pb n='019'/><anchor id='Pg019'/> + +<p> +Larry summed it up for the Boss +later. +</p> + +<p> +His chief scoffed his disbelief. <q>The +child is full of dreams, Lawrence. It +comes from seeing an over-abundance +of these TriD shows. I have a girl the +same age. I don't know what is happening +to the country. They have no +sense of reality.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford said mildly, <q>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.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss said tolerantly, <q>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 yet?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Susan Self says her father, Ernest +Self, is an inventor. Steve Hackett is +working on locating him.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>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?</q> +</p> + +<p> +His operative twisted his face in a +grimace. <q>Sure, I do, but I'm not happy +about this, sir. What happens if there +really is an organization, a +Movement, like she said? That brings +it back under our jurisdiction, anti-subversion.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The other shook his head tolerantly. +<q>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 handfuls 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 against +whatever the current government happens to be. Usually, +they are on the point of actual +starvation. Have you ever read Machiavelli?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Niccolo Machiavelli was currently +<emph>the thing</emph> to read. Larry said with a +certain dignity, <q>I've gone through +<q>The Prince,</q> the <q>Discourses</q> and currently +I'm amusing myself with his +<q>History of Florence.</q></q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Anybody who can amuse himself +reading Machiavelli,</q> the Boss said +dryly, <q>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 tolerance—but it's always within +their tolerance zone.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry frowned and said, <q>Well, +what's your point, sir?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss said patiently, <q>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 +<pb n='020'/><anchor id='Pg020'/> +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 <emph>masses</emph> to moving. You +have to give speeches, print newspapers, +books, pamphlets, you have +got to send your organizers out to intensify +interest in your program.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>I see what you mean. +If this so-called Movement actually +existed it couldn't expect to get anywhere +as long as remained secret.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss nodded. <q>That is correct. +The <emph>leaders</emph> of a revolutionary movement +might be intellectuals, social +scientists, scholars—in fact they usually +are—take our own American +Revolution with Jefferson, Madison, +Franklin, Washington. Or the French +Revolution with Robespierre, Danton, +Marat, Engels and Lenin. All were +well educated intellectuals from +the middle class. But the revolution itself, +once it starts, comes from below, +from the mass of people pushed beyond +tolerance.</q> +</p> + +<p> +It came to Lawrence Woolford that +his superior had achieved to his +prominent office not through any +fluke. He knew what he was talking +about. +</p> + +<p> +The Boss wound it up. <q>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.</q> +</p> + +<p> +His trouble shooter cleared his +throat. <q>I suppose you're right, sir.</q> +He added hesitantly. <q>We could always +give Susan Self a few drops of +Scop-Serum, sir.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss scowled disapprovingly. +<q>You know how the Supreme Court +ruled on that, Lawrence. And particularly +since the medics revealed its effect +on reducing sexual inhibitions. +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.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry came to his feet. <q>Well, then, +I'll resume my vacation, eh?</q> +</p> + +<p> +His chief took up a report from his +desk an frowned at it, his attention +already passing to other matters. He +grunted, <q>Clear it with LaVerne, +please. Tell her I said to take another +week to make up for our intruding +on you in this manner.</q> +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +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 sixteen or seventeen +old's go, picked up such ideas as the +fact that people developed prejudices +against words like revolution and +propaganda? +</p> + +<p> +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 +<pb n='021'/><anchor id='Pg021'/> +and the bass fishing on the +St. John's River. +</p> + +<p> +He stopped at LaVerne's desk and +gave her his address to be, now that +his vacation was resumed. +</p> + +<p> +She said, smiling up at him. <q>Right. +The boss already told me to get in +touch with Secret Service and let +them know we're pulling out. What +happened to Susan Self?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry looked at her. <q>How'd you +know about Susan?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Her tone was deprecating. <q>Remember? +You had me cut some +tapes on you and that hulking Steve +Hackett grilling the poor kid.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry snorted. <q>Poor kid, yet. With +her tastes for living-it-up, and that +father she has, she'll probably spend +the rest of her life getting in Steve's +hair as a counterfeit pusher.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>What are they going to do with +her? She's just a child.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The agent shrugged. <q>I feel sorry +for her, too, LaVerne. Steve's got her +in a suite at the Greater Washington +Hilton, until things are cleared up. +They don't want the newspapers to +get wind of this until they've got that +inventor father of hers and whatever +he's cooked up to turn out perfect +reproductions of Uncle Sam's money. +Look, I won't be leaving until tomorrow. +What'd you say we go out on +the town tonight?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Why, Larry Woolford! How nice +of you to ask me. Poor Little, Non-U +me. What do you have in mind? I +understand Mort Lenny's at one of +the night clubs.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry winced. <q>You know what +he's been saying about the administration.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She smiled sweetly at him. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>Look, we could take in +the Brahms concert, then—</q> +</p> + +<pb n='022'/><anchor id='Pg022'/> + +<p> +<q>Do you like Brahms? I go for +popular music myself. Preferably the +sort of thing they wrote back in the +1930s. Something you can dance to, +something you know the words to. +Corny, they used to call it. Remember +<q>Sunny Side of the Street,</q> and <q>Just +the Way You Look Tonight</q>.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry winced again. He said, <q>Look, +I admit, I don't go for concerts either +but it doesn't hurt you to—</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I know,</q> she said sweetly. <q>It +doesn't hurt for a bright young bureaucrat +to be seen at concerts.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>How about Dixieland?</q> he said. +<q>It's all the thing now.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I like corn. Besides, my wardrobe +is all out of style. Paris, London, and +Rome just got in a huddle a couple of +weeks ago and antiquated everything +I own. You wouldn't want to be seen +with a girl a few weeks out of date, +would you?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Oh, now, LaVerne, get off my +back.</q> He thought about it. <q>Look, +you must have <emph>something</emph> you could +wear.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Get out of here, you vacant minded +conformist! I <emph>like</emph> Mort Lenny, he +makes me laugh; I <emph>hate</emph> vodka martinis, +they give me sour stomach; I +don't <emph>like</emph> the current women's styles, +nor the men's either.</q> LaVerne spun +back to her auto-typer and began to +dictate into it. +</p> + +<p> +Larry glared down at her. <q>All +right. O.K. What <emph>do</emph> you like?</q> +</p> + +<p> +She snapped back irrationally, <q>I +like what <emph>I</emph> like.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He laughed at her in ridicule. +</p> + +<p> +This time she glared at him. <q>That +makes more sense than you're capable +of assimilating, Mr. Walking Status +Symbol. My likes and dislikes aren't +dictated by someone else. If I like +corny music, I'll listen to it and the +devil with Brahms or Dixieland or +anything else that somebody else tells +me is all the thing!</q> +</p> + +<p> +He turned on his heel angrily. +<q>O.K., O.K., it takes all sorts to make a +world, weirds and all.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>One more label to hang on people,</q> +she snarled after him. <q>Everything's +labels. Be sure and never +come to any judgments of your own!</q> +</p> + +<p> +What a woman! He wondered why +he'd ever bothered to ask her for a +date. There were so many women in +this town you waded through them, +and here he was exposing himself to +be seen in public with a girl everybody +in the department knew was as +weird as they came. It didn't do your +standing any good to be seen around +with the type. He wondered all over +again why the Boss tolerated her as +his receptionist-secretary. +</p> + +<p> +He got his car from the parking lot +and drove home at a high level. Ordinarily, +the distance being what it +was, he drove in the lower and slower +traffic levels but now his frustration +demanded some expression. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +Back at his suburban auto-bungalow, +he threw all except the high +priority switch and went on down +into his small second cellar den. He +didn't really feel like a night on the +town anyway. A few vodka martinis +under his belt and he'd sleep late and +he wanted to get up in time for an +early start for Florida. Besides, in that +<pb n='023'/><anchor id='Pg023'/> +respect he agreed with the irritating +wench. Vermouth was never meant to +mix with Polish vodka. He wished +that Sidecars would come back. +</p> + +<p> +In his den, he shucked off his jacket, +kicked off his shoes and shuffled into +Moroccan slippers. He went over to +his current reading rack and scowled +at the paperbacks there. His culture +status books were upstairs where they +could be seen. He pulled out a western, +tossed it over to the cocktail table +that sat next to his chair, and then +went over to the bar. +</p> + +<p> +Up above in his living room, he +had one of the new autobars. You +could dial any one of more than thirty +drinks. Autobars were all the rage. +The Boss had one that gave a selection +of a hundred. But what difference +did it make when nobody but +eccentric old-timers or flighty blondes +drank anything except vodka martinis? +He didn't like autobars anyway. +A well mixed drink is a personal +thing, a work of competence, instinct +and art, not something measured to +the drop, iced to the degree, shaken +or stirred to a mathematical formula. +</p> + +<p> +Out of the tiny refrigerator he +brought a four-ounce cube of frozen +pineapple juice, touched the edge +with his thumbnail and let the ultra +thin plastic peel away. He tossed the +cube into his mixer, took up a bottle +of light rum and poured in about +two ounces. He brought an egg from +the refrigerator and added that. An +ounce of whole milk followed and a +teaspoon of powdered sugar. He +flicked the switch and let the conglomeration +froth together. +</p> + +<p> +He poured it into a king-size +highball glass and took it over to his +chair. Vodka martinis be damned, he +liked a slightly sweet long drink. +</p> + +<p> +He sat down in the chair, picked up +the book and scowled at the cover. He +ought to be reading that Florentine +history of Machiavelli's, especially if +the Boss had got to the point where +he was quoting from the guy. But the +heck with it, he was on vacation. He +didn't think much of the Italian diplomat +of the Renaissance anyway; +how could you be that far back without +being dated? +</p> + +<p> +He couldn't get beyond the first +page or two. +</p> + +<p> +And when you can't concentrate +on a Western, you just can't concentrate. +</p> + +<p> +He finished his drink, went over to +his phone and dialed <hi rend='italic'>Department of +Records</hi> and then <hi rend='italic'>Information</hi>. When +the bright young thing answered, he +said, <q>I'd like the brief on an Ernest +Self who lives on Elwood Avenue, +Baltimore section of Greater Washington. +I don't know his code number.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She did things with switches and +buttons for a moment and then +brought a sheet from a delivery chute. +<q>Do you want me to read it to you, +sir?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>No, I'll scan it,</q> Larry said. +</p> + +<p> +Her face faded to be replaced by +the brief on Ernest Self. +</p> + +<p> +It was astonishingly short. <hi rend='italic'>Records</hi> +seemed to have slipped up on this occasion. +A rare occurrence. He considered +requesting the full dossier, then +changed his mind. Instead he dialed +<pb n='024'/><anchor id='Pg024'/> +the number of the <hi rend='italic'>Sun-Post</hi> and +asked for its science columnist. +</p> + +<p> +Sam Sokolski's puffy face eventually +faded in. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said to him sourly, <q>You +drink too much. You can begin to see +the veins breaking in your nose.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Sam looked at him patiently. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>How'd you like to +come over and toss back a few tonight?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I'm working. I thought you were +on vacation.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry sighed. <q>I am,</q> he said. <q>O.K., +so you can't take a night off and lift a +few with an old buddy.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>That's right. Anything else, Larry?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Yes. Look, have you ever heard of +an inventor named Ernest Self?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Sure I've heard of him. Covered a +hassle he got into some years ago. A +nice guy.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I'll bet,</q> Larry said. <q>What does he +invent, something to do with printing +presses, or something?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Printing presses? Don't you remember +the story about him?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Brief me,</q> Larry said. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Well—briefly does it—it got out a +couple of years ago that some of our +rocketeers had bought a solid fuel formula +from an Italian research outfit +for the star probe project. Paid them +a big hunk of Uncle's change for it. +So Self sued.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>You're being <emph>too</emph> brief. +What d'ya mean, he sued? Why?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Because he claimed he'd submitted +the same formula to the same +agency a full eighteen months earlier +and they'd turned him down.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Had he?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Probably.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry didn't get it. <q>Then why'd +they turn him down?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Sam said, <q>Oh, the government +boys had a good alibi. Crackpots turn +up all over the place and you have to +brush them off. Every cellar scientist +who comes along and says he's got a +new super-fuel developed from old +coffee grounds can't be given the welcome +mat. Something was wrong +with his math or something and they +didn't pay much attention to him. +Wouldn't even let him demonstrate +it. But it was the same formula, all +right.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford was scowling. +<q>Something wrong with his math? +What kind of a degree does he have?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Sam grinned in memory. <q>I got a +good quote on that. He doesn't have +any degree. He said he'd learned to +read by the time he'd reached high +school and since then he figured +spending time in classrooms was a +matter of interfering with his education.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>No wonder they turned him down. +No degree at all. You can't get anywhere +in science like that.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Sam said, <q>The courts rejected his +suit but he got a certain amount of +support here and there. Peter Voss, +over at the university, claims he's one +of the great intuitive scientists, whatever +that is, of our generation.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Who said that?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Professor Voss. Not that it makes +any difference what he says. Another +crackpot.</q> +</p> + +<p> +After Sam's less than handsome face +<pb n='025'/><anchor id='Pg025'/> +was gone from the phone, Larry +walked over to the bar with his empty +glass and stared at the mixer for several +minutes. He began to make himself +another flip, but cut it short in +the middle, put down the ingredients +and went back to the phone to dial +<hi rend='italic'>Records</hi> again. +</p> + +<p> +He went through first the brief and +then the full dossier on Professor +Peter Luther Voss. Aside from his +academic accomplishments, particularly +in the fields of political economy +and international law, and the dozen +or so books accredited to him, there +wasn't anything particularly noteworthy. +A bachelor in his fifties. No +criminal record of any kind, of course, +and no military career. No known political +affiliations. Evidently a strong +predilection for Thorstein Veblen's +theories. And he'd been a friend of +Henry Mencken back when that old +nonconformist was tearing down contemporary +society seemingly largely +for the fun involved in the tearing. +</p> + +<p> +On the face of it, the man was no +radical, and the term <q>crackpot</q> +which Sam had applied was hardly +called for. +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford went back to the +bar and resumed the job of mixing +his own version of a rum flip. +</p> + +<p> +But his heart wasn't in it. <hi rend='italic'>The Professor</hi>, +Susan had said. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +Before he'd gone to bed the night +before, Larry Woolford had ordered a +seat on the shuttle jet for Jacksonville +and a hover-cab there to take +him to Astor, on the St. Johns River. +And he'd requested to be wakened in +ample time to get to the shuttleport. +</p> + +<p> +But it wasn't the saccharine pleasant +face of the Personal Service operator +which confronted him when he +grumpily answered the phone in the +morning. In fact, the screen remained +blank. +</p> + +<p> +Larry decided that sweet long +drinks were fine, but that anyone who +took several of them in a row needed +to be candied. He grumbled into the +phone, <q>All right, who is it?</q> +</p> + +<p> +A Teutonic voice chuckled and +said, <q>You're going to have to decide +whether or not you're on vacation, my +friend. At this time of day, why aren't +you at work?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford was waking up. He +said, <q>What can I do for you, Distelmayer?</q> +The German merchant-of-espionage +wasn't the type to make +personal calls. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Have you forgotten so soon, my +friend?</q> the other chuckled. <q>It was I +who was going to do you a favor.</q> He +hesitated momentarily, before adding, +<q>In possible return for future—</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Yeah, yeah,</q> Larry said. He was +fully awake now. +</p> + +<p> +The German said slowly, <q>You +asked if any of your friends from, ah, +abroad were newly in the country. +Frol Eivazov has recently appeared on +the scene.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Eivazov! In various respects, Larry +Woolford's counterpart. Hatchetman +for the <hi rend='italic'>Chrezvychainaya Komissiya</hi>. +Woolford had met him on occasion +when they'd both been present at international +summit meetings, busily +working at counter-espionage for +their respective superiors. Blandly +<pb n='026'/><anchor id='Pg026'/> +shaking hands with each other, blandly +drinking toasts to peace and international +co-existence, blandly sizing +each other up and wondering if it'd +ever come to the point where one +would <emph>blandly</emph> treat the other to a +hole in the head, possibly in some +dark alley in Havana or Singapore, +Leopoldville or Saigon. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said sharply, <q>Where is he? +How'd he get in the country?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>My friend, my friend,</q> the German +grunted good-humoredly. <q>You +know better than to ask the first question. +As for the second, Frol's command +of American-English is at least +as good as your own. Do you think +his <foreign rend='italic'>Komissiya</foreign> less capable than your +own department and unable to do +him up suitable papers so that he +could be, perhaps, a <q>returning tourist</q> +from Europe?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford was impatient with +himself for asking. He said now, <q>It's +not important. If we want to locate +Frol and pick him up, we'll probably +not have too much trouble doing it.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I wouldn't think so,</q> the other +said humorously. <q>Since 1919, when +they were first organized, the so-called +Communists in this country, +from the lowest to the highest echelons, +have been so riddled with police +agents that a federal judge in New +England once refused to prosecute a +case against them on the grounds that +the party was a United States government +agency.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry was in no frame of mind for +the other's heavy humor. <q>Look, +Hans,</q> he said, <q>what I want to know +is what Frol is over here for.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Of course you do,</q> Hans Distelmayer +said, unable evidently to keep +note of puzzlement from his voice. +<q>Larry,</q> he said, <q>I assume your people +know of the new American underground.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q><emph>What</emph> underground?</q> Larry +snapped. +</p> + +<p> +The professional spy chief said, his +voice strange, <q>The Soviets seem to +have picked up an idea somewhere, +possibly through their membership in +this country, that something is abrewing +in the States. That a change is +being engineered.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry stared at the blank phone +screen. +</p> + +<p> +<q>What kind of a change?</q> he said +finally. <q>You mean a change to the +Soviet system?</q> Surely not even the +self-deluding Russkies could think it +possible to overthrow the American +socio-economic system in favor of the +Soviet brand. +</p> + +<p> +<q>No, no, no,</q> the German chuckled. +<q>Of course not. It's not of their +working at all.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Then what's Frol Eivazov's interest, +if they aren't engineering it?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Distelmayer rumbled his characteristic +chuckle with humor. <q>My dear +friend, don't be naive. Anything that +happens in America is of interest to +the Soviets. There is delicate peace +between you now that they have +changed their direction and are occupying +themselves largely with the +economic and agricultural development +of Asia and such portions of +the world as have come under their +hegemony, and while you put all efforts +<pb n='027'/><anchor id='Pg027'/> +into modernizing the more backward +countries among your satellites.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said automatically, <q>Our allies +aren't satellites.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The spy-master went on without +contesting the statement. <q>There is +immediate peace but surely governmental +officials on both sides keep +careful watch on the internal developments +of the other. True, the current +heads of the Soviet Complex +would like to see the governments of +all the Western powers changed—but +only if they are changed in the direction +of communism. They are hardly +interested in seeing changes made +which would strengthen the West in +the, ah, Battle For Men's Minds.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry snorted his disgust. <q>What +sort of change in government would +strengthen the United States in—</q> +</p> + +<p> +The German interrupted smoothly, +<q>Evidently, that's what Frol seems to +be here for, Larry. To find out more +about this movement and—</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>This <emph>what</emph>?</q> Larry blurted. +</p> + +<p> +<q>The term seems to be <emph>movement</emph>.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford held a long silence +before saying, <q>And Frol is actually +here in this country to buck this ... +this movement.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Not necessarily,</q> the other said +impatiently. <q>He is here to find out +more about it. Evidently Peking and +Moscow have heard just enough to +make them nervous.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>You have anything +more, Hans?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I'm afraid that's about it.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>All right,</q> Larry said. He added +absently, <q>Thanks, Hans.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Thank me some day with deeds, +not with words,</q> the German chuckled. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +Larry Woolford looked at his watch +and grimaced. He was either going to +get going now or forget about doing +any fishing in Florida this afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +Grudgingly, he dialed the phone +company's Personal Service and said +to the impossibly cheerful blonde +who answered, <q>Where can I find +Professor Peter Voss who teaches +over at the University in Baltimore? I +don't want to talk with him, just want +to know where he'll be an hour from +now.</q> +</p> + +<p> +While waiting for his information, +he dressed, deciding inwardly that he +hated his job, the department in +which he was employed, the Boss and +Greater Washington. On top of that, +he hated himself. He'd already been +taken off this assignment, why couldn't +he leave it lay? +</p> + +<p> +The blonde rang him back. Professor +Peter Voss was at home. He had +no classes today. She gave him the +address. +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford raised his car from +his auto-bungalow in the Brandywine +suburb and headed northwest at a +high level for the old Baltimore section +of the city. +</p> + +<p> +The Professor's house, he noted, +was of an earlier day and located on +the opposite side of Paterson Park +from Elwood avenue, the street on +which Susan Self and her father had +resided. That didn't necessarily hold +significance, the park was a large one +and the Professor's section a well-to-do +<pb n='028'/><anchor id='Pg028'/> +neighborhood, while Self's was +just short of a slum these days. +</p> + +<p> +He brought his car down to street +level, and parked before the scholar's +three-story, brick house. Baltimore-like, +it was identical to every +other house in the block; Larry wondered +vaguely how anybody ever +managed to find his own place when +it was very dark out. +</p> + +<p> +There was an old-fashioned bell at +the side of the entrance and Larry +Woolford pushed it. There was no +identification screen in the door, evidently +the inhabitants had to open up +to see who was calling, a tiring chore +if you were on the far side of the +house and the caller nothing more +than a salesman. +</p> + +<p> +It was obviously the Professor himself +who answered. +</p> + +<p> +He was in shirtsleeves, tieless and +with age-old slippers on his stockingless +feet. He evidently hadn't bothered +to shave this morning and he +held a dog-earred pamphlet in his +right hand, his forefinger tucked in it +to mark his place. He wore thick-lensed, +gold-rimmed glasses through +which he blinked at Larry Woolford +questioningly, without speaking. Professor +Peter Voss was a man in his +mid fifties, and, on the face of it, +couldn't care less right now about his +physical appearance. +</p> + +<p> +A weird, Larry decided immediately. +He wondered at the University, +one of the nation's best, keeping on +such a figure. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Professor Voss?</q> he said. <q>Lawrence +Woolford.</q> He brought forth +his identification. +</p> + +<p> +The Professor blinked down at it. +<q>I see,</q> he said. <q>Won't you come +in?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The house was old, all right. From +the outside, quite acceptable, but the +interior boasted few of the latest +amenities which made all the difference +in modern existence. Larry was +taken back by the fact that the phone +which he spotted in the <foreign rend='italic'>entrada</foreign> hadn't +even a screen—an old model for +speaking only. +</p> + +<p> +The Professor noticed his glance +and said dryly, <q>The advantages of +combining television and telephone +have never seemed valid to me. In my +own home, I feel free to relax, as you +can observe. Had I a screen on my +phone, it would be necessary for me +to maintain the same appearance as I +must on the streets or before my +classes.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry cleared his throat without +saying anything. This was a weird +one, all right. +</p> + +<p> +The living room was comfortable +in a blatantly primitive way. Three or +four paintings on the walls which +were probably originals, Larry decided, +and should have been in museums. +Not an abstract among them. +A Grant Wood, a Marin, and that +over there could only be a Grandma +Moses. The sort of things you might +keep in your private den, but hardly to +be seen as culture symbols. +</p> + +<p> +The chairs were large, of leather, +and comfortable and probably belonged +to the period before the Second +War. Peter Voss, evidently, was +little short of an exhibitionist. +</p> + +<p> +The Professor took up a battered +<pb n='029'/><anchor id='Pg029'/> +humidor. <q>Cigar?</q> he said. <q>Manila. +Hard to get these days.</q> +</p> + +<p> +A cigar? Good grief, the man +would be offering him a chaw of tobacco +next. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Thanks, no,</q> Larry said. <q>I smoke +a pipe.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I see,</q> the Professor said, lighting +his stogie. <q>Do you really like a pipe? +Personally, I've always thought the +cigar by far the most satisfactory +method of taking tobacco.</q> +</p> + +<p> +What can you say to a question like +that? Larry ignored it, as though it +was rhetorical. Actually, he smoked +cigarettes in the privacy of his den. A +habit which was on the proletarian +side and not consistent with his status +level. +</p> + +<p> +He said, to get things under way, +<q>Professor Voss, what is an intuitive +scientist?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Professor exhaled blue smoke, +shook out the old-time kitchen match +with which he'd lit it, and tossed the +matchstick into an ashtray. <q>Intuitive +scientist?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>You once called Ernest Self a +great intuitive scientist.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Oh, Self. Yes, indeed. What is he +doing these days?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said wryly, <q>That's what I +came to ask you about.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Professor was puzzled. <q>I'm +afraid you came to the wrong place, +Mr. Woolford. I haven't seen Ernest +for quite a time. Why?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Some of his researches seem to +have taken him rather far afield. Actually, +I know practically nothing +about him. I wonder if you could fill +me in a bit.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Peter Voss looked at the ash on the +end of his cigar. <q>I really don't know +the man that well. He lives across the +park. Why don't—</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>He's disappeared,</q> Larry said. +</p> + +<p> +The Professor blinked. <q>I see,</q> he +said. <q>And in view of the fact that you +are a security officer, I assume under +strange circumstances.</q> Larry Woolford +said nothing and the Professor +sank back into his chair and pursed +his lips. <q>I can't really tell you much. +I became interested in Self two or +three years ago when gathering materials +for a paper on the inadequate +manner in which our country rewards +its inventors.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>I've heard about his suit +against the government.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Professor became more animated. +<q>Ha!</q> he snorted. <q>One example +among many. Self is not alone. +Our culture is such that the genius is +smothered. The great contributors to +our society are ignored, or worse.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford was feeling his +way. Now he said mildly, <q>I was under +the impression that American +free enterprise gave the individual +the best opportunity to prove himself +and that if he had it on the ball +he'd get to the top.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Were you really?</q> the Professor +said snappishly. <q>And did you know +that Edison died a comparatively poor +man with an estate somewhere in the +vicinity of a hundred thousand dollars? +An amount that might sound +like a good deal to you or me, +but, when you consider his contributions, +shockingly little. Did you know +that Eli Whitney realized little, if +<pb n='030'/><anchor id='Pg030'/> +anything, from the cotton gin? Or +that McCormick didn't invent the +reaper but gained it in a dubious +court victory? Or take Robert Goddard, +one of the best examples of +modern times. He developed the basics +of rocket technology—gyroscopic +stabilizers, fuel pumps, self-cooling +motors, landing devices. He died in +1945 leaving behind twenty-two volumes +of records that proved priceless. +What did he get out of his researches? +Nothing. It was fifteen years later +that his widow won her suit against +the government for patent infringements!</q> +</p> + +<p rend='text-align: center'> + <figure url='images/p30.png' rend='width: 60%'> + <figDesc>Illustration.</figDesc> + </figure> +</p> + +<p> +Larry held up a hand. <q>Really,</q> he +said. <q>My interest is in Ernest Self.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Professor relaxed. <q rend='pre'>Sorry. I'm +afraid I get carried away. Self, to get +back to your original question, is a +great intuitive scientist. Unfortunately +for him, society being what it is +today, he fits into few grooves. Our +educational system was little more +than an irritation to him and consequently +he holds no degrees. Needless +to say, this interfered with his +gaining employment with the universities +and the large corporations +which dominate our country's research, +not to mention governmental +agencies.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Ernest Self holds none of the status +labels that count. The fact that he +is a genius means nothing. He is supposedly +qualified no more than to +hold a janitor's position in laboratories +<pb n='031'/><anchor id='Pg031'/> +where his inferiors conduct experiments +in fields where he is a +dozenfold more capable than they. +No one is interested in his genius, +they want to know what status labels +are pinned to him. Ernest has no respect +for labels.</q> +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +Larry Woolford figured he was +picking up background and didn't +force a change of subject. <q>Just what +do you mean by intuitive scientist?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>It's a term I have used loosely,</q> +the Professor admitted. <q>Possibly a +scientist who makes a break-through +in his field, destroying formerly held +positions—in Self's case, without the +math, without the accepted theories to +back him. He finds something that +works, possibly without knowing why +or how and by using unorthodox analytical +techniques. An intuitive scientist, +if I may use the term, is a +thorn in the side of our theoretical +physicists laden down with their burden +of a status label but who are +themselves short of the makings of a +Leonardo, a Newton, a Galileo, or +even a Nicholas Christofilos.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I'm afraid that last name escapes +me,</q> Larry said. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Similar to Self's case and Robert +Goddard's,</q> Voss said, his voice bitter. +<q>Although his story has a better ending. +Christofilos invented the strong-focusing +principle that made possible +the multi-billion-volt particle accelerators +currently so widely used in +nuclear physics experimentation. +However, he was nothing but a Greek +elevator electrical system engineer +and the supposed experts turned him +down on the grounds that his math +was faulty. It seems that he submitted +the idea in straight-algebra terms instead +of differential equations. He finally +won through after patenting the +discovery and rubbing their noses in +it. Previously, none of the physics +journals would publish his paper—he +didn't have the right status labels to +impress them.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, almost with amusement, +<q>You seem to have quite a phobia +against the status label, as you call it. +However, I don't see how as complicated +a world as ours could get +along without it.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Professor snorted his contempt. +<q>Tell me,</q> he said, <q>to which +class do you consider yourself to +belong?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford shrugged. <q>I suppose +individuals in my bracket are +usually thought of as being middle-middle +class.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>And you have no feeling of revolt +in having such a label hung on you? +Consider this system for a moment. +You have lower-lower, middle-lower, +and upper-lower; then you have lower-middle, +middle-middle, upper-middle; +then you have lower-upper, +middle-upper, and finally we achieve +to upper-upper class. Now tell me, +when we get to that rarified category, +who do we find? Do we find an Einstein, +a Schweitzer, a Picasso; outstanding +scientists, humanitarians, the +great writers, artists and musicians of +our day? Certainly not. We find ultra-wealthy +playboys and girls, a former +king and his duchess who eke out +their income by accepting fees to attend +<pb n='032'/><anchor id='Pg032'/> +parties, the international born +set, bearers of meaningless feudalistic +titles. These are your upper-upper +class!</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry laughed. +</p> + +<p> +The Professor snapped, <q>You think +it funny? Let me give you another +example of our status label culture. I +have a friend whom I have known +since childhood. I would estimate +that Charles has an I.Q. of approximately +90, certainly no more. His +family, however, took such necessary +steps as were needed to get Charles +through public school. No great matter +these days, you'll admit, although +on occasion he needed a bit of tutoring. +On graduation, they recognized +that the really better schools might be +a bit difficult for Charles so he was +entered in a university with a good +name but without—shall we say?—the +highest of scholastic ratings. +Charles plodded along, had some +more tutoring, probably had his thesis +ghosted, and eventually graduated. At +that point an uncle died and left +Charles an indefinite amount to be +used in furthering his education to +any extent he wished to go. Charles, +motivated probably by the desire to +avoid obtaining a job and competing +with his fellow man, managed to +wrangle himself into a medical school +and eventually even graduated. Since +funds were still available, he continued +his studies abroad, largely in +Vienna.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Professor wound it up. <q>Eventually, +he ran out of schools, or his +uncle's estate ran out—I don't know +which came first. At any rate, my +friend Charles, laden down with status +labels, is today practicing as a psychiatrist +in this fair city of ours.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry stared at him blankly. +</p> + +<p> +The Professor said snappishly, <q>So +any time you feel you need to have +your brains unscrambled, you can go +to his office and expend twenty-five +dollars an hour or so. His reputation +is of the highest.</q> The Professor +grunted his contempt. <q>He doesn't +know the difference between an aspirin +tablet and a Rorschach test.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford stirred in his chair. +<q>We seem to have gotten far off the +subject. What has this got to do with +Self?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Professor seemed angry. <q>I repeat, +I'm afraid I get carried away on +this subject. I'm in revolt against a +culture based on the status label. It +eliminates the need to judge a man +on his merits. To judge a person by +the clothes he wears, the amount of +money he possesses, the car he drives, +the neighborhood in which he lives, +the society he keeps, or even his ancestry, +is out of the question in a vital, +growing society. You wind up with +nonentities as the leaders of your nation. +In these days, we can't afford it.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He smiled suddenly, rather elfishly, +at the security agent. <q>But admittedly, +this deals with Self only as one of +many victims of a culture based on +status labels. Just what is it you +wanted to know about Ernest?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>When you knew him, evidently +he was working on rocket fuels. Have +you any idea whether he later developed +a method of producing perfect +counterfeit?</q> +</p> + +<pb n='033'/><anchor id='Pg033'/> + +<p> +The Professor said, <q>Ernest Self? +Surely you are jesting.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said unhappily, <q>Then here's +another question. Have you ever heard +him mention belonging to a movement, +or, I think, he might word it +<hi rend='italic'>The Movement</hi>.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Movement?</q> the Professor said +emptily. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Evidently a revolutionary group +interested in the overthrow of the +government.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Good heavens,</q> the Professor said. +<q>Just a moment, Mr. Woolford. You +interrupted me just as I was having +my second cup of coffee. Do you +mind if I—</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Certainly not,</q> Woolford shook +his head. +</p> + +<p> +<q>I simply can't get along until after +my third cup,</q> the Professor said. +<q>You just wait a moment and I'll +bring the pot in here.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He left Larry to sit in the combined +study and living room while he +shuffled off in his slippers to the +kitchen. Larry Woolford decided that +in his school days he'd had some far +out professors himself, but it would +really be something to study under +this one. Not that the old boy didn't +have some points, of course. Almost +all nonconformists base their particular +peeves on some actuality, but in +this case, what was the percentage? +How could you buck the system? +Particularly when, largely, it worked. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +The Professor returned with an +old-fashioned coffeepot, two cups, +and sugar and cream on a tray. He put +them on a side table and said to Larry, +<q>You'll join me? How do you take +it?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry still had the slightest of +hang-overs from his solitary drinking +of the night before. <q>Thanks. Make +it black,</q> he said. +</p> + +<p> +The Professor poured, served, then +did up a cup for himself. He sat back +in his chair and said, <q>Now, where +were we? Something about a revolutionary +group. What has that to do +with counterfeiting?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry sipped the strong coffee. <q>It +seems there might be a connection.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Professor shook his head. <q>It's +hard to imagine Ernest Self being +connected with a criminal pursuit.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said carefully, <q>Susan seemed +to be of the opinion that you knew +about a large amount of counterfeit +currency that this Movement had on +hand and that you were in favor of +spending it upon chorus girls.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Professor gaped at him. +</p> + +<p> +Larry chuckled uncomfortably. +</p> + +<p> +Professor Voss said finally, his +voice very even, <q>My dear sir, I am +afraid that I evidently can be of little +assistance to you.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Admittedly, it doesn't seem to +make much sense.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Susan—you mean that little sixteen +year old?—said <emph>I</emph> was in favor of +spending counterfeit money on chorus +girls?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said unhappily, <q>She used the +term <hi rend='italic'>the Professor</hi>.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>And why did you assume that the +title must necessarily allude to me? +Even if any of the rest of the fantastic +story was true.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>In my profession, Professor +<pb n='034'/><anchor id='Pg034'/> +Voss, we track down every +possible clue. Thus far, you are the +only professor of whom we know +who was connected with Ernest Self.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Voss said stiffly, <q>I can only say, sir, +that in my estimation Mr. Self is a +man of the highest integrity. And, in +addition, that I have never spent a +penny on a chorus girl in my life and +have no intention of beginning, counterfeit +or otherwise.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford decided that he +wasn't doing too well and that he'd +need more ammunition if he was going +to return to this particular attack. +He was surprised that the old boy +hadn't already ordered him from the +house. +</p> + +<p> +He finished the coffee preparatory +to coming to his feet. <q>Then you +think it's out of the question, Ernest +Self belonging to a revolutionary organization?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Professor protested. <q>I didn't +say that at all. Mr. Self is a man of +ideals. I can well see him belonging +to such an organization.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford decided he'd better +hang on for at least a few more +words. <q>You don't seem to think, +yourself, that a subversive organization +is undesirable in this country.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Professor's voice was reasonable. +<q>Isn't that according to what it +means to subvert?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>You know what I mean,</q> Woolford +said in irritation. <q>I don't usually +think of revolutionists, even when +they call themselves simply members +of a <emph>movement</emph>, as exactly idealists.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Then you're wrong,</q> the Professor +said definitely, pouring himself another +cup of coffee. <q>History bears out +that almost invariably revolutionists +are men of idealism. The fact that +they might be either right or wrong in +their revolutionary program is beside +the point.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford began to say, <q>Are +you sure that you aren't interested in +this <emph>move—</emph></q> +</p> + +<p> +But it was then that the knockout +drops hit him. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +He came out of the fog feeling +nausea and with his head splitting. +He groaned and opened one eye experimentally. +</p> + +<p> +Steve Hackett, far away, said, <q>He's +snapping out of it.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry groaned again, opened the +other eye and attempted to focus. +</p> + +<p> +<q>What happened?</q> he muttered. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Now that's an original question,</q> +Steve said. +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford struggled up into a +sitting position. He'd been stretched +out on a couch in the Professor's combined +living room and study. +</p> + +<p> +Steve Hackett, his hands on his +hips, was looking down at him sarcastically. +There were two or three others, +one of whom Larry vaguely remembered +as being a Secret Service +colleague of Steve's, going about and +in and out of the room. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, his fingers pressing into +his forehead, <q>My head's killing me. +Damn it, what's going on?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve said sarcastically, <q>You've +been slipped a mickey, my cloak and +dagger friend, and the bird has flown.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>You mean the Professor? He's a +bird all right.</q> +</p> + +<pb n='035'/><anchor id='Pg035'/> + +<p> +<q>Humor we get, yet,</q> Hackett said, +his ugly face scowling. <q>Listen, I +thought you people had pulled out of +this case.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry sat up and swung his two feet +around to the floor. <q>So did I,</q> he +moaned, <q>but there were two or three +things that bothered me and I thought +I'd tidy them up before leaving.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>You tidied them up all right,</q> +Steve grumbled. <q>This Professor Voss +was practically the only lead I've been +able to discover. An old friend of +Self's. And you allowed him to get +away before we even got here.</q> +</p> + +<p> +One of Hackett's men came up and +said, <q>Not a sign of him, Steve. He +evidently burned a few papers, +packed a suitcase, and took off. His +things look suspiciously as though he +was ready to go into hiding at a moment's +notice.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve growled to him, <q>Give the +place the works. He's probably left +some clues around that'll give us a +line.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The other went off and Steve Hackett +sat down in one of the leather +chairs and glowered at Larry Woolford. +<q>Listen,</q> he said, <q>what did you +people want with Susan Self?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry shook his head for clarity and +looked at him. <q>Susan? What are you +talking about? You don't have any +aspirin, do you?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>No. What'd you mean, what am I +talking about? You called Betsy +Hughes and then sent a couple of +men over to pick the Self kid up.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Who's Betsy Hughes?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve shook his head. <q>I don't +know what kind of knockout drops +the old boy gave you, but they sure +worked. Betsy's the operative we had +minding Susan Self over in the +Greater Washington Hilton. About +an hour ago you got her on the phone, +said your department wanted to question +Susan, and that you were sending +two men over to pick her up. The two +men turned up with an order from +you, and took the girl.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry stared at him. Finally he said, +<q>What time is it?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>About two o'clock.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>I came into this house +in the morning, talked to the Professor +for about half an hour and then +was silly enough to let him give me +some loaded coffee. He was such a +weird old buzzard that it never occurred +to me he might be dangerous. +At any rate, I've been unconscious for +several hours. I <emph>couldn't've</emph> called this +Betsy Hughes operative of yours.</q> +</p> + +<p> +It was Steve Hackett's turn to +stare. +</p> + +<p> +<q>You mean your department doesn't +have Susan Self?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Not so far as I know. The Boss told +me yesterday that we were pulling +out, that it was all in your hands. +What would we want with Susan?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Oh, great,</q> Steve snarled. <q>There +goes our last contact. Ernest Self, +Professor Voss, and now Susan Self; +they've all disappeared.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Look,</q> Larry said unhappily, <q>let's +get me some aspirin and then let's go +and see my chief. I have a sneaking +suspicion our department is back on +this case.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve snorted sarcastically. <q>If you +can foul things up this well when +<pb n='036'/><anchor id='Pg036'/> +you're off the case, God only knows +what you'll accomplish using your +facilities on an all-out basis.</q> +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +The Boss said slowly, <q>Whoever +we are working against evidently +isn't short of resources. Abducting +that young lady was no simple matter.</q> +The career diplomat worked his +lips in and out, in all but a pout. +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford, who'd taken time +out to go home, shower, change +clothes and medicate himself out of +his dope induced hangover, sat across +the desk from him, flanked by Steve +Hackett. +</p> + +<p> +The Boss said sourly, <q>It would +seem that I was in error. That our +young Susan Self was not spouting +fantasy. There evidently actually is an +underground movement interested in +changing our institutions.</q> He stirred +in his chair and his scowl went deeper. +<q>And evidently working on a basis +never conceived of by subversive +organizations of the past. The fact +that they have successfully remained +secret even to this department is the +prime indication that they are attempting +to make their revolutionary +changes in a unique manner.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>The trouble is, we +don't even know what it is they +want.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>However,</q> his superior said slowly, +<q>we are beginning to get inklings.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve Hackett said, <q>What inklings, +sir? This sort of thing might be routine +for you people, but my field is +counterfeit. I, frankly, don't know +what it's all about.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss looked at him. <q>We have +a clue or two, Mr. Hackett. For one +thing, we know that this Movement +of ours has no affiliations with the +Soviet Complex, nor, so far as we +know, any foreign element whatsoever. +If we take Miss Self's word, it is +strictly an American phenomenon. +From what little we know of Ernest +Self and Peter Voss they might be in +revolt against some of our current institutions +but there is no reason to +believe them, ah, <emph>un-American</emph> in the +usually accepted sense of the word.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The two younger men looked at +him as though he was joking. +</p> + +<p> +He shook his heavy head negatively. +<q>Actually, what do we have on +this so-called Movement thus far? +Aside from treating Lawrence, here, +to some knockout drops—and let us +remember that Lawrence was present +in the Professor's home without a +warrant—all we have is the suspicion +that they have manufactured a quantity +of counterfeit.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>A <emph>quantity</emph> is right,</q> Steve Hackett +blurted. <q>If we're to accept what that +Self kid told us, they have a few billion +dollars worth of perfect bills on +hand.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>A strange amount for counterfeiters +to produce,</q> The Boss said uncomfortably. +<q>That is what puzzles +me. Any revolutionary movement +needs funds. Remember Stalin as a +young man? He used to be in charge +of the Bolshevik gang which robbed +banks to raise funds for their underground +newspapers. But a billion dollars? +What in the world can they expect +to need that amount for?</q> +</p> + +<pb n='037'/><anchor id='Pg037'/> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>Sir, you keep talking as +though these characters were a bunch +of idealistic do-gooders bleeding for +the sake of the country. Actually, +from what we know, they're nothing +but a bunch of revolutionists.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss was shaking his head. +<q>You're not thinking clearly, Lawrence. +Revolution, <hi rend='italic'>per se</hi>, is not illegal +in the United States. Our Constitution +was probably the first document +of its kind which allowed for +its own amendment. The men who +wrote it provided for changing it +either slightly or <hi rend='italic'>in toto</hi>. Whenever +the majority of the American people +decide completely to abandon the +Constitution and govern themselves +by new laws, they have the right to do +it.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Then what's the whole purpose of +this department, sir?</q> Larry argued. +<q>Why've we been formed to combat +foreign and domestic subversion?</q> +</p> + +<p> +His chief sighed. <q>You shouldn't +have to ask that, Lawrence. The present +government cannot oppose the +will of the majority if it votes, by +constitutional methods, to make any +changes it wishes. But we can, and +do, unmask the activities of anyone +trying to overthrow the government +by force and violence. Any culture +protects itself against that.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>What are we getting at, sir?</q> +Steve Hackett said, impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +The Boss shrugged. <q>I'm trying to +point out that so far as my department +is concerned, thus far we have +little against this Movement. Secret +Service may have, what with this +wholesale counterfeiting, even though +thus far they seem to have made no +attempt to pass the currency they +have allegedly manufactured. We +wouldn't even know of it, weren't it +for our young Susan pilfering an +amount.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, desperately, <q>Sir, you +just pointed out a few minutes ago +that this Movement is a secret organization +trying to make changes in +some unique manner. In short, they +don't figure on using the ballot to put +over their revolution. That makes +them as illegal as the Commies, doesn't +it?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss said, <q>That's the difficulty; +we don't know what they want. +From your conversations with Susan +Self and especially Professor Voss, +evidently they think the country +needs some basic changes. What these +changes are, and how they expect to +accomplish them, we don't know. Unless +a foreign government is involved, +or unless they plan to alter our institutions +by violence, this department +just doesn't have much jurisdiction.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve Hackett snorted, <q>Secret Service +does! If those bales of money the +Self kid told us about are ever put +into circulation, there'll be hell to +pay.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss sighed. <q>Well,</q> he said, +<q>Lawrence can continue on the assignment. +If it develops in such manner +as to indicate that this department +is justified in further investigation, +we'll put more men on it. Meanwhile, +it is obviously more a Secret +Service matter. I am sorry to intrude +upon your vacation again, Lawrence.</q> +</p> + +<pb n='038'/><anchor id='Pg038'/> + +<p> +On awakening in the morning, Larry +Woolford stared glumly at the +ceiling for long moments before +dragging himself from bed. This was, +he decided, the strangest assignment +he'd ever been on. In his day he'd +trekked through South America, +Common Europe, a dozen African +states, and even areas of Southern +Asia, combatting Commie pressures +here, fellow-traveler organizations +there, disrupting plots hatched in the +Soviet Complex in the other place. +On his home grounds in the United +States he'd covered everything from +out and out Soviet espionage, to exposing +Communist activities of complexions +from the faintest of pinks to +the rosiest Trotskyite red. But, he decided +he'd never expected to wind up +after a bunch of weirds whose sole +actionable activity to date seemed to +be the counterfeiting of a fantastic +amount of legal tender which thus far +they were making no attempt to pass. +</p> + +<p> +He got out of bed and went +through the rituals of showering, +shaving and clothing, of coffee, sausage, +and eggs, toast and more +coffee. +</p> + +<p> +What amazed Larry Woolford was +the shrug-it-off manner in which the +Boss seemed to accept this underground +Movement and its admitted +subversive goals—whatever they +were. Carry the Boss' reasoning to its +ultimate and subversion was perfectly +all right, just as it didn't involve +force and violence. If he was in his +chief's position, he would have +thrown the full resources of the department +into tracking down these +crackpots. As it was, he, Larry Woolford +was the only operative on the +job. +</p> + +<p> +He needed a new angle on which +to work. Steve Hackett was undoubtedly +handling the tracing down of +the counterfeit with all the resources +of the Secret Service. Possibly there +was some way of detecting the source +of the paper they'd used. +</p> + +<p> +He finished his final cup of coffee +in the living room and took up the +<pb n='039'/><anchor id='Pg039'/> +pipe he was currently breaking in. +He loaded it automatically from a +humidor and lit it with his pocket +lighter. Three drags, and he tossed it +back to the table, fumbled in a drawer +and located a pack of cigarettes. +Possibly his status group was currently +smoking British briars in public, +but, let's face it, he hated the confounded +things. +</p> + +<p> +He sat down before the phone and +dialed the offices of the <hi rend='italic'>Sun-Post</hi> and +eventually got Sam Sokolski who this +time beat him to the punch. +</p> + +<p> +Sam said, <q>You shouldn't drink +alone. Listen, Larry, why don't you +get in touch with Alcoholics Anonymous. +It's a great outfit.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>You ought to know,</q> Larry growled. +<q>Look, Sam, as science columnist for +that rag you work for you probably +come in touch with a lot of eggheads.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Laddy-buck, you have said it,</q> +Sam said. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Fine. Now look, what I want to +know is have you ever heard—even +the slightest of rumors—about an organization +called the Movement?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>What'd'ya mean, slightest of rumors? +Half the weirds I run into are +interested in the outfit. Get two or +three intellectuals, scientists, technicians, +or what have you, together and +they start knocking themselves out on +the pros and cons of the Movement.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford stared at him. <q>Are +you kidding, Sam?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The other was mystified. <q>Why +should I kid you? As a matter of fact, +<pb n='040'/><anchor id='Pg040'/> +I was thinking of doing a column one +of these days on Voss and this Movement +of his.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q><emph>Voss</emph> and this movement of his!</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Sure,</q> Sam said, <q>he's the top +leader.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Oh, great,</q> Larry growled. <q>Look, +Sam, eventually there is probably a +story in this for you. Right now, +though, we're trying to keep the lid on +it. Could you brief me a little on this +Movement? What are they trying to +put over?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I seem to spend half my time +briefing you in information any semi-moron +ought to be up on,</q> Sam said +nastily. <q>However, <emph>briefly</emph>, they're in +revolt against social-label judgments. +They think it's fouling up the country +and that eventually it'll result in +the Russkies passing us in all the +fields that really count.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I keep running into this term,</q> +Larry complained. <q>What do you +mean, social-label judgments, and +how can they possibly louse up the +country?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Sam said, <q rend='pre'>I was present a month or +so ago when Voss gave an informal +lecture to a group of twenty or so. +Here's one of the examples he used.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q rend='pre'>Everybody today wants to be rated +on a (1) personal, or, (2) social-label +basis, depending on which basis +is to his greatest advantage. The Negro +who is a no-good, lazy, obnoxious +person demands to be accepted because +Negroes should not be discriminated +against. The highly competent, +hard working, honest and productive +Negro wants to be accepted because +he is hard-working, honest and productive—and +should be so accepted.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>See what I mean? This social-label +system is intended to relieve the +individual of the necessity of judging, +and the consequences of being +judged. If you have poor judgment, +and are forced to rely on your own +judgment, you're almost sure to go +under. So persons of poor judgment +support our social-label system. If +you're a louse, and are correctly +judged as being a louse, you'd prefer +that the social dictum <q>Human beings +are never lice</q> should apply.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>What in the devil's +this got to do with the race between +this country and the Russkies?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Sam said patiently, <q rend='pre'>Voss and the +Movement he leads contend that a +social-label system winds up with incompetents +running the country in all +fields. Often incompetent scientists +are in charge of our research; incompetent +doctors, in charge of our +health; incompetent politicians run +our government; incompetent teachers, +laden with social-labels, teach our +youth. Our young people are going to +college to secure a degree, not an +education. It's the label that counts, +not the reality.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q rend='pre'>Voss contends that it's getting +progressively worse. That we're sinking +into an equivalent of a ritual-taboo, +tribal social-like situation. This +is the system the low-level human being +wants, yearns for and seeks. A +situation in which no one's judgment +is of any use. Then <emph>his</emph> lack of judgment +is no handicap.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>According to members of the +Movement, today the tribesman type +<pb n='041'/><anchor id='Pg041'/> +is seeking to reduce civilization back +to ritual-taboo tribalism wherein no +one man's judgment is of any value. +The union wants advancement based +on seniority, not on ability and judgment. +The persons with whom you +associate socially judge you by the +amount of money you possess, the +family from which you come, the degrees +you hold, by social-labels—not +by your proven abilities. Down with +judgment! is the cry.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>It sounds awfully weird to me,</q> +Larry grumbled in deprecation. +</p> + +<p> +Sam shrugged. <q>There's a lot of +sense in it. What the Movement +wants is to develop a socio-economic +system in which judgment produces +a maximum advantage.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>What gets me is that +you talk as though half the country +was all caught up in debating this +Movement. But I haven't even heard +of it, neither has my department +chief, nor any of my colleagues, so far +as I know. Why isn't anything about +it in the papers or on the TriD?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Sam said mildly, <q>As a matter of +fact, I took in Mort Lenny's show the +other night and he made some cracks +about it. But it's not the sort of thing +that's even meant to become popular +with the man in the street. To put it +bluntly, Voss and his people aren't +particularly keen about the present +conception of the democratic ideal. +According to him, true democracy +can only be exercised by peers and +society today isn't composed of peers. +If you have one hundred people, +twenty of them competent, intelligent +persons, eighty of them untrained, +incompetent and less than intelligent, +then it's ridiculous to have +the eighty dictate to the twenty.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry looked accusingly at his long-time +friend. <q>You know, Sam, you +sound as though you approve of all +this.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Sam said patiently, <q>I listen to it +all, Larry my boy. I think Voss makes +a lot of sense. There's only one drawback.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>And that is?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>How's he going to put it over? +This social-label system the Movement +complains about was bad +enough ten years ago. But look how +much worse it is today. It's a progressive +thing. And, remember, it's to the +benefit of the incompetent. Since the +incompetent predominates, you're going +to have a hard time starting up a +system based on judgment and ability.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry thought about it for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +Sam said, <q>Look, I'm working, Larry. +Was there anything else?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>You wouldn't know +where I could get hold of Voss, +would you?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>At his home, I imagine, or at the +University.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>He's disappeared. We're looking +for him.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Sam laughed. <q>Gone underground, +eh? The old boy is getting romantic.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Does he have any particular +friends who might be putting him +up?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Sam thought about it. <q>There's +Frank Nostrand. You know, that rocket +<pb n='042'/><anchor id='Pg042'/> +expert who was fired when he got +in the big hassle with Senator McCord.</q> +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +When Sam Sokolski had flicked off, +Larry stared at the vacant phone +screen for a long moment, assimilating +what the other had told him. He +was astonished that an organization +such as the Movement could have +spread to the extent it evidently had +through the country's intellectual circles, +through the scientifically and +technically trained, without his department +being keenly aware of it. +</p> + +<p rend='text-align: center'> + <figure url='images/p42.png' rend='width: 60%'> + <figDesc>Illustration.</figDesc> + </figure> +</p> + +<p> +One result, he decided glumly, of +labeling everything contrary to the +<hi rend='italic'>status quo</hi> as <emph>weird</emph> and dismissing it +with contempt. Admittedly, that +would have been his own reaction +only a week ago. +</p> + +<p> +Suppose that he'd been at a cocktail +party, and had drifted up to a group +who were arguing about social-label +judgments and the need to develop a +<emph>movement</emph> to change society's use of +them. The discussion would have +gone in one ear, out the other, and he +would have muttered inwardly, +<q>Weirds,</q> and have drifted on to get +himself another vodka martini. +</p> + +<p> +Larry snorted and dialed the Department +of Records. He'd never +heard of Frank Nostrand before, so he +got Information. +</p> + +<p> +The bright young thing who answered +seemed to have a harried expression +untypical of Records employees. +Larry said to her, <q>I'd like the +brief on a Mr. Frank Nostrand who is +evidently an expert on rockets. The +only other thing I know about him is +that he recently got in the news as the +result of a controversy with Senator +McCord.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Just a moment, sir,</q> the bright +young thing said. +</p> + +<p> +She touched buttons and reached +into a delivery chute. When her eyes +came up to meet his again, they were +more than ever harried. They were +absolutely confused. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Mr. Franklin Howard Nostrand,</q> +she said, <q>currently employed by +Madison Air as a rocket research technician.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>That must be him,</q> Larry said. +<q>I'm in a hurry, Miss. What's his +background?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes rounded. <q>It says ... it +says he's an Archbishop of the Anglican +Church.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford looked at her. +</p> + +<p> +She looked back, pleadingly. +</p> + +<p> +Larry scowled and said, <q>His university +degrees, please.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes darted to the report and +she swallowed. <q>A bachelor in Home +Economics, sir.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Look here, Miss, how could a +Home Economics degree result in his +becoming either an Archbishop or a +rocket technician?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I'm sorry, sir. That's what it says.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry was fuming but there was no +point in taking it out on this junior +employee of the Department of Records. +He snapped, <q>Just give me his +address, please.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She said agonizingly, <q>Sir, it says, +Lhasa, Tibet.</q> +</p> + +<p> +A red light flicked at the side of +his phone and he said to her, <q>I'll call +you back. I'm getting a priority call.</q> +</p> + +<pb n='043'/><anchor id='Pg043'/> + +<p> +He flicked her off, and flicked the +incoming call in. It was LaVerne Polk. +She seemed to be on the harried side, +too. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Larry,</q> she said, <q>you better get +over here right away.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>What's up, LaVerne?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>This Movement,</q> she said, <q>it +seems to have started moving! The +Boss says to get over here soonest.</q> +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +The top of his car was retracted. +Larry Woolford slammed down the +walk of his auto-bungalow and vaulted +over the side and into the seat. He +banged the start button, dropped the +lift lever, depressed the thrust pedal +and took off at maximum acceleration. +</p> + +<p> +He took the police level for maximum +speed and was in downtown +Greater Washington in flat minutes. +</p> + +<p> +So the Movement had started moving. +That could mean almost anything. +It was just enough to keep him +stewing until he got to the Boss and +found out what was going on. +</p> + +<p> +He turned his car over to a parker +and made his way to the entrance +utilized by the second-grade department +officials. In another year, or at +most two, he told himself all over +again, he'd be using that other door. +He had an intuitive feeling that if he +licked this current assignment it'd be +the opening wedge he needed and +he'd wind up in a status bracket +unique for his age. +</p> + +<p> +LaVerne looked up when he hurried +into her anteroom. She evidently +had two or three calls going on at +once, taking orders from one phone, +giving them in another. Something +was obviously erupting. She didn't +speak to him, merely nodded her head +at the inner office. +</p> + +<p> +In the Boss' office were six or eight +others besides Larry's superior. Their +expressions and attitudes ran from +bewilderment to shock. They weren't +the men you'd expect to have such reactions. +At least not those that Larry +Woolford recognized. Three of them, +Ben Ruthenberg, Bill Fraina and +Dave Moskowitz were F.B.I. men +with whom Larry had worked on occasion. +One of the others he recognized +as being a supervisor with the +C.I.A. Walt Foster, Larry's rival in the +Boss' affections, was also present. +</p> + +<p> +The Boss growled at him, <q>Where +in the heavens have you been, Lawrence?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Following our leads on this so-called +Movement, sir,</q> Larry told him. +<q>What's going on?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Ruthenberg, the Department of +Justice man, grunted sour amusement. +<q>So-called Movement, isn't exactly +the correct phrase. It's a Movement, +all right.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss said, <q>Please dial Records +and get your dossier, Lawrence. That'll +be the quickest way to bring you +up on developments.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Mystified, but already with a growing +premonition, Larry dialed Records. +Knowing his own classification +code, he had no need of Information +this time. He got the hundred-word +brief and stared at it as it filled the +screen. The only items really correct +were his name and present occupation. +Otherwise his education was +<pb n='044'/><anchor id='Pg044'/> +listed as grammar school only. His +military career had him ending the +war as a General of the Armies, and +his criminal career record included +four years on Alcatraz for molesting +small children. +</p> + +<p> +Blankly, he faded the brief and +dialed his full dossier. It failed to +duplicate the brief, but that was no +advantage. This time he had an M.D. +degree from Johns Hopkins, but his +military career listed him as a dishonorable +discharge from the navy where +he'd served in the steward department. +His criminal record was happily +nil, but his religion was listed as +Holy Roller. Political affiliations had +him down as a member of the Dixiecrats. +</p> + +<p> +The others were looking at him, +most of them blankly, although there +were grins on the faces of Moskowitz +and the C.I.A. man. +</p> + +<p> +Moskowitz said, <q>With a name +like mine, yet, they have me a Bishop +of the Orthodox Greek Catholic +Church.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>What's it all about?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Ruthenberg said unhappily, <q>It +started early this morning. We don't +know exactly when as yet.</q> Which +didn't seem to answer the question. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>I don't get it. Obviously, +the Records department is fouled +up in some manner. How, and why?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>How, we know,</q> the Boss rumbled +disgustedly. <q>Why is another matter. +You've spent more time than anyone +else on this assignment, Lawrence. +Perhaps you can tell us.</q> He grabbed +up a pipe from his desk, tried to light +it noisily, noticed finally that it held +no tobacco and threw it to the desk +again. <q>Evidently, a large group of +these Movement individuals either already +worked in Records or wriggled +themselves into key positions in the +technical end of the department. +Now they've sabotaged the files.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>We've caught most of them already,</q> +one of the F.B.I. men growled, +<q>but damn little good that does us at +this point.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The C.I.A. supervisor made a gesture +indicating that he gave it all up. +<q>Not only here but in Chicago and +San Francisco as well. All at once. +Evidently perfectly rehearsed. Personnel +records from coast to coast are +bollixed. Why?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said slowly, <q>I think I know +that now. Yesterday, I wouldn't have +but I've been picking up odds and +ends.</q> +</p> + +<p> +They all looked at him. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +Larry sat down and ran a hand back +through his hair. <q>The general idea is +to change the country's reliance on +social-label judgments.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>On <emph>what</emph>,</q> the Boss barked. +</p> + +<p> +<q>On one person judging another +according to social-labels. Voss and +the others—</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Who did you say?</q> Ruthenberg +snapped. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Voss. Professor Peter Voss from +the University over in Baltimore section. +He's the ring leader.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Ruthenberg snapped to Fraina, +<q>Get on the phone and send out a +pick-up order for him.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Fraina was on his feet. <q>What +charge, Ben?</q> +</p> + +<pb n='045'/><anchor id='Pg045'/> + +<p> +Ben Ruthenberg snorted. <q>Rape, +or something. Get moving, we'll figure +out a charge later. The guy's a +fruitcake.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said wearily, <q>He's evidently +gone into hiding. I've been trying to +locate him. He managed to slip me +some knockout drops and got away +yesterday.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss looked at him in disgust. +</p> + +<p> +Ruthenberg said evenly, <q>We've +had men go into hiding before. Get +going, Fraina.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Fraina left the office and the others +looked back to Larry. +</p> + +<p> +The Boss said, <q>About this social-label +nonsense—</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>They think the country +is going to pot because of it. People +hold high office or places of responsibility +not because of superior intelligence, +or even acquired skill, but because +of the social-labels they've accumulated, +and these can be based on +something as flimsy—from the Movement's +viewpoint—as who your +grandparents were, what school you +attended, how much seniority you +have on the job, what part of town +you live in, or what tailor cuts your +clothes.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Their expressions ran from scowls +and frowns to complete puzzlement. +</p> + +<p> +Walt Foster grumbled, <q>What's all +this got to do with sabotaging the +country's Records tapes?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry shrugged. <q>I don't have the +complete picture, but one thing is +sure. It's going to be harder for a +while to base your opinions on a +quick hundred-word brief on a man. +Yesterday, an employer, considering +hiring somebody, could dial the man's +dossier, check it, and form his opinions +by the status labels the would-be +employee could produce. Today, he's +damn well going to have to exercise +his own judgment.</q> +</p> + +<p> +LaVerne's face lit up the screen on +the Boss' desk and she said, <q>Those +two members of the Movement who +were picked up in Alexandria are +here, sir.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Send them in,</q> the Boss rumbled. +He looked at Larry. <q>The F.B.I. managed +to arrest almost everyone directly +involved in the sabotage.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The two prisoners seemed more +amused than otherwise. They were +young men, in their early thirties—well +dressed and obviously intelligent. +The Boss had them seated side +by side and glared at them for a long +moment before speaking. Larry and +the others took chairs in various parts +of the room and added their own +stares to the barrage. +</p> + +<p> +The Boss said, <q>Your situation is +an unhappy one, gentlemen.</q> +</p> + +<p> +One of the two shrugged. +</p> + +<p> +The Boss said, <q>You can, ah, hedge +your bets, by co-operating with us. It +might make the difference between a +year or two in prison—and life.</q> +</p> + +<p> +One of them grinned and then +yawned. <q>I doubt it,</q> he said. +</p> + +<p> +The Boss tried a slightly different +tack. <q>You have no reason to maintain +a feeling of obligation to Voss +and the others. You have obviously +been abandoned. Had they any feeling +for you there would have been +more efficacious arrangements for +your escape.</q> +</p> + +<pb n='046'/><anchor id='Pg046'/> + +<p> +The more articulate of the two +shrugged again. <q>We were expendable,</q> +he said. <q>However, it won't be +long before we're free again.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>You think so?</q> Ruthenberg +grunted. +</p> + +<p> +The revolutionist looked at him. +<q>Yes, I do,</q> he said. <q>Six months from +now and we'll be heroes since by that +time the Movement will have been a +success.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss snorted. <q>Just because +you deranged the Records? Why +that's but temporary.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Not so temporary as you think,</q> +the technician replied. <q>This country +has allowed itself to get deeply +enmeshed in punch-card and tape records. +Oh, it made sense enough. +With the population we have, and the +endless files that result from our +ultra-complicated society, it was simply +a matter finally of developing a +standardized system of records for the +nation as a whole. Now, for all practical +purposes, <emph>all</emph> of our records these +days are kept with the Department of +Records, confidential as well as public +records. Why should a university, +for instance, keep literally tons of +files, with all the expense and space +and time involved, when it can merely +file the same records with the governmental +department and have them +safe and easily available at any time? +Now, the Movement has completely +and irrevocably destroyed almost all +files that deal with the social-labels to +which we object. An excellent first +step, in forcing our country back into +judgment based on ability and intelligence.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>First step!</q> Larry blurted. +</p> + +<p> +The two prisoners looked at him. +<q>That's right,</q> the quieter of the two +said. <q>This is just the first step.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Don't kid yourselves,</q> Ben Ruthenberg +snapped at them. <q>It's also the +last!</q> +</p> + +<p> +The two members of the Movement +grinned at him. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +When the others had gone, the +Boss looked at Larry Woolford. He +said sourly, <q>When this department +was being formed, I doubt anyone +had in mind this particular type of +subversion, Lawrence.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry grunted. <q>Give me a good +old-fashioned Commie, any time. +Look, sir, what are the Department of +Justice boys going to do with those +prisoners?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Hold them on any of various +charges. We've conflicted with the +F.B.I. in the past on overlapping +jurisdiction, but thank heavens for +them now. Their manpower is needed.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry leaned forward. <q>Sir, we +ought to take all members of the +Movement we've already arrested, feed +them a dose of Scop-Serum, and +pressure them to open up on the organization's +operations.</q> +</p> + +<p> +His superior looked at him, waiting +for him to continue. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said urgently, <q>Those two we +just had in here thought the whole +thing was a big joke. The first step, +they called it. Sir, there's something +considerably bigger than this cooking. +Uncle Sam might pride himself +on the personal liberties guaranteed +<pb n='047'/><anchor id='Pg047'/> +by this country, but unless we break +this organization, and do it fast, +there's going to be trouble that will +make this fouling of the records look +like the minor matter those two jokers +seemed to think it.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss thought about that. He +said slowly, <q>Lawrence, the Supreme +Court ruled against the use of Scop-Serum. +Not that it is over efficient, +anyway. Largely, these so-called truth +serums don't accomplish much more +than to lower resistance, slacken natural +inhibitions, weaken the will.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Sure,</q> Larry said. <q>But give a man +a good dose of Scop-Serum and he'd +betray his own mother. Not because +he's helpless to tell a lie, but because +under the influence of the drug he +figures it just isn't important enough +to bother about. Sir, Supreme Court +or not, I think those two ought to be +given Scop-Serum along with all other +Movement members we've picked +up.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss was shaking his head. +<q>Lawrence, these men are not wide-eyed +radicals picked up in a street +demonstration. They're highly respected +members of our society. +They're educators, scientists, engineers, +technicians. Anything done to +them is going to make headlines. +Those that were actually involved in +the sabotage will have criminal +charges brought against them, but +they're going to get a considerable +amount of publicity, and we're going +to be in no position to alienate any of +their constitutional rights.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry stood up, approached his +chief's desk and leaned over it urgently. +<q>Sir, that's fine, but we've got +to move and move fast. Something's +up and we don't even know what! +Take that counterfeit money. From +Susan Self's description, there's actually +billions of dollars worth of it.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Oh, come now, Lawrence. The +child exaggerated. Besides, that's a +problem for Steven Hackett and the +Secret Service, we have enough on +our hands as it is. Forget about the +counterfeit, Lawrence. I think I shall +put you in complete control of field +work on this, to co-operate in liaison +with Ben Ruthenberg and the F.B.I. +So far as we're concerned, the counterfeit +angle belongs to Secret Service, +we're working on subversion, +and until the Civil Liberties Union or +whoever else proves otherwise, we'll +consider this Movement an organization +attempting to subvert the country +by illegal means.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford made a hard decision +quickly. He was shaking his +head. <q>Sir, I'd rather you gave the administrative +end to someone else and +let me continue in the field. I've got +some leads—I think. If I get bogged +down in interdepartmental red tape, +and in paper work here at headquarters, +I'll never get to the heart of this +and I'm laying bets that we either +crack this within days or there are going +to be some awfully big changes +in this country.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss glared at him. <q>You +mean you're refusing this assignment, +Woolford. Confound it, don't you +realize it's a promotion?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry was worriedly dogged. <q>Sir, +I'd rather stay in the field.</q> +</p> + +<pb n='048'/><anchor id='Pg048'/> + +<p> +<q>Very well,</q> the other snapped disgustedly, +<q>I hope you deliver some +results, Woolford, otherwise I am +afraid I won't feel particularly happy +about your somewhat cavalier rejection +of this opportunity.</q> He flicked +on the phone and snapped to LaVerne +Polk, <q>Miss Polk, locate Walter +Foster for me. He is to take over our +end of this Movement matter.</q> +</p> + +<p> +LaVerne said, <q>Yes, sir,</q> and her +face was gone. +</p> + +<p> +The Boss looked up, still scowling. +<q>What are you waiting for, Woolford?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Yes, sir,</q> Larry said. It was just +coming home to him now, what he'd +done. There possibly went his yearned +for promotion in the department. +There went his chance of an upgrading +in status. And Walt Foster, of all +people, in his place. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +At LaVerne's desk, Larry stopped +off long enough to say, <q>Did you ever +assign that secretary to me?</q> +</p> + +<p> +LaVerne shook her head at him. +<q>She's come and gone, Larry. She sat +around for a couple of days, after seeing +you not even once, and then I +gave her another assignment.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Well, bring her back again, will +you? I want her to do up briefs for +me on all the information we accumulate +on the Movement. It'll be coming +in from all sides now. From the +Press, from those members we've arrested, +from our F.B.I. pals, now that +they're interested, and so forth.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I'll give you Irene Day,</q> LaVerne +said. <q>Where are you off to +now, Larry?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Probably a wild goose chase,</q> Larry +growled. <q>Which reminds me. Do +me a favor, LaVerne. Call Personal +Service and find out where Frank +Nostrand is. He's some kind of rocket +technician at Madison Air Laboratories. +I'll be in my office.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Frank Nostrand,</q> LaVerne said +briskly. <q>Will do, Larry.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Back in his own cubicle, Larry +stood for a moment in thought. He +was increasingly aware of the uncomfortable +feeling that time was running +out on them. That things were +coming to a dangerous head. +</p> + +<p> +He stared down at the dozen or +more books and pamphlets that his +never seen secretary had heaped up +for him. Well, he certainly didn't have +time for them now. +</p> + +<p> +He sat down at the desk and dialed +an inter-office number. +</p> + +<p> +The harassed looking face of Walter +Foster faded in. On seeing Larry +Woolford he growled accusingly, <q>My +pal. You've let them dump this +whole thing into my lap.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry grinned at him. <q>Better you +than me, old buddy. Besides, it's a +promotion. Pull this off and you'll be +the Boss' right-hand man.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>That's a laugh,</q> Foster said. <q>It's a +madhouse. This Movement gang is +as weird as they come.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I bleed for you,</q> Larry said. +<q>However, here's a tip. Frol Eivazov, +of the <hi rend='italic'>Chrezvychainaya Komissiya</hi> is +somewhere in the country.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Frol Eivazov!</q> Foster blurted. +<q>What've the Commies got to do with +this? Is this something the Boss +knows about?</q> +</p> + +<pb n='049'/><anchor id='Pg049'/> + +<p> +<q>Haven't had time to go into it +with him,</q> Larry said. <q>However, it +seems that friend Frol is here to find +out what the Movement is all about. +Evidently the big boys in Peking +and Moscow are nervous about any +changes that might take place over +here. I suggest you have him picked +up, Walt.</q> +</p> + +<p rend='text-align: center'> + <figure url='images/p49.png' rend='width: 30%'> + <figDesc>Illustration.</figDesc> + </figure> +</p> + +<p> +Walt Foster said, <q>O.K. I'll put +some people on it. Maybe the F.B.I. +can help.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry flicked off as he saw the red +priority light on his phone shining. +He pushed it and LaVerne's face +faded in. +</p> + +<p> +She said, <q>This Franklin Nostrand +you wanted to know about. He's evidently +working at the laboratories +over in Newport News, Larry. He'll +be on the job until five this afternoon.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Fine,</q> he said. Larry grinned at +her. <q>When are we going to have +that date, LaVerne?</q> +</p> + +<p> +She made a face. <q>Some day when +the program involves having fun instead +of parading around in the right +places, driving the right model car, +dressed in exactly the right clothes, +and above all associating with the +right people.</q> +</p> + +<p> +It was his turn to grimace. <q>I'm beginning +to think you ought to sign up +with Voss and this Movement of his. +You'd be right at home with his +weirds.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She stuck out her tongue at him, +and flicked off. +</p> + +<p> +He looked at the empty screen and +chuckled. He had half a mind to get a +record of their conversation, strip out +<pb n='050'/><anchor id='Pg050'/> +just the section where she'd stuck out +her tongue, and then play it back to +her. She'd be taken aback by being +confronted by her own image making +faces at her. +</p> + +<p> +As he made his way to the parking +lot for his car, something in their +conversation nagged at him, but he +couldn't put his finger on it. He considered +the girl, all over again. She +had almost all the qualities he looked +for. She was attractive, without being +overly so. He disliked women out of +the ordinarily beautiful, it became too +much to live up to. She was sharp, +but not objectionably so. Not to the +point of giving you an inferiority +complex. +</p> + +<p> +But, Holy Smokes, she'd never do +as a career man's wife. He could just +see the Boss' ultraconservative better +half inviting them to dinner. It +would happen exactly once, never +again. +</p> + +<p> +He obtained his car, lifted it to one +of the higher levels and headed for +Newport News. It was a half-hour +trip and he wasn't particularly expectant +of results. The tip Sam Sokolski +had given him, wasn't much to +go by. Evidently, Frank Nostrand was +a friend of the Professor's but that +didn't necessarily mean he was connected +with the movement, or that he +knew Voss' whereabouts. +</p> + +<p> +He might have saved himself the +trip. +</p> + +<p> +The bird had flown again. Not +only was Frank Nostrand not at the +Madison Air Laboratories, but he +wasn't at home either. Larry Woolford, +mindful of his departmental +chief's words on the prestige these +people carried, took a full hour in acquiring +a search warrant before breaking +into the Nostrand home. +</p> + +<p> +Nostrand was supposedly a bachelor, +but the auto-bungalow, similar to +Larry Woolford's own, showed signs +of double occupancy, and there was +little indication that the guest had +been a woman. +</p> + +<p> +Disgruntled, Larry Woolford dialed +the offices, asked for Walt Foster. It +took nearly ten minutes before his +colleague faded in. +</p> + +<p> +<q>I'm up to my eyebrows, Larry. +What'd you want?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry gave him Frank Nostrand's +address. <q>This guy's disappeared, +Walt.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>So?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>He was a close friend of Professor +Voss. I got a warrant to search his +house. It shows signs that he had a +guest. Possibly it was the Professor. +Do you want to get some of the boys +down here to go through the place? +Possibly there's some clue to where +they took off for. The Professor's on +the run and he's no professional at +this. If we can pick <emph>him</emph> up, I've got a +sneaking suspicion we'll have the so-called +Movement licked.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Walt Foster slapped a hand to his +face in anguish. <q>You knew where +the Professor was hiding, and you +tried to pick him up on your own and +let him get away. Why didn't you +discuss this with either the Boss or +me? I'm in charge of this operation! +I would have had a dozen men down +there. You've fouled this up!</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry stared at him. Already Walt +<pb n='051'/><anchor id='Pg051'/> +Foster was making sounds like an +enraged superior. +</p> + +<p> +He said mildly, <q>Sorry, Walt. I +came down here on a very meager +tip. I didn't really expect it to pan +out.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Well, in the future, clear with +either me or the Boss before running +off half cocked into something, Woolford. +Yesterday, you had this whole +assignment on your own. Today, it's +no longer a minor matter. Our department +has fifty people on it. The +F.B.I. must have five times as many +and that's not even counting the Secret +Service's interest. It's no longer +your individual baby.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Sorry,</q> Larry repeated mildly. +Then, <q>I don't imagine you've got +hold of Frol Eivazov yet?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The other was disgusted. <q>You +think we're magicians? We just put +out the call for him a few hours ago. +He's no amateur. If he doesn't want +to be picked up, he'll go to ground +and we'll have our work cut out for us +finding him. I can't see that it's particularly +important anyway.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Maybe you're right,</q> Larry said. +<q>But you never know. He might +know things we don't. See you later.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Walt Foster stared at him for a +moment as though about to say something, +but then tightened his lips and +faded off. +</p> + +<p> +Larry looked at the phone screen +for a moment. <q>Did that phony expect +me to call him <emph>sir</emph>,</q> he muttered. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +The next two days dissolved into +routine. +</p> + +<p> +Frustrated, Larry Woolford spent +most of his time in his office digesting +developments, trying to find a new +line of attack. +</p> + +<p> +For want of something else, he put +his new secretary, a brightly efficient +girl, as style and status conscious as +LaVerne Polk wasn't, to work typing +up the tapes he'd had cut on Susan +Self and the various phone calls he'd +had with Hans Distelmayer and Sam +Sokolski. From memory, he dictated +to her his conversation with Professor +Peter Voss. +</p> + +<p> +He carefully read the typed sheets +over and over again. He continually +had the feeling in this case that there +were loose ends dangling around. +Several important points he should be +able to put his finger upon. +</p> + +<p> +On the morning of the third day he +dialed Steve Hackett and on seeing +the other's worried, pug-ugly face +fade in on the phone, decided that if +nothing else the Movement was undermining +the United States government +by dispensing ulcers to its employees. +</p> + +<p> +Steve growled, <q>What is it Woolford? +I'm as busy as a whirling dervish +in a revolving door.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>This is just the glimmer of an +idea, Steve. Look, remember that conversation +with Susan, when she described +her father taking her to +headquarters?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>So?</q> Steve said impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Remember her description of +headquarters?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Go on,</q> Steve rapped. +</p> + +<p> +<q>What did it remind you of?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>What are you leading to?</q> +</p> + +<pb n='052'/><anchor id='Pg052'/> + +<p> +<q>This is just a hunch,</q> Larry persisted, +<q>but the way she described the +manner in which her father took her +to headquarters suggests they're in +the Greater Washington area.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve was staring at him disgustedly. +How obvious could you get? +</p> + +<p> +Larry hurried on. <q>What's the biggest +business in this area, Steve?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Government.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Right. And the way she described +headquarters of the Movement, was +rooms, after rooms, after rooms into +which they'd stored the money.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>And?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said urgently, <q>Steve, I think +in some way the Movement has taken +over some governmental buildings, or +storage warehouse. Possibly some +older buildings no longer in use. It +would be a perfect hideout. Who +would expect a subversive organization +to be in governmental buildings? +All they'd need would be a few +officials here and there who were on +their side and—</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve said wearily, <q>You couldn't +have thought of this two days ago.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry cut himself off sharply, +<q>Eh?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve said, <q>We found their headquarters. +One of their members +cracked. Ben Ruthenberg of the +F.B.I. found he had a morals rap +against him some years ago and scared +him into talking by threats of exposure. +At any rate, you're right. They +had established themselves in some +government buildings going back to +Spanish-American War days. We've +arrested eight or ten officials that +were involved.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>But the money?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>The money was gone,</q> Steve said +bitterly. <q>But Susan was right. There +had evidently been room after room +of it, stacked to the ceiling. Literally +billions of dollars. They'd moved out +hurriedly, but they left kicking around +enough loose hundreds, fifties, twenties, +tens and fives to give us an idea. +Look, Woolford, I thought you'd +been pulled off this case and that +Walt Foster was handling it.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said sourly, <q>I'm beginning +to think so, too. They're evidently not +even bothering to let me know about +developments like this. See you later, +Steve.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The other's face faded off. +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford looked across the +double desk at Irene Day. <q>Look,</q> he +said, <q>when you're offered a promotion, +take it. If you don't, someone +else will and you'll be out in the +cold.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Irene Day said brightly, <q>I've always +know that, sir.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her. The typical eager +beaver. Sharp as a whip. Bright as a +button. <q>I'll bet you have,</q> he muttered. +</p> + +<p> +<q>I beg your pardon, Mr. Woolford?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The phone lit as LaVerne said, +<q>The Boss wants to talk to you, Larry.</q> +Her face faded and Larry's superior +was scowling at him. +</p> + +<p> +He snapped, <q>Did you get anything +on this medical records thing, +Woolford?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Medical records?</q> Larry said +blankly. +</p> + +<p> +The Boss grunted in deprecation. +<pb n='053'/><anchor id='Pg053'/> +<q>No, I suppose you haven't. I wish +you would snap into it, Woolford. I +don't know what has happened to you +of late. I used to think that you were +a good field man.</q> He flicked off +abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +Larry dialed LaVerne Polk. <q>What +in the world was the Boss just talking +about, LaVerne? About medical records?</q> +</p> + +<p> +LaVerne said, frowning, <q>Didn't +you know? The Movement's been at +it again. They've fouled up the records +of the State Medical Licensing +bureaus, at the same time sabotaging +the remaining records of most, if not +all, of the country's medical schools. +They struck simultaneously, throughout +the country.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her, expressionlessly. +</p> + +<p> +LaVerne said, <q>We've caught several +hundred of those responsible. It's +the same thing. Attack of the social-label. +From now on, if a man tells you +he's an Ear, Eye and Throat specialist, +you'd better do some investigation +before letting him amputate your +tongue. You'd better use your judgment +before letting <emph>any</emph> doctor you +don't really know about, work on +you. It's a madhouse, Larry.</q> +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +Larry Woolford, for long moments +after LaVerne had broken the connection, +stared unseeingly at his secretary +across from him until she stirred. +</p> + +<p> +He brought his eyes back to the +present. <q>Another preliminary move, +not the important thing, yet. Not the +big explosion they're figuring on. +Where have they taken that money, +and why?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Irene Day blinked at him. <q>I don't +know, I'm sure, sir.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>Get me Mr. Foster on +the phone, Irene.</q> +</p> + +<p> +When Walt Foster's unhappy face +faded in, Larry said, <q>Walt did you +get Frol Eivazov?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Eivazov?</q> the other said impatiently. +<q>No. We haven't spent much +effort on it. I think this hunch of +yours is like the other ones you've +been having lately, Woolford. Frol +Eivazov was last reported by our operatives +as being in North Korea.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>It wasn't a hunch,</q> Larry said +tightly. <q>He's in this country on an +assignment dealing with the Movement.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Well, that's your opinion,</q> Foster +said snappishly. <q>I'm busy, Woolford. +See here, at present you're under +my orders on this job. In the way +of something to do, instead of sitting +around in that office, why don't you +follow up this Eivazov thing yourself?</q> +He considered it a moment. +<q>That's an order, Woolford. Even if +you don't locate him, it'll keep you out +of our hair.</q> +</p> + +<p> +After the other was gone, Larry +Woolford leaned back in his chair, +his face flushed as though the other +had slapped it. In a way, he had. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said slowly, <q>Miss Day, dial +me Hans Distelmayer. His offices are +over in the Belmont Building.</q> +</p> + +<p> +As always, the screen remained +blank as the German spy master +spoke. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>Hans, I want to talk to +Frol Eivazov.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Ah?</q> +</p> + +<pb n='054'/><anchor id='Pg054'/> + +<p> +<q>I want to know where I can find +him.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The German's voice was humorously +gruff. <q>My friend, my friend.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said impatiently, <q>I'm not interested +in arresting him at this time. +I want to talk to him.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The other said heavily. <q>This goes +beyond favors, my friend. On the face +of it, I am not in business for my +health. And what you ask is dangerous +from my viewpoint. You realize +that upon occasion my organization +does small tasks for the Soviets....</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Ha!</q> Larry said bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +<q>... And,</q> the German continued, +unruffled, <q>it is hardly to my interest +to gain the reputation of betraying +my sometimes employers. +Were you on an assignment in, say, +Bulgaria or Hungary, would you +expect me to betray you to the +<hi rend='italic'>Chrezvychainaya Komissiya</hi>?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Not unless somebody paid you +enough to make it worth while,</q> +Larry said dryly. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Exactly,</q> the espionage chief said. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Look,</q> Larry said. <q>Send your bill +to this department, Hans. I've been +given carte blanche on this matter +and I want to talk to Frol. Now, +where is he?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The German chuckled heavily. +<q>At the Soviet Embassy.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>What! You mean they've got the +gall to house their top spy right in—</q> +</p> + +<p> +Distelmayer interrupted him. +<q>Friend Eivazov is currently accredited +as a military attaché and quite +correctly. He holds the rank of colonel, +you know. He entered this country +quite legally, the only precaution +taken was to use his second name, +Kliment, instead of Frol, on his papers. +Evidently, your people passed +him by without a second look. Ah, I +understand he went to the trouble of +making some minor changes in his +facial appearance.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>We'll expect your bill, Distelmayer,</q> +Larry said. <q>Good-by.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He got up and reached for his hat, +saying to Irene Day, <q>I don't know +how long I'll be gone.</q> He added, +wryly, <q>If either Foster or the Boss +try to get in touch with me, tell them +I'm carrying out orders.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He drove over to the Soviet Embassy, +parked his car directly before +the building. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +The American plainclothesmen +stationed near the entrance, gave him +only a quick onceover as he passed. +Inside the gates, the impassive Russian +guards didn't bother to flicker an +eyelid. +</p> + +<p> +At the reception desk in the immense +entrada, he identified himself. +<q>I'd like to see Colonel Frol Eivazov.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I am afraid—</q> the clerk began +stiffly. +</p> + +<p> +<q>I suppose you have him on the +records as Kliment Eivazov.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The clerk had evidently touched a +concealed button. A door opened and +a junior embassy official approached +them. +</p> + +<p> +Larry restated his desire. The other +began to open his mouth in denial, +then shrugged. <q>Just a moment,</q> he +said. +</p> + +<p> +He was gone a full twenty minutes. +<pb n='055'/><anchor id='Pg055'/> +When he returned, he said +briefly, <q>This way, please.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Frol Eivazov was in an inner office, +in full uniform. He came to his +feet when Larry Woolford entered +and said to the clerk, <q>That will be +all, Vova.</q> He was a tall man, as +Slavs go, but heavy of build and +heavy of face. +</p> + +<p> +He shook hands with Larry. <q>It's +been a long time,</q> he said in perfect +English. <q>That conference in Warsaw, +wasn't it? Have a chair, Mr. +Woolford.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry took the offered chair and +said, <q>How in the world did you expect +to get by with this nonsense? +We'll have you declared <hi rend='italic'>persona non +grata</hi> in a matter of hours.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>It's not important,</q> Eivazov +shrugged. <q>I have found what I came +to find. I was about to return to report +any way.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>We won't do anything to hinder +you, colonel,</q> Larry said dryly. +</p> + +<p> +Eivazov snapped his fingers. <q>It's +all amusing,</q> he said. <q>In our country +we would quickly deal with this +Movement nonsense. You Americans +with your pseudo-democracy, your +labels without reality, your—</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said wearily, <q>Please, Frol, I +promise not to convert you if you +promise not to convert me. Needless +to say, my department isn't happy +about your presence in this country. +You'll be watched from now on. +We've been busy with other matters....</q> +</p> + +<p> +Here the Russian laughed. +</p> + +<p> +<q>... Or we'd already have flushed +you.</q> He allowed his voice to go +curious. <q>We've wondered about your +interest in this phase of our internal +affairs.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Russian agent let his facade +slip over farther, his heavy lips sneering. +<q>We are interested in all phases +of your antiquated socio-economic +system, Mr. Woolford. In the present +peaceful economic competition between +East and West, we would simply +<emph>loathe</emph> to see anything happen to +your present culture.</q> He hesitated +deliberately. <q>If you can call it a +culture.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, unprovoked, <q>If I understand +you correctly, you are not in +favor of the changes the Movement +advocates.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Russian shrugged hugely. <q>I +doubt if they are possible of achievement. +The organization is a sloppy +one. Revolutionary? Nonsense,</q> he +scoffed. <q>They have no plans to +change the government. No plans for +overthrowing the regime. Ultimately, +what this country needs is true +Communism. This so-called Movement +doesn't have that as its eventual +goal. It is laughable.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, interestedly, <q>Then perhaps +you'll tell me what little you've +found out about the group.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Why not?</q> The Russian pursed +his lips. <q>They are composed of impractical +idealists. Scientists, intellectuals, +a few admitted scholars and +even a few potential leaders. Their +sabotage of your Department of Records +was an amusing farce, but, +frankly, I have been unable to discover +the purpose of their interest in +rockets. For a time I contemplated +<pb n='056'/><anchor id='Pg056'/> +the possibility that they had a scheme +to develop a nuclear bomb, and to +explode it over Greater Washington +in the belief that in the resulting +confusion they might seize power. +But, on the face of it their membership +is incapable of such an effort.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Their interest in rockets?</q> Larry +said softly. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Yes, as you've undoubtedly discovered, +half the rocket technicians of +your country seem to have joined +with them. We got the tip through</q>—the +Russian cleared his throat—<q>several +of our converts who happen +to be connected with your space +efforts groups.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Is that so?</q> Larry said. <q>I wondered +what you thought about their +interest in money.</q> +</p> + +<p> +It was the other's turn to look +blank. <q>Money?</q> he said. +</p> + +<p> +<q>That's right. Large quantities of +money.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Russian said, frowning, <q>I suppose +most citizens in your capitalist +countries are interested largely in +money. One of your basic failings.</q> +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +Driving back to the office, Larry +Woolford let it pile up on him. +</p> + +<p> +Ernest Self had been a specialist in +solid fuel for rockets. When Larry +had questioned Professor Voss that +worthy had particularly stressed his +indignation at how Professor Goddard, +the rocket pioneer, had been +treated by his contemporaries. Franklin +Nostrand had been employed as a +technician on rocket research at Madison +Air Laboratories. It was too darn +much for coincidence. +</p> + +<p> +And now something else that had +been nagging away at the back of his +mind suddenly came clear. +</p> + +<p> +Susan Self had said that she and +her father had seen the precision +dancers at the New Roxy Theater in +New York and later the Professor +had said they were going to spend +the money on chorus girls. Susan had +got it wrong. The Rockettes—the +precision chorus girls. The Professor +had said they were going to spend +the money on <emph>rockets</emph>, and Susan had +misunderstood. +</p> + +<p> +But billions of dollars expended on +rockets? How? But, above all, to +what end? +</p> + +<p> +If he'd only been able to hold onto +Susan, or her father; or to Voss or +Nostrand, for that matter. Someone +to work on. But each had slipped +through his fingers. +</p> + +<p> +Which brought something else up +from his subconscious. Something +which had been tugging at him. +</p> + +<p> +At the office, Irene Day was packing +her things as he entered. Packing +as though she was leaving for good. +</p> + +<p> +<q>What goes on?</q> Larry growled. +<q>I'm going to be needing you. Things +are coming to a head.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She said, a bit snippishly, Larry +thought, <q>Miss Polk, in the Boss' office, +said for you to see her as soon as +you came in, Mr. Woolford.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Oh?</q> +</p> + +<p> +He made his way to LaVerne's office, +his attention actually on the ideas +churning in his mind. +</p> + +<p> +She looked up when he entered. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>The Boss wanted to +see me?</q> +</p> + +<pb n='057'/><anchor id='Pg057'/> + +<p> +LaVerne ducked her head, as +though embarrassed. <q>Not exactly, +Larry.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He gestured with his thumb in the +direction of his own cubicle office. +<q>Irene just said you wanted me.</q> +</p> + +<p> +LaVerne looked up into his face. +<q>The Boss and Mr. Foster, too, are +boiling about your authorizing that +Distelmayer man to bill this department +for information he gave you. +The Boss hit the roof. Something +about the Senate Appropriations +Committee getting down on him if it +came out that we bought information +from professional espionage agents.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>It was information we +needed, and Foster gave me the go +ahead on locating Frol Eivazov. Maybe +I'd better see the Boss.</q> +</p> + +<p> +LaVerne said, <q>I don't think he +wants to see you, Larry. They're up +to their ears in this Movement thing. +It's in the papers <emph>now</emph> and nobody +knows what to do next. The President +is going to make a speech on TriD, +and the Boss has to supply the information. +His orders are for you to +resume your vacation. To take a +month off and then see him when +you get back.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry sank down into a chair. <q>I +see,</q> he said, <q>And at that time he'll +probably transfer me to janitor service.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Larry,</q> LaVerne said, almost impatiently, +<q>why in the world didn't +you take that job Walt Foster has +now when the Boss offered it to +you?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Because I'm stupid, I suppose,</q> +Larry said bitterly. <q>I thought I could +do more working alone than at an administrative +post tangled in red tape +and bureaucratic routine.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She said, <q>Sorry, Larry.</q> She sounded +as though she meant it. +</p> + +<p> +Larry stood up. <q>Well, tonight I'm +going to hang one on, and tomorrow +it's back to Florida.</q> He said in a +rush, <q>Look LaVerne, how about that +date we've been talking about for six +months or more?</q> +</p> + +<p> +She looked up at him. <q>I can't +stand vodka martinis.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Neither can I,</q> he said glumly. +</p> + +<p> +<q>And I don't get a kick out of +prancing around, a stuffed shirt +among fellow stuffed shirts, at some +goings-on that supposedly improves +my culture status.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said <q>At the house I have +every known brand of drinkable, and +a stack of ... what did you call it? ... corny +music. We can mix our +own drinks and dance all by ourselves.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She tucked her head to one side +and looked at him suspiciously. <q>Are +your intentions honorable?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>We can even discuss that later,</q> +he said sourly. +</p> + +<p> +She laughed. <q>It's a date, Larry.</q> +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +He picked her up after work, and +they drove to his Brandywine auto-bungalow, +largely quiet the whole +way. +</p> + +<p> +At one point she touched his hand +with hers and said, <q>It'll work out, +Larry.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Yeah,</q> he said sourly. <q>I've put +ten years into ingratiating myself +with the Boss. Now, overnight, he's +<pb n='058'/><anchor id='Pg058'/> +got a new boy. I suppose there's some +moral involved.</q> +</p> + +<p> +When they pulled up before his +auto-bungalow, LaVerne whistled appreciatively. +<q>Quite a neighborhood +you're in.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He grunted. <q>A good address. +What our friend Professor Voss +would call one more status symbol, +one more social-label. For it I pay +about fifty per cent more rent than +my budget can afford.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He ushered her inside and took her +jacket. <q>Look,</q> he said, indicating his +living room with a sweep of hand. +<q>See that volume of Klee reproductions +there next to my reading chair? +That proves I'm not a weird. Indicates +my culture status. Actually, my +appreciation of modern art doesn't go +any further than the Impressionists. +But don't tell anybody. See those +books up on my shelves. Same thing. +You'll find everything there that +<emph>ought</emph> to be on the shelves of any ambitious +young career man.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him from the side of +her eyes. <q>You're really soured, Larry.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Come along,</q> he said. <q>I want to +show you something.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He took her down the tiny elevator +to his den. +</p> + +<p> +<q>How hypocritical can you get?</q> +he asked her. <q>This is where I really +live. But I seldom bring anyone here. +Wouldn't want to get a reputation as +a weird. Sit down, LaVerne, I'll make +a drink. How about a Sidecar?</q> +</p> + +<p> +She sank onto the couch, kicked her +<pb n='059'/><anchor id='Pg059'/> +shoes off and slipped her feet under +her. <q>I'd love one,</q> she said. +</p> + +<p> +His back to her, he brought brandy +and cointreau from his liquor cabinet, +lemon and ice from the tiny refrigerator. +</p> + +<p> +<q>What?</q> LaVerne said mockingly. +<q>No auto-bar?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Upstairs with the rest of the status +symbols,</q> Larry grunted. +</p> + +<p> +He put her drink before her and +turned and went to the record player. +</p> + +<p> +<q>In the way of corny music, how do +you like that old-timer, Nat Cole?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>King Cole? Love him,</q> LaVerne +said. +</p> + +<p> +The strains of <q>For All We Know</q> +penetrated the room. +</p> + +<p> +Larry sat down across from her, finished +half his drink in one swallow. +</p> + +<p> +<q>I'm beginning to wonder whether +or not this Movement doesn't have +something,</q> he said. +</p> + +<p> +She didn't answer that. They sat in +silence for a while, appreciating the +drink. Nat Cole was singing <q>The +Very Thought of You</q> now. Larry got +up and made two more cocktails. This +time he sat next to her. He leaned his +head back on the couch and closed +his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Finally he said softly, <q>When Steve +Hackett and I were questioning Susan, +there was only one other person +who knew that we'd picked her up. +There was only one person other +than Steve and me who could have +warned Ernest Self to make a getaway. +Later on, there was only one +person who could have warned Frank +Nostrand so that he and the Professor +could find a new hideout.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She said sleepily, <q>How long have +you known about that, darling?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>A while,</q> Larry said, his own voice +quiet. <q>I figured it out when I also decided +how Susan Self was spirited +out of the Greater Washington Hilton, +before we had the time to question +her further. Somebody who had +access to tapes made of me while I +was making phone calls cut out a section +and dubbed in a voice so that +Betsy Hughes, the Secret Service matron +who was watching Susan, was +fooled into believing it was I ordering +the girl to be turned over to the two +Movement members who came to +get her.</q> +</p> + +<p> +LaVerne stirred comfortably and +let her head sink onto his shoulder. +<q>You're so warm and ... comfortable,</q> +she said. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said softly, <q>What does the +Movement expect to do with all that +counterfeit money, LaVerne?</q> +</p> + +<p> +She stirred against his shoulder, as +though bothered by the need to talk. +<q>Give it all away,</q> she said. <q>Distribute +it all over the country and +destroy the nation's social currency.</q> +</p> + +<p> +It took him a long moment to assimilate +that. +</p> + +<p> +<q>What have the rockets to do with +it?</q> +</p> + +<p> +She stirred once again, as though +wishing he'd be silent. <q>That's how it +will be distributed. About twenty +rockets, strategically placed, each with +a <emph>warhead</emph> of a couple of tons of +money. Fired to an altitude of a couple +of hundred miles and then the +money is spewed out. In falling, it +will be distributed over cities and +<pb n='060'/><anchor id='Pg060'/> +countryside, everywhere. Billions +upon billions of dollars worth.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, so softly as hardly to be +heard, <q>What will that accomplish?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Money is the greatest social-label +of them all. The Professor believes +that through this step the Movement +will have accomplished its purpose. +That people will be forced to utilize +their judgment, rather than depend +upon social-labels.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry didn't follow that, but he had +no time to go further now. He said, +still evenly soft, <q>And when is the +Movement going to do this?</q> +</p> + +<p> +La Verne moved comfortably. <q>The +trucks go out to distribute the money +tonight. The rockets are waiting. The +firing will take place in a few days.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>And where is the Professor now?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Where the money and the trucks +are hidden, darling. What difference +does it make?</q> LaVerne said sleepily. +</p> + +<p> +<q>And where is that?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>At the Greater Washington +Trucking Corporation. It's owned by +one of the Movement's members.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He said. <q>There's a password. What +is it?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Judgment.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford bounced to his feet. +He looked down at her, then over at +the phone. In three quick steps he +was over to it. He grasped its wires +and yanked them from the wall, silencing +it. He slipped into the tiny +elevator, locking the door to the den +behind him. +</p> + +<p> +As the door slid closed, her voice +wailed, still sleepily husky, <q>Larry, +darling, where are you—</q> +</p> + +<p> +He ran down the walk of the house, +vaulted into the car and snapped on +its key. He slammed down the lift +lever, kicked the thrust pedal and +was thrown back against the seat by +the acceleration. +</p> + +<p> +Even while he was climbing, he +flicked on the radio-phone, called +Personal Service for the location of +the Greater Washington Trucking +Corporation. +</p> + +<p> +Fifteen minutes later, he parked a +block away from his destination, noting +with satisfaction that it was still +an hour or more to go until dark. His +intuition, working doubletime now, +told him that they'd probably wait until +nightfall to start their money-laden +trucks to rolling. +</p> + +<p> +He hesitated momentarily before +turning on the phone and dialing the +Boss' home address. +</p> + +<p> +When the other's face faded in, it +failed to display pleasure when the +caller's identity was established. His +superior growled, <q>Confound it, +Woolford, you know my privacy is to +be respected. This phone is to be +used only in extreme emergency.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Yes, sir,</q> Larry said briskly. <q>It's +the Movement—</q> +</p> + +<p> +The other's face darkened still further. +<q>You're not on that assignment +any longer, Woolford. Walter Foster +has taken over and I'm sympathetic to +his complaints that you've proven +more a hindrance than anything +else.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry ignored his words, <q>Sir, I've +tracked them down. Professor Voss is +at the Greater Washington Trucking +Corporation garages here in the Alexandria +section of town. Any moment +<pb n='061'/><anchor id='Pg061'/> +now, they're going to start distribution +of all that counterfeit money on +some scatterbrain plan to disrupt the +country's exchange system.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly alert, the department +chief snapped, <q>Where are you, Woolford?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Outside the garages, sir. But I'm +going in now.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>You stay where you are,</q> the other +snapped. <q>I'll have every department +man and every Secret Service man in +town over there within twenty minutes. +You hang on. Those people are +lunatics, and probably desperate.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Inwardly, Larry Woolford grinned. +He wasn't going to lose this opportunity +to finish up the job with him on +top. He said flatly, <q>Sir, we can't +chance it. They might escape. I'm going +in!</q> He flicked off the set, dialed +again and raised Sam Sokolski. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Sam,</q> he said, his voice clipped. +<q>I've cornered the Movement's leader +and am going in for the finish. Maybe +some of you journalist boys better get +on over here.</q> He gave the other the +address and flicked off before there +were any questions. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +From the dash compartment he +brought a heavy automatic, and +checked the clip. He put it in his hip +pocket and left the car and walked +toward the garages. Time was running +out now. +</p> + +<p> +He strode into the only open door, +without shift of pace. Two men were +posted nearby, neither of them truckmen +by appearance. They looked at +him in surprise. +</p> + +<p> +Larry clipped out, <q>The password +is <emph>Judgment</emph>. I've got to see Professor +Voss immediately.</q> +</p> + +<p> +One of them frowned questioningly, +but the other was taken up with +the urgency in Woolford's voice. He +nodded with his head. <q>He's over +there in the office.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Now ignoring them completely, +Larry strode past the long rows of +sealed delivery vans toward the office. +</p> + +<p> +He pushed the door open, entered +and closed it behind him. +</p> + +<p> +Professor Peter Voss was seated at +a paper-littered desk. There was a cot +with an army blanket in a corner of +the room, some soiled clothing and +two or three dirty dishes on a tray. +The room was being lived in, obviously. +</p> + +<p> +At the agent's entry, the little man +looked up and blinked in distress +through his heavy lenses. +</p> + +<p> +Larry snapped, <q>You're under arrest, +Voss.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The professor was obviously dismayed, +but he said in as vigorous a +voice as he could muster, <q>Nonsense! +On what charge?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Counterfeiting, among many. +Your whole scheme has fallen apart, +Voss. You and your Movement, so-called, +are finished.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The professor's eyes darted, left, +right. To Larry Woolford's surprise, +the Movement's leader was alone in +here. Undoubtedly, he was awaiting +others, drivers of the trucks, technicians +involved in the rockets, other +subordinates. But right now he was +alone. +</p> + +<p> +If Woolford correctly diagnosed +<pb n='062'/><anchor id='Pg062'/> +the situation, Voss was playing for +time, waiting for the others. Good +enough, so was Larry Woolford. Had +the Professor only known it, a shout +would have brought at least two followers +and the government agent +would have had his work cut out for +him. +</p> + +<p> +Woodford played along. <q>Just what +is this fantastic scheme of yours for +raining down money over half the +country, Voss? The very insanity of it +proves your whole outfit is composed +of a bunch of nonconformist weirds.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Professor was indignant—and +stalling for time. He said, <q>Nonconformists +is correct! He who conforms +in an incompetent society is an incompetent +himself.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry stood, his legs apart and +hands on hips. He shook his head in +simulated pity at the angry little man. +<q>What's all this about raining money +down over the country?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Don't you see?</q> the other said. +<q rend='pre'>The perfect method for disrupting +our present system of social-labels. +With billions of dollars, perfect counterfeit, +strewing the streets, the fields, +the trees, available for anyone to pick +up, all social currency becomes worthless. +Utterly unusable. And it's no use +to attempt to print more with another +design, because we can duplicate +it as well. Our experts are the +world's best, we're not a group of +sulking criminals but capable, trained, +dedicated men.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Very well! We will have made it +absolutely impossible to have any +form of mass-produced social currency.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry stared at him. <q>It would completely +foul the whole business system! +You'd have chaos!</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>At first. Private individuals, once +the value of money was seen to be +zero, would have lost the amount of +cash they had on hand. But banks +and such institutions would lose little. +They have accurate records that +show the actual values they held at +the time our money rains down.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry was bewildered. <q>But what +are you getting at? What do you expect +to accomplish?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Professor, on his favorite subject, +said triumphantly, <q>The only +form of currency that can be used +under these conditions is the <emph>personal</emph> +check. It's not mass produced, and +mass-production can't duplicate it. +It's immune to the attack. Business +has to go on, or people will starve—so +personal checks will have to replace +paper money. Credit cards and +traveler's checks won't do—we can +counterfeit them, too, and will, if +necessary. Realize of course that hard +money will still be valid, but it can't +be utilized practically for any but +small transactions. Try taking enough +silver dollars to buy a refrigerator +down to the store with you.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>But what's the purpose?</q> Larry +demanded, flabbergasted. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Isn't it obvious? Our whole Movement +is devoted to the destruction of +social-label judgments. It's all very +well to say: <hi rend='italic'>You should not judge +your fellow men</hi> but when it comes to +accepting another man's personal +check, friend, you damn well have to! +The bum check artist might have a +<pb n='063'/><anchor id='Pg063'/> +field day to begin with—but only to +begin with.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry shook his head in exasperation. +<q>You people are a bunch of +anarchists,</q> he accused. +</p> + +<p> +<q>No,</q> the Professor denied. <q>Absolutely +not. We are the antithesis of +the anarchist. The anarchist says, <q>No +man is capable of judging another.</q> +We say, <q>Each man must judge his fellow, +must demand proper evaluation +of him.</q> To judge a man by his +clothes, the amount of money he +owns, the car he drives, the neighborhood +in which he lives, or the society +he keeps, is out of the question in a +vital culture.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said sourly, <q>Well, whether +or not you're right, Voss, you've lost. +This place is surrounded. My men +will be breaking in shortly.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Voss laughed at him. <q>Nonsense. +All you've done is prevent us from +accomplishing this portion of our +program. What will you do after my +arrest? You'll bring me to trial. Do +you remember the Scopes' Monkey +Trial back in the 1920s which became +a world appreciated farce and +made Tennessee a laughingstock? +Well, just wait until you get <emph>me</emph> into +court backed by my organization's resources. +We'll bring home to every +thinking person, not only in this +country, but in the world, the fantastic +qualities of our existing culture. +Why, Mr.-Secret-Agent-of-Anti-Subversive-Activity +you aren't doing me +an injury by giving me the opportunity +to have my day in court. You're +doing me a favor. Newspapers, radios, +TriD will give me the chance to expound +my program in the home of +every thinking person in the world.</q> +</p> + +<p> +There was a fiery dedication in the +little man's eyes. <q>This will be my +victory, not my defeat!</q> +</p> + +<p> +There were sounds now, coming +from the other rooms—the garages. +Some shouts and scuffling. Faintly, +Larry Woolford could hear Steve +Hackett's voice. +</p> + +<p> +He was staring at the Professor, his +eyes narrower. +</p> + +<p> +The Professor was on his feet. He +said in defiant triumph, <q>You think +that you'll win prestige and honor as +a result of tracking the Movement +down, don't you, Mr. Woolford? +Well, let me tell you, you won't! In +six months from now, Mr. Woolford, +you'll be a laughingstock.</q> +</p> + +<p> +That did it. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>You're under arrest. +Turn around with your back to me.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Professor snorted his contempt, +turned his back and held up +his hands, obviously expecting to be +searched. +</p> + +<p> +In a fluid motion, Larry Woolford +drew his gun and fired twice. The +other with no more than a grunt of +surprise and pain, stumbled forward +to his knees and then to the floor, his +arms and legs akimbo. +</p> + +<p> +The door broke open and Steve +Hackett, gun in hand, burst in. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Woolford!</q> he barked. <q>What's +up?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry indicated the body on the +floor. <q>There you are, Steve,</q> he said. +<q>The head of the counterfeit ring. He +was trying to escape. I had to shoot +him.</q> +</p> + +<pb n='064'/><anchor id='Pg064'/> + +<p> +Behind Steve Hackett crowded Ben +Ruthenberg of the F.B.I. and behind +him half a dozen others of various +departments. +</p> + +<p> +The Boss came pushing his way +through. +</p> + +<p> +He glared down at the Professor's +body, then up at Larry Woolford. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Good work, Lawrence,</q> he +said. <q>How did you bring it off?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry replaced the gun in his holster +and shrugged modestly. <q>The +Polk girl gave me the final tip-off, +sir. I gave her some Scop-Serum in a +drink and she talked. Evidently, she +was a member of the Movement.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss was nodding wisely. <q>I've +had my eye on her, Lawrence. An obvious +weird. But we will have to suppress +that Scop-Serum angle.</q> He +slapped his favorite field man on the +arm jovially. <q>Well, boy, this means +promotion, of course.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry grinned. <q>Thanks, sir. All in +a day's work. I don't think we'll +have much trouble with the remnants +of this Movement thing. The pitch is +to treat them as counterfeiters, not +subversives. Try them for that. Their +silly explanations of what they were +going to do with the money will never +be taken seriously.</q> He looked down +at the small corpse. <q>Particularly now +that their kingpin is gone.</q> +</p> + +<p> +A new wave of agents, F.B.I. men +and prisoners washed into the room +and Steve Hackett and Larry were for +a moment pushed back into a corner +by themselves. +</p> + +<p> +Steve looked at him strangely and +said, <q>There's one thing I'd like to +know: Did you really have to shoot +him, Woolford?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry brushed it off. <q>What's the +difference? He was as weird as they +come, wasn't he?</q> +</p> + +<p> +THE END +</p> +</div> +</body> +<back rend="page-break-before: right"> + <div rend="page-break-before: right"> + <divGen type="pgfooter" /> + </div> +</back> +</text> +</TEI.2> diff --git a/30339-tei/images/p12.png b/30339-tei/images/p12.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..dd34e5d --- /dev/null +++ b/30339-tei/images/p12.png diff --git a/30339-tei/images/p30.png b/30339-tei/images/p30.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..901802c --- /dev/null +++ b/30339-tei/images/p30.png diff --git a/30339-tei/images/p42.png b/30339-tei/images/p42.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7069061 --- /dev/null +++ b/30339-tei/images/p42.png diff --git a/30339-tei/images/p49.png b/30339-tei/images/p49.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..bae1323 --- /dev/null +++ b/30339-tei/images/p49.png diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1b8a575 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #30339 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/30339) diff --git a/old/30339-0.txt b/old/30339-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6b02ae0 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/30339-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4018 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Status Quo by Dallas McCord Reynolds + + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no +restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under +the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or +online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license + + + +Title: Status Quo + +Author: Dallas McCord Reynolds + +Release Date: October 26, 2009 [Ebook #30339] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STATUS QUO*** + + + + + + Status Quo + + by Dallas McCord Reynolds + + Illustrated by John Schoenherr + + Analog Science Fact & Fiction + + August 1961 + + + + + + +[Transcriber’s Note: This text was produced from Analog Science Fact & +Fiction August 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that +the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] + +In his income bracket and in the suburb in which he lived, government +employees in the twenty-five to thirty-five age group were currently +wearing tweeds. Tweeds were in. Not to wear tweeds was Non-U. + +Lawrence Woolford wore tweeds. His suit, this morning, had first seen the +light of day on a hand loom in Donegal. It had been cut by a Swede widely +patronized by serious young career men in Lawrence Woolford’s status +group; English tailors were out currently and Italians unheard of. + +Woolford sauntered down the walk before his auto-bungalow, scowling at the +sportscar at the curb—wrong year, wrong make. He’d have to trade it in on +a new model. Which was a shame in a way, he liked the car. However, he had +no desire to get a reputation as a weird among colleagues and friends. +What was it Senator Carey MacArthur had said the other day? Show me a +weird and I’ll show you a person who has taken the first step toward being +a Commie. + +Woolford slid under the wheel, dropped the lift lever, depressed gently +the thrust pedal and took off for downtown Greater Washington. +Theoretically, he had another four days of vacation coming to him. He +wondered what the Boss wanted. That was the trouble in being one of the +Boss’ favorite trouble shooters, when trouble arose you wound up in the +middle of it. Lawrence Woolford was to the point where he was thinking in +terms of graduating out of field work and taking on a desk job which meant +promotion in status and pay. + +He turned over his car to a parker at the departmental parking lot and +made his way through the entrance utilized by second-grade departmental +officials. In another year, he told himself, he’d be using that other +door. + +The Boss’ reception secretary looked up when Lawrence Woolford entered the +anteroom where she presided. “Hello, Larry,” she said. “Hear they called +your vacation short. Darn shame.” + +LaVerne Polk was a cute little whizz of efficiency. Like Napoleon and his +army, she knew the name of every member of the department and was on a +first-name basis with all. However, she was definitely a weird. For +instance, styles might come and styles might go, but LaVerne dressed for +comfort, did her hair the way she thought it looked best, and wore +low-heeled walking shoes on the job. In fact, she was ready and willing to +snarl at anyone, no matter how kindly intentioned, who even hinted that +her nonconformity didn’t help her promotion prospects. + +Woolford said, “Hi, LaVerne. I think the Boss is expecting me.” + +“That he is. Go right in, Larry.” + +She looked after him when he turned and left her desk. Lawrence Woolford +cut a pleasant figure as thirty year old bachelors go. + +The Boss looked up from some report on his desk which he’d been frowning +at, nodded to his field man and said, “Sit down, Lawrence. I’ll be with +you in a minute. Please take a look at this while you’re waiting.” He +handed over a banknote. + +Larry Woolford took it and found himself a comfortable chair. He examined +the bill, front and back. It was a fifty dollar note, almost new. + +Finally the Boss, a stocky but impeccable career bureaucrat of the +ultra-latest school, scribbled his initials on the report and tossed it +into an Out chute. He said to Woolford, “I am sorry to cut short your +vacation, Lawrence. I considered giving Walter Foster the assignment, but +I think you’re the better choice.” + +Larry decided the faint praise routine was the best tactic, said earnestly +about his closest rival. “Walt’s a good man, sir.” And then, “What’s the +crisis?” + +“What do you think of that fifty?” + +His trouble shooter looked down at it. “What is there to think about it?” + +The Boss grunted, slid open a desk drawer and brought forth another bill. +“Here, look at this, please.” + +It was another fifty. Larry Woolford frowned at it, not getting whatever +was going on. + +“Observe the serial numbers,” the Boss said impatiently. + +They were identical. + +Woolford looked up. “Counterfeit. Which one is the bad one?” + +“That is exactly what we would like to know,” the Boss said. + +Larry Woolford stared at his superior, blinked and then examined the bills +again. “A beautiful job,” he said, “but what’s it got to do with us, sir? +This is Secret Service jurisdiction, counterfeiting.” + +“They called us in on it. They think it might have international +ramifications.” + +Now they were getting somewhere. Larry Woolford put the two bills on the +Boss’ desk and leaned back in his chair, waiting. + +His superior said, “Remember the Nazis turning out American and British +banknotes during the Second War?” + +“I was just a kid.” + +“I thought you might have read about it. At any rate, obviously a +government—with all its resources—could counterfeit perfectly any currency +in the world. It would have the skills, the equipment, the funds to +accomplish the task. The Germans turned out hundreds of millions of +dollars and pounds with the idea of confounding the Allied financial +basics.” + +“And why didn’t it work?” + +“The difficulty of getting it into circulation, for one thing. However, +they did actually use a quantity. For a time our people were so alarmed +that they wouldn’t allow any bills to come into this country from Mexico +except two-dollar denomination—the one denomination the Germans hadn’t +bothered to duplicate. Oh, they had the Secret Service in a dither for a +time.” + +Woolford was frowning. “What’s this got to do with our current situation?” + +The Boss said, “It is only a conjecture. One of those bills is counterfeit +but such an excellent reproduction that the skill involved is beyond the +resources of any known counterfeiter. Secret Service wants to know if it +might be coming from abroad, and, if so, from where. If it’s a +governmental project, particularly a Soviet Complex one, then it comes +into the ken of our particular cloak-and-dagger department.” + +“Yes, sir.” Woolford said. He got up and examined the two bills again. +“How’d they ever detect that one was bad?” + +“Pure fortune. A bank clerk with an all but eidetic memory was going +through a batch of fifties. It’s not too commonly used a denomination, you +know. Coincidence was involved since in that same sheaf the serial number +was duplicated.” + +“And then?” + +“The reproduction was so perfect that Secret Service was in an immediate +uproar. Short of the Nazi effort, there has never been anything like it. A +perfect duplication of engraving and paper identically the same. The +counterfeiters have even evidently gone to the extent of putting a certain +amount of artificial wear on the bills before putting them into +circulation.” + +Larry Woolford said, “This is out of my line. How were they able to check +further, and how many more did they turn up?” + +“The new I.B.M. sorters help. Secret Service checked every fifty dollar +bill in every institution in town both banking and governmental. Thus far, +they have located ten bills in all.” + +“And other cities?” + +“None. They’ve all been passed in Greater Washington, which is suspicious +in itself. The amount of expense that has gone into the manufacture of +these bills does not allow for only a handful of them being passed. They +should be turning up in number. Lawrence, this reproduction is such that a +pusher could walk into a bank and have his false currency changed by any +clerk.” + +“Wow,” Larry whistled. + +“Indeed.” + +“So you want me to work with Secret Service on this on the off chance that +the Soviet Complex is doing us deliberate dirt.” + +“That is exactly the idea, Lawrence. Get to work, please, and keep in +touch with me. If you need support, I can assign Walter Foster or some of +the other operatives to assist you. This might have endless +ramifications.” + + ------------------------------------- + +Back in the anteroom, Woolford said to the Boss’ receptionist, “I’m on a +local job, LaVerne, how about assigning me a girl?” + +“Can do,” she said. + +“And, look, tell her to get hold of every available work on counterfeiting +and pile it on my desk.” + +“Right. Thinking of going into business, Larry?” + +He grinned down at her. “That’s the idea. Keeping up with the Jones clan +in this man’s town costs roughly twice my income.” + +LaVerne said disapprovingly, “Then why not give it up? With the +classification you’ve got a single man ought to be able to save half his +pay.” She added, more quietly, “Or get married and support a family.” + +“Save half my pay?” Larry snorted. “And get a far out reputation, eh? No +thanks, you can’t afford to be a weird these days.” + +She flushed—and damn prettily, Larry Woolford decided. She could be an +attractive item if it wasn’t for obviously getting her kicks out of being +individualistic. + +Larry said suddenly, “Look, promise like a good girl not to make us +conspicuous and I’ll take you to the Swank Room for dinner tonight.” + +“Is that where all the bright young men currently have to be seen once or +twice a week?” she snapped back at him. “Get lost, Larry. Being a healthy, +normal woman I’m interested in men, but not necessarily in walking +status-symbols.” + +It was his turn to flush, and, he decided wryly, he probably didn’t do it +as prettily as she did. + +On his way to his office, he wondered why the Boss kept her on. +Classically, a secretary-receptionist should have every pore in place, but +in her time LaVerne Polk must have caused more than one bureaucratic +eyebrow to raise. Efficiency was probably the answer; the Boss couldn’t +afford to let her go. + +Larry Woolford’s office wasn’t much more than a cubicle. He sat down at +the desk and banged a drawer or two open and closed. He liked the work, +liked the department, but theoretically he still had several days of +vacation and hated to get back into routine. + +Had he known it, this was hardly going to be routine. + +He flicked the phone finally and asked for an outline. He dialed three +numbers before getting his subject. The phone screen remained blank. + +“Hans?” he said. “Lawrence Woolford.” + +The Teutonic accent was heavy, the voice bluff. “Ah, Larry! you need some +assistance to make your vacation? Perhaps a sinister, exotic young lady, +complete with long cigarette holder?” + +Larry Woolford growled, “How’d you know I was on vacation?” + +The other laughed. “You know better than to ask that, my friend.” + +Larry said, “The vacation is over, Hans. I need some information.” + +The voice was more guarded now. “I owe you a favor or two.” + +“Don’t you though? Look, Hans, what’s new in the Russkie camp?” + +The heartiness was gone. “How do you mean?” + +“Is there anything big stirring? Is there anyone new in this country from +the Soviet Complex?” + +“Well now—” the other’s voice drifted away. + +Larry Woolford said impatiently, “Look, Hans, let’s don’t waste time +fencing. You run a clearing agency for, _ah_, information. You’re strictly +a businessman, nonpartisan, so to speak. Fine, thus far our department has +tolerated you. Perhaps we’ll continue to. Perhaps the reason is that we +figure we get more out of your existence than we lose. The Russkies +evidently figure the same way, the proof being that you’re alive and have +branches in the capitals of every power on Earth.” + +“All right, all right,” the German said. “Let me think a moment. Can you +give me an idea of what you’re looking for?” There was an undernote of +interest in the voice now. + +“No. I just want to know if you’ve heard anything new anti-my-side, from +the other side. Or if you know of any fresh personnel recently from +there.” + +“Frankly, I haven’t. If you could give me a hint.” + +“I can’t,” Larry said. “Look, Hans, like you say, you owe me a favor or +two. If something comes up, let me know. Then I’ll owe you one.” + +The voice was jovial again. “It’s a bargain, my friend.” + +After Woolford had hung up, he scowled at the phone. He wondered if Hans +Distelmayer was lying. The German commanded the largest professional spy +ring in the world. It was possible, but difficult, for anything in +espionage to develop without his having an inkling. + +The phone rang back. It was Steve Hackett of Secret Service on the screen. + +Hackett said, “Woolford, you coming over? I understand you’ve been +assigned to get in our hair on this job.” + +“Huh,” Larry grunted. “The way I hear it, your whole department has given +up, so I’m assigned to help you out of your usual fumble-fingered +confusion.” + +Hackett snorted. “At any rate, can you drop over? I’m to work in liaison +with you.” + +“Coming,” Larry said. He hung up, got to his feet and headed for the door. +If they could crack this thing the first day, he’d take up that vacation +where it’d been interrupted and possibly be able to wangle a few more days +out of the Boss to boot. + +At this time of day, parking would have been a problem, in spite of +automation of the streets. He left his car in the departmental lot and +took a cab. + + ------------------------------------- + +The Counterfeit Division of the Secret Service occupied an impressive +section of an impressive governmental building. Larry Woolford flashed his +credentials here and there, explained to guards and receptionists here and +there, and finally wound up in Steve Hackett’s office which was all but a +duplicate of his own in size and decor. + +Steve Hackett himself was a fairly accurate carbon copy of Woolford, +barring facial resemblance alone. The fact was, Steve was almost +Lincolnesque in his ugliness. Career man, about thirty, good university, +crew cut, six foot, one hundred and seventy, earnest of eye. He wore +Harris tweed. Larry Woolford made a note of that; possibly herringbone was +coming back in. He winced at the thought of a major change in his +wardrobe; it’d cost a fortune. + +They’d worked on a few cases together before when Steve Hackett had been +assigned to the presidential bodyguard and co-operated well. + +Steve came to his feet and shook hands. “Thought that you were going to be +down in Florida bass fishing this month. You like your work so well you +can’t stay away, or is it a matter of trying to impress your chief?” + +Larry growled, “Fine thing. Secret Service bogs down and they’ve got to +call me in to clean up the mess.” + +Steve motioned him to a chair and immediately went serious. “Do you know +anything about pushing queer, Woolford?” + +“That means passing counterfeit money, doesn’t it? All I know is what’s +in the TriD crime shows.” + +“I can see you’re going to be a lot of help. Have you got anywhere at all +on the possibility that the stuff might be coming from abroad?” + +“Nothing positive,” Larry said. “Are you people accomplishing anything?” + +“We’re just getting underway. There’s something off-trail about this deal, +Woolford. It doesn’t fit into routine.” + +Larry Woolford said, “I wouldn’t think so if the stuff is so good not even +a bank clerk can tell the difference.” + +“That’s not what I’m talking about now. Let me give you a run down on +standard counterfeiting.” The Secret Service agent pushed back in his +swivel chair, lit a cigarette, and propped his feet onto the edge of a +partly open desk drawer. “Briefly, it goes like this. Some smart lad gets +himself a set of plates and a platen press and—” + +Larry interrupted, “Where does he get the plates?” + +“That doesn’t matter now,” Steve said. “Various ways. Maybe he makes them +himself, sometimes he buys them from a crooked engraver. But I’m talking +about pushing green goods once it’s printed. Anyway, our friend runs off, +say, a million dollars worth of fives. But he doesn’t try to pass them +himself. He wholesales them around netting, say, fifty thousand dollars. +In other words, he sells twenty dollars in counterfeit for one good +dollar.” + +Larry pursed his lips. “Quite a discount.” + +“Um-m-m. But that’s safest from his angle. The half dozen or so +distributors he sold it to don’t try to pass it either. They also are +playing it carefully. They peddle it, at say ten to one, to the next rung +down the ladder.” + +“And these are the fellows that pass it, eh?” + +“Not even then, usually. These small timers take it and pass it on at five +to one to the suckers in the trade, who take the biggest risks. Most of +these are professional pushers of the queer, as the term goes. Some, +however, are comparative amateurs. Sailors for instance, who buy with the +idea of passing it in some foreign port where seamen’s money flows fast.” + +Larry Woolford shifted in his chair. “So what are you building up to?” + +Steve Hackett rubbed the end of his pug nose with a forefinger in quick +irritation. “Like I say, that’s standard counterfeit procedure. We’re all +set up to meet it, and do a pretty good job. Where we have our +difficulties is with amateurs.” + +Woolford scowled at him. + +Hackett said, “Some guy who makes and passes it himself, for instance. +He’s unknown to the stool pigeons, has no criminal record, does up +comparatively small amounts and dribbles his product onto the market over +a period of time. We had one old devil up in New York once who actually +_drew_ one dollar bills. He was a tremendous artist. It took us years to +get him.” + +Larry Woolford said, “Well, why go into all this? We’re hardly dealing +with amateurs now.” + +Steve looked at him. “That’s the trouble. We are.” + +“Are you batty? Not even your own experts can tell this product from real +money.” + +“I didn’t say it was being _made_ by amateurs. It’s being _pushed_ by +amateurs—or maybe amateur is the better word.” + +“How do you know?” + +“For one thing, most professionals won’t touch anything bigger than a +twenty. Tens are better, fives better still. When you pass a fifty, the +person you give it to is apt to remember where he got it.” Steve Hackett +said slowly, “Particularly if you give one as a tip to the _maître +d’hôtel_ in a first-class restaurant. A _maître d’_ holds his job on the +strength of his ability to remember faces and names.” + + [Illustration.] + +“What else makes you think your pushers are amateurs?” + +“Amateur,” Hackett corrected. “Ideally, a pusher is an inconspicuous type. +The kind of person whose face you’d never remember. It’s never a teenage +girl who’s blowing money.” + +It was time to stare now, and Larry Woolford obliged. “A teenager!” + +“We’ve had four descriptions of her, one of them excellent. Fredrick, the +_maître d’_ over at La Calvados, is the one that counts, but the others +jibe. She’s bought perfume and gloves at Michel Swiss, the swankiest shop +in town, a dress at Chez Marie—she passed three fifties there—and a hat at +Paulette’s over on Monroe Street. + +“That’s another sign of the amateur, by the way. A competent pusher buys a +small item and gets change from his counterfeit bill. Our girl’s been +buying expensive items, obviously more interested in the product than in +her change.” + +“This doesn’t seem to make much sense,” Larry Woolford protested. “You +have any ideas at all?” + +“The question is,” Hackett said, “where did she get it? Is she connected +with one of the embassies and acquired the stuff overseas? If so, that +puts it in your lap again possibly—” + +The phone rang and Steve flicked the switch and grumbled, “Yeah? Steven +Hackett speaking.” + +He listened for a moment then banged the phone off and jumped to his feet. +“Come on, Larry,” he snapped. “This is it.” + +Larry stood, too. “Who was that?” + +“Fredrick, over at La Calvados. The girl has come in for lunch. Let’s go!” + + ------------------------------------- + +La Calvados was the swankiest French restaurant in Greater Washington, a +city not devoid of swank restaurants. Only the upper-echelons in +governmental circles could afford its tariffs; the clientele was more apt +to consist of business mucky-mucks and lobbyists on the make. Larry +Woolford had eaten here exactly twice. You could get a reputation spending +money far beyond your obvious pay status. + +Fredrick, the _maître de hôtel_, however, was able to greet them both by +name. “Monsieur Hackett, Monsieur Woolford,” he bowed. He obviously didn’t +approve of La Calvados being used as a hangout where counterfeiters were +picked up the authorities. + +“Where is she?” Steve said, looking out over the public dining room. + +Fredrick said, unprofessionally agitated, “See here, Monsieur Hackett, you +didn’t expect to, ah, arrest the young lady _here_ during our lunch hour?” + +Steve looked at him impatiently. “We don’t exactly beat them over the head +with blackjacks, slip the bracelets on and drag them screaming to the +paddywagon.” + +“Of course not, monsieur, but—” + +Larry Woolford’s chief dined here several times a week and was probably on +the best of terms with Fredrick whose decisions on tables and whose degree +of servility had a good deal of influence on a man’s status in Greater +Washington. Larry said wearily, “We can wait until she leaves. Where is +she?” + +Fredrick had taken them to one side. + +“Do you see the young lady over near the window on the park? The rather +gauche appearing type?” + +It was a teenager, all right. A youngster up to her eyebrows in the +attempt to project sophistication. + +Steve said, “Do you know who she is?” + +“No,” Fredrick said. “Hardly our usual clientele.” + +“Oh?” Larry said. “She looks like money.” + +Fredrick said, “The dress appears as though it is of Chez Marie, but she +wears it as though it came from Klein’s. Her perfume is Chanel, but she +has used approximately three times the quantity one would expect.” + +“That’s our girl, all right,” Steve murmured. “Where can we keep an eye on +her until she leaves?” + +“Why not at the bar here, Messieurs?” + +“Why not?” Larry said. “I could use a drink.” + +Fredrick cleared his throat. “Ah, Messieurs, that fifty I turned over you. +I suppose it turned out to be spurious?” + +Steve grinned at him. “Afraid so, Fredrick. The department is holding it.” + +Larry took out his wallet. “However, we have a certain leeway on expenses +on this assignment and appreciate your co-operation.” He handed two +twenties and a ten to the _maître d’_. Fredrick bowed low, the money +disappearing into his clothes magically. “_Merci bien_, monsieur.” + +At the bar, Steve scowled at his colleague. “Ha!” he said. “Why didn’t I +think of that first? He’ll get down on his knees and bump his head each +time he sees you in the joint from now on.” + +Larry Woolford waggled a finger at the other. “This is a status conscious +town, my boy. Prestige means everything. When I take over my Boss’ job, +maybe we can swing a transfer and I’ll give you a position suitable to +your attainments.” He pursed his lips judiciously. “Although, come to +think of it, that might mean a demotion from the job you’re holding now.” + +“Vodka martini,” Steve told the bartender. “Polish vodka, of course.” + +“Of course, sir.” + +Larry said, “Same for me.” + +The bartender left and Steve muttered, “I hate vodka.” + +“Yeah,” Larry said, “But what’re you going to do in a place like this, +order some weird drink?” + +Steve dug into his pocket for money. “We’re not going to have to drink +them. Here she comes.” + +She walked with her head held high, hauteur in every step. Ignoring the +peasants at the tables she passed. + +“Holy smokes,” Steve grunted. “It’s a wonder Fredrick let her in.” + +She hesitated momentarily before the doorway of the prestige restaurant +allowing the passers-by to realize she’d just emerged, and then turned to +her right to promenade along the shopping street. + +Fifty feet below La Calvados, Steve said, “Let’s go, Woolford.” + +One stepped to one elbow, the other to the other. Steve said quietly, “I +wonder if we could ask you a few questions?” + +Her eyebrows went up, “I _beg_ your pardon!” + +Steve sighed and displayed the badge pinned to his wallet, keeping it +inconspicuous. “Secret Service, Miss,” he murmured. + +“Oh, devil,” she said. She looked up at Larry Woolford, and then back at +Steve. + +Steve said, “Among other things, we’re in charge of counterfeit money.” + +She was about five foot four in her heels, had obviously been on a round +of beauty shops and had obviously instructed them to glamorize her. It +hadn’t come off. She still looked as though she’d be more at home as +cheerleader of the junior class in small town high school. She was honey +blond, green-blue of eye, and had that complexion they seldom carry even +into the twenties. + +“I ... I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her chin began to tremble. + +Larry said gently, “Don’t worry. We just want to ask you some questions.” + +“Well ... like what?” She was going to be blinking back tears in a moment. +At least Larry hoped she’d blink them back. He’d hate to have her start +howling here in public. + +Larry said, “We think you can be of assistance to the government, and we’d +like your help.” + +Steve rolled his eyes upward, but turned and waved for a street level cab. + +In the cab, Larry said, “Suppose we go over to my office, Steve?” + +“O.K. with me,” Steve muttered, “but by the looks of the young lady here, +I think it’s a false alarm from your angle. She’s obviously an American. +What’s your name, Miss?” + +“It’s Zusanette. Well, really, Susan.” + +“Susan what?” + +“I ... I’m not sure I want to tell you. I ... I want a lawyer.” + +“A lawyer!” Steve snorted. “You mean you want the juvenile authorities, +don’t you?” + +“Oh, what a mean thing to say,” she sputtered. + + ------------------------------------- + +In the corridor outside the Boss’ suite of offices, Larry said to Steve, +“You take Miss ... ah, Zusanette to my office, will you Steve. I’ll be +there in a minute.” + +He opened the door to the anteroom and said, “LaVerne, we’ve got a girl in +my office—” + +“Why, Larry!” + +He glowered at her. “A suspect. I want a complete tape of everything said. +As soon as we’re through, have copies made, at least three or four.” + +“And, who, Mr. Woolford, was your girl Friday last year?” + +“This is important, honey. I suppose you’ve supplied me with a secretary +but I haven’t even met her yet. Take care of it, will you?” + +“Sure enough, Larry.” + +He followed Steve and the girl to his office. + +Once seated, the girl and Steve in the only two extra chairs the cubicle +boasted and Larry behind his desk, he looked at her in what he hoped was +reassurance. “Just tell us where you got the money, Zusanette.” + +Steve reached out a hand suddenly and took her bag from her lap. She +gasped and snatched at it, but he eluded her and she sat back, her chin +trembling again. + +Steve came up with a thick sheaf of bills, the top ones, at least, all +fifties and tossed them to Larry’s desk. He took out a school pass and +read, “Susan Self, Elwood Avenue.” He looked up at Larry and said, “That’s +right off Eastern, near Paterson Park in the Baltimore section of town, +isn’t it?” + +Larry said to her, “Zusanette, I think you’d better tell us where you got +all this money.” + +“I found it,” she said defiantly. “You can’t do anything to me if I simply +found it. Anybody can find money. Finders keepers—” + +“But if it’s counterfeit,” Steve interrupted dryly, “it might also be, +finders weepers.” + +“Where did you find it, Zusanette?” Larry said gently. + +She tightened her lips, and the trembling of her chin disappeared. “I ... +I can’t tell you that. But it’s not counterfeit. Daddy ... my father said +it was as good as any money the government prints.” + +“That it is,” Steve said sourly. “But it’s still counterfeit, which makes +it very illegal indeed to spend, Miss Self.” + +She looked from one of them to the other, not clear about her position. +She said to Larry, “You mean it’s not _real_ money?” + +He kept his tone disarming, but shook his head, “I’m afraid not, +Zusanette. Now, tell us, where did you find it?” + +“I can’t. I promised” + +“I see. Then you don’t know to whom it originally belonged?” + +“It didn’t belong to anybody.” + +Steve Hackett made with a disbelieving whistle. He was taking the part of +the tough, suspicious cop; Larry the part of the understanding, +sympathetic officer, trying to give the suspect a break. + +Susan Self turned quickly on Steve. “Well, it didn’t. You don’t even +know.” + +Larry said, “I think she’s telling the truth, Steve. Give her a chance. +She’s playing fair.” He looked back at the girl, and frowned his +puzzlement. “All money belongs to _somebody_ doesn’t it?” + +She had them now. She said superiorly. “Not necessarily to some_body_. It +can belong to, like, an organization.” + +Steve grunted skepticism. “I think we ought to arrest her,” he said. + +Larry held up a hand, his face registering opposition. “I’ll handle this,” +he said sharply. “Zusanette is doing everything she can to co-operate.” He +turned back to the girl. “Now, the question is, what organization did this +money belong to?” + +She looked triumphantly at Steve Hackett. “It belonged to the Movement.” + +They both looked at her. + +Steve said finally, “What movement?” + +She pouted in thought. “That’s the only name they call it.” + +“Who’s they?” Steve snapped nastily. + +“I ... I don’t know.” + +Larry said, “Well, you already told us your father was a member, +Zusanette.” + +Her eyes went wide. “I did? I shouldn’t have said that.” But she evidently +took him at his word. + +Larry said encouragingly, “Well, we might as well go on. Who else is a +member of this Movement besides your father?” + +She shifted in her chair uncomfortably. “I don’t know any of their names.” + +Steve looked down at the school pass in his hands. He said to Larry, “I’d +better make a phone call.” + +He left. + + ------------------------------------- + +Larry said, “Don’t worry about him, Zusanette. Now then, this _movement_. +That’s kind of a funny name, isn’t it? What does it mean?” + +She was evidently glad that the less than handsome Steve Hackett had left +the room. Her words flowed more freely. “Well, Daddy says that they call +it the Movement rather than a revolution....” + +An ice cube manifested itself in the stomach of Lawrence Woolford. + +“... Because people get conditioned, like, to words. Like revolution. +Everybody is against the word because they all think of killing and +everything, and, Daddy says, there doesn’t have to be any shooting or +killing or anything like that at all. It just means a fundamental change +in society. And, Daddy says, take the word propaganda. Everybody’s got to +thinking that it automatically means lies, but it doesn’t at all. It just +means, like, the arguments you use to convince people that what you stand +for is right and it might be lies or it might not. And, Daddy says, take +the word socialism. So many people have the wrong idea of what it means +that the socialists ought to scrap the word and start using something else +to mean what they stand for.” + +Larry said gently, “Your father is a socialist?” + +“Oh, no.” + +He nodded in understanding. “Oh, a Communist, eh?” + +Susan Self was indignant. “Daddy thinks the Communists are strictly awful, +really weird.” + +Steve Hackett came back into the office. He said to Larry, “I sent a +couple of the boys out to pick him up.” + +Susan was on her feet, a hand to mouth. “You mean my father! You’re going +to arrest him!” + +Larry said soothingly, “Sit down, Zusanette. There’s a lot of things about +this that I’m sure your father can explain.” He said to Steve, “She tells +me that the money belonged to a movement. A revolutionary movement which +doesn’t use the term revolutionary because people react unfavorably to +that word. It’s not Commie.” + +Susan said indignantly, “It’s American, not anything foreign!” + +Steve growled, “Let’s get back to the money. What’s this movement doing +with a lot of counterfeit bills and where did you find them?” + +She evidently figured she’d gone too far now to take a stand. “It’s not +Daddy’s fault,” she said. “He took me to headquarters twice.” + +“Where’s headquarters?” Larry said trying to keep his voice soothing. + +“Well ... I don’t know. Daddy was awfully silly about it. He tied his +handkerchief around my eyes near the end. But the others complained about +me anyway, and Daddy got awfully mad and said something about the young +people of the country participating in their emancipation and all, but the +others got mad too, and said there wasn’t any kind of help I could do +around headquarters anyway, and I’d be better off in school. Everybody got +awfully mad, but after the second time Daddy promised not to take me to +headquarters any more.” + +“But where did you find the money, Zusannette?” Larry said. + +“At headquarters. There’s tons and tons of it there.” + +Larry cleared his throat and said, “When you say tons and tons, you mean a +great deal of it, eh?” + +She was proudly definite. “I mean tons and tons. A ton is two thousand +pounds.” + +“Look, Zusanette,” Larry said reasonably. “I don’t know how much money +weighs, exactly, but let’s say a pound would be, say, a thousand bills.” +He took up a pencil and scribbled on a pad before him. “A pound of fifties +would be $50,000. Then if you multiply that by 2,000 pounds to make a ton, +you’d have $100,000,000. And you say there’s tons and tons?” + +“And that’s just the fifties,” Susan said triumphantly. “So you can see +the two little packages I picked up aren’t really important at all. It’s +just like I found them.” + +“I don’t think there’s quite a thousand bills in a pound,” Steve said +weakly. + +Larry said, “How much other money is there?” + +“Oh, piles. Whole rooms. Rooms after rooms. And hundred dollar bills, and +twenties, and fives, and tens—” + +Larry said, “Look, Zusanette, I don’t think you’re in any position to be +telling us whoppers. This whole story doesn’t make much 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. + +“I have an idea that’s for me,” Steve said. + +The screen lit up and LaVerne Polk said, “Call for Steve Hackett, Larry.” + +Larry pushed the phone around so Steve could look into it. LaVerne flicked +off and was replaced by a stranger in uniform. Steve said, “Yeah?” + +The cop said, “He’s 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.” + +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 +will happen to you. You say you managed to pick up two packets of all this +money they have at headquarters. O.K. So you thought it wouldn’t be missed +and you’ve always wanted to spend money the way you see the stars do on +TriD and in the movies.” + +She looked at him, taken back. “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 said 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 still again. + + ------------------------------------- + +Larry summed it up for the Boss later. + +His chief scoffed his disbelief. “The child is full of dreams, Lawrence. +It comes from seeing an over-abundance of these TriD 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 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, but I’m not +happy about this, sir. 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 handfuls 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 against whatever the current government happens to be. +Usually, they are on the point of actual starvation. 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 dryly, +“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 tolerance—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 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 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, Washington. Or the French Revolution with Robespierre, Danton, +Marat, Engels and Lenin. All were well educated intellectuals from the +middle class. But the revolution itself, once it starts, comes from below, +from the mass of people pushed beyond tolerance.” + +It came to Lawrence Woolford that his superior had achieved to 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 trouble shooter 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. 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 an 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 sixteen or seventeen old’s 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 on the St. John’s River. + +He stopped at LaVerne’s desk and gave her his address to be, now that his +vacation was resumed. + +She said, smiling up at him. “Right. The boss already told me to get in +touch with Secret Service and let them know we’re pulling out. What +happened to Susan Self?” + +Larry looked at her. “How’d you know about Susan?” + +Her tone was deprecating. “Remember? You had me cut some tapes on you and +that hulking Steve Hackett grilling the poor kid.” + +Larry snorted. “Poor kid, yet. With her tastes for living-it-up, and that +father she has, she’ll probably spend the rest of her life getting in +Steve’s hair as a counterfeit pusher.” + +“What are they going to do with her? She’s just a child.” + +The agent shrugged. “I feel sorry for her, too, LaVerne. Steve’s got her +in a suite at the Greater Washington Hilton, until things are cleared up. +They don’t want the newspapers to get wind of this until they’ve got that +inventor father of hers and whatever he’s cooked up to turn out perfect +reproductions of Uncle Sam’s money. Look, I won’t be leaving until +tomorrow. What’d you say we go out on the town tonight?” + +“Why, Larry Woolford! How nice of you to ask me. Poor Little, Non-U me. +What do you have in mind? I understand Mort Lenny’s at one of the night +clubs.” + +Larry winced. “You know what he’s been saying about the administration.” + +She smiled sweetly at him. + +Larry said, “Look, we could take in the Brahms concert, then—” + +“Do you like Brahms? I go for popular music myself. Preferably the sort of +thing they wrote back in the 1930s. Something you can dance to, something +you know the words to. Corny, they used to call it. Remember ‘Sunny Side +of the Street,’ and ‘Just the Way You Look Tonight’.” + +Larry winced again. He said, “Look, I admit, I don’t go for concerts +either but it doesn’t hurt you to—” + +“I know,” she said sweetly. “It doesn’t hurt for a bright young bureaucrat +to be seen at concerts.” + +“How about Dixieland?” he said. “It’s all the thing now.” + +“I like corn. Besides, my wardrobe is all out of style. Paris, London, and +Rome just got in a huddle a couple of weeks ago and antiquated everything +I own. You wouldn’t want to be seen with a girl a few weeks out of date, +would you?” + +“Oh, now, LaVerne, get off my back.” He thought about it. “Look, you must +have _something_ you could wear.” + +“Get out of here, you vacant minded conformist! I _like_ Mort Lenny, he +makes me laugh; I _hate_ vodka martinis, they give me sour stomach; I +don’t _like_ the current women’s styles, nor the men’s either.” LaVerne +spun back to her auto-typer and began to dictate into it. + +Larry glared down at her. “All right. O.K. What _do_ you like?” + +She snapped back irrationally, “I like what _I_ like.” + +He laughed at her in ridicule. + +This time she glared at him. “That makes more sense than you’re capable of +assimilating, Mr. Walking Status Symbol. My likes and dislikes aren’t +dictated by someone else. If I like corny music, I’ll listen to it and the +devil with Brahms or Dixieland or anything else that somebody else tells +me is all the thing!” + +He turned on his heel angrily. “O.K., O.K., it takes all sorts to make a +world, weirds and all.” + +“One more label to hang on people,” she snarled after him. “Everything’s +labels. Be sure and never come to any judgments of your own!” + +What a woman! He wondered why he’d ever bothered to ask her for a date. +There were so many women in this town you waded through them, and here he +was exposing himself to be seen in public with a girl everybody in the +department knew was as weird as they came. It didn’t do your standing any +good to be seen around with the type. He wondered all over again why the +Boss tolerated her as his receptionist-secretary. + +He got his car from the parking lot and drove home at a high level. +Ordinarily, the distance being what it was, he drove in the lower and +slower traffic levels but now his frustration demanded some expression. + + ------------------------------------- + +Back at his suburban auto-bungalow, he threw all except the high priority +switch and went on down into his small second cellar den. He didn’t really +feel like a night on the town anyway. A few vodka martinis under his belt +and he’d sleep late and he wanted to get up in time for an early start for +Florida. Besides, in that respect he agreed with the irritating wench. +Vermouth was never meant to mix with Polish vodka. He wished that Sidecars +would come back. + +In his den, he shucked off his jacket, kicked off his shoes and shuffled +into Moroccan slippers. He went over to his current reading rack and +scowled at the paperbacks there. His culture status books were upstairs +where they could be seen. He pulled out a western, tossed it over to the +cocktail table that sat next to his chair, and then went over to the bar. + +Up above in his living room, he had one of the new autobars. You could +dial any one of more than thirty drinks. Autobars were all the rage. The +Boss had one that gave a selection of a hundred. But what difference did +it make when nobody but eccentric old-timers or flighty blondes drank +anything except vodka martinis? He didn’t like autobars anyway. A well +mixed drink is a personal thing, a work of competence, instinct and art, +not something measured to the drop, iced to the degree, shaken or stirred +to a mathematical formula. + +Out of the tiny refrigerator he brought a four-ounce cube of frozen +pineapple juice, touched the edge with his thumbnail and let the ultra +thin plastic peel away. He tossed the cube into his mixer, took up a +bottle of light rum and poured in about two ounces. He brought an egg from +the refrigerator and added that. An ounce of whole milk followed and a +teaspoon of powdered sugar. He flicked the switch and let the +conglomeration froth together. + +He poured it into a king-size highball glass and took it over to his +chair. Vodka martinis be damned, he liked a slightly sweet long drink. + +He sat down in the chair, picked up the book and scowled at the cover. He +ought to be reading that Florentine history of Machiavelli’s, especially +if the Boss had got to the point where he was quoting from the guy. But +the heck with it, he was on vacation. He didn’t think much of the Italian +diplomat of the Renaissance anyway; how could you be that far back without +being dated? + +He couldn’t get beyond the first page or two. + +And when you can’t concentrate on a Western, you just can’t concentrate. + +He finished his drink, went over to his phone and dialed _Department of +Records_ and then _Information_. When the bright young thing answered, he +said, “I’d like the brief on an Ernest Self who lives on Elwood Avenue, +Baltimore section of Greater Washington. I don’t know his code number.” + +She did things with switches and buttons for a moment and then brought a +sheet from a delivery chute. “Do you want me to read it to you, sir?” + +“No, I’ll scan it,” Larry said. + +Her face faded to be replaced by the brief on Ernest Self. + +It was astonishingly short. _Records_ seemed to have slipped up on this +occasion. A rare occurrence. He considered requesting the full dossier, +then changed his mind. Instead he dialed the number of the _Sun-Post_ and +asked for its science columnist. + +Sam Sokolski’s puffy face eventually faded in. + +Larry said to him sourly, “You drink too much. You can begin to see the +veins breaking in your nose.” + +Sam looked at him patiently. + +Larry said, “How’d you like to come over and toss back a few tonight?” + +“I’m working. I thought you were on vacation.” + +Larry sighed. “I am,” he said. “O.K., so you can’t take a night off and +lift a few with an old buddy.” + +“That’s right. Anything else, Larry?” + +“Yes. Look, have you ever heard of an inventor named Ernest Self?” + +“Sure I’ve heard of him. Covered a hassle he got into some years ago. A +nice guy.” + +“I’ll bet,” Larry said. “What does he invent, something to do with +printing presses, or something?” + +“Printing presses? Don’t you remember the story about him?” + +“Brief me,” Larry said. + +“Well—briefly does it—it got out a couple of years ago that some of our +rocketeers had bought a solid fuel formula from an Italian research outfit +for the star probe project. Paid them a big hunk of Uncle’s change for it. +So Self sued.” + +Larry said, “You’re being _too_ brief. What d’ya mean, he sued? Why?” + +“Because he claimed he’d submitted the same formula to the same agency a +full eighteen months earlier and they’d turned him down.” + +“Had he?” + +“Probably.” + +Larry didn’t get it. “Then why’d they turn him down?” + +Sam said, “Oh, the government boys had a good alibi. Crackpots turn up all +over the place and you have to brush them off. Every cellar scientist who +comes along and says he’s got a new super-fuel developed from old coffee +grounds can’t be given the welcome mat. Something was wrong with his math +or something and they didn’t pay much attention to him. Wouldn’t even let +him demonstrate it. But it was the same formula, all right.” + +Larry Woolford was scowling. “Something wrong with his math? What kind of +a degree does he have?” + +Sam grinned in memory. “I got a good quote on that. He doesn’t have any +degree. He said he’d learned to read by the time he’d reached high school +and since then he figured spending time in classrooms was a matter of +interfering with his education.” + +“No wonder they turned him down. No degree at all. You can’t get anywhere +in science like that.” + +Sam said, “The courts rejected his suit but he got a certain amount of +support here and there. Peter Voss, over at the university, claims he’s +one of the great intuitive scientists, whatever that is, of our +generation.” + +“Who said that?” + +“Professor Voss. Not that it makes any difference what he says. Another +crackpot.” + +After Sam’s less than handsome face was gone from the phone, Larry walked +over to the bar with his empty glass and stared at the mixer for several +minutes. He began to make himself another flip, but cut it short in the +middle, put down the ingredients and went back to the phone to dial +_Records_ again. + +He went through first the brief and then the full dossier on Professor +Peter Luther Voss. Aside from his academic accomplishments, particularly +in the fields of political economy and international law, and the dozen or +so books accredited to him, there wasn’t anything particularly noteworthy. +A bachelor in his fifties. No criminal record of any kind, of course, and +no military career. No known political affiliations. Evidently a strong +predilection for Thorstein Veblen’s theories. And he’d been a friend of +Henry Mencken back when that old nonconformist was tearing down +contemporary society seemingly largely for the fun involved in the +tearing. + +On the face of it, the man was no radical, and the term “crackpot” which +Sam had applied was hardly called for. + +Larry Woolford went back to the bar and resumed the job of mixing his own +version of a rum flip. + +But his heart wasn’t in it. _The Professor_, Susan had said. + + ------------------------------------- + +Before he’d gone to bed the night before, Larry Woolford had ordered a +seat on the shuttle jet for Jacksonville and a hover-cab there to take him +to Astor, on the St. Johns River. And he’d requested to be wakened in +ample time to get to the shuttleport. + +But it wasn’t the saccharine pleasant face of the Personal Service +operator which confronted him when he grumpily answered the phone in the +morning. In fact, the screen remained blank. + +Larry decided that sweet long drinks were fine, but that anyone who took +several of them in a row needed to be candied. He grumbled into the phone, +“All right, who is it?” + +A Teutonic voice chuckled and said, “You’re going to have to decide +whether or not you’re on vacation, my friend. At this time of day, why +aren’t you at work?” + +Larry Woolford was waking up. He said, “What can I do for you, +Distelmayer?” The German merchant-of-espionage wasn’t the type to make +personal calls. + +“Have you forgotten so soon, my friend?” the other chuckled. “It was I who +was going to do you a favor.” He hesitated momentarily, before adding, “In +possible return for future—” + +“Yeah, yeah,” Larry said. He was fully awake now. + +The German said slowly, “You asked if any of your friends from, ah, abroad +were newly in the country. Frol Eivazov has recently appeared on the +scene.” + +Eivazov! In various respects, Larry Woolford’s counterpart. Hatchetman for +the _Chrezvychainaya Komissiya_. Woolford had met him on occasion when +they’d both been present at international summit meetings, busily working +at counter-espionage for their respective superiors. Blandly shaking hands +with each other, blandly drinking toasts to peace and international +co-existence, blandly sizing each other up and wondering if it’d ever come +to the point where one would _blandly_ treat the other to a hole in the +head, possibly in some dark alley in Havana or Singapore, Leopoldville or +Saigon. + +Larry said sharply, “Where is he? How’d he get in the country?” + +“My friend, my friend,” the German grunted good-humoredly. “You know +better than to ask the first question. As for the second, Frol’s command +of American-English is at least as good as your own. Do you think his +_Komissiya_ less capable than your own department and unable to do him up +suitable papers so that he could be, perhaps, a ‘returning tourist’ from +Europe?” + +Larry Woolford was impatient with himself for asking. He said now, “It’s +not important. If we want to locate Frol and pick him up, we’ll probably +not have too much trouble doing it.” + +“I wouldn’t think so,” the other said humorously. “Since 1919, when they +were first organized, the so-called Communists in this country, from the +lowest to the highest echelons, have been so riddled with police agents +that a federal judge in New England once refused to prosecute a case +against them on the grounds that the party was a United States government +agency.” + +Larry was in no frame of mind for the other’s heavy humor. “Look, Hans,” +he said, “what I want to know is what Frol is over here for.” + +“Of course you do,” Hans Distelmayer said, unable evidently to keep note +of puzzlement from his voice. “Larry,” he said, “I assume your people know +of the new American underground.” + +“_What_ underground?” Larry snapped. + +The professional spy chief said, his voice strange, “The Soviets seem to +have picked up an idea somewhere, possibly through their membership in +this country, that something is abrewing in the States. That a change is +being engineered.” + +Larry stared at the blank phone screen. + +“What kind of a change?” he said finally. “You mean a change to the Soviet +system?” Surely not even the self-deluding Russkies could think it +possible to overthrow the American socio-economic system in favor of the +Soviet brand. + +“No, no, no,” the German chuckled. “Of course not. It’s not of their +working at all.” + +“Then what’s Frol Eivazov’s interest, if they aren’t engineering it?” + +Distelmayer rumbled his characteristic chuckle with humor. “My dear +friend, don’t be naive. Anything that happens in America is of interest to +the Soviets. There is delicate peace between you now that they have +changed their direction and are occupying themselves largely with the +economic and agricultural development of Asia and such portions of the +world as have come under their hegemony, and while you put all efforts +into modernizing the more backward countries among your satellites.” + +Larry said automatically, “Our allies aren’t satellites.” + +The spy-master went on without contesting the statement. “There is +immediate peace but surely governmental officials on both sides keep +careful watch on the internal developments of the other. True, the current +heads of the Soviet Complex would like to see the governments of all the +Western powers changed—but only if they are changed in the direction of +communism. They are hardly interested in seeing changes made which would +strengthen the West in the, ah, Battle For Men’s Minds.” + +Larry snorted his disgust. “What sort of change in government would +strengthen the United States in—” + +The German interrupted smoothly, “Evidently, that’s what Frol seems to be +here for, Larry. To find out more about this movement and—” + +“This _what_?” Larry blurted. + +“The term seems to be _movement_.” + +Larry Woolford held a long silence before saying, “And Frol is actually +here in this country to buck this ... this movement.” + +“Not necessarily,” the other said impatiently. “He is here to find out +more about it. Evidently Peking and Moscow have heard just enough to make +them nervous.” + +Larry said, “You have anything more, Hans?” + +“I’m afraid that’s about it.” + +“All right,” Larry said. He added absently, “Thanks, Hans.” + +“Thank me some day with deeds, not with words,” the German chuckled. + + ------------------------------------- + +Larry Woolford looked at his watch and grimaced. He was either going to +get going now or forget about doing any fishing in Florida this afternoon. + +Grudgingly, he dialed the phone company’s Personal Service and said to the +impossibly cheerful blonde who answered, “Where can I find Professor Peter +Voss who teaches over at the University in Baltimore? I don’t want to talk +with him, just want to know where he’ll be an hour from now.” + +While waiting for his information, he dressed, deciding inwardly that he +hated his job, the department in which he was employed, the Boss and +Greater Washington. On top of that, he hated himself. He’d already been +taken off this assignment, why couldn’t he leave it lay? + +The blonde rang him back. Professor Peter Voss was at home. He had no +classes today. She gave him the address. + +Larry Woolford raised his car from his auto-bungalow in the Brandywine +suburb and headed northwest at a high level for the old Baltimore section +of the city. + +The Professor’s house, he noted, was of an earlier day and located on the +opposite side of Paterson Park from Elwood avenue, the street on which +Susan Self and her father had resided. That didn’t necessarily hold +significance, the park was a large one and the Professor’s section a +well-to-do neighborhood, while Self’s was just short of a slum these days. + +He brought his car down to street level, and parked before the scholar’s +three-story, brick house. Baltimore-like, it was identical to every other +house in the block; Larry wondered vaguely how anybody ever managed to +find his own place when it was very dark out. + +There was an old-fashioned bell at the side of the entrance and Larry +Woolford pushed it. There was no identification screen in the door, +evidently the inhabitants had to open up to see who was calling, a tiring +chore if you were on the far side of the house and the caller nothing more +than a salesman. + +It was obviously the Professor himself who answered. + +He was in shirtsleeves, tieless and with age-old slippers on his +stockingless feet. He evidently hadn’t bothered to shave this morning and +he held a dog-earred pamphlet in his right hand, his forefinger tucked in +it to mark his place. He wore thick-lensed, gold-rimmed glasses through +which he blinked at Larry Woolford questioningly, without speaking. +Professor Peter Voss was a man in his mid fifties, and, on the face of it, +couldn’t care less right now about his physical appearance. + +A weird, Larry decided immediately. He wondered at the University, one of +the nation’s best, keeping on such a figure. + +“Professor Voss?” he said. “Lawrence Woolford.” He brought forth his +identification. + +The Professor blinked down at it. “I see,” he said. “Won’t you come in?” + +The house was old, all right. From the outside, quite acceptable, but the +interior boasted few of the latest amenities which made all the difference +in modern existence. Larry was taken back by the fact that the phone which +he spotted in the _entrada_ hadn’t even a screen—an old model for speaking +only. + +The Professor noticed his glance and said dryly, “The advantages of +combining television and telephone have never seemed valid to me. In my +own home, I feel free to relax, as you can observe. Had I a screen on my +phone, it would be necessary for me to maintain the same appearance as I +must on the streets or before my classes.” + +Larry cleared his throat without saying anything. This was a weird one, +all right. + +The living room was comfortable in a blatantly primitive way. Three or +four paintings on the walls which were probably originals, Larry decided, +and should have been in museums. Not an abstract among them. A Grant Wood, +a Marin, and that over there could only be a Grandma Moses. The sort of +things you might keep in your private den, but hardly to be seen as +culture symbols. + +The chairs were large, of leather, and comfortable and probably belonged +to the period before the Second War. Peter Voss, evidently, was little +short of an exhibitionist. + +The Professor took up a battered humidor. “Cigar?” he said. “Manila. Hard +to get these days.” + +A cigar? Good grief, the man would be offering him a chaw of tobacco next. + +“Thanks, no,” Larry said. “I smoke a pipe.” + +“I see,” the Professor said, lighting his stogie. “Do you really like a +pipe? Personally, I’ve always thought the cigar by far the most +satisfactory method of taking tobacco.” + +What can you say to a question like that? Larry ignored it, as though it +was rhetorical. Actually, he smoked cigarettes in the privacy of his den. +A habit which was on the proletarian side and not consistent with his +status level. + +He said, to get things under way, “Professor Voss, what is an intuitive +scientist?” + +The Professor exhaled blue smoke, shook out the old-time kitchen match +with which he’d lit it, and tossed the matchstick into an ashtray. +“Intuitive scientist?” + +“You once called Ernest Self a great intuitive scientist.” + +“Oh, Self. Yes, indeed. What is he doing these days?” + +Larry said wryly, “That’s what I came to ask you about.” + +The Professor was puzzled. “I’m afraid you came to the wrong place, Mr. +Woolford. I haven’t seen Ernest for quite a time. Why?” + +“Some of his researches seem to have taken him rather far afield. +Actually, I know practically nothing about him. I wonder if you could fill +me in a bit.” + +Peter Voss looked at the ash on the end of his cigar. “I really don’t know +the man that well. He lives across the park. Why don’t—” + +“He’s disappeared,” Larry said. + +The Professor blinked. “I see,” he said. “And in view of the fact that you +are a security officer, I assume under strange circumstances.” Larry +Woolford said nothing and the Professor sank back into his chair and +pursed his lips. “I can’t really tell you much. I became interested in +Self two or three years ago when gathering materials for a paper on the +inadequate manner in which our country rewards its inventors.” + +Larry said, “I’ve heard about his suit against the government.” + +The Professor became more animated. “Ha!” he snorted. “One example among +many. Self is not alone. Our culture is such that the genius is smothered. +The great contributors to our society are ignored, or worse.” + +Larry Woolford was feeling his way. Now he said mildly, “I was under the +impression that American free enterprise gave the individual the best +opportunity to prove himself and that if he had it on the ball he’d get to +the top.” + +“Were you really?” the Professor said snappishly. “And did you know that +Edison died a comparatively poor man with an estate somewhere in the +vicinity of a hundred thousand dollars? An amount that might sound like a +good deal to you or me, but, when you consider his contributions, +shockingly little. Did you know that Eli Whitney realized little, if +anything, from the cotton gin? Or that McCormick didn’t invent the reaper +but gained it in a dubious court victory? Or take Robert Goddard, one of +the best examples of modern times. He developed the basics of rocket +technology—gyroscopic stabilizers, fuel pumps, self-cooling motors, +landing devices. He died in 1945 leaving behind twenty-two volumes of +records that proved priceless. What did he get out of his researches? +Nothing. It was fifteen years later that his widow won her suit against +the government for patent infringements!” + + [Illustration.] + +Larry held up a hand. “Really,” he said. “My interest is in Ernest Self.” + +The Professor relaxed. “Sorry. I’m afraid I get carried away. Self, to get +back to your original question, is a great intuitive scientist. +Unfortunately for him, society being what it is today, he fits into few +grooves. Our educational system was little more than an irritation to him +and consequently he holds no degrees. Needless to say, this interfered +with his gaining employment with the universities and the large +corporations which dominate our country’s research, not to mention +governmental agencies. + +“Ernest Self holds none of the status labels that count. The fact that he +is a genius means nothing. He is supposedly qualified no more than to hold +a janitor’s position in laboratories where his inferiors conduct +experiments in fields where he is a dozenfold more capable than they. No +one is interested in his genius, they want to know what status labels are +pinned to him. Ernest has no respect for labels.” + + ------------------------------------- + +Larry Woolford figured he was picking up background and didn’t force a +change of subject. “Just what do you mean by intuitive scientist?” + +“It’s a term I have used loosely,” the Professor admitted. “Possibly a +scientist who makes a break-through in his field, destroying formerly held +positions—in Self’s case, without the math, without the accepted theories +to back him. He finds something that works, possibly without knowing why +or how and by using unorthodox analytical techniques. An intuitive +scientist, if I may use the term, is a thorn in the side of our +theoretical physicists laden down with their burden of a status label but +who are themselves short of the makings of a Leonardo, a Newton, a +Galileo, or even a Nicholas Christofilos.” + +“I’m afraid that last name escapes me,” Larry said. + +“Similar to Self’s case and Robert Goddard’s,” Voss said, his voice +bitter. “Although his story has a better ending. Christofilos invented the +strong-focusing principle that made possible the multi-billion-volt +particle accelerators currently so widely used in nuclear physics +experimentation. However, he was nothing but a Greek elevator electrical +system engineer and the supposed experts turned him down on the grounds +that his math was faulty. It seems that he submitted the idea in +straight-algebra terms instead of differential equations. He finally won +through after patenting the discovery and rubbing their noses in it. +Previously, none of the physics journals would publish his paper—he didn’t +have the right status labels to impress them.” + +Larry said, almost with amusement, “You seem to have quite a phobia +against the status label, as you call it. However, I don’t see how as +complicated a world as ours could get along without it.” + +The Professor snorted his contempt. “Tell me,” he said, “to which class do +you consider yourself to belong?” + +Larry Woolford shrugged. “I suppose individuals in my bracket are usually +thought of as being middle-middle class.” + +“And you have no feeling of revolt in having such a label hung on you? +Consider this system for a moment. You have lower-lower, middle-lower, and +upper-lower; then you have lower-middle, middle-middle, upper-middle; then +you have lower-upper, middle-upper, and finally we achieve to upper-upper +class. Now tell me, when we get to that rarified category, who do we find? +Do we find an Einstein, a Schweitzer, a Picasso; outstanding scientists, +humanitarians, the great writers, artists and musicians of our day? +Certainly not. We find ultra-wealthy playboys and girls, a former king and +his duchess who eke out their income by accepting fees to attend parties, +the international born set, bearers of meaningless feudalistic titles. +These are your upper-upper class!” + +Larry laughed. + +The Professor snapped, “You think it funny? Let me give you another +example of our status label culture. I have a friend whom I have known +since childhood. I would estimate that Charles has an I.Q. of +approximately 90, certainly no more. His family, however, took such +necessary steps as were needed to get Charles through public school. No +great matter these days, you’ll admit, although on occasion he needed a +bit of tutoring. On graduation, they recognized that the really better +schools might be a bit difficult for Charles so he was entered in a +university with a good name but without—shall we say?—the highest of +scholastic ratings. Charles plodded along, had some more tutoring, +probably had his thesis ghosted, and eventually graduated. At that point +an uncle died and left Charles an indefinite amount to be used in +furthering his education to any extent he wished to go. Charles, motivated +probably by the desire to avoid obtaining a job and competing with his +fellow man, managed to wrangle himself into a medical school and +eventually even graduated. Since funds were still available, he continued +his studies abroad, largely in Vienna.” + +The Professor wound it up. “Eventually, he ran out of schools, or his +uncle’s estate ran out—I don’t know which came first. At any rate, my +friend Charles, laden down with status labels, is today practicing as a +psychiatrist in this fair city of ours.” + +Larry stared at him blankly. + +The Professor said snappishly, “So any time you feel you need to have your +brains unscrambled, you can go to his office and expend twenty-five +dollars an hour or so. His reputation is of the highest.” The Professor +grunted his contempt. “He doesn’t know the difference between an aspirin +tablet and a Rorschach test.” + +Larry Woolford stirred in his chair. “We seem to have gotten far off the +subject. What has this got to do with Self?” + +The Professor seemed angry. “I repeat, I’m afraid I get carried away on +this subject. I’m in revolt against a culture based on the status label. +It eliminates the need to judge a man on his merits. To judge a person by +the clothes he wears, the amount of money he possesses, the car he drives, +the neighborhood in which he lives, the society he keeps, or even his +ancestry, is out of the question in a vital, growing society. You wind up +with nonentities as the leaders of your nation. In these days, we can’t +afford it.” + +He smiled suddenly, rather elfishly, at the security agent. “But +admittedly, this deals with Self only as one of many victims of a culture +based on status labels. Just what is it you wanted to know about Ernest?” + +“When you knew him, evidently he was working on rocket fuels. Have you any +idea whether he later developed a method of producing perfect +counterfeit?” + +The Professor said, “Ernest Self? Surely you are jesting.” + +Larry said unhappily, “Then here’s another question. Have you ever heard +him mention belonging to a movement, or, I think, he might word it _The +Movement_.” + +“Movement?” the Professor said emptily. + +“Evidently a revolutionary group interested in the overthrow of the +government.” + +“Good heavens,” the Professor said. “Just a moment, Mr. Woolford. You +interrupted me just as I was having my second cup of coffee. Do you mind +if I—” + +“Certainly not,” Woolford shook his head. + +“I simply can’t get along until after my third cup,” the Professor said. +“You just wait a moment and I’ll bring the pot in here.” + +He left Larry to sit in the combined study and living room while he +shuffled off in his slippers to the kitchen. Larry Woolford decided that +in his school days he’d had some far out professors himself, but it would +really be something to study under this one. Not that the old boy didn’t +have some points, of course. Almost all nonconformists base their +particular peeves on some actuality, but in this case, what was the +percentage? How could you buck the system? Particularly when, largely, it +worked. + + ------------------------------------- + +The Professor returned with an old-fashioned coffeepot, two cups, and +sugar and cream on a tray. He put them on a side table and said to Larry, +“You’ll join me? How do you take it?” + +Larry still had the slightest of hang-overs from his solitary drinking of +the night before. “Thanks. Make it black,” he said. + +The Professor poured, served, then did up a cup for himself. He sat back +in his chair and said, “Now, where were we? Something about a +revolutionary group. What has that to do with counterfeiting?” + +Larry sipped the strong coffee. “It seems there might be a connection.” + +The Professor shook his head. “It’s hard to imagine Ernest Self being +connected with a criminal pursuit.” + +Larry said carefully, “Susan seemed to be of the opinion that you knew +about a large amount of counterfeit currency that this Movement had on +hand and that you were in favor of spending it upon chorus girls.” + +The Professor gaped at him. + +Larry chuckled uncomfortably. + +Professor Voss said finally, his voice very even, “My dear sir, I am +afraid that I evidently can be of little assistance to you.” + +“Admittedly, it doesn’t seem to make much sense.” + +“Susan—you mean that little sixteen year old?—said _I_ was in favor of +spending counterfeit money on chorus girls?” + +Larry said unhappily, “She used the term _the Professor_.” + +“And why did you assume that the title must necessarily allude to me? Even +if any of the rest of the fantastic story was true.” + +Larry said, “In my profession, Professor Voss, we track down every +possible clue. Thus far, you are the only professor of whom we know who +was connected with Ernest Self.” + +Voss said stiffly, “I can only say, sir, that in my estimation Mr. Self is +a man of the highest integrity. And, in addition, that I have never spent +a penny on a chorus girl in my life and have no intention of beginning, +counterfeit or otherwise.” + +Larry Woolford decided that he wasn’t doing too well and that he’d need +more ammunition if he was going to return to this particular attack. He +was surprised that the old boy hadn’t already ordered him from the house. + +He finished the coffee preparatory to coming to his feet. “Then you think +it’s out of the question, Ernest Self belonging to a revolutionary +organization?” + +The Professor protested. “I didn’t say that at all. Mr. Self is a man of +ideals. I can well see him belonging to such an organization.” + +Larry Woolford decided he’d better hang on for at least a few more words. +“You don’t seem to think, yourself, that a subversive organization is +undesirable in this country.” + +The Professor’s voice was reasonable. “Isn’t that according to what it +means to subvert?” + +“You know what I mean,” Woolford said in irritation. “I don’t usually +think of revolutionists, even when they call themselves simply members of +a _movement_, as exactly idealists.” + +“Then you’re wrong,” the Professor said definitely, pouring himself +another cup of coffee. “History bears out that almost invariably +revolutionists are men of idealism. The fact that they might be either +right or wrong in their revolutionary program is beside the point.” + +Larry Woolford began to say, “Are you sure that you aren’t interested in +this _move—_” + +But it was then that the knockout drops hit him. + + ------------------------------------- + +He came out of the fog feeling nausea and with his head splitting. He +groaned and opened one eye experimentally. + +Steve Hackett, far away, said, “He’s snapping out of it.” + +Larry groaned again, opened the other eye and attempted to focus. + +“What happened?” he muttered. + +“Now that’s an original question,” Steve said. + +Larry Woolford struggled up into a sitting position. He’d been stretched +out on a couch in the Professor’s combined living room and study. + +Steve Hackett, his hands on his hips, was looking down at him +sarcastically. There were two or three others, one of whom Larry vaguely +remembered as being a Secret Service colleague of Steve’s, going about and +in and out of the room. + +Larry said, his fingers pressing into his forehead, “My head’s killing me. +Damn it, what’s going on?” + +Steve said sarcastically, “You’ve been slipped a mickey, my cloak and +dagger friend, and the bird has flown.” + +“You mean the Professor? He’s a bird all right.” + +“Humor we get, yet,” Hackett said, his ugly face scowling. “Listen, I +thought you people had pulled out of this case.” + +Larry sat up and swung his two feet around to the floor. “So did I,” he +moaned, “but there were two or three things that bothered me and I thought +I’d tidy them up before leaving.” + +“You tidied them up all right,” Steve grumbled. “This Professor Voss was +practically the only lead I’ve been able to discover. An old friend of +Self’s. And you allowed him to get away before we even got here.” + +One of Hackett’s men came up and said, “Not a sign of him, Steve. He +evidently burned a few papers, packed a suitcase, and took off. His things +look suspiciously as though he was ready to go into hiding at a moment’s +notice.” + +Steve growled to him, “Give the place the works. He’s probably left some +clues around that’ll give us a line.” + +The other went off and Steve Hackett sat down in one of the leather chairs +and glowered at Larry Woolford. “Listen,” he said, “what did you people +want with Susan Self?” + +Larry shook his head for clarity and looked at him. “Susan? What are you +talking about? You don’t have any aspirin, do you?” + +“No. What’d you mean, what am I talking about? You called Betsy Hughes and +then sent a couple of men over to pick the Self kid up.” + +“Who’s Betsy Hughes?” + +Steve shook his head. “I don’t know what kind of knockout drops the old +boy gave you, but they sure worked. Betsy’s the operative we had minding +Susan Self over in the Greater Washington Hilton. About an hour ago you +got her on the phone, said your department wanted to question Susan, and +that you were sending two men over to pick her up. The two men turned up +with an order from you, and took the girl.” + +Larry stared at him. Finally he said, “What time is it?” + +“About two o’clock.” + +Larry said, “I came into this house in the morning, talked to the +Professor for about half an hour and then was silly enough to let him give +me some loaded coffee. He was such a weird old buzzard that it never +occurred to me he might be dangerous. At any rate, I’ve been unconscious +for several hours. I _couldn’t’ve_ called this Betsy Hughes operative of +yours.” + +It was Steve Hackett’s turn to stare. + +“You mean your department doesn’t have Susan Self?” + +“Not so far as I know. The Boss told me yesterday that we were pulling +out, that it was all in your hands. What would we want with Susan?” + +“Oh, great,” Steve snarled. “There goes our last contact. Ernest Self, +Professor Voss, and now Susan Self; they’ve all disappeared.” + +“Look,” Larry said unhappily, “let’s get me some aspirin and then let’s go +and see my chief. I have a sneaking suspicion our department is back on +this case.” + +Steve snorted sarcastically. “If you can foul things up this well when +you’re off the case, God only knows what you’ll accomplish using your +facilities on an all-out basis.” + + ------------------------------------- + +The Boss said slowly, “Whoever we are working against evidently isn’t +short of resources. Abducting that young lady was no simple matter.” The +career diplomat worked his lips in and out, in all but a pout. + +Larry Woolford, who’d taken time out to go home, shower, change clothes +and medicate himself out of his dope induced hangover, sat across the desk +from him, flanked by Steve Hackett. + +The Boss said sourly, “It would seem that I was in error. That our young +Susan Self was not spouting fantasy. There evidently actually is an +underground movement interested in changing our institutions.” He stirred +in his chair and his scowl went deeper. “And evidently working on a basis +never conceived of by subversive organizations of the past. The fact that +they have successfully remained secret even to this department is the +prime indication that they are attempting to make their revolutionary +changes in a unique manner.” + +Larry said, “The trouble is, we don’t even know what it is they want.” + +“However,” his superior said slowly, “we are beginning to get inklings.” + +Steve Hackett said, “What inklings, sir? This sort of thing might be +routine for you people, but my field is counterfeit. I, frankly, don’t +know what it’s all about.” + +The Boss looked at him. “We have a clue or two, Mr. Hackett. For one +thing, we know that this Movement of ours has no affiliations with the +Soviet Complex, nor, so far as we know, any foreign element whatsoever. If +we take Miss Self’s word, it is strictly an American phenomenon. From what +little we know of Ernest Self and Peter Voss they might be in revolt +against some of our current institutions but there is no reason to believe +them, ah, _un-American_ in the usually accepted sense of the word.” + +The two younger men looked at him as though he was joking. + +He shook his heavy head negatively. “Actually, what do we have on this +so-called Movement thus far? Aside from treating Lawrence, here, to some +knockout drops—and let us remember that Lawrence was present in the +Professor’s home without a warrant—all we have is the suspicion that they +have manufactured a quantity of counterfeit.” + +“A _quantity_ is right,” Steve Hackett blurted. “If we’re to accept what +that Self kid told us, they have a few billion dollars worth of perfect +bills on hand.” + +“A strange amount for counterfeiters to produce,” The Boss said +uncomfortably. “That is what puzzles me. Any revolutionary movement needs +funds. Remember Stalin as a young man? He used to be in charge of the +Bolshevik gang which robbed banks to raise funds for their underground +newspapers. But a billion dollars? What in the world can they expect to +need that amount for?” + +Larry said, “Sir, you keep talking as though these characters were a bunch +of idealistic do-gooders bleeding for the sake of the country. Actually, +from what we know, they’re nothing but a bunch of revolutionists.” + +The Boss was shaking his head. “You’re not thinking clearly, Lawrence. +Revolution, _per se_, is not illegal in the United States. Our +Constitution was probably the first document of its kind which allowed for +its own amendment. The men who wrote it provided for changing it either +slightly or _in toto_. Whenever the majority of the American people decide +completely to abandon the Constitution and govern themselves by new laws, +they have the right to do it.” + +“Then what’s the whole purpose of this department, sir?” Larry argued. +“Why’ve we been formed to combat foreign and domestic subversion?” + +His chief sighed. “You shouldn’t have to ask that, Lawrence. The present +government cannot oppose the will of the majority if it votes, by +constitutional methods, to make any changes it wishes. But we can, and do, +unmask the activities of anyone trying to overthrow the government by +force and violence. Any culture protects itself against that.” + +“What are we getting at, sir?” Steve Hackett said, impatiently. + +The Boss shrugged. “I’m trying to point out that so far as my department +is concerned, thus far we have little against this Movement. Secret +Service may have, what with this wholesale counterfeiting, even though +thus far they seem to have made no attempt to pass the currency they have +allegedly manufactured. We wouldn’t even know of it, weren’t it for our +young Susan pilfering an amount.” + +Larry said, desperately, “Sir, you just pointed out a few minutes ago that +this Movement is a secret organization trying to make changes in some +unique manner. In short, they don’t figure on using the ballot to put over +their revolution. That makes them as illegal as the Commies, doesn’t it?” + +The Boss said, “That’s the difficulty; we don’t know what they want. From +your conversations with Susan Self and especially Professor Voss, +evidently they think the country needs some basic changes. What these +changes are, and how they expect to accomplish them, we don’t know. Unless +a foreign government is involved, or unless they plan to alter our +institutions by violence, this department just doesn’t have much +jurisdiction.” + +Steve Hackett snorted, “Secret Service does! If those bales of money the +Self kid told us about are ever put into circulation, there’ll be hell to +pay.” + +The Boss sighed. “Well,” he said, “Lawrence can continue on the +assignment. If it develops in such manner as to indicate that this +department is justified in further investigation, we’ll put more men on +it. Meanwhile, it is obviously more a Secret Service matter. I am sorry to +intrude upon your vacation again, Lawrence.” + +On awakening in the morning, Larry Woolford stared glumly at the ceiling +for long moments before dragging himself from bed. This was, he decided, +the strangest assignment he’d ever been on. In his day he’d trekked +through South America, Common Europe, a dozen African states, and even +areas of Southern Asia, combatting Commie pressures here, fellow-traveler +organizations there, disrupting plots hatched in the Soviet Complex in the +other place. On his home grounds in the United States he’d covered +everything from out and out Soviet espionage, to exposing Communist +activities of complexions from the faintest of pinks to the rosiest +Trotskyite red. But, he decided he’d never expected to wind up after a +bunch of weirds whose sole actionable activity to date seemed to be the +counterfeiting of a fantastic amount of legal tender which thus far they +were making no attempt to pass. + +He got out of bed and went through the rituals of showering, shaving and +clothing, of coffee, sausage, and eggs, toast and more coffee. + +What amazed Larry Woolford was the shrug-it-off manner in which the Boss +seemed to accept this underground Movement and its admitted subversive +goals—whatever they were. Carry the Boss’ reasoning to its ultimate and +subversion was perfectly all right, just as it didn’t involve force and +violence. If he was in his chief’s position, he would have thrown the full +resources of the department into tracking down these crackpots. As it was, +he, Larry Woolford was the only operative on the job. + +He needed a new angle on which to work. Steve Hackett was undoubtedly +handling the tracing down of the counterfeit with all the resources of the +Secret Service. Possibly there was some way of detecting the source of the +paper they’d used. + +He finished his final cup of coffee in the living room and took up the +pipe he was currently breaking in. He loaded it automatically from a +humidor and lit it with his pocket lighter. Three drags, and he tossed it +back to the table, fumbled in a drawer and located a pack of cigarettes. +Possibly his status group was currently smoking British briars in public, +but, let’s face it, he hated the confounded things. + +He sat down before the phone and dialed the offices of the _Sun-Post_ and +eventually got Sam Sokolski who this time beat him to the punch. + +Sam said, “You shouldn’t drink alone. Listen, Larry, why don’t you get in +touch with Alcoholics Anonymous. It’s a great outfit.” + +“You ought to know,” Larry growled. “Look, Sam, as science columnist for +that rag you work for you probably come in touch with a lot of eggheads.” + +“Laddy-buck, you have said it,” Sam said. + +“Fine. Now look, what I want to know is have you ever heard—even the +slightest of rumors—about an organization called the Movement?” + +“What’d’ya mean, slightest of rumors? Half the weirds I run into are +interested in the outfit. Get two or three intellectuals, scientists, +technicians, or what have you, together and they start knocking themselves +out on the pros and cons of the Movement.” + +Larry Woolford stared at him. “Are you kidding, Sam?” + +The other was mystified. “Why should I kid you? As a matter of fact, I was +thinking of doing a column one of these days on Voss and this Movement of +his.” + +“_Voss_ and this movement of his!” + +“Sure,” Sam said, “he’s the top leader.” + +“Oh, great,” Larry growled. “Look, Sam, eventually there is probably a +story in this for you. Right now, though, we’re trying to keep the lid on +it. Could you brief me a little on this Movement? What are they trying to +put over?” + +“I seem to spend half my time briefing you in information any semi-moron +ought to be up on,” Sam said nastily. “However, _briefly_, they’re in +revolt against social-label judgments. They think it’s fouling up the +country and that eventually it’ll result in the Russkies passing us in all +the fields that really count.” + +“I keep running into this term,” Larry complained. “What do you mean, +social-label judgments, and how can they possibly louse up the country?” + +Sam said, “I was present a month or so ago when Voss gave an informal +lecture to a group of twenty or so. Here’s one of the examples he used. + +“Everybody today wants to be rated on a (1) personal, or, (2) social-label +basis, depending on which basis is to his greatest advantage. The Negro +who is a no-good, lazy, obnoxious person demands to be accepted because +Negroes should not be discriminated against. The highly competent, hard +working, honest and productive Negro wants to be accepted because he is +hard-working, honest and productive—and should be so accepted. + +“See what I mean? This social-label system is intended to relieve the +individual of the necessity of judging, and the consequences of being +judged. If you have poor judgment, and are forced to rely on your own +judgment, you’re almost sure to go under. So persons of poor judgment +support our social-label system. If you’re a louse, and are correctly +judged as being a louse, you’d prefer that the social dictum ‘Human beings +are never lice’ should apply.” + +Larry said, “What in the devil’s this got to do with the race between this +country and the Russkies?” + +Sam said patiently, “Voss and the Movement he leads contend that a +social-label system winds up with incompetents running the country in all +fields. Often incompetent scientists are in charge of our research; +incompetent doctors, in charge of our health; incompetent politicians run +our government; incompetent teachers, laden with social-labels, teach our +youth. Our young people are going to college to secure a degree, not an +education. It’s the label that counts, not the reality. + +“Voss contends that it’s getting progressively worse. That we’re sinking +into an equivalent of a ritual-taboo, tribal social-like situation. This +is the system the low-level human being wants, yearns for and seeks. A +situation in which no one’s judgment is of any use. Then _his_ lack of +judgment is no handicap. + +“According to members of the Movement, today the tribesman type is seeking +to reduce civilization back to ritual-taboo tribalism wherein no one man’s +judgment is of any value. The union wants advancement based on seniority, +not on ability and judgment. The persons with whom you associate socially +judge you by the amount of money you possess, the family from which you +come, the degrees you hold, by social-labels—not by your proven abilities. +Down with judgment! is the cry.” + +“It sounds awfully weird to me,” Larry grumbled in deprecation. + +Sam shrugged. “There’s a lot of sense in it. What the Movement wants is to +develop a socio-economic system in which judgment produces a maximum +advantage.” + +Larry said, “What gets me is that you talk as though half the country was +all caught up in debating this Movement. But I haven’t even heard of it, +neither has my department chief, nor any of my colleagues, so far as I +know. Why isn’t anything about it in the papers or on the TriD?” + +Sam said mildly, “As a matter of fact, I took in Mort Lenny’s show the +other night and he made some cracks about it. But it’s not the sort of +thing that’s even meant to become popular with the man in the street. To +put it bluntly, Voss and his people aren’t particularly keen about the +present conception of the democratic ideal. According to him, true +democracy can only be exercised by peers and society today isn’t composed +of peers. If you have one hundred people, twenty of them competent, +intelligent persons, eighty of them untrained, incompetent and less than +intelligent, then it’s ridiculous to have the eighty dictate to the +twenty.” + +Larry looked accusingly at his long-time friend. “You know, Sam, you sound +as though you approve of all this.” + +Sam said patiently, “I listen to it all, Larry my boy. I think Voss makes +a lot of sense. There’s only one drawback.” + +“And that is?” + +“How’s he going to put it over? This social-label system the Movement +complains about was bad enough ten years ago. But look how much worse it +is today. It’s a progressive thing. And, remember, it’s to the benefit of +the incompetent. Since the incompetent predominates, you’re going to have +a hard time starting up a system based on judgment and ability.” + +Larry thought about it for a moment. + +Sam said, “Look, I’m working, Larry. Was there anything else?” + +Larry said, “You wouldn’t know where I could get hold of Voss, would you?” + +“At his home, I imagine, or at the University.” + +“He’s disappeared. We’re looking for him.” + +Sam laughed. “Gone underground, eh? The old boy is getting romantic.” + +“Does he have any particular friends who might be putting him up?” + +Sam thought about it. “There’s Frank Nostrand. You know, that rocket +expert who was fired when he got in the big hassle with Senator McCord.” + + ------------------------------------- + +When Sam Sokolski had flicked off, Larry stared at the vacant phone screen +for a long moment, assimilating what the other had told him. He was +astonished that an organization such as the Movement could have spread to +the extent it evidently had through the country’s intellectual circles, +through the scientifically and technically trained, without his department +being keenly aware of it. + + [Illustration.] + +One result, he decided glumly, of labeling everything contrary to the +_status quo_ as _weird_ and dismissing it with contempt. Admittedly, that +would have been his own reaction only a week ago. + +Suppose that he’d been at a cocktail party, and had drifted up to a group +who were arguing about social-label judgments and the need to develop a +_movement_ to change society’s use of them. The discussion would have gone +in one ear, out the other, and he would have muttered inwardly, “Weirds,” +and have drifted on to get himself another vodka martini. + +Larry snorted and dialed the Department of Records. He’d never heard of +Frank Nostrand before, so he got Information. + +The bright young thing who answered seemed to have a harried expression +untypical of Records employees. Larry said to her, “I’d like the brief on +a Mr. Frank Nostrand who is evidently an expert on rockets. The only other +thing I know about him is that he recently got in the news as the result +of a controversy with Senator McCord.” + +“Just a moment, sir,” the bright young thing said. + +She touched buttons and reached into a delivery chute. When her eyes came +up to meet his again, they were more than ever harried. They were +absolutely confused. + +“Mr. Franklin Howard Nostrand,” she said, “currently employed by Madison +Air as a rocket research technician.” + +“That must be him,” Larry said. “I’m in a hurry, Miss. What’s his +background?” + +Her eyes rounded. “It says ... it says he’s an Archbishop of the Anglican +Church.” + +Larry Woolford looked at her. + +She looked back, pleadingly. + +Larry scowled and said, “His university degrees, please.” + +Her eyes darted to the report and she swallowed. “A bachelor in Home +Economics, sir.” + +“Look here, Miss, how could a Home Economics degree result in his becoming +either an Archbishop or a rocket technician?” + +“I’m sorry, sir. That’s what it says.” + +Larry was fuming but there was no point in taking it out on this junior +employee of the Department of Records. He snapped, “Just give me his +address, please.” + +She said agonizingly, “Sir, it says, Lhasa, Tibet.” + +A red light flicked at the side of his phone and he said to her, “I’ll +call you back. I’m getting a priority call.” + +He flicked her off, and flicked the incoming call in. It was LaVerne Polk. +She seemed to be on the harried side, too. + +“Larry,” she said, “you better get over here right away.” + +“What’s up, LaVerne?” + +“This Movement,” she said, “it seems to have started moving! The Boss says +to get over here soonest.” + + ------------------------------------- + +The top of his car was retracted. Larry Woolford slammed down the walk of +his auto-bungalow and vaulted over the side and into the seat. He banged +the start button, dropped the lift lever, depressed the thrust pedal and +took off at maximum acceleration. + +He took the police level for maximum speed and was in downtown Greater +Washington in flat minutes. + +So the Movement had started moving. That could mean almost anything. It +was just enough to keep him stewing until he got to the Boss and found out +what was going on. + +He turned his car over to a parker and made his way to the entrance +utilized by the second-grade department officials. In another year, or at +most two, he told himself all over again, he’d be using that other door. +He had an intuitive feeling that if he licked this current assignment it’d +be the opening wedge he needed and he’d wind up in a status bracket unique +for his age. + +LaVerne looked up when he hurried into her anteroom. She evidently had two +or three calls going on at once, taking orders from one phone, giving them +in another. Something was obviously erupting. She didn’t speak to him, +merely nodded her head at the inner office. + +In the Boss’ office were six or eight others besides Larry’s superior. +Their expressions and attitudes ran from bewilderment to shock. They +weren’t the men you’d expect to have such reactions. At least not those +that Larry Woolford recognized. Three of them, Ben Ruthenberg, Bill Fraina +and Dave Moskowitz were F.B.I. men with whom Larry had worked on occasion. +One of the others he recognized as being a supervisor with the C.I.A. Walt +Foster, Larry’s rival in the Boss’ affections, was also present. + +The Boss growled at him, “Where in the heavens have you been, Lawrence?” + +“Following our leads on this so-called Movement, sir,” Larry told him. +“What’s going on?” + +Ruthenberg, the Department of Justice man, grunted sour amusement. +“So-called Movement, isn’t exactly the correct phrase. It’s a Movement, +all right.” + +The Boss said, “Please dial Records and get your dossier, Lawrence. +That’ll be the quickest way to bring you up on developments.” + +Mystified, but already with a growing premonition, Larry dialed Records. +Knowing his own classification code, he had no need of Information this +time. He got the hundred-word brief and stared at it as it filled the +screen. The only items really correct were his name and present +occupation. Otherwise his education was listed as grammar school only. His +military career had him ending the war as a General of the Armies, and his +criminal career record included four years on Alcatraz for molesting small +children. + +Blankly, he faded the brief and dialed his full dossier. It failed to +duplicate the brief, but that was no advantage. This time he had an M.D. +degree from Johns Hopkins, but his military career listed him as a +dishonorable discharge from the navy where he’d served in the steward +department. His criminal record was happily nil, but his religion was +listed as Holy Roller. Political affiliations had him down as a member of +the Dixiecrats. + +The others were looking at him, most of them blankly, although there were +grins on the faces of Moskowitz and the C.I.A. man. + +Moskowitz said, “With a name like mine, yet, they have me a Bishop of the +Orthodox Greek Catholic Church.” + +Larry said, “What’s it all about?” + +Ruthenberg said unhappily, “It started early this morning. We don’t know +exactly when as yet.” Which didn’t seem to answer the question. + +Larry said, “I don’t get it. Obviously, the Records department is fouled +up in some manner. How, and why?” + +“How, we know,” the Boss rumbled disgustedly. “Why is another matter. +You’ve spent more time than anyone else on this assignment, Lawrence. +Perhaps you can tell us.” He grabbed up a pipe from his desk, tried to +light it noisily, noticed finally that it held no tobacco and threw it to +the desk again. “Evidently, a large group of these Movement individuals +either already worked in Records or wriggled themselves into key positions +in the technical end of the department. Now they’ve sabotaged the files.” + +“We’ve caught most of them already,” one of the F.B.I. men growled, “but +damn little good that does us at this point.” + +The C.I.A. supervisor made a gesture indicating that he gave it all up. +“Not only here but in Chicago and San Francisco as well. All at once. +Evidently perfectly rehearsed. Personnel records from coast to coast are +bollixed. Why?” + +Larry said slowly, “I think I know that now. Yesterday, I wouldn’t have +but I’ve been picking up odds and ends.” + +They all looked at him. + + ------------------------------------- + +Larry sat down and ran a hand back through his hair. “The general idea is +to change the country’s reliance on social-label judgments.” + +“On _what_,” the Boss barked. + +“On one person judging another according to social-labels. Voss and the +others—” + +“Who did you say?” Ruthenberg snapped. + +“Voss. Professor Peter Voss from the University over in Baltimore section. +He’s the ring leader.” + +Ruthenberg snapped to Fraina, “Get on the phone and send out a pick-up +order for him.” + +Fraina was on his feet. “What charge, Ben?” + +Ben Ruthenberg snorted. “Rape, or something. Get moving, we’ll figure out +a charge later. The guy’s a fruitcake.” + +Larry said wearily, “He’s evidently gone into hiding. I’ve been trying to +locate him. He managed to slip me some knockout drops and got away +yesterday.” + +The Boss looked at him in disgust. + +Ruthenberg said evenly, “We’ve had men go into hiding before. Get going, +Fraina.” + +Fraina left the office and the others looked back to Larry. + +The Boss said, “About this social-label nonsense—” + +Larry said, “They think the country is going to pot because of it. People +hold high office or places of responsibility not because of superior +intelligence, or even acquired skill, but because of the social-labels +they’ve accumulated, and these can be based on something as flimsy—from +the Movement’s viewpoint—as who your grandparents were, what school you +attended, how much seniority you have on the job, what part of town you +live in, or what tailor cuts your clothes.” + +Their expressions ran from scowls and frowns to complete puzzlement. + +Walt Foster grumbled, “What’s all this got to do with sabotaging the +country’s Records tapes?” + +Larry shrugged. “I don’t have the complete picture, but one thing is sure. +It’s going to be harder for a while to base your opinions on a quick +hundred-word brief on a man. Yesterday, an employer, considering hiring +somebody, could dial the man’s dossier, check it, and form his opinions by +the status labels the would-be employee could produce. Today, he’s damn +well going to have to exercise his own judgment.” + +LaVerne’s face lit up the screen on the Boss’ desk and she said, “Those +two members of the Movement who were picked up in Alexandria are here, +sir.” + +“Send them in,” the Boss rumbled. He looked at Larry. “The F.B.I. managed +to arrest almost everyone directly involved in the sabotage.” + +The two prisoners seemed more amused than otherwise. They were young men, +in their early thirties—well dressed and obviously intelligent. The Boss +had them seated side by side and glared at them for a long moment before +speaking. Larry and the others took chairs in various parts of the room +and added their own stares to the barrage. + +The Boss said, “Your situation is an unhappy one, gentlemen.” + +One of the two shrugged. + +The Boss said, “You can, ah, hedge your bets, by co-operating with us. It +might make the difference between a year or two in prison—and life.” + +One of them grinned and then yawned. “I doubt it,” he said. + +The Boss tried a slightly different tack. “You have no reason to maintain +a feeling of obligation to Voss and the others. You have obviously been +abandoned. Had they any feeling for you there would have been more +efficacious arrangements for your escape.” + +The more articulate of the two shrugged again. “We were expendable,” he +said. “However, it won’t be long before we’re free again.” + +“You think so?” Ruthenberg grunted. + +The revolutionist looked at him. “Yes, I do,” he said. “Six months from +now and we’ll be heroes since by that time the Movement will have been a +success.” + +The Boss snorted. “Just because you deranged the Records? Why that’s but +temporary.” + +“Not so temporary as you think,” the technician replied. “This country has +allowed itself to get deeply enmeshed in punch-card and tape records. Oh, +it made sense enough. With the population we have, and the endless files +that result from our ultra-complicated society, it was simply a matter +finally of developing a standardized system of records for the nation as a +whole. Now, for all practical purposes, _all_ of our records these days +are kept with the Department of Records, confidential as well as public +records. Why should a university, for instance, keep literally tons of +files, with all the expense and space and time involved, when it can +merely file the same records with the governmental department and have +them safe and easily available at any time? Now, the Movement has +completely and irrevocably destroyed almost all files that deal with the +social-labels to which we object. An excellent first step, in forcing our +country back into judgment based on ability and intelligence.” + +“First step!” Larry blurted. + +The two prisoners looked at him. “That’s right,” the quieter of the two +said. “This is just the first step.” + +“Don’t kid yourselves,” Ben Ruthenberg snapped at them. “It’s also the +last!” + +The two members of the Movement grinned at him. + + ------------------------------------- + +When the others had gone, the Boss looked at Larry Woolford. He said +sourly, “When this department was being formed, I doubt anyone had in mind +this particular type of subversion, Lawrence.” + +Larry grunted. “Give me a good old-fashioned Commie, any time. Look, sir, +what are the Department of Justice boys going to do with those prisoners?” + +“Hold them on any of various charges. We’ve conflicted with the F.B.I. in +the past on overlapping jurisdiction, but thank heavens for them now. +Their manpower is needed.” + +Larry leaned forward. “Sir, we ought to take all members of the Movement +we’ve already arrested, feed them a dose of Scop-Serum, and pressure them +to open up on the organization’s operations.” + +His superior looked at him, waiting for him to continue. + +Larry said urgently, “Those two we just had in here thought the whole +thing was a big joke. The first step, they called it. Sir, there’s +something considerably bigger than this cooking. Uncle Sam might pride +himself on the personal liberties guaranteed by this country, but unless +we break this organization, and do it fast, there’s going to be trouble +that will make this fouling of the records look like the minor matter +those two jokers seemed to think it.” + +The Boss thought about that. He said slowly, “Lawrence, the Supreme Court +ruled against the use of Scop-Serum. Not that it is over efficient, +anyway. Largely, these so-called truth serums don’t accomplish much more +than to lower resistance, slacken natural inhibitions, weaken the will.” + +“Sure,” Larry said. “But give a man a good dose of Scop-Serum and he’d +betray his own mother. Not because he’s helpless to tell a lie, but +because under the influence of the drug he figures it just isn’t important +enough to bother about. Sir, Supreme Court or not, I think those two ought +to be given Scop-Serum along with all other Movement members we’ve picked +up.” + +The Boss was shaking his head. “Lawrence, these men are not wide-eyed +radicals picked up in a street demonstration. They’re highly respected +members of our society. They’re educators, scientists, engineers, +technicians. Anything done to them is going to make headlines. Those that +were actually involved in the sabotage will have criminal charges brought +against them, but they’re going to get a considerable amount of publicity, +and we’re going to be in no position to alienate any of their +constitutional rights.” + +Larry stood up, approached his chief’s desk and leaned over it urgently. +“Sir, that’s fine, but we’ve got to move and move fast. Something’s up and +we don’t even know what! Take that counterfeit money. From Susan Self’s +description, there’s actually billions of dollars worth of it.” + +“Oh, come now, Lawrence. The child exaggerated. Besides, that’s a problem +for Steven Hackett and the Secret Service, we have enough on our hands as +it is. Forget about the counterfeit, Lawrence. I think I shall put you in +complete control of field work on this, to co-operate in liaison with Ben +Ruthenberg and the F.B.I. So far as we’re concerned, the counterfeit angle +belongs to Secret Service, we’re working on subversion, and until the +Civil Liberties Union or whoever else proves otherwise, we’ll consider +this Movement an organization attempting to subvert the country by illegal +means.” + +Larry Woolford made a hard decision quickly. He was shaking his head. +“Sir, I’d rather you gave the administrative end to someone else and let +me continue in the field. I’ve got some leads—I think. If I get bogged +down in interdepartmental red tape, and in paper work here at +headquarters, I’ll never get to the heart of this and I’m laying bets that +we either crack this within days or there are going to be some awfully big +changes in this country.” + +The Boss glared at him. “You mean you’re refusing this assignment, +Woolford. Confound it, don’t you realize it’s a promotion?” + +Larry was worriedly dogged. “Sir, I’d rather stay in the field.” + +“Very well,” the other snapped disgustedly, “I hope you deliver some +results, Woolford, otherwise I am afraid I won’t feel particularly happy +about your somewhat cavalier rejection of this opportunity.” He flicked on +the phone and snapped to LaVerne Polk, “Miss Polk, locate Walter Foster +for me. He is to take over our end of this Movement matter.” + +LaVerne said, “Yes, sir,” and her face was gone. + +The Boss looked up, still scowling. “What are you waiting for, Woolford?” + +“Yes, sir,” Larry said. It was just coming home to him now, what he’d +done. There possibly went his yearned for promotion in the department. +There went his chance of an upgrading in status. And Walt Foster, of all +people, in his place. + + ------------------------------------- + +At LaVerne’s desk, Larry stopped off long enough to say, “Did you ever +assign that secretary to me?” + +LaVerne shook her head at him. “She’s come and gone, Larry. She sat around +for a couple of days, after seeing you not even once, and then I gave her +another assignment.” + +“Well, bring her back again, will you? I want her to do up briefs for me +on all the information we accumulate on the Movement. It’ll be coming in +from all sides now. From the Press, from those members we’ve arrested, +from our F.B.I. pals, now that they’re interested, and so forth.” + +“I’ll give you Irene Day,” LaVerne said. “Where are you off to now, +Larry?” + +“Probably a wild goose chase,” Larry growled. “Which reminds me. Do me a +favor, LaVerne. Call Personal Service and find out where Frank Nostrand +is. He’s some kind of rocket technician at Madison Air Laboratories. I’ll +be in my office.” + +“Frank Nostrand,” LaVerne said briskly. “Will do, Larry.” + +Back in his own cubicle, Larry stood for a moment in thought. He was +increasingly aware of the uncomfortable feeling that time was running out +on them. That things were coming to a dangerous head. + +He stared down at the dozen or more books and pamphlets that his never +seen secretary had heaped up for him. Well, he certainly didn’t have time +for them now. + +He sat down at the desk and dialed an inter-office number. + +The harassed looking face of Walter Foster faded in. On seeing Larry +Woolford he growled accusingly, “My pal. You’ve let them dump this whole +thing into my lap.” + +Larry grinned at him. “Better you than me, old buddy. Besides, it’s a +promotion. Pull this off and you’ll be the Boss’ right-hand man.” + +“That’s a laugh,” Foster said. “It’s a madhouse. This Movement gang is as +weird as they come.” + +“I bleed for you,” Larry said. “However, here’s a tip. Frol Eivazov, of +the _Chrezvychainaya Komissiya_ is somewhere in the country.” + +“Frol Eivazov!” Foster blurted. “What’ve the Commies got to do with this? +Is this something the Boss knows about?” + +“Haven’t had time to go into it with him,” Larry said. “However, it seems +that friend Frol is here to find out what the Movement is all about. +Evidently the big boys in Peking and Moscow are nervous about any changes +that might take place over here. I suggest you have him picked up, Walt.” + + [Illustration.] + +Walt Foster said, “O.K. I’ll put some people on it. Maybe the F.B.I. can +help.” + +Larry flicked off as he saw the red priority light on his phone shining. +He pushed it and LaVerne’s face faded in. + +She said, “This Franklin Nostrand you wanted to know about. He’s evidently +working at the laboratories over in Newport News, Larry. He’ll be on the +job until five this afternoon.” + +“Fine,” he said. Larry grinned at her. “When are we going to have that +date, LaVerne?” + +She made a face. “Some day when the program involves having fun instead of +parading around in the right places, driving the right model car, dressed +in exactly the right clothes, and above all associating with the right +people.” + +It was his turn to grimace. “I’m beginning to think you ought to sign up +with Voss and this Movement of his. You’d be right at home with his +weirds.” + +She stuck out her tongue at him, and flicked off. + +He looked at the empty screen and chuckled. He had half a mind to get a +record of their conversation, strip out just the section where she’d stuck +out her tongue, and then play it back to her. She’d be taken aback by +being confronted by her own image making faces at her. + +As he made his way to the parking lot for his car, something in their +conversation nagged at him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He +considered the girl, all over again. She had almost all the qualities he +looked for. She was attractive, without being overly so. He disliked women +out of the ordinarily beautiful, it became too much to live up to. She was +sharp, but not objectionably so. Not to the point of giving you an +inferiority complex. + +But, Holy Smokes, she’d never do as a career man’s wife. He could just see +the Boss’ ultraconservative better half inviting them to dinner. It would +happen exactly once, never again. + +He obtained his car, lifted it to one of the higher levels and headed for +Newport News. It was a half-hour trip and he wasn’t particularly expectant +of results. The tip Sam Sokolski had given him, wasn’t much to go by. +Evidently, Frank Nostrand was a friend of the Professor’s but that didn’t +necessarily mean he was connected with the movement, or that he knew Voss’ +whereabouts. + +He might have saved himself the trip. + +The bird had flown again. Not only was Frank Nostrand not at the Madison +Air Laboratories, but he wasn’t at home either. Larry Woolford, mindful of +his departmental chief’s words on the prestige these people carried, took +a full hour in acquiring a search warrant before breaking into the +Nostrand home. + +Nostrand was supposedly a bachelor, but the auto-bungalow, similar to +Larry Woolford’s own, showed signs of double occupancy, and there was +little indication that the guest had been a woman. + +Disgruntled, Larry Woolford dialed the offices, asked for Walt Foster. It +took nearly ten minutes before his colleague faded in. + +“I’m up to my eyebrows, Larry. What’d you want?” + +Larry gave him Frank Nostrand’s address. “This guy’s disappeared, Walt.” + +“So?” + +“He was a close friend of Professor Voss. I got a warrant to search his +house. It shows signs that he had a guest. Possibly it was the Professor. +Do you want to get some of the boys down here to go through the place? +Possibly there’s some clue to where they took off for. The Professor’s on +the run and he’s no professional at this. If we can pick _him_ up, I’ve +got a sneaking suspicion we’ll have the so-called Movement licked.” + +Walt Foster slapped a hand to his face in anguish. “You knew where the +Professor was hiding, and you tried to pick him up on your own and let him +get away. Why didn’t you discuss this with either the Boss or me? I’m in +charge of this operation! I would have had a dozen men down there. You’ve +fouled this up!” + +Larry stared at him. Already Walt Foster was making sounds like an enraged +superior. + +He said mildly, “Sorry, Walt. I came down here on a very meager tip. I +didn’t really expect it to pan out.” + +“Well, in the future, clear with either me or the Boss before running off +half cocked into something, Woolford. Yesterday, you had this whole +assignment on your own. Today, it’s no longer a minor matter. Our +department has fifty people on it. The F.B.I. must have five times as many +and that’s not even counting the Secret Service’s interest. It’s no longer +your individual baby.” + +“Sorry,” Larry repeated mildly. Then, “I don’t imagine you’ve got hold of +Frol Eivazov yet?” + +The other was disgusted. “You think we’re magicians? We just put out the +call for him a few hours ago. He’s no amateur. If he doesn’t want to be +picked up, he’ll go to ground and we’ll have our work cut out for us +finding him. I can’t see that it’s particularly important anyway.” + +“Maybe you’re right,” Larry said. “But you never know. He might know +things we don’t. See you later.” + +Walt Foster stared at him for a moment as though about to say something, +but then tightened his lips and faded off. + +Larry looked at the phone screen for a moment. “Did that phony expect me +to call him _sir_,” he muttered. + + ------------------------------------- + +The next two days dissolved into routine. + +Frustrated, Larry Woolford spent most of his time in his office digesting +developments, trying to find a new line of attack. + +For want of something else, he put his new secretary, a brightly efficient +girl, as style and status conscious as LaVerne Polk wasn’t, to work typing +up the tapes he’d had cut on Susan Self and the various phone calls he’d +had with Hans Distelmayer and Sam Sokolski. From memory, he dictated to +her his conversation with Professor Peter Voss. + +He carefully read the typed sheets over and over again. He continually had +the feeling in this case that there were loose ends dangling around. +Several important points he should be able to put his finger upon. + +On the morning of the third day he dialed Steve Hackett and on seeing the +other’s worried, pug-ugly face fade in on the phone, decided that if +nothing else the Movement was undermining the United States government by +dispensing ulcers to its employees. + +Steve growled, “What is it Woolford? I’m as busy as a whirling dervish in +a revolving door.” + +“This is just the glimmer of an idea, Steve. Look, remember that +conversation with Susan, when she described her father taking her to +headquarters?” + +“So?” Steve said impatiently. + +“Remember her description of headquarters?” + +“Go on,” Steve rapped. + +“What did it remind you of?” + +“What are you leading to?” + +“This is just a hunch,” Larry persisted, “but the way she described the +manner in which her father took her to headquarters suggests they’re in +the Greater Washington area.” + +Steve was staring at him disgustedly. How obvious could you get? + +Larry hurried on. “What’s the biggest business in this area, Steve?” + +“Government.” + +“Right. And the way she described headquarters of the Movement, was rooms, +after rooms, after rooms into which they’d stored the money.” + +“And?” + +Larry said urgently, “Steve, I think in some way the Movement has taken +over some governmental buildings, or storage warehouse. Possibly some +older buildings no longer in use. It would be a perfect hideout. Who would +expect a subversive organization to be in governmental buildings? All +they’d need would be a few officials here and there who were on their side +and—” + +Steve said wearily, “You couldn’t have thought of this two days ago.” + +Larry cut himself off sharply, “Eh?” + +Steve said, “We found their headquarters. One of their members cracked. +Ben Ruthenberg of the F.B.I. found he had a morals rap against him some +years ago and scared him into talking by threats of exposure. At any rate, +you’re right. They had established themselves in some government buildings +going back to Spanish-American War days. We’ve arrested eight or ten +officials that were involved.” + +“But the money?” + +“The money was gone,” Steve said bitterly. “But Susan was right. There had +evidently been room after room of it, stacked to the ceiling. Literally +billions of dollars. They’d moved out hurriedly, but they left kicking +around enough loose hundreds, fifties, twenties, tens and fives to give us +an idea. Look, Woolford, I thought you’d been pulled off this case and +that Walt Foster was handling it.” + +Larry said sourly, “I’m beginning to think so, too. They’re evidently not +even bothering to let me know about developments like this. See you later, +Steve.” + +The other’s face faded off. + +Larry Woolford looked across the double desk at Irene Day. “Look,” he +said, “when you’re offered a promotion, take it. If you don’t, someone +else will and you’ll be out in the cold.” + +Irene Day said brightly, “I’ve always know that, sir.” + +He looked at her. The typical eager beaver. Sharp as a whip. Bright as a +button. “I’ll bet you have,” he muttered. + +“I beg your pardon, Mr. Woolford?” + +The phone lit as LaVerne said, “The Boss wants to talk to you, Larry.” Her +face faded and Larry’s superior was scowling at him. + +He snapped, “Did you get anything on this medical records thing, +Woolford?” + +“Medical records?” Larry said blankly. + +The Boss grunted in deprecation. “No, I suppose you haven’t. I wish you +would snap into it, Woolford. I don’t know what has happened to you of +late. I used to think that you were a good field man.” He flicked off +abruptly. + +Larry dialed LaVerne Polk. “What in the world was the Boss just talking +about, LaVerne? About medical records?” + +LaVerne said, frowning, “Didn’t you know? The Movement’s been at it again. +They’ve fouled up the records of the State Medical Licensing bureaus, at +the same time sabotaging the remaining records of most, if not all, of the +country’s medical schools. They struck simultaneously, throughout the +country.” + +He looked at her, expressionlessly. + +LaVerne said, “We’ve caught several hundred of those responsible. It’s the +same thing. Attack of the social-label. From now on, if a man tells you +he’s an Ear, Eye and Throat specialist, you’d better do some investigation +before letting him amputate your tongue. You’d better use your judgment +before letting _any_ doctor you don’t really know about, work on you. It’s +a madhouse, Larry.” + + ------------------------------------- + +Larry Woolford, for long moments after LaVerne had broken the connection, +stared unseeingly at his secretary across from him until she stirred. + +He brought his eyes back to the present. “Another preliminary move, not +the important thing, yet. Not the big explosion they’re figuring on. Where +have they taken that money, and why?” + +Irene Day blinked at him. “I don’t know, I’m sure, sir.” + +Larry said, “Get me Mr. Foster on the phone, Irene.” + +When Walt Foster’s unhappy face faded in, Larry said, “Walt did you get +Frol Eivazov?” + +“Eivazov?” the other said impatiently. “No. We haven’t spent much effort +on it. I think this hunch of yours is like the other ones you’ve been +having lately, Woolford. Frol Eivazov was last reported by our operatives +as being in North Korea.” + +“It wasn’t a hunch,” Larry said tightly. “He’s in this country on an +assignment dealing with the Movement.” + +“Well, that’s your opinion,” Foster said snappishly. “I’m busy, Woolford. +See here, at present you’re under my orders on this job. In the way of +something to do, instead of sitting around in that office, why don’t you +follow up this Eivazov thing yourself?” He considered it a moment. “That’s +an order, Woolford. Even if you don’t locate him, it’ll keep you out of +our hair.” + +After the other was gone, Larry Woolford leaned back in his chair, his +face flushed as though the other had slapped it. In a way, he had. + +Larry said slowly, “Miss Day, dial me Hans Distelmayer. His offices are +over in the Belmont Building.” + +As always, the screen remained blank as the German spy master spoke. + +Larry said, “Hans, I want to talk to Frol Eivazov.” + +“Ah?” + +“I want to know where I can find him.” + +The German’s voice was humorously gruff. “My friend, my friend.” + +Larry said impatiently, “I’m not interested in arresting him at this time. +I want to talk to him.” + +The other said heavily. “This goes beyond favors, my friend. On the face +of it, I am not in business for my health. And what you ask is dangerous +from my viewpoint. You realize that upon occasion my organization does +small tasks for the Soviets....” + +“Ha!” Larry said bitterly. + +“... And,” the German continued, unruffled, “it is hardly to my interest +to gain the reputation of betraying my sometimes employers. Were you on an +assignment in, say, Bulgaria or Hungary, would you expect me to betray you +to the _Chrezvychainaya Komissiya_?” + +“Not unless somebody paid you enough to make it worth while,” Larry said +dryly. + +“Exactly,” the espionage chief said. + +“Look,” Larry said. “Send your bill to this department, Hans. I’ve been +given carte blanche on this matter and I want to talk to Frol. Now, where +is he?” + +The German chuckled heavily. “At the Soviet Embassy.” + +“What! You mean they’ve got the gall to house their top spy right in—” + +Distelmayer interrupted him. “Friend Eivazov is currently accredited as a +military attaché and quite correctly. He holds the rank of colonel, you +know. He entered this country quite legally, the only precaution taken was +to use his second name, Kliment, instead of Frol, on his papers. +Evidently, your people passed him by without a second look. Ah, I +understand he went to the trouble of making some minor changes in his +facial appearance.” + +“We’ll expect your bill, Distelmayer,” Larry said. “Good-by.” + +He got up and reached for his hat, saying to Irene Day, “I don’t know how +long I’ll be gone.” He added, wryly, “If either Foster or the Boss try to +get in touch with me, tell them I’m carrying out orders.” + +He drove over to the Soviet Embassy, parked his car directly before the +building. + + ------------------------------------- + +The American plainclothesmen stationed near the entrance, gave him only a +quick onceover as he passed. Inside the gates, the impassive Russian +guards didn’t bother to flicker an eyelid. + +At the reception desk in the immense entrada, he identified himself. “I’d +like to see Colonel Frol Eivazov.” + +“I am afraid—” the clerk began stiffly. + +“I suppose you have him on the records as Kliment Eivazov.” + +The clerk had evidently touched a concealed button. A door opened and a +junior embassy official approached them. + +Larry restated his desire. The other began to open his mouth in denial, +then shrugged. “Just a moment,” he said. + +He was gone a full twenty minutes. When he returned, he said briefly, +“This way, please.” + +Frol Eivazov was in an inner office, in full uniform. He came to his feet +when Larry Woolford entered and said to the clerk, “That will be all, +Vova.” He was a tall man, as Slavs go, but heavy of build and heavy of +face. + +He shook hands with Larry. “It’s been a long time,” he said in perfect +English. “That conference in Warsaw, wasn’t it? Have a chair, Mr. +Woolford.” + +Larry took the offered chair and said, “How in the world did you expect to +get by with this nonsense? We’ll have you declared _persona non grata_ in +a matter of hours.” + +“It’s not important,” Eivazov shrugged. “I have found what I came to find. +I was about to return to report any way.” + +“We won’t do anything to hinder you, colonel,” Larry said dryly. + +Eivazov snapped his fingers. “It’s all amusing,” he said. “In our country +we would quickly deal with this Movement nonsense. You Americans with your +pseudo-democracy, your labels without reality, your—” + +Larry said wearily, “Please, Frol, I promise not to convert you if you +promise not to convert me. Needless to say, my department isn’t happy +about your presence in this country. You’ll be watched from now on. We’ve +been busy with other matters....” + +Here the Russian laughed. + +“... Or we’d already have flushed you.” He allowed his voice to go +curious. “We’ve wondered about your interest in this phase of our internal +affairs.” + +The Russian agent let his facade slip over farther, his heavy lips +sneering. “We are interested in all phases of your antiquated +socio-economic system, Mr. Woolford. In the present peaceful economic +competition between East and West, we would simply _loathe_ to see +anything happen to your present culture.” He hesitated deliberately. “If +you can call it a culture.” + +Larry said, unprovoked, “If I understand you correctly, you are not in +favor of the changes the Movement advocates.” + +The Russian shrugged hugely. “I doubt if they are possible of achievement. +The organization is a sloppy one. Revolutionary? Nonsense,” he scoffed. +“They have no plans to change the government. No plans for overthrowing +the regime. Ultimately, what this country needs is true Communism. This +so-called Movement doesn’t have that as its eventual goal. It is +laughable.” + +Larry said, interestedly, “Then perhaps you’ll tell me what little you’ve +found out about the group.” + +“Why not?” The Russian pursed his lips. “They are composed of impractical +idealists. Scientists, intellectuals, a few admitted scholars and even a +few potential leaders. Their sabotage of your Department of Records was an +amusing farce, but, frankly, I have been unable to discover the purpose of +their interest in rockets. For a time I contemplated the possibility that +they had a scheme to develop a nuclear bomb, and to explode it over +Greater Washington in the belief that in the resulting confusion they +might seize power. But, on the face of it their membership is incapable of +such an effort.” + +“Their interest in rockets?” Larry said softly. + +“Yes, as you’ve undoubtedly discovered, half the rocket technicians of +your country seem to have joined with them. We got the tip through”—the +Russian cleared his throat—“several of our converts who happen to be +connected with your space efforts groups.” + +“Is that so?” Larry said. “I wondered what you thought about their +interest in money.” + +It was the other’s turn to look blank. “Money?” he said. + +“That’s right. Large quantities of money.” + +The Russian said, frowning, “I suppose most citizens in your capitalist +countries are interested largely in money. One of your basic failings.” + + ------------------------------------- + +Driving back to the office, Larry Woolford let it pile up on him. + +Ernest Self had been a specialist in solid fuel for rockets. When Larry +had questioned Professor Voss that worthy had particularly stressed his +indignation at how Professor Goddard, the rocket pioneer, had been treated +by his contemporaries. Franklin Nostrand had been employed as a technician +on rocket research at Madison Air Laboratories. It was too darn much for +coincidence. + +And now something else that had been nagging away at the back of his mind +suddenly came clear. + +Susan Self had said that she and her father had seen the precision dancers +at the New Roxy Theater in New York and later the Professor had said they +were going to spend the money on chorus girls. Susan had got it wrong. The +Rockettes—the precision chorus girls. The Professor had said they were +going to spend the money on _rockets_, and Susan had misunderstood. + +But billions of dollars expended on rockets? How? But, above all, to what +end? + +If he’d only been able to hold onto Susan, or her father; or to Voss or +Nostrand, for that matter. Someone to work on. But each had slipped +through his fingers. + +Which brought something else up from his subconscious. Something which had +been tugging at him. + +At the office, Irene Day was packing her things as he entered. Packing as +though she was leaving for good. + +“What goes on?” Larry growled. “I’m going to be needing you. Things are +coming to a head.” + +She said, a bit snippishly, Larry thought, “Miss Polk, in the Boss’ +office, said for you to see her as soon as you came in, Mr. Woolford.” + +“Oh?” + +He made his way to LaVerne’s office, his attention actually on the ideas +churning in his mind. + +She looked up when he entered. + +Larry said, “The Boss wanted to see me?” + +LaVerne ducked her head, as though embarrassed. “Not exactly, Larry.” + +He gestured with his thumb in the direction of his own cubicle office. +“Irene just said you wanted me.” + +LaVerne looked up into his face. “The Boss and Mr. Foster, too, are +boiling about your authorizing that Distelmayer man to bill this +department for information he gave you. The Boss hit the roof. Something +about the Senate Appropriations Committee getting down on him if it came +out that we bought information from professional espionage agents.” + +Larry said, “It was information we needed, and Foster gave me the go ahead +on locating Frol Eivazov. Maybe I’d better see the Boss.” + +LaVerne said, “I don’t think he wants to see you, Larry. They’re up to +their ears in this Movement thing. It’s in the papers _now_ and nobody +knows what to do next. The President is going to make a speech on TriD, +and the Boss has to supply the information. His orders are for you to +resume your vacation. To take a month off and then see him when you get +back.” + +Larry sank down into a chair. “I see,” he said, “And at that time he’ll +probably transfer me to janitor service.” + +“Larry,” LaVerne said, almost impatiently, “why in the world didn’t you +take that job Walt Foster has now when the Boss offered it to you?” + +“Because I’m stupid, I suppose,” Larry said bitterly. “I thought I could +do more working alone than at an administrative post tangled in red tape +and bureaucratic routine.” + +She said, “Sorry, Larry.” She sounded as though she meant it. + +Larry stood up. “Well, tonight I’m going to hang one on, and tomorrow it’s +back to Florida.” He said in a rush, “Look LaVerne, how about that date +we’ve been talking about for six months or more?” + +She looked up at him. “I can’t stand vodka martinis.” + +“Neither can I,” he said glumly. + +“And I don’t get a kick out of prancing around, a stuffed shirt among +fellow stuffed shirts, at some goings-on that supposedly improves my +culture status.” + +Larry said “At the house I have every known brand of drinkable, and a +stack of ... what did you call it? ... corny music. We can mix our own +drinks and dance all by ourselves.” + +She tucked her head to one side and looked at him suspiciously. “Are your +intentions honorable?” + +“We can even discuss that later,” he said sourly. + +She laughed. “It’s a date, Larry.” + + ------------------------------------- + +He picked her up after work, and they drove to his Brandywine +auto-bungalow, largely quiet the whole way. + +At one point she touched his hand with hers and said, “It’ll work out, +Larry.” + +“Yeah,” he said sourly. “I’ve put ten years into ingratiating myself with +the Boss. Now, overnight, he’s got a new boy. I suppose there’s some moral +involved.” + +When they pulled up before his auto-bungalow, LaVerne whistled +appreciatively. “Quite a neighborhood you’re in.” + +He grunted. “A good address. What our friend Professor Voss would call one +more status symbol, one more social-label. For it I pay about fifty per +cent more rent than my budget can afford.” + +He ushered her inside and took her jacket. “Look,” he said, indicating his +living room with a sweep of hand. “See that volume of Klee reproductions +there next to my reading chair? That proves I’m not a weird. Indicates my +culture status. Actually, my appreciation of modern art doesn’t go any +further than the Impressionists. But don’t tell anybody. See those books +up on my shelves. Same thing. You’ll find everything there that _ought_ to +be on the shelves of any ambitious young career man.” + +She looked at him from the side of her eyes. “You’re really soured, +Larry.” + +“Come along,” he said. “I want to show you something.” + +He took her down the tiny elevator to his den. + +“How hypocritical can you get?” he asked her. “This is where I really +live. But I seldom bring anyone here. Wouldn’t want to get a reputation as +a weird. Sit down, LaVerne, I’ll make a drink. How about a Sidecar?” + +She sank onto the couch, kicked her shoes off and slipped her feet under +her. “I’d love one,” she said. + +His back to her, he brought brandy and cointreau from his liquor cabinet, +lemon and ice from the tiny refrigerator. + +“What?” LaVerne said mockingly. “No auto-bar?” + +“Upstairs with the rest of the status symbols,” Larry grunted. + +He put her drink before her and turned and went to the record player. + +“In the way of corny music, how do you like that old-timer, Nat Cole?” + +“King Cole? Love him,” LaVerne said. + +The strains of “For All We Know” penetrated the room. + +Larry sat down across from her, finished half his drink in one swallow. + +“I’m beginning to wonder whether or not this Movement doesn’t have +something,” he said. + +She didn’t answer that. They sat in silence for a while, appreciating the +drink. Nat Cole was singing “The Very Thought of You” now. Larry got up +and made two more cocktails. This time he sat next to her. He leaned his +head back on the couch and closed his eyes. + +Finally he said softly, “When Steve Hackett and I were questioning Susan, +there was only one other person who knew that we’d picked her up. There +was only one person other than Steve and me who could have warned Ernest +Self to make a getaway. Later on, there was only one person who could have +warned Frank Nostrand so that he and the Professor could find a new +hideout.” + +She said sleepily, “How long have you known about that, darling?” + +“A while,” Larry said, his own voice quiet. “I figured it out when I also +decided how Susan Self was spirited out of the Greater Washington Hilton, +before we had the time to question her further. Somebody who had access to +tapes made of me while I was making phone calls cut out a section and +dubbed in a voice so that Betsy Hughes, the Secret Service matron who was +watching Susan, was fooled into believing it was I ordering the girl to be +turned over to the two Movement members who came to get her.” + +LaVerne stirred comfortably and let her head sink onto his shoulder. +“You’re so warm and ... comfortable,” she said. + +Larry said softly, “What does the Movement expect to do with all that +counterfeit money, LaVerne?” + +She stirred against his shoulder, as though bothered by the need to talk. +“Give it all away,” she said. “Distribute it all over the country and +destroy the nation’s social currency.” + +It took him a long moment to assimilate that. + +“What have the rockets to do with it?” + +She stirred once again, as though wishing he’d be silent. “That’s how it +will be distributed. About twenty rockets, strategically placed, each with +a _warhead_ of a couple of tons of money. Fired to an altitude of a couple +of hundred miles and then the money is spewed out. In falling, it will be +distributed over cities and countryside, everywhere. Billions upon +billions of dollars worth.” + +Larry said, so softly as hardly to be heard, “What will that accomplish?” + +“Money is the greatest social-label of them all. The Professor believes +that through this step the Movement will have accomplished its purpose. +That people will be forced to utilize their judgment, rather than depend +upon social-labels.” + +Larry didn’t follow that, but he had no time to go further now. He said, +still evenly soft, “And when is the Movement going to do this?” + +La Verne moved comfortably. “The trucks go out to distribute the money +tonight. The rockets are waiting. The firing will take place in a few +days.” + +“And where is the Professor now?” + +“Where the money and the trucks are hidden, darling. What difference does +it make?” LaVerne said sleepily. + +“And where is that?” + +“At the Greater Washington Trucking Corporation. It’s owned by one of the +Movement’s members.” + +He said. “There’s a password. What is it?” + +“Judgment.” + +Larry Woolford bounced to his feet. He looked down at her, then over at +the phone. In three quick steps he was over to it. He grasped its wires +and yanked them from the wall, silencing it. He slipped into the tiny +elevator, locking the door to the den behind him. + +As the door slid closed, her voice wailed, still sleepily husky, “Larry, +darling, where are you—” + +He ran down the walk of the house, vaulted into the car and snapped on its +key. He slammed down the lift lever, kicked the thrust pedal and was +thrown back against the seat by the acceleration. + +Even while he was climbing, he flicked on the radio-phone, called Personal +Service for the location of the Greater Washington Trucking Corporation. + +Fifteen minutes later, he parked a block away from his destination, noting +with satisfaction that it was still an hour or more to go until dark. His +intuition, working doubletime now, told him that they’d probably wait +until nightfall to start their money-laden trucks to rolling. + +He hesitated momentarily before turning on the phone and dialing the Boss’ +home address. + +When the other’s face faded in, it failed to display pleasure when the +caller’s identity was established. His superior growled, “Confound it, +Woolford, you know my privacy is to be respected. This phone is to be used +only in extreme emergency.” + +“Yes, sir,” Larry said briskly. “It’s the Movement—” + +The other’s face darkened still further. “You’re not on that assignment +any longer, Woolford. Walter Foster has taken over and I’m sympathetic to +his complaints that you’ve proven more a hindrance than anything else.” + +Larry ignored his words, “Sir, I’ve tracked them down. Professor Voss is +at the Greater Washington Trucking Corporation garages here in the +Alexandria section of town. Any moment now, they’re going to start +distribution of all that counterfeit money on some scatterbrain plan to +disrupt the country’s exchange system.” + +Suddenly alert, the department chief snapped, “Where are you, Woolford?” + +“Outside the garages, sir. But I’m going in now.” + +“You stay where you are,” the other snapped. “I’ll have every department +man and every Secret Service man in town over there within twenty minutes. +You hang on. Those people are lunatics, and probably desperate.” + +Inwardly, Larry Woolford grinned. He wasn’t going to lose this opportunity +to finish up the job with him on top. He said flatly, “Sir, we can’t +chance it. They might escape. I’m going in!” He flicked off the set, +dialed again and raised Sam Sokolski. + +“Sam,” he said, his voice clipped. “I’ve cornered the Movement’s leader +and am going in for the finish. Maybe some of you journalist boys better +get on over here.” He gave the other the address and flicked off before +there were any questions. + + ------------------------------------- + +From the dash compartment he brought a heavy automatic, and checked the +clip. He put it in his hip pocket and left the car and walked toward the +garages. Time was running out now. + +He strode into the only open door, without shift of pace. Two men were +posted nearby, neither of them truckmen by appearance. They looked at him +in surprise. + +Larry clipped out, “The password is _Judgment_. I’ve got to see Professor +Voss immediately.” + +One of them frowned questioningly, but the other was taken up with the +urgency in Woolford’s voice. He nodded with his head. “He’s over there in +the office.” + +Now ignoring them completely, Larry strode past the long rows of sealed +delivery vans toward the office. + +He pushed the door open, entered and closed it behind him. + +Professor Peter Voss was seated at a paper-littered desk. There was a cot +with an army blanket in a corner of the room, some soiled clothing and two +or three dirty dishes on a tray. The room was being lived in, obviously. + +At the agent’s entry, the little man looked up and blinked in distress +through his heavy lenses. + +Larry snapped, “You’re under arrest, Voss.” + +The professor was obviously dismayed, but he said in as vigorous a voice +as he could muster, “Nonsense! On what charge?” + +“Counterfeiting, among many. Your whole scheme has fallen apart, Voss. You +and your Movement, so-called, are finished.” + +The professor’s eyes darted, left, right. To Larry Woolford’s surprise, +the Movement’s leader was alone in here. Undoubtedly, he was awaiting +others, drivers of the trucks, technicians involved in the rockets, other +subordinates. But right now he was alone. + +If Woolford correctly diagnosed the situation, Voss was playing for time, +waiting for the others. Good enough, so was Larry Woolford. Had the +Professor only known it, a shout would have brought at least two followers +and the government agent would have had his work cut out for him. + +Woodford played along. “Just what is this fantastic scheme of yours for +raining down money over half the country, Voss? The very insanity of it +proves your whole outfit is composed of a bunch of nonconformist weirds.” + +The Professor was indignant—and stalling for time. He said, +“Nonconformists is correct! He who conforms in an incompetent society is +an incompetent himself.” + +Larry stood, his legs apart and hands on hips. He shook his head in +simulated pity at the angry little man. “What’s all this about raining +money down over the country?” + +“Don’t you see?” the other said. “The perfect method for disrupting our +present system of social-labels. With billions of dollars, perfect +counterfeit, strewing the streets, the fields, the trees, available for +anyone to pick up, all social currency becomes worthless. Utterly +unusable. And it’s no use to attempt to print more with another design, +because we can duplicate it as well. Our experts are the world’s best, +we’re not a group of sulking criminals but capable, trained, dedicated +men. + +“Very well! We will have made it absolutely impossible to have any form of +mass-produced social currency.” + +Larry stared at him. “It would completely foul the whole business system! +You’d have chaos!” + +“At first. Private individuals, once the value of money was seen to be +zero, would have lost the amount of cash they had on hand. But banks and +such institutions would lose little. They have accurate records that show +the actual values they held at the time our money rains down.” + +Larry was bewildered. “But what are you getting at? What do you expect to +accomplish?” + +The Professor, on his favorite subject, said triumphantly, “The only form +of currency that can be used under these conditions is the _personal_ +check. It’s not mass produced, and mass-production can’t duplicate it. +It’s immune to the attack. Business has to go on, or people will starve—so +personal checks will have to replace paper money. Credit cards and +traveler’s checks won’t do—we can counterfeit them, too, and will, if +necessary. Realize of course that hard money will still be valid, but it +can’t be utilized practically for any but small transactions. Try taking +enough silver dollars to buy a refrigerator down to the store with you.” + +“But what’s the purpose?” Larry demanded, flabbergasted. + +“Isn’t it obvious? Our whole Movement is devoted to the destruction of +social-label judgments. It’s all very well to say: _You should not judge +your fellow men_ but when it comes to accepting another man’s personal +check, friend, you damn well have to! The bum check artist might have a +field day to begin with—but only to begin with.” + +Larry shook his head in exasperation. “You people are a bunch of +anarchists,” he accused. + +“No,” the Professor denied. “Absolutely not. We are the antithesis of the +anarchist. The anarchist says, ‘No man is capable of judging another.’ We +say, ‘Each man must judge his fellow, must demand proper evaluation of +him.’ To judge a man by his clothes, the amount of money he owns, the car +he drives, the neighborhood in which he lives, or the society he keeps, is +out of the question in a vital culture.” + +Larry said sourly, “Well, whether or not you’re right, Voss, you’ve lost. +This place is surrounded. My men will be breaking in shortly.” + +Voss laughed at him. “Nonsense. All you’ve done is prevent us from +accomplishing this portion of our program. What will you do after my +arrest? You’ll bring me to trial. Do you remember the Scopes’ Monkey Trial +back in the 1920s which became a world appreciated farce and made +Tennessee a laughingstock? Well, just wait until you get _me_ into court +backed by my organization’s resources. We’ll bring home to every thinking +person, not only in this country, but in the world, the fantastic +qualities of our existing culture. Why, +Mr.-Secret-Agent-of-Anti-Subversive-Activity you aren’t doing me an injury +by giving me the opportunity to have my day in court. You’re doing me a +favor. Newspapers, radios, TriD will give me the chance to expound my +program in the home of every thinking person in the world.” + +There was a fiery dedication in the little man’s eyes. “This will be my +victory, not my defeat!” + +There were sounds now, coming from the other rooms—the garages. Some +shouts and scuffling. Faintly, Larry Woolford could hear Steve Hackett’s +voice. + +He was staring at the Professor, his eyes narrower. + +The Professor was on his feet. He said in defiant triumph, “You think that +you’ll win prestige and honor as a result of tracking the Movement down, +don’t you, Mr. Woolford? Well, let me tell you, you won’t! In six months +from now, Mr. Woolford, you’ll be a laughingstock.” + +That did it. + +Larry said, “You’re under arrest. Turn around with your back to me.” + +The Professor snorted his contempt, turned his back and held up his hands, +obviously expecting to be searched. + +In a fluid motion, Larry Woolford drew his gun and fired twice. The other +with no more than a grunt of surprise and pain, stumbled forward to his +knees and then to the floor, his arms and legs akimbo. + +The door broke open and Steve Hackett, gun in hand, burst in. + +“Woolford!” he barked. “What’s up?” + +Larry indicated the body on the floor. “There you are, Steve,” he said. +“The head of the counterfeit ring. He was trying to escape. I had to shoot +him.” + +Behind Steve Hackett crowded Ben Ruthenberg of the F.B.I. and behind him +half a dozen others of various departments. + +The Boss came pushing his way through. + +He glared down at the Professor’s body, then up at Larry Woolford. + +“Good work, Lawrence,” he said. “How did you bring it off?” + +Larry replaced the gun in his holster and shrugged modestly. “The Polk +girl gave me the final tip-off, sir. I gave her some Scop-Serum in a drink +and she talked. Evidently, she was a member of the Movement.” + +The Boss was nodding wisely. “I’ve had my eye on her, Lawrence. An obvious +weird. But we will have to suppress that Scop-Serum angle.” He slapped his +favorite field man on the arm jovially. “Well, boy, this means promotion, +of course.” + +Larry grinned. “Thanks, sir. All in a day’s work. I don’t think we’ll have +much trouble with the remnants of this Movement thing. The pitch is to +treat them as counterfeiters, not subversives. Try them for that. Their +silly explanations of what they were going to do with the money will never +be taken seriously.” He looked down at the small corpse. “Particularly now +that their kingpin is gone.” + +A new wave of agents, F.B.I. men and prisoners washed into the room and +Steve Hackett and Larry were for a moment pushed back into a corner by +themselves. + +Steve looked at him strangely and said, “There’s one thing I’d like to +know: Did you really have to shoot him, Woolford?” + +Larry brushed it off. “What’s the difference? He was as weird as they +come, wasn’t he?” + +THE END + + + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STATUS QUO*** + + + +CREDITS + + +October 26, 2009 + + Project Gutenberg TEI edition 1 + Produced by Greg Weeks, David King, and the Online Distributed + Proofreading Team at <http://www.pgdp.net/>. + + + +A WORD FROM PROJECT GUTENBERG + + +This file should be named 30339-0.txt or 30339-0.zip. + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + + + http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/0/3/3/30339/ + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one — the old editions will be +renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one +owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and +you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission +and without paying copyright royalties. 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\ No newline at end of file diff --git a/old/30339-8.txt b/old/30339-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c524e7 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/30339-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4018 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Status Quo by Dallas McCord Reynolds + + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no +restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under +the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or +online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license + + + +Title: Status Quo + +Author: Dallas McCord Reynolds + +Release Date: October 26, 2009 [Ebook #30339] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO 8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STATUS QUO*** + + + + + + Status Quo + + by Dallas McCord Reynolds + + Illustrated by John Schoenherr + + Analog Science Fact & Fiction + + August 1961 + + + + + + +[Transcriber's Note: This text was produced from Analog Science Fact & +Fiction August 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that +the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] + +In his income bracket and in the suburb in which he lived, government +employees in the twenty-five to thirty-five age group were currently +wearing tweeds. Tweeds were in. Not to wear tweeds was Non-U. + +Lawrence Woolford wore tweeds. His suit, this morning, had first seen the +light of day on a hand loom in Donegal. It had been cut by a Swede widely +patronized by serious young career men in Lawrence Woolford's status +group; English tailors were out currently and Italians unheard of. + +Woolford sauntered down the walk before his auto-bungalow, scowling at the +sportscar at the curb--wrong year, wrong make. He'd have to trade it in on +a new model. Which was a shame in a way, he liked the car. However, he had +no desire to get a reputation as a weird among colleagues and friends. +What was it Senator Carey MacArthur had said the other day? Show me a +weird and I'll show you a person who has taken the first step toward being +a Commie. + +Woolford slid under the wheel, dropped the lift lever, depressed gently +the thrust pedal and took off for downtown Greater Washington. +Theoretically, he had another four days of vacation coming to him. He +wondered what the Boss wanted. That was the trouble in being one of the +Boss' favorite trouble shooters, when trouble arose you wound up in the +middle of it. Lawrence Woolford was to the point where he was thinking in +terms of graduating out of field work and taking on a desk job which meant +promotion in status and pay. + +He turned over his car to a parker at the departmental parking lot and +made his way through the entrance utilized by second-grade departmental +officials. In another year, he told himself, he'd be using that other +door. + +The Boss' reception secretary looked up when Lawrence Woolford entered the +anteroom where she presided. "Hello, Larry," she said. "Hear they called +your vacation short. Darn shame." + +LaVerne Polk was a cute little whizz of efficiency. Like Napoleon and his +army, she knew the name of every member of the department and was on a +first-name basis with all. However, she was definitely a weird. For +instance, styles might come and styles might go, but LaVerne dressed for +comfort, did her hair the way she thought it looked best, and wore +low-heeled walking shoes on the job. In fact, she was ready and willing to +snarl at anyone, no matter how kindly intentioned, who even hinted that +her nonconformity didn't help her promotion prospects. + +Woolford said, "Hi, LaVerne. I think the Boss is expecting me." + +"That he is. Go right in, Larry." + +She looked after him when he turned and left her desk. Lawrence Woolford +cut a pleasant figure as thirty year old bachelors go. + +The Boss looked up from some report on his desk which he'd been frowning +at, nodded to his field man and said, "Sit down, Lawrence. I'll be with +you in a minute. Please take a look at this while you're waiting." He +handed over a banknote. + +Larry Woolford took it and found himself a comfortable chair. He examined +the bill, front and back. It was a fifty dollar note, almost new. + +Finally the Boss, a stocky but impeccable career bureaucrat of the +ultra-latest school, scribbled his initials on the report and tossed it +into an Out chute. He said to Woolford, "I am sorry to cut short your +vacation, Lawrence. I considered giving Walter Foster the assignment, but +I think you're the better choice." + +Larry decided the faint praise routine was the best tactic, said earnestly +about his closest rival. "Walt's a good man, sir." And then, "What's the +crisis?" + +"What do you think of that fifty?" + +His trouble shooter looked down at it. "What is there to think about it?" + +The Boss grunted, slid open a desk drawer and brought forth another bill. +"Here, look at this, please." + +It was another fifty. Larry Woolford frowned at it, not getting whatever +was going on. + +"Observe the serial numbers," the Boss said impatiently. + +They were identical. + +Woolford looked up. "Counterfeit. Which one is the bad one?" + +"That is exactly what we would like to know," the Boss said. + +Larry Woolford stared at his superior, blinked and then examined the bills +again. "A beautiful job," he said, "but what's it got to do with us, sir? +This is Secret Service jurisdiction, counterfeiting." + +"They called us in on it. They think it might have international +ramifications." + +Now they were getting somewhere. Larry Woolford put the two bills on the +Boss' desk and leaned back in his chair, waiting. + +His superior said, "Remember the Nazis turning out American and British +banknotes during the Second War?" + +"I was just a kid." + +"I thought you might have read about it. At any rate, obviously a +government--with all its resources--could counterfeit perfectly any currency +in the world. It would have the skills, the equipment, the funds to +accomplish the task. The Germans turned out hundreds of millions of +dollars and pounds with the idea of confounding the Allied financial +basics." + +"And why didn't it work?" + +"The difficulty of getting it into circulation, for one thing. However, +they did actually use a quantity. For a time our people were so alarmed +that they wouldn't allow any bills to come into this country from Mexico +except two-dollar denomination--the one denomination the Germans hadn't +bothered to duplicate. Oh, they had the Secret Service in a dither for a +time." + +Woolford was frowning. "What's this got to do with our current situation?" + +The Boss said, "It is only a conjecture. One of those bills is counterfeit +but such an excellent reproduction that the skill involved is beyond the +resources of any known counterfeiter. Secret Service wants to know if it +might be coming from abroad, and, if so, from where. If it's a +governmental project, particularly a Soviet Complex one, then it comes +into the ken of our particular cloak-and-dagger department." + +"Yes, sir." Woolford said. He got up and examined the two bills again. +"How'd they ever detect that one was bad?" + +"Pure fortune. A bank clerk with an all but eidetic memory was going +through a batch of fifties. It's not too commonly used a denomination, you +know. Coincidence was involved since in that same sheaf the serial number +was duplicated." + +"And then?" + +"The reproduction was so perfect that Secret Service was in an immediate +uproar. Short of the Nazi effort, there has never been anything like it. A +perfect duplication of engraving and paper identically the same. The +counterfeiters have even evidently gone to the extent of putting a certain +amount of artificial wear on the bills before putting them into +circulation." + +Larry Woolford said, "This is out of my line. How were they able to check +further, and how many more did they turn up?" + +"The new I.B.M. sorters help. Secret Service checked every fifty dollar +bill in every institution in town both banking and governmental. Thus far, +they have located ten bills in all." + +"And other cities?" + +"None. They've all been passed in Greater Washington, which is suspicious +in itself. The amount of expense that has gone into the manufacture of +these bills does not allow for only a handful of them being passed. They +should be turning up in number. Lawrence, this reproduction is such that a +pusher could walk into a bank and have his false currency changed by any +clerk." + +"Wow," Larry whistled. + +"Indeed." + +"So you want me to work with Secret Service on this on the off chance that +the Soviet Complex is doing us deliberate dirt." + +"That is exactly the idea, Lawrence. Get to work, please, and keep in +touch with me. If you need support, I can assign Walter Foster or some of +the other operatives to assist you. This might have endless +ramifications." + + ------------------------------------- + +Back in the anteroom, Woolford said to the Boss' receptionist, "I'm on a +local job, LaVerne, how about assigning me a girl?" + +"Can do," she said. + +"And, look, tell her to get hold of every available work on counterfeiting +and pile it on my desk." + +"Right. Thinking of going into business, Larry?" + +He grinned down at her. "That's the idea. Keeping up with the Jones clan +in this man's town costs roughly twice my income." + +LaVerne said disapprovingly, "Then why not give it up? With the +classification you've got a single man ought to be able to save half his +pay." She added, more quietly, "Or get married and support a family." + +"Save half my pay?" Larry snorted. "And get a far out reputation, eh? No +thanks, you can't afford to be a weird these days." + +She flushed--and damn prettily, Larry Woolford decided. She could be an +attractive item if it wasn't for obviously getting her kicks out of being +individualistic. + +Larry said suddenly, "Look, promise like a good girl not to make us +conspicuous and I'll take you to the Swank Room for dinner tonight." + +"Is that where all the bright young men currently have to be seen once or +twice a week?" she snapped back at him. "Get lost, Larry. Being a healthy, +normal woman I'm interested in men, but not necessarily in walking +status-symbols." + +It was his turn to flush, and, he decided wryly, he probably didn't do it +as prettily as she did. + +On his way to his office, he wondered why the Boss kept her on. +Classically, a secretary-receptionist should have every pore in place, but +in her time LaVerne Polk must have caused more than one bureaucratic +eyebrow to raise. Efficiency was probably the answer; the Boss couldn't +afford to let her go. + +Larry Woolford's office wasn't much more than a cubicle. He sat down at +the desk and banged a drawer or two open and closed. He liked the work, +liked the department, but theoretically he still had several days of +vacation and hated to get back into routine. + +Had he known it, this was hardly going to be routine. + +He flicked the phone finally and asked for an outline. He dialed three +numbers before getting his subject. The phone screen remained blank. + +"Hans?" he said. "Lawrence Woolford." + +The Teutonic accent was heavy, the voice bluff. "Ah, Larry! you need some +assistance to make your vacation? Perhaps a sinister, exotic young lady, +complete with long cigarette holder?" + +Larry Woolford growled, "How'd you know I was on vacation?" + +The other laughed. "You know better than to ask that, my friend." + +Larry said, "The vacation is over, Hans. I need some information." + +The voice was more guarded now. "I owe you a favor or two." + +"Don't you though? Look, Hans, what's new in the Russkie camp?" + +The heartiness was gone. "How do you mean?" + +"Is there anything big stirring? Is there anyone new in this country from +the Soviet Complex?" + +"Well now--" the other's voice drifted away. + +Larry Woolford said impatiently, "Look, Hans, let's don't waste time +fencing. You run a clearing agency for, _ah_, information. You're strictly +a businessman, nonpartisan, so to speak. Fine, thus far our department has +tolerated you. Perhaps we'll continue to. Perhaps the reason is that we +figure we get more out of your existence than we lose. The Russkies +evidently figure the same way, the proof being that you're alive and have +branches in the capitals of every power on Earth." + +"All right, all right," the German said. "Let me think a moment. Can you +give me an idea of what you're looking for?" There was an undernote of +interest in the voice now. + +"No. I just want to know if you've heard anything new anti-my-side, from +the other side. Or if you know of any fresh personnel recently from +there." + +"Frankly, I haven't. If you could give me a hint." + +"I can't," Larry said. "Look, Hans, like you say, you owe me a favor or +two. If something comes up, let me know. Then I'll owe you one." + +The voice was jovial again. "It's a bargain, my friend." + +After Woolford had hung up, he scowled at the phone. He wondered if Hans +Distelmayer was lying. The German commanded the largest professional spy +ring in the world. It was possible, but difficult, for anything in +espionage to develop without his having an inkling. + +The phone rang back. It was Steve Hackett of Secret Service on the screen. + +Hackett said, "Woolford, you coming over? I understand you've been +assigned to get in our hair on this job." + +"Huh," Larry grunted. "The way I hear it, your whole department has given +up, so I'm assigned to help you out of your usual fumble-fingered +confusion." + +Hackett snorted. "At any rate, can you drop over? I'm to work in liaison +with you." + +"Coming," Larry said. He hung up, got to his feet and headed for the door. +If they could crack this thing the first day, he'd take up that vacation +where it'd been interrupted and possibly be able to wangle a few more days +out of the Boss to boot. + +At this time of day, parking would have been a problem, in spite of +automation of the streets. He left his car in the departmental lot and +took a cab. + + ------------------------------------- + +The Counterfeit Division of the Secret Service occupied an impressive +section of an impressive governmental building. Larry Woolford flashed his +credentials here and there, explained to guards and receptionists here and +there, and finally wound up in Steve Hackett's office which was all but a +duplicate of his own in size and decor. + +Steve Hackett himself was a fairly accurate carbon copy of Woolford, +barring facial resemblance alone. The fact was, Steve was almost +Lincolnesque in his ugliness. Career man, about thirty, good university, +crew cut, six foot, one hundred and seventy, earnest of eye. He wore +Harris tweed. Larry Woolford made a note of that; possibly herringbone was +coming back in. He winced at the thought of a major change in his +wardrobe; it'd cost a fortune. + +They'd worked on a few cases together before when Steve Hackett had been +assigned to the presidential bodyguard and co-operated well. + +Steve came to his feet and shook hands. "Thought that you were going to be +down in Florida bass fishing this month. You like your work so well you +can't stay away, or is it a matter of trying to impress your chief?" + +Larry growled, "Fine thing. Secret Service bogs down and they've got to +call me in to clean up the mess." + +Steve motioned him to a chair and immediately went serious. "Do you know +anything about pushing queer, Woolford?" + +"That means passing counterfeit money, doesn't it? All I know is what's +in the TriD crime shows." + +"I can see you're going to be a lot of help. Have you got anywhere at all +on the possibility that the stuff might be coming from abroad?" + +"Nothing positive," Larry said. "Are you people accomplishing anything?" + +"We're just getting underway. There's something off-trail about this deal, +Woolford. It doesn't fit into routine." + +Larry Woolford said, "I wouldn't think so if the stuff is so good not even +a bank clerk can tell the difference." + +"That's not what I'm talking about now. Let me give you a run down on +standard counterfeiting." The Secret Service agent pushed back in his +swivel chair, lit a cigarette, and propped his feet onto the edge of a +partly open desk drawer. "Briefly, it goes like this. Some smart lad gets +himself a set of plates and a platen press and--" + +Larry interrupted, "Where does he get the plates?" + +"That doesn't matter now," Steve said. "Various ways. Maybe he makes them +himself, sometimes he buys them from a crooked engraver. But I'm talking +about pushing green goods once it's printed. Anyway, our friend runs off, +say, a million dollars worth of fives. But he doesn't try to pass them +himself. He wholesales them around netting, say, fifty thousand dollars. +In other words, he sells twenty dollars in counterfeit for one good +dollar." + +Larry pursed his lips. "Quite a discount." + +"Um-m-m. But that's safest from his angle. The half dozen or so +distributors he sold it to don't try to pass it either. They also are +playing it carefully. They peddle it, at say ten to one, to the next rung +down the ladder." + +"And these are the fellows that pass it, eh?" + +"Not even then, usually. These small timers take it and pass it on at five +to one to the suckers in the trade, who take the biggest risks. Most of +these are professional pushers of the queer, as the term goes. Some, +however, are comparative amateurs. Sailors for instance, who buy with the +idea of passing it in some foreign port where seamen's money flows fast." + +Larry Woolford shifted in his chair. "So what are you building up to?" + +Steve Hackett rubbed the end of his pug nose with a forefinger in quick +irritation. "Like I say, that's standard counterfeit procedure. We're all +set up to meet it, and do a pretty good job. Where we have our +difficulties is with amateurs." + +Woolford scowled at him. + +Hackett said, "Some guy who makes and passes it himself, for instance. +He's unknown to the stool pigeons, has no criminal record, does up +comparatively small amounts and dribbles his product onto the market over +a period of time. We had one old devil up in New York once who actually +_drew_ one dollar bills. He was a tremendous artist. It took us years to +get him." + +Larry Woolford said, "Well, why go into all this? We're hardly dealing +with amateurs now." + +Steve looked at him. "That's the trouble. We are." + +"Are you batty? Not even your own experts can tell this product from real +money." + +"I didn't say it was being _made_ by amateurs. It's being _pushed_ by +amateurs--or maybe amateur is the better word." + +"How do you know?" + +"For one thing, most professionals won't touch anything bigger than a +twenty. Tens are better, fives better still. When you pass a fifty, the +person you give it to is apt to remember where he got it." Steve Hackett +said slowly, "Particularly if you give one as a tip to the _matre +d'htel_ in a first-class restaurant. A _matre d'_ holds his job on the +strength of his ability to remember faces and names." + + [Illustration.] + +"What else makes you think your pushers are amateurs?" + +"Amateur," Hackett corrected. "Ideally, a pusher is an inconspicuous type. +The kind of person whose face you'd never remember. It's never a teenage +girl who's blowing money." + +It was time to stare now, and Larry Woolford obliged. "A teenager!" + +"We've had four descriptions of her, one of them excellent. Fredrick, the +_matre d'_ over at La Calvados, is the one that counts, but the others +jibe. She's bought perfume and gloves at Michel Swiss, the swankiest shop +in town, a dress at Chez Marie--she passed three fifties there--and a hat at +Paulette's over on Monroe Street. + +"That's another sign of the amateur, by the way. A competent pusher buys a +small item and gets change from his counterfeit bill. Our girl's been +buying expensive items, obviously more interested in the product than in +her change." + +"This doesn't seem to make much sense," Larry Woolford protested. "You +have any ideas at all?" + +"The question is," Hackett said, "where did she get it? Is she connected +with one of the embassies and acquired the stuff overseas? If so, that +puts it in your lap again possibly--" + +The phone rang and Steve flicked the switch and grumbled, "Yeah? Steven +Hackett speaking." + +He listened for a moment then banged the phone off and jumped to his feet. +"Come on, Larry," he snapped. "This is it." + +Larry stood, too. "Who was that?" + +"Fredrick, over at La Calvados. The girl has come in for lunch. Let's go!" + + ------------------------------------- + +La Calvados was the swankiest French restaurant in Greater Washington, a +city not devoid of swank restaurants. Only the upper-echelons in +governmental circles could afford its tariffs; the clientele was more apt +to consist of business mucky-mucks and lobbyists on the make. Larry +Woolford had eaten here exactly twice. You could get a reputation spending +money far beyond your obvious pay status. + +Fredrick, the _matre de htel_, however, was able to greet them both by +name. "Monsieur Hackett, Monsieur Woolford," he bowed. He obviously didn't +approve of La Calvados being used as a hangout where counterfeiters were +picked up the authorities. + +"Where is she?" Steve said, looking out over the public dining room. + +Fredrick said, unprofessionally agitated, "See here, Monsieur Hackett, you +didn't expect to, ah, arrest the young lady _here_ during our lunch hour?" + +Steve looked at him impatiently. "We don't exactly beat them over the head +with blackjacks, slip the bracelets on and drag them screaming to the +paddywagon." + +"Of course not, monsieur, but--" + +Larry Woolford's chief dined here several times a week and was probably on +the best of terms with Fredrick whose decisions on tables and whose degree +of servility had a good deal of influence on a man's status in Greater +Washington. Larry said wearily, "We can wait until she leaves. Where is +she?" + +Fredrick had taken them to one side. + +"Do you see the young lady over near the window on the park? The rather +gauche appearing type?" + +It was a teenager, all right. A youngster up to her eyebrows in the +attempt to project sophistication. + +Steve said, "Do you know who she is?" + +"No," Fredrick said. "Hardly our usual clientele." + +"Oh?" Larry said. "She looks like money." + +Fredrick said, "The dress appears as though it is of Chez Marie, but she +wears it as though it came from Klein's. Her perfume is Chanel, but she +has used approximately three times the quantity one would expect." + +"That's our girl, all right," Steve murmured. "Where can we keep an eye on +her until she leaves?" + +"Why not at the bar here, Messieurs?" + +"Why not?" Larry said. "I could use a drink." + +Fredrick cleared his throat. "Ah, Messieurs, that fifty I turned over you. +I suppose it turned out to be spurious?" + +Steve grinned at him. "Afraid so, Fredrick. The department is holding it." + +Larry took out his wallet. "However, we have a certain leeway on expenses +on this assignment and appreciate your co-operation." He handed two +twenties and a ten to the _matre d'_. Fredrick bowed low, the money +disappearing into his clothes magically. "_Merci bien_, monsieur." + +At the bar, Steve scowled at his colleague. "Ha!" he said. "Why didn't I +think of that first? He'll get down on his knees and bump his head each +time he sees you in the joint from now on." + +Larry Woolford waggled a finger at the other. "This is a status conscious +town, my boy. Prestige means everything. When I take over my Boss' job, +maybe we can swing a transfer and I'll give you a position suitable to +your attainments." He pursed his lips judiciously. "Although, come to +think of it, that might mean a demotion from the job you're holding now." + +"Vodka martini," Steve told the bartender. "Polish vodka, of course." + +"Of course, sir." + +Larry said, "Same for me." + +The bartender left and Steve muttered, "I hate vodka." + +"Yeah," Larry said, "But what're you going to do in a place like this, +order some weird drink?" + +Steve dug into his pocket for money. "We're not going to have to drink +them. Here she comes." + +She walked with her head held high, hauteur in every step. Ignoring the +peasants at the tables she passed. + +"Holy smokes," Steve grunted. "It's a wonder Fredrick let her in." + +She hesitated momentarily before the doorway of the prestige restaurant +allowing the passers-by to realize she'd just emerged, and then turned to +her right to promenade along the shopping street. + +Fifty feet below La Calvados, Steve said, "Let's go, Woolford." + +One stepped to one elbow, the other to the other. Steve said quietly, "I +wonder if we could ask you a few questions?" + +Her eyebrows went up, "I _beg_ your pardon!" + +Steve sighed and displayed the badge pinned to his wallet, keeping it +inconspicuous. "Secret Service, Miss," he murmured. + +"Oh, devil," she said. She looked up at Larry Woolford, and then back at +Steve. + +Steve said, "Among other things, we're in charge of counterfeit money." + +She was about five foot four in her heels, had obviously been on a round +of beauty shops and had obviously instructed them to glamorize her. It +hadn't come off. She still looked as though she'd be more at home as +cheerleader of the junior class in small town high school. She was honey +blond, green-blue of eye, and had that complexion they seldom carry even +into the twenties. + +"I ... I don't know what you're talking about." Her chin began to tremble. + +Larry said gently, "Don't worry. We just want to ask you some questions." + +"Well ... like what?" She was going to be blinking back tears in a moment. +At least Larry hoped she'd blink them back. He'd hate to have her start +howling here in public. + +Larry said, "We think you can be of assistance to the government, and we'd +like your help." + +Steve rolled his eyes upward, but turned and waved for a street level cab. + +In the cab, Larry said, "Suppose we go over to my office, Steve?" + +"O.K. with me," Steve muttered, "but by the looks of the young lady here, +I think it's a false alarm from your angle. She's obviously an American. +What's your name, Miss?" + +"It's Zusanette. Well, really, Susan." + +"Susan what?" + +"I ... I'm not sure I want to tell you. I ... I want a lawyer." + +"A lawyer!" Steve snorted. "You mean you want the juvenile authorities, +don't you?" + +"Oh, what a mean thing to say," she sputtered. + + ------------------------------------- + +In the corridor outside the Boss' suite of offices, Larry said to Steve, +"You take Miss ... ah, Zusanette to my office, will you Steve. I'll be +there in a minute." + +He opened the door to the anteroom and said, "LaVerne, we've got a girl in +my office--" + +"Why, Larry!" + +He glowered at her. "A suspect. I want a complete tape of everything said. +As soon as we're through, have copies made, at least three or four." + +"And, who, Mr. Woolford, was your girl Friday last year?" + +"This is important, honey. I suppose you've supplied me with a secretary +but I haven't even met her yet. Take care of it, will you?" + +"Sure enough, Larry." + +He followed Steve and the girl to his office. + +Once seated, the girl and Steve in the only two extra chairs the cubicle +boasted and Larry behind his desk, he looked at her in what he hoped was +reassurance. "Just tell us where you got the money, Zusanette." + +Steve reached out a hand suddenly and took her bag from her lap. She +gasped and snatched at it, but he eluded her and she sat back, her chin +trembling again. + +Steve came up with a thick sheaf of bills, the top ones, at least, all +fifties and tossed them to Larry's desk. He took out a school pass and +read, "Susan Self, Elwood Avenue." He looked up at Larry and said, "That's +right off Eastern, near Paterson Park in the Baltimore section of town, +isn't it?" + +Larry said to her, "Zusanette, I think you'd better tell us where you got +all this money." + +"I found it," she said defiantly. "You can't do anything to me if I simply +found it. Anybody can find money. Finders keepers--" + +"But if it's counterfeit," Steve interrupted dryly, "it might also be, +finders weepers." + +"Where did you find it, Zusanette?" Larry said gently. + +She tightened her lips, and the trembling of her chin disappeared. "I ... +I can't tell you that. But it's not counterfeit. Daddy ... my father said +it was as good as any money the government prints." + +"That it is," Steve said sourly. "But it's still counterfeit, which makes +it very illegal indeed to spend, Miss Self." + +She looked from one of them to the other, not clear about her position. +She said to Larry, "You mean it's not _real_ money?" + +He kept his tone disarming, but shook his head, "I'm afraid not, +Zusanette. Now, tell us, where did you find it?" + +"I can't. I promised" + +"I see. Then you don't know to whom it originally belonged?" + +"It didn't belong to anybody." + +Steve Hackett made with a disbelieving whistle. He was taking the part of +the tough, suspicious cop; Larry the part of the understanding, +sympathetic officer, trying to give the suspect a break. + +Susan Self turned quickly on Steve. "Well, it didn't. You don't even +know." + +Larry said, "I think she's telling the truth, Steve. Give her a chance. +She's playing fair." He looked back at the girl, and frowned his +puzzlement. "All money belongs to _somebody_ doesn't it?" + +She had them now. She said superiorly. "Not necessarily to some_body_. It +can belong to, like, an organization." + +Steve grunted skepticism. "I think we ought to arrest her," he said. + +Larry held up a hand, his face registering opposition. "I'll handle this," +he said sharply. "Zusanette is doing everything she can to co-operate." He +turned back to the girl. "Now, the question is, what organization did this +money belong to?" + +She looked triumphantly at Steve Hackett. "It belonged to the Movement." + +They both looked at her. + +Steve said finally, "What movement?" + +She pouted in thought. "That's the only name they call it." + +"Who's they?" Steve snapped nastily. + +"I ... I don't know." + +Larry said, "Well, you already told us your father was a member, +Zusanette." + +Her eyes went wide. "I did? I shouldn't have said that." But she evidently +took him at his word. + +Larry said encouragingly, "Well, we might as well go on. Who else is a +member of this Movement besides your father?" + +She shifted in her chair uncomfortably. "I don't know any of their names." + +Steve looked down at the school pass in his hands. He said to Larry, "I'd +better make a phone call." + +He left. + + ------------------------------------- + +Larry said, "Don't worry about him, Zusanette. Now then, this _movement_. +That's kind of a funny name, isn't it? What does it mean?" + +She was evidently glad that the less than handsome Steve Hackett had left +the room. Her words flowed more freely. "Well, Daddy says that they call +it the Movement rather than a revolution...." + +An ice cube manifested itself in the stomach of Lawrence Woolford. + +"... Because people get conditioned, like, to words. Like revolution. +Everybody is against the word because they all think of killing and +everything, and, Daddy says, there doesn't have to be any shooting or +killing or anything like that at all. It just means a fundamental change +in society. And, Daddy says, take the word propaganda. Everybody's got to +thinking that it automatically means lies, but it doesn't at all. It just +means, like, the arguments you use to convince people that what you stand +for is right and it might be lies or it might not. And, Daddy says, take +the word socialism. So many people have the wrong idea of what it means +that the socialists ought to scrap the word and start using something else +to mean what they stand for." + +Larry said gently, "Your father is a socialist?" + +"Oh, no." + +He nodded in understanding. "Oh, a Communist, eh?" + +Susan Self was indignant. "Daddy thinks the Communists are strictly awful, +really weird." + +Steve Hackett came back into the office. He said to Larry, "I sent a +couple of the boys out to pick him up." + +Susan was on her feet, a hand to mouth. "You mean my father! You're going +to arrest him!" + +Larry said soothingly, "Sit down, Zusanette. There's a lot of things about +this that I'm sure your father can explain." He said to Steve, "She tells +me that the money belonged to a movement. A revolutionary movement which +doesn't use the term revolutionary because people react unfavorably to +that word. It's not Commie." + +Susan said indignantly, "It's American, not anything foreign!" + +Steve growled, "Let's get back to the money. What's this movement doing +with a lot of counterfeit bills and where did you find them?" + +She evidently figured she'd gone too far now to take a stand. "It's not +Daddy's fault," she said. "He took me to headquarters twice." + +"Where's headquarters?" Larry said trying to keep his voice soothing. + +"Well ... I don't know. Daddy was awfully silly about it. He tied his +handkerchief around my eyes near the end. But the others complained about +me anyway, and Daddy got awfully mad and said something about the young +people of the country participating in their emancipation and all, but the +others got mad too, and said there wasn't any kind of help I could do +around headquarters anyway, and I'd be better off in school. Everybody got +awfully mad, but after the second time Daddy promised not to take me to +headquarters any more." + +"But where did you find the money, Zusannette?" Larry said. + +"At headquarters. There's tons and tons of it there." + +Larry cleared his throat and said, "When you say tons and tons, you mean a +great deal of it, eh?" + +She was proudly definite. "I mean tons and tons. A ton is two thousand +pounds." + +"Look, Zusanette," Larry said reasonably. "I don't know how much money +weighs, exactly, but let's say a pound would be, say, a thousand bills." +He took up a pencil and scribbled on a pad before him. "A pound of fifties +would be $50,000. Then if you multiply that by 2,000 pounds to make a ton, +you'd have $100,000,000. And you say there's tons and tons?" + +"And that's just the fifties," Susan said triumphantly. "So you can see +the two little packages I picked up aren't really important at all. It's +just like I found them." + +"I don't think there's quite a thousand bills in a pound," Steve said +weakly. + +Larry said, "How much other money is there?" + +"Oh, piles. Whole rooms. Rooms after rooms. And hundred dollar bills, and +twenties, and fives, and tens--" + +Larry said, "Look, Zusanette, I don't think you're in any position to be +telling us whoppers. This whole story doesn't make much 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. + +"I have an idea that's for me," Steve said. + +The screen lit up and LaVerne Polk said, "Call for Steve Hackett, Larry." + +Larry pushed the phone around so Steve could look into it. LaVerne flicked +off and was replaced by a stranger in uniform. Steve said, "Yeah?" + +The cop said, "He's 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." + +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 +will happen to you. You say you managed to pick up two packets of all this +money they have at headquarters. O.K. So you thought it wouldn't be missed +and you've always wanted to spend money the way you see the stars do on +TriD and in the movies." + +She looked at him, taken back. "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 said 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 still again. + + ------------------------------------- + +Larry summed it up for the Boss later. + +His chief scoffed his disbelief. "The child is full of dreams, Lawrence. +It comes from seeing an over-abundance of these TriD 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 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, but I'm not +happy about this, sir. 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 handfuls 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 against whatever the current government happens to be. +Usually, they are on the point of actual starvation. 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 dryly, +"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 tolerance--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 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 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, Washington. Or the French Revolution with Robespierre, Danton, +Marat, Engels and Lenin. All were well educated intellectuals from the +middle class. But the revolution itself, once it starts, comes from below, +from the mass of people pushed beyond tolerance." + +It came to Lawrence Woolford that his superior had achieved to 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 trouble shooter 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. 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 an 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 sixteen or seventeen old's 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 on the St. John's River. + +He stopped at LaVerne's desk and gave her his address to be, now that his +vacation was resumed. + +She said, smiling up at him. "Right. The boss already told me to get in +touch with Secret Service and let them know we're pulling out. What +happened to Susan Self?" + +Larry looked at her. "How'd you know about Susan?" + +Her tone was deprecating. "Remember? You had me cut some tapes on you and +that hulking Steve Hackett grilling the poor kid." + +Larry snorted. "Poor kid, yet. With her tastes for living-it-up, and that +father she has, she'll probably spend the rest of her life getting in +Steve's hair as a counterfeit pusher." + +"What are they going to do with her? She's just a child." + +The agent shrugged. "I feel sorry for her, too, LaVerne. Steve's got her +in a suite at the Greater Washington Hilton, until things are cleared up. +They don't want the newspapers to get wind of this until they've got that +inventor father of hers and whatever he's cooked up to turn out perfect +reproductions of Uncle Sam's money. Look, I won't be leaving until +tomorrow. What'd you say we go out on the town tonight?" + +"Why, Larry Woolford! How nice of you to ask me. Poor Little, Non-U me. +What do you have in mind? I understand Mort Lenny's at one of the night +clubs." + +Larry winced. "You know what he's been saying about the administration." + +She smiled sweetly at him. + +Larry said, "Look, we could take in the Brahms concert, then--" + +"Do you like Brahms? I go for popular music myself. Preferably the sort of +thing they wrote back in the 1930s. Something you can dance to, something +you know the words to. Corny, they used to call it. Remember 'Sunny Side +of the Street,' and 'Just the Way You Look Tonight'." + +Larry winced again. He said, "Look, I admit, I don't go for concerts +either but it doesn't hurt you to--" + +"I know," she said sweetly. "It doesn't hurt for a bright young bureaucrat +to be seen at concerts." + +"How about Dixieland?" he said. "It's all the thing now." + +"I like corn. Besides, my wardrobe is all out of style. Paris, London, and +Rome just got in a huddle a couple of weeks ago and antiquated everything +I own. You wouldn't want to be seen with a girl a few weeks out of date, +would you?" + +"Oh, now, LaVerne, get off my back." He thought about it. "Look, you must +have _something_ you could wear." + +"Get out of here, you vacant minded conformist! I _like_ Mort Lenny, he +makes me laugh; I _hate_ vodka martinis, they give me sour stomach; I +don't _like_ the current women's styles, nor the men's either." LaVerne +spun back to her auto-typer and began to dictate into it. + +Larry glared down at her. "All right. O.K. What _do_ you like?" + +She snapped back irrationally, "I like what _I_ like." + +He laughed at her in ridicule. + +This time she glared at him. "That makes more sense than you're capable of +assimilating, Mr. Walking Status Symbol. My likes and dislikes aren't +dictated by someone else. If I like corny music, I'll listen to it and the +devil with Brahms or Dixieland or anything else that somebody else tells +me is all the thing!" + +He turned on his heel angrily. "O.K., O.K., it takes all sorts to make a +world, weirds and all." + +"One more label to hang on people," she snarled after him. "Everything's +labels. Be sure and never come to any judgments of your own!" + +What a woman! He wondered why he'd ever bothered to ask her for a date. +There were so many women in this town you waded through them, and here he +was exposing himself to be seen in public with a girl everybody in the +department knew was as weird as they came. It didn't do your standing any +good to be seen around with the type. He wondered all over again why the +Boss tolerated her as his receptionist-secretary. + +He got his car from the parking lot and drove home at a high level. +Ordinarily, the distance being what it was, he drove in the lower and +slower traffic levels but now his frustration demanded some expression. + + ------------------------------------- + +Back at his suburban auto-bungalow, he threw all except the high priority +switch and went on down into his small second cellar den. He didn't really +feel like a night on the town anyway. A few vodka martinis under his belt +and he'd sleep late and he wanted to get up in time for an early start for +Florida. Besides, in that respect he agreed with the irritating wench. +Vermouth was never meant to mix with Polish vodka. He wished that Sidecars +would come back. + +In his den, he shucked off his jacket, kicked off his shoes and shuffled +into Moroccan slippers. He went over to his current reading rack and +scowled at the paperbacks there. His culture status books were upstairs +where they could be seen. He pulled out a western, tossed it over to the +cocktail table that sat next to his chair, and then went over to the bar. + +Up above in his living room, he had one of the new autobars. You could +dial any one of more than thirty drinks. Autobars were all the rage. The +Boss had one that gave a selection of a hundred. But what difference did +it make when nobody but eccentric old-timers or flighty blondes drank +anything except vodka martinis? He didn't like autobars anyway. A well +mixed drink is a personal thing, a work of competence, instinct and art, +not something measured to the drop, iced to the degree, shaken or stirred +to a mathematical formula. + +Out of the tiny refrigerator he brought a four-ounce cube of frozen +pineapple juice, touched the edge with his thumbnail and let the ultra +thin plastic peel away. He tossed the cube into his mixer, took up a +bottle of light rum and poured in about two ounces. He brought an egg from +the refrigerator and added that. An ounce of whole milk followed and a +teaspoon of powdered sugar. He flicked the switch and let the +conglomeration froth together. + +He poured it into a king-size highball glass and took it over to his +chair. Vodka martinis be damned, he liked a slightly sweet long drink. + +He sat down in the chair, picked up the book and scowled at the cover. He +ought to be reading that Florentine history of Machiavelli's, especially +if the Boss had got to the point where he was quoting from the guy. But +the heck with it, he was on vacation. He didn't think much of the Italian +diplomat of the Renaissance anyway; how could you be that far back without +being dated? + +He couldn't get beyond the first page or two. + +And when you can't concentrate on a Western, you just can't concentrate. + +He finished his drink, went over to his phone and dialed _Department of +Records_ and then _Information_. When the bright young thing answered, he +said, "I'd like the brief on an Ernest Self who lives on Elwood Avenue, +Baltimore section of Greater Washington. I don't know his code number." + +She did things with switches and buttons for a moment and then brought a +sheet from a delivery chute. "Do you want me to read it to you, sir?" + +"No, I'll scan it," Larry said. + +Her face faded to be replaced by the brief on Ernest Self. + +It was astonishingly short. _Records_ seemed to have slipped up on this +occasion. A rare occurrence. He considered requesting the full dossier, +then changed his mind. Instead he dialed the number of the _Sun-Post_ and +asked for its science columnist. + +Sam Sokolski's puffy face eventually faded in. + +Larry said to him sourly, "You drink too much. You can begin to see the +veins breaking in your nose." + +Sam looked at him patiently. + +Larry said, "How'd you like to come over and toss back a few tonight?" + +"I'm working. I thought you were on vacation." + +Larry sighed. "I am," he said. "O.K., so you can't take a night off and +lift a few with an old buddy." + +"That's right. Anything else, Larry?" + +"Yes. Look, have you ever heard of an inventor named Ernest Self?" + +"Sure I've heard of him. Covered a hassle he got into some years ago. A +nice guy." + +"I'll bet," Larry said. "What does he invent, something to do with +printing presses, or something?" + +"Printing presses? Don't you remember the story about him?" + +"Brief me," Larry said. + +"Well--briefly does it--it got out a couple of years ago that some of our +rocketeers had bought a solid fuel formula from an Italian research outfit +for the star probe project. Paid them a big hunk of Uncle's change for it. +So Self sued." + +Larry said, "You're being _too_ brief. What d'ya mean, he sued? Why?" + +"Because he claimed he'd submitted the same formula to the same agency a +full eighteen months earlier and they'd turned him down." + +"Had he?" + +"Probably." + +Larry didn't get it. "Then why'd they turn him down?" + +Sam said, "Oh, the government boys had a good alibi. Crackpots turn up all +over the place and you have to brush them off. Every cellar scientist who +comes along and says he's got a new super-fuel developed from old coffee +grounds can't be given the welcome mat. Something was wrong with his math +or something and they didn't pay much attention to him. Wouldn't even let +him demonstrate it. But it was the same formula, all right." + +Larry Woolford was scowling. "Something wrong with his math? What kind of +a degree does he have?" + +Sam grinned in memory. "I got a good quote on that. He doesn't have any +degree. He said he'd learned to read by the time he'd reached high school +and since then he figured spending time in classrooms was a matter of +interfering with his education." + +"No wonder they turned him down. No degree at all. You can't get anywhere +in science like that." + +Sam said, "The courts rejected his suit but he got a certain amount of +support here and there. Peter Voss, over at the university, claims he's +one of the great intuitive scientists, whatever that is, of our +generation." + +"Who said that?" + +"Professor Voss. Not that it makes any difference what he says. Another +crackpot." + +After Sam's less than handsome face was gone from the phone, Larry walked +over to the bar with his empty glass and stared at the mixer for several +minutes. He began to make himself another flip, but cut it short in the +middle, put down the ingredients and went back to the phone to dial +_Records_ again. + +He went through first the brief and then the full dossier on Professor +Peter Luther Voss. Aside from his academic accomplishments, particularly +in the fields of political economy and international law, and the dozen or +so books accredited to him, there wasn't anything particularly noteworthy. +A bachelor in his fifties. No criminal record of any kind, of course, and +no military career. No known political affiliations. Evidently a strong +predilection for Thorstein Veblen's theories. And he'd been a friend of +Henry Mencken back when that old nonconformist was tearing down +contemporary society seemingly largely for the fun involved in the +tearing. + +On the face of it, the man was no radical, and the term "crackpot" which +Sam had applied was hardly called for. + +Larry Woolford went back to the bar and resumed the job of mixing his own +version of a rum flip. + +But his heart wasn't in it. _The Professor_, Susan had said. + + ------------------------------------- + +Before he'd gone to bed the night before, Larry Woolford had ordered a +seat on the shuttle jet for Jacksonville and a hover-cab there to take him +to Astor, on the St. Johns River. And he'd requested to be wakened in +ample time to get to the shuttleport. + +But it wasn't the saccharine pleasant face of the Personal Service +operator which confronted him when he grumpily answered the phone in the +morning. In fact, the screen remained blank. + +Larry decided that sweet long drinks were fine, but that anyone who took +several of them in a row needed to be candied. He grumbled into the phone, +"All right, who is it?" + +A Teutonic voice chuckled and said, "You're going to have to decide +whether or not you're on vacation, my friend. At this time of day, why +aren't you at work?" + +Larry Woolford was waking up. He said, "What can I do for you, +Distelmayer?" The German merchant-of-espionage wasn't the type to make +personal calls. + +"Have you forgotten so soon, my friend?" the other chuckled. "It was I who +was going to do you a favor." He hesitated momentarily, before adding, "In +possible return for future--" + +"Yeah, yeah," Larry said. He was fully awake now. + +The German said slowly, "You asked if any of your friends from, ah, abroad +were newly in the country. Frol Eivazov has recently appeared on the +scene." + +Eivazov! In various respects, Larry Woolford's counterpart. Hatchetman for +the _Chrezvychainaya Komissiya_. Woolford had met him on occasion when +they'd both been present at international summit meetings, busily working +at counter-espionage for their respective superiors. Blandly shaking hands +with each other, blandly drinking toasts to peace and international +co-existence, blandly sizing each other up and wondering if it'd ever come +to the point where one would _blandly_ treat the other to a hole in the +head, possibly in some dark alley in Havana or Singapore, Leopoldville or +Saigon. + +Larry said sharply, "Where is he? How'd he get in the country?" + +"My friend, my friend," the German grunted good-humoredly. "You know +better than to ask the first question. As for the second, Frol's command +of American-English is at least as good as your own. Do you think his +_Komissiya_ less capable than your own department and unable to do him up +suitable papers so that he could be, perhaps, a 'returning tourist' from +Europe?" + +Larry Woolford was impatient with himself for asking. He said now, "It's +not important. If we want to locate Frol and pick him up, we'll probably +not have too much trouble doing it." + +"I wouldn't think so," the other said humorously. "Since 1919, when they +were first organized, the so-called Communists in this country, from the +lowest to the highest echelons, have been so riddled with police agents +that a federal judge in New England once refused to prosecute a case +against them on the grounds that the party was a United States government +agency." + +Larry was in no frame of mind for the other's heavy humor. "Look, Hans," +he said, "what I want to know is what Frol is over here for." + +"Of course you do," Hans Distelmayer said, unable evidently to keep note +of puzzlement from his voice. "Larry," he said, "I assume your people know +of the new American underground." + +"_What_ underground?" Larry snapped. + +The professional spy chief said, his voice strange, "The Soviets seem to +have picked up an idea somewhere, possibly through their membership in +this country, that something is abrewing in the States. That a change is +being engineered." + +Larry stared at the blank phone screen. + +"What kind of a change?" he said finally. "You mean a change to the Soviet +system?" Surely not even the self-deluding Russkies could think it +possible to overthrow the American socio-economic system in favor of the +Soviet brand. + +"No, no, no," the German chuckled. "Of course not. It's not of their +working at all." + +"Then what's Frol Eivazov's interest, if they aren't engineering it?" + +Distelmayer rumbled his characteristic chuckle with humor. "My dear +friend, don't be naive. Anything that happens in America is of interest to +the Soviets. There is delicate peace between you now that they have +changed their direction and are occupying themselves largely with the +economic and agricultural development of Asia and such portions of the +world as have come under their hegemony, and while you put all efforts +into modernizing the more backward countries among your satellites." + +Larry said automatically, "Our allies aren't satellites." + +The spy-master went on without contesting the statement. "There is +immediate peace but surely governmental officials on both sides keep +careful watch on the internal developments of the other. True, the current +heads of the Soviet Complex would like to see the governments of all the +Western powers changed--but only if they are changed in the direction of +communism. They are hardly interested in seeing changes made which would +strengthen the West in the, ah, Battle For Men's Minds." + +Larry snorted his disgust. "What sort of change in government would +strengthen the United States in--" + +The German interrupted smoothly, "Evidently, that's what Frol seems to be +here for, Larry. To find out more about this movement and--" + +"This _what_?" Larry blurted. + +"The term seems to be _movement_." + +Larry Woolford held a long silence before saying, "And Frol is actually +here in this country to buck this ... this movement." + +"Not necessarily," the other said impatiently. "He is here to find out +more about it. Evidently Peking and Moscow have heard just enough to make +them nervous." + +Larry said, "You have anything more, Hans?" + +"I'm afraid that's about it." + +"All right," Larry said. He added absently, "Thanks, Hans." + +"Thank me some day with deeds, not with words," the German chuckled. + + ------------------------------------- + +Larry Woolford looked at his watch and grimaced. He was either going to +get going now or forget about doing any fishing in Florida this afternoon. + +Grudgingly, he dialed the phone company's Personal Service and said to the +impossibly cheerful blonde who answered, "Where can I find Professor Peter +Voss who teaches over at the University in Baltimore? I don't want to talk +with him, just want to know where he'll be an hour from now." + +While waiting for his information, he dressed, deciding inwardly that he +hated his job, the department in which he was employed, the Boss and +Greater Washington. On top of that, he hated himself. He'd already been +taken off this assignment, why couldn't he leave it lay? + +The blonde rang him back. Professor Peter Voss was at home. He had no +classes today. She gave him the address. + +Larry Woolford raised his car from his auto-bungalow in the Brandywine +suburb and headed northwest at a high level for the old Baltimore section +of the city. + +The Professor's house, he noted, was of an earlier day and located on the +opposite side of Paterson Park from Elwood avenue, the street on which +Susan Self and her father had resided. That didn't necessarily hold +significance, the park was a large one and the Professor's section a +well-to-do neighborhood, while Self's was just short of a slum these days. + +He brought his car down to street level, and parked before the scholar's +three-story, brick house. Baltimore-like, it was identical to every other +house in the block; Larry wondered vaguely how anybody ever managed to +find his own place when it was very dark out. + +There was an old-fashioned bell at the side of the entrance and Larry +Woolford pushed it. There was no identification screen in the door, +evidently the inhabitants had to open up to see who was calling, a tiring +chore if you were on the far side of the house and the caller nothing more +than a salesman. + +It was obviously the Professor himself who answered. + +He was in shirtsleeves, tieless and with age-old slippers on his +stockingless feet. He evidently hadn't bothered to shave this morning and +he held a dog-earred pamphlet in his right hand, his forefinger tucked in +it to mark his place. He wore thick-lensed, gold-rimmed glasses through +which he blinked at Larry Woolford questioningly, without speaking. +Professor Peter Voss was a man in his mid fifties, and, on the face of it, +couldn't care less right now about his physical appearance. + +A weird, Larry decided immediately. He wondered at the University, one of +the nation's best, keeping on such a figure. + +"Professor Voss?" he said. "Lawrence Woolford." He brought forth his +identification. + +The Professor blinked down at it. "I see," he said. "Won't you come in?" + +The house was old, all right. From the outside, quite acceptable, but the +interior boasted few of the latest amenities which made all the difference +in modern existence. Larry was taken back by the fact that the phone which +he spotted in the _entrada_ hadn't even a screen--an old model for speaking +only. + +The Professor noticed his glance and said dryly, "The advantages of +combining television and telephone have never seemed valid to me. In my +own home, I feel free to relax, as you can observe. Had I a screen on my +phone, it would be necessary for me to maintain the same appearance as I +must on the streets or before my classes." + +Larry cleared his throat without saying anything. This was a weird one, +all right. + +The living room was comfortable in a blatantly primitive way. Three or +four paintings on the walls which were probably originals, Larry decided, +and should have been in museums. Not an abstract among them. A Grant Wood, +a Marin, and that over there could only be a Grandma Moses. The sort of +things you might keep in your private den, but hardly to be seen as +culture symbols. + +The chairs were large, of leather, and comfortable and probably belonged +to the period before the Second War. Peter Voss, evidently, was little +short of an exhibitionist. + +The Professor took up a battered humidor. "Cigar?" he said. "Manila. Hard +to get these days." + +A cigar? Good grief, the man would be offering him a chaw of tobacco next. + +"Thanks, no," Larry said. "I smoke a pipe." + +"I see," the Professor said, lighting his stogie. "Do you really like a +pipe? Personally, I've always thought the cigar by far the most +satisfactory method of taking tobacco." + +What can you say to a question like that? Larry ignored it, as though it +was rhetorical. Actually, he smoked cigarettes in the privacy of his den. +A habit which was on the proletarian side and not consistent with his +status level. + +He said, to get things under way, "Professor Voss, what is an intuitive +scientist?" + +The Professor exhaled blue smoke, shook out the old-time kitchen match +with which he'd lit it, and tossed the matchstick into an ashtray. +"Intuitive scientist?" + +"You once called Ernest Self a great intuitive scientist." + +"Oh, Self. Yes, indeed. What is he doing these days?" + +Larry said wryly, "That's what I came to ask you about." + +The Professor was puzzled. "I'm afraid you came to the wrong place, Mr. +Woolford. I haven't seen Ernest for quite a time. Why?" + +"Some of his researches seem to have taken him rather far afield. +Actually, I know practically nothing about him. I wonder if you could fill +me in a bit." + +Peter Voss looked at the ash on the end of his cigar. "I really don't know +the man that well. He lives across the park. Why don't--" + +"He's disappeared," Larry said. + +The Professor blinked. "I see," he said. "And in view of the fact that you +are a security officer, I assume under strange circumstances." Larry +Woolford said nothing and the Professor sank back into his chair and +pursed his lips. "I can't really tell you much. I became interested in +Self two or three years ago when gathering materials for a paper on the +inadequate manner in which our country rewards its inventors." + +Larry said, "I've heard about his suit against the government." + +The Professor became more animated. "Ha!" he snorted. "One example among +many. Self is not alone. Our culture is such that the genius is smothered. +The great contributors to our society are ignored, or worse." + +Larry Woolford was feeling his way. Now he said mildly, "I was under the +impression that American free enterprise gave the individual the best +opportunity to prove himself and that if he had it on the ball he'd get to +the top." + +"Were you really?" the Professor said snappishly. "And did you know that +Edison died a comparatively poor man with an estate somewhere in the +vicinity of a hundred thousand dollars? An amount that might sound like a +good deal to you or me, but, when you consider his contributions, +shockingly little. Did you know that Eli Whitney realized little, if +anything, from the cotton gin? Or that McCormick didn't invent the reaper +but gained it in a dubious court victory? Or take Robert Goddard, one of +the best examples of modern times. He developed the basics of rocket +technology--gyroscopic stabilizers, fuel pumps, self-cooling motors, +landing devices. He died in 1945 leaving behind twenty-two volumes of +records that proved priceless. What did he get out of his researches? +Nothing. It was fifteen years later that his widow won her suit against +the government for patent infringements!" + + [Illustration.] + +Larry held up a hand. "Really," he said. "My interest is in Ernest Self." + +The Professor relaxed. "Sorry. I'm afraid I get carried away. Self, to get +back to your original question, is a great intuitive scientist. +Unfortunately for him, society being what it is today, he fits into few +grooves. Our educational system was little more than an irritation to him +and consequently he holds no degrees. Needless to say, this interfered +with his gaining employment with the universities and the large +corporations which dominate our country's research, not to mention +governmental agencies. + +"Ernest Self holds none of the status labels that count. The fact that he +is a genius means nothing. He is supposedly qualified no more than to hold +a janitor's position in laboratories where his inferiors conduct +experiments in fields where he is a dozenfold more capable than they. No +one is interested in his genius, they want to know what status labels are +pinned to him. Ernest has no respect for labels." + + ------------------------------------- + +Larry Woolford figured he was picking up background and didn't force a +change of subject. "Just what do you mean by intuitive scientist?" + +"It's a term I have used loosely," the Professor admitted. "Possibly a +scientist who makes a break-through in his field, destroying formerly held +positions--in Self's case, without the math, without the accepted theories +to back him. He finds something that works, possibly without knowing why +or how and by using unorthodox analytical techniques. An intuitive +scientist, if I may use the term, is a thorn in the side of our +theoretical physicists laden down with their burden of a status label but +who are themselves short of the makings of a Leonardo, a Newton, a +Galileo, or even a Nicholas Christofilos." + +"I'm afraid that last name escapes me," Larry said. + +"Similar to Self's case and Robert Goddard's," Voss said, his voice +bitter. "Although his story has a better ending. Christofilos invented the +strong-focusing principle that made possible the multi-billion-volt +particle accelerators currently so widely used in nuclear physics +experimentation. However, he was nothing but a Greek elevator electrical +system engineer and the supposed experts turned him down on the grounds +that his math was faulty. It seems that he submitted the idea in +straight-algebra terms instead of differential equations. He finally won +through after patenting the discovery and rubbing their noses in it. +Previously, none of the physics journals would publish his paper--he didn't +have the right status labels to impress them." + +Larry said, almost with amusement, "You seem to have quite a phobia +against the status label, as you call it. However, I don't see how as +complicated a world as ours could get along without it." + +The Professor snorted his contempt. "Tell me," he said, "to which class do +you consider yourself to belong?" + +Larry Woolford shrugged. "I suppose individuals in my bracket are usually +thought of as being middle-middle class." + +"And you have no feeling of revolt in having such a label hung on you? +Consider this system for a moment. You have lower-lower, middle-lower, and +upper-lower; then you have lower-middle, middle-middle, upper-middle; then +you have lower-upper, middle-upper, and finally we achieve to upper-upper +class. Now tell me, when we get to that rarified category, who do we find? +Do we find an Einstein, a Schweitzer, a Picasso; outstanding scientists, +humanitarians, the great writers, artists and musicians of our day? +Certainly not. We find ultra-wealthy playboys and girls, a former king and +his duchess who eke out their income by accepting fees to attend parties, +the international born set, bearers of meaningless feudalistic titles. +These are your upper-upper class!" + +Larry laughed. + +The Professor snapped, "You think it funny? Let me give you another +example of our status label culture. I have a friend whom I have known +since childhood. I would estimate that Charles has an I.Q. of +approximately 90, certainly no more. His family, however, took such +necessary steps as were needed to get Charles through public school. No +great matter these days, you'll admit, although on occasion he needed a +bit of tutoring. On graduation, they recognized that the really better +schools might be a bit difficult for Charles so he was entered in a +university with a good name but without--shall we say?--the highest of +scholastic ratings. Charles plodded along, had some more tutoring, +probably had his thesis ghosted, and eventually graduated. At that point +an uncle died and left Charles an indefinite amount to be used in +furthering his education to any extent he wished to go. Charles, motivated +probably by the desire to avoid obtaining a job and competing with his +fellow man, managed to wrangle himself into a medical school and +eventually even graduated. Since funds were still available, he continued +his studies abroad, largely in Vienna." + +The Professor wound it up. "Eventually, he ran out of schools, or his +uncle's estate ran out--I don't know which came first. At any rate, my +friend Charles, laden down with status labels, is today practicing as a +psychiatrist in this fair city of ours." + +Larry stared at him blankly. + +The Professor said snappishly, "So any time you feel you need to have your +brains unscrambled, you can go to his office and expend twenty-five +dollars an hour or so. His reputation is of the highest." The Professor +grunted his contempt. "He doesn't know the difference between an aspirin +tablet and a Rorschach test." + +Larry Woolford stirred in his chair. "We seem to have gotten far off the +subject. What has this got to do with Self?" + +The Professor seemed angry. "I repeat, I'm afraid I get carried away on +this subject. I'm in revolt against a culture based on the status label. +It eliminates the need to judge a man on his merits. To judge a person by +the clothes he wears, the amount of money he possesses, the car he drives, +the neighborhood in which he lives, the society he keeps, or even his +ancestry, is out of the question in a vital, growing society. You wind up +with nonentities as the leaders of your nation. In these days, we can't +afford it." + +He smiled suddenly, rather elfishly, at the security agent. "But +admittedly, this deals with Self only as one of many victims of a culture +based on status labels. Just what is it you wanted to know about Ernest?" + +"When you knew him, evidently he was working on rocket fuels. Have you any +idea whether he later developed a method of producing perfect +counterfeit?" + +The Professor said, "Ernest Self? Surely you are jesting." + +Larry said unhappily, "Then here's another question. Have you ever heard +him mention belonging to a movement, or, I think, he might word it _The +Movement_." + +"Movement?" the Professor said emptily. + +"Evidently a revolutionary group interested in the overthrow of the +government." + +"Good heavens," the Professor said. "Just a moment, Mr. Woolford. You +interrupted me just as I was having my second cup of coffee. Do you mind +if I--" + +"Certainly not," Woolford shook his head. + +"I simply can't get along until after my third cup," the Professor said. +"You just wait a moment and I'll bring the pot in here." + +He left Larry to sit in the combined study and living room while he +shuffled off in his slippers to the kitchen. Larry Woolford decided that +in his school days he'd had some far out professors himself, but it would +really be something to study under this one. Not that the old boy didn't +have some points, of course. Almost all nonconformists base their +particular peeves on some actuality, but in this case, what was the +percentage? How could you buck the system? Particularly when, largely, it +worked. + + ------------------------------------- + +The Professor returned with an old-fashioned coffeepot, two cups, and +sugar and cream on a tray. He put them on a side table and said to Larry, +"You'll join me? How do you take it?" + +Larry still had the slightest of hang-overs from his solitary drinking of +the night before. "Thanks. Make it black," he said. + +The Professor poured, served, then did up a cup for himself. He sat back +in his chair and said, "Now, where were we? Something about a +revolutionary group. What has that to do with counterfeiting?" + +Larry sipped the strong coffee. "It seems there might be a connection." + +The Professor shook his head. "It's hard to imagine Ernest Self being +connected with a criminal pursuit." + +Larry said carefully, "Susan seemed to be of the opinion that you knew +about a large amount of counterfeit currency that this Movement had on +hand and that you were in favor of spending it upon chorus girls." + +The Professor gaped at him. + +Larry chuckled uncomfortably. + +Professor Voss said finally, his voice very even, "My dear sir, I am +afraid that I evidently can be of little assistance to you." + +"Admittedly, it doesn't seem to make much sense." + +"Susan--you mean that little sixteen year old?--said _I_ was in favor of +spending counterfeit money on chorus girls?" + +Larry said unhappily, "She used the term _the Professor_." + +"And why did you assume that the title must necessarily allude to me? Even +if any of the rest of the fantastic story was true." + +Larry said, "In my profession, Professor Voss, we track down every +possible clue. Thus far, you are the only professor of whom we know who +was connected with Ernest Self." + +Voss said stiffly, "I can only say, sir, that in my estimation Mr. Self is +a man of the highest integrity. And, in addition, that I have never spent +a penny on a chorus girl in my life and have no intention of beginning, +counterfeit or otherwise." + +Larry Woolford decided that he wasn't doing too well and that he'd need +more ammunition if he was going to return to this particular attack. He +was surprised that the old boy hadn't already ordered him from the house. + +He finished the coffee preparatory to coming to his feet. "Then you think +it's out of the question, Ernest Self belonging to a revolutionary +organization?" + +The Professor protested. "I didn't say that at all. Mr. Self is a man of +ideals. I can well see him belonging to such an organization." + +Larry Woolford decided he'd better hang on for at least a few more words. +"You don't seem to think, yourself, that a subversive organization is +undesirable in this country." + +The Professor's voice was reasonable. "Isn't that according to what it +means to subvert?" + +"You know what I mean," Woolford said in irritation. "I don't usually +think of revolutionists, even when they call themselves simply members of +a _movement_, as exactly idealists." + +"Then you're wrong," the Professor said definitely, pouring himself +another cup of coffee. "History bears out that almost invariably +revolutionists are men of idealism. The fact that they might be either +right or wrong in their revolutionary program is beside the point." + +Larry Woolford began to say, "Are you sure that you aren't interested in +this _move--_" + +But it was then that the knockout drops hit him. + + ------------------------------------- + +He came out of the fog feeling nausea and with his head splitting. He +groaned and opened one eye experimentally. + +Steve Hackett, far away, said, "He's snapping out of it." + +Larry groaned again, opened the other eye and attempted to focus. + +"What happened?" he muttered. + +"Now that's an original question," Steve said. + +Larry Woolford struggled up into a sitting position. He'd been stretched +out on a couch in the Professor's combined living room and study. + +Steve Hackett, his hands on his hips, was looking down at him +sarcastically. There were two or three others, one of whom Larry vaguely +remembered as being a Secret Service colleague of Steve's, going about and +in and out of the room. + +Larry said, his fingers pressing into his forehead, "My head's killing me. +Damn it, what's going on?" + +Steve said sarcastically, "You've been slipped a mickey, my cloak and +dagger friend, and the bird has flown." + +"You mean the Professor? He's a bird all right." + +"Humor we get, yet," Hackett said, his ugly face scowling. "Listen, I +thought you people had pulled out of this case." + +Larry sat up and swung his two feet around to the floor. "So did I," he +moaned, "but there were two or three things that bothered me and I thought +I'd tidy them up before leaving." + +"You tidied them up all right," Steve grumbled. "This Professor Voss was +practically the only lead I've been able to discover. An old friend of +Self's. And you allowed him to get away before we even got here." + +One of Hackett's men came up and said, "Not a sign of him, Steve. He +evidently burned a few papers, packed a suitcase, and took off. His things +look suspiciously as though he was ready to go into hiding at a moment's +notice." + +Steve growled to him, "Give the place the works. He's probably left some +clues around that'll give us a line." + +The other went off and Steve Hackett sat down in one of the leather chairs +and glowered at Larry Woolford. "Listen," he said, "what did you people +want with Susan Self?" + +Larry shook his head for clarity and looked at him. "Susan? What are you +talking about? You don't have any aspirin, do you?" + +"No. What'd you mean, what am I talking about? You called Betsy Hughes and +then sent a couple of men over to pick the Self kid up." + +"Who's Betsy Hughes?" + +Steve shook his head. "I don't know what kind of knockout drops the old +boy gave you, but they sure worked. Betsy's the operative we had minding +Susan Self over in the Greater Washington Hilton. About an hour ago you +got her on the phone, said your department wanted to question Susan, and +that you were sending two men over to pick her up. The two men turned up +with an order from you, and took the girl." + +Larry stared at him. Finally he said, "What time is it?" + +"About two o'clock." + +Larry said, "I came into this house in the morning, talked to the +Professor for about half an hour and then was silly enough to let him give +me some loaded coffee. He was such a weird old buzzard that it never +occurred to me he might be dangerous. At any rate, I've been unconscious +for several hours. I _couldn't've_ called this Betsy Hughes operative of +yours." + +It was Steve Hackett's turn to stare. + +"You mean your department doesn't have Susan Self?" + +"Not so far as I know. The Boss told me yesterday that we were pulling +out, that it was all in your hands. What would we want with Susan?" + +"Oh, great," Steve snarled. "There goes our last contact. Ernest Self, +Professor Voss, and now Susan Self; they've all disappeared." + +"Look," Larry said unhappily, "let's get me some aspirin and then let's go +and see my chief. I have a sneaking suspicion our department is back on +this case." + +Steve snorted sarcastically. "If you can foul things up this well when +you're off the case, God only knows what you'll accomplish using your +facilities on an all-out basis." + + ------------------------------------- + +The Boss said slowly, "Whoever we are working against evidently isn't +short of resources. Abducting that young lady was no simple matter." The +career diplomat worked his lips in and out, in all but a pout. + +Larry Woolford, who'd taken time out to go home, shower, change clothes +and medicate himself out of his dope induced hangover, sat across the desk +from him, flanked by Steve Hackett. + +The Boss said sourly, "It would seem that I was in error. That our young +Susan Self was not spouting fantasy. There evidently actually is an +underground movement interested in changing our institutions." He stirred +in his chair and his scowl went deeper. "And evidently working on a basis +never conceived of by subversive organizations of the past. The fact that +they have successfully remained secret even to this department is the +prime indication that they are attempting to make their revolutionary +changes in a unique manner." + +Larry said, "The trouble is, we don't even know what it is they want." + +"However," his superior said slowly, "we are beginning to get inklings." + +Steve Hackett said, "What inklings, sir? This sort of thing might be +routine for you people, but my field is counterfeit. I, frankly, don't +know what it's all about." + +The Boss looked at him. "We have a clue or two, Mr. Hackett. For one +thing, we know that this Movement of ours has no affiliations with the +Soviet Complex, nor, so far as we know, any foreign element whatsoever. If +we take Miss Self's word, it is strictly an American phenomenon. From what +little we know of Ernest Self and Peter Voss they might be in revolt +against some of our current institutions but there is no reason to believe +them, ah, _un-American_ in the usually accepted sense of the word." + +The two younger men looked at him as though he was joking. + +He shook his heavy head negatively. "Actually, what do we have on this +so-called Movement thus far? Aside from treating Lawrence, here, to some +knockout drops--and let us remember that Lawrence was present in the +Professor's home without a warrant--all we have is the suspicion that they +have manufactured a quantity of counterfeit." + +"A _quantity_ is right," Steve Hackett blurted. "If we're to accept what +that Self kid told us, they have a few billion dollars worth of perfect +bills on hand." + +"A strange amount for counterfeiters to produce," The Boss said +uncomfortably. "That is what puzzles me. Any revolutionary movement needs +funds. Remember Stalin as a young man? He used to be in charge of the +Bolshevik gang which robbed banks to raise funds for their underground +newspapers. But a billion dollars? What in the world can they expect to +need that amount for?" + +Larry said, "Sir, you keep talking as though these characters were a bunch +of idealistic do-gooders bleeding for the sake of the country. Actually, +from what we know, they're nothing but a bunch of revolutionists." + +The Boss was shaking his head. "You're not thinking clearly, Lawrence. +Revolution, _per se_, is not illegal in the United States. Our +Constitution was probably the first document of its kind which allowed for +its own amendment. The men who wrote it provided for changing it either +slightly or _in toto_. Whenever the majority of the American people decide +completely to abandon the Constitution and govern themselves by new laws, +they have the right to do it." + +"Then what's the whole purpose of this department, sir?" Larry argued. +"Why've we been formed to combat foreign and domestic subversion?" + +His chief sighed. "You shouldn't have to ask that, Lawrence. The present +government cannot oppose the will of the majority if it votes, by +constitutional methods, to make any changes it wishes. But we can, and do, +unmask the activities of anyone trying to overthrow the government by +force and violence. Any culture protects itself against that." + +"What are we getting at, sir?" Steve Hackett said, impatiently. + +The Boss shrugged. "I'm trying to point out that so far as my department +is concerned, thus far we have little against this Movement. Secret +Service may have, what with this wholesale counterfeiting, even though +thus far they seem to have made no attempt to pass the currency they have +allegedly manufactured. We wouldn't even know of it, weren't it for our +young Susan pilfering an amount." + +Larry said, desperately, "Sir, you just pointed out a few minutes ago that +this Movement is a secret organization trying to make changes in some +unique manner. In short, they don't figure on using the ballot to put over +their revolution. That makes them as illegal as the Commies, doesn't it?" + +The Boss said, "That's the difficulty; we don't know what they want. From +your conversations with Susan Self and especially Professor Voss, +evidently they think the country needs some basic changes. What these +changes are, and how they expect to accomplish them, we don't know. Unless +a foreign government is involved, or unless they plan to alter our +institutions by violence, this department just doesn't have much +jurisdiction." + +Steve Hackett snorted, "Secret Service does! If those bales of money the +Self kid told us about are ever put into circulation, there'll be hell to +pay." + +The Boss sighed. "Well," he said, "Lawrence can continue on the +assignment. If it develops in such manner as to indicate that this +department is justified in further investigation, we'll put more men on +it. Meanwhile, it is obviously more a Secret Service matter. I am sorry to +intrude upon your vacation again, Lawrence." + +On awakening in the morning, Larry Woolford stared glumly at the ceiling +for long moments before dragging himself from bed. This was, he decided, +the strangest assignment he'd ever been on. In his day he'd trekked +through South America, Common Europe, a dozen African states, and even +areas of Southern Asia, combatting Commie pressures here, fellow-traveler +organizations there, disrupting plots hatched in the Soviet Complex in the +other place. On his home grounds in the United States he'd covered +everything from out and out Soviet espionage, to exposing Communist +activities of complexions from the faintest of pinks to the rosiest +Trotskyite red. But, he decided he'd never expected to wind up after a +bunch of weirds whose sole actionable activity to date seemed to be the +counterfeiting of a fantastic amount of legal tender which thus far they +were making no attempt to pass. + +He got out of bed and went through the rituals of showering, shaving and +clothing, of coffee, sausage, and eggs, toast and more coffee. + +What amazed Larry Woolford was the shrug-it-off manner in which the Boss +seemed to accept this underground Movement and its admitted subversive +goals--whatever they were. Carry the Boss' reasoning to its ultimate and +subversion was perfectly all right, just as it didn't involve force and +violence. If he was in his chief's position, he would have thrown the full +resources of the department into tracking down these crackpots. As it was, +he, Larry Woolford was the only operative on the job. + +He needed a new angle on which to work. Steve Hackett was undoubtedly +handling the tracing down of the counterfeit with all the resources of the +Secret Service. Possibly there was some way of detecting the source of the +paper they'd used. + +He finished his final cup of coffee in the living room and took up the +pipe he was currently breaking in. He loaded it automatically from a +humidor and lit it with his pocket lighter. Three drags, and he tossed it +back to the table, fumbled in a drawer and located a pack of cigarettes. +Possibly his status group was currently smoking British briars in public, +but, let's face it, he hated the confounded things. + +He sat down before the phone and dialed the offices of the _Sun-Post_ and +eventually got Sam Sokolski who this time beat him to the punch. + +Sam said, "You shouldn't drink alone. Listen, Larry, why don't you get in +touch with Alcoholics Anonymous. It's a great outfit." + +"You ought to know," Larry growled. "Look, Sam, as science columnist for +that rag you work for you probably come in touch with a lot of eggheads." + +"Laddy-buck, you have said it," Sam said. + +"Fine. Now look, what I want to know is have you ever heard--even the +slightest of rumors--about an organization called the Movement?" + +"What'd'ya mean, slightest of rumors? Half the weirds I run into are +interested in the outfit. Get two or three intellectuals, scientists, +technicians, or what have you, together and they start knocking themselves +out on the pros and cons of the Movement." + +Larry Woolford stared at him. "Are you kidding, Sam?" + +The other was mystified. "Why should I kid you? As a matter of fact, I was +thinking of doing a column one of these days on Voss and this Movement of +his." + +"_Voss_ and this movement of his!" + +"Sure," Sam said, "he's the top leader." + +"Oh, great," Larry growled. "Look, Sam, eventually there is probably a +story in this for you. Right now, though, we're trying to keep the lid on +it. Could you brief me a little on this Movement? What are they trying to +put over?" + +"I seem to spend half my time briefing you in information any semi-moron +ought to be up on," Sam said nastily. "However, _briefly_, they're in +revolt against social-label judgments. They think it's fouling up the +country and that eventually it'll result in the Russkies passing us in all +the fields that really count." + +"I keep running into this term," Larry complained. "What do you mean, +social-label judgments, and how can they possibly louse up the country?" + +Sam said, "I was present a month or so ago when Voss gave an informal +lecture to a group of twenty or so. Here's one of the examples he used. + +"Everybody today wants to be rated on a (1) personal, or, (2) social-label +basis, depending on which basis is to his greatest advantage. The Negro +who is a no-good, lazy, obnoxious person demands to be accepted because +Negroes should not be discriminated against. The highly competent, hard +working, honest and productive Negro wants to be accepted because he is +hard-working, honest and productive--and should be so accepted. + +"See what I mean? This social-label system is intended to relieve the +individual of the necessity of judging, and the consequences of being +judged. If you have poor judgment, and are forced to rely on your own +judgment, you're almost sure to go under. So persons of poor judgment +support our social-label system. If you're a louse, and are correctly +judged as being a louse, you'd prefer that the social dictum 'Human beings +are never lice' should apply." + +Larry said, "What in the devil's this got to do with the race between this +country and the Russkies?" + +Sam said patiently, "Voss and the Movement he leads contend that a +social-label system winds up with incompetents running the country in all +fields. Often incompetent scientists are in charge of our research; +incompetent doctors, in charge of our health; incompetent politicians run +our government; incompetent teachers, laden with social-labels, teach our +youth. Our young people are going to college to secure a degree, not an +education. It's the label that counts, not the reality. + +"Voss contends that it's getting progressively worse. That we're sinking +into an equivalent of a ritual-taboo, tribal social-like situation. This +is the system the low-level human being wants, yearns for and seeks. A +situation in which no one's judgment is of any use. Then _his_ lack of +judgment is no handicap. + +"According to members of the Movement, today the tribesman type is seeking +to reduce civilization back to ritual-taboo tribalism wherein no one man's +judgment is of any value. The union wants advancement based on seniority, +not on ability and judgment. The persons with whom you associate socially +judge you by the amount of money you possess, the family from which you +come, the degrees you hold, by social-labels--not by your proven abilities. +Down with judgment! is the cry." + +"It sounds awfully weird to me," Larry grumbled in deprecation. + +Sam shrugged. "There's a lot of sense in it. What the Movement wants is to +develop a socio-economic system in which judgment produces a maximum +advantage." + +Larry said, "What gets me is that you talk as though half the country was +all caught up in debating this Movement. But I haven't even heard of it, +neither has my department chief, nor any of my colleagues, so far as I +know. Why isn't anything about it in the papers or on the TriD?" + +Sam said mildly, "As a matter of fact, I took in Mort Lenny's show the +other night and he made some cracks about it. But it's not the sort of +thing that's even meant to become popular with the man in the street. To +put it bluntly, Voss and his people aren't particularly keen about the +present conception of the democratic ideal. According to him, true +democracy can only be exercised by peers and society today isn't composed +of peers. If you have one hundred people, twenty of them competent, +intelligent persons, eighty of them untrained, incompetent and less than +intelligent, then it's ridiculous to have the eighty dictate to the +twenty." + +Larry looked accusingly at his long-time friend. "You know, Sam, you sound +as though you approve of all this." + +Sam said patiently, "I listen to it all, Larry my boy. I think Voss makes +a lot of sense. There's only one drawback." + +"And that is?" + +"How's he going to put it over? This social-label system the Movement +complains about was bad enough ten years ago. But look how much worse it +is today. It's a progressive thing. And, remember, it's to the benefit of +the incompetent. Since the incompetent predominates, you're going to have +a hard time starting up a system based on judgment and ability." + +Larry thought about it for a moment. + +Sam said, "Look, I'm working, Larry. Was there anything else?" + +Larry said, "You wouldn't know where I could get hold of Voss, would you?" + +"At his home, I imagine, or at the University." + +"He's disappeared. We're looking for him." + +Sam laughed. "Gone underground, eh? The old boy is getting romantic." + +"Does he have any particular friends who might be putting him up?" + +Sam thought about it. "There's Frank Nostrand. You know, that rocket +expert who was fired when he got in the big hassle with Senator McCord." + + ------------------------------------- + +When Sam Sokolski had flicked off, Larry stared at the vacant phone screen +for a long moment, assimilating what the other had told him. He was +astonished that an organization such as the Movement could have spread to +the extent it evidently had through the country's intellectual circles, +through the scientifically and technically trained, without his department +being keenly aware of it. + + [Illustration.] + +One result, he decided glumly, of labeling everything contrary to the +_status quo_ as _weird_ and dismissing it with contempt. Admittedly, that +would have been his own reaction only a week ago. + +Suppose that he'd been at a cocktail party, and had drifted up to a group +who were arguing about social-label judgments and the need to develop a +_movement_ to change society's use of them. The discussion would have gone +in one ear, out the other, and he would have muttered inwardly, "Weirds," +and have drifted on to get himself another vodka martini. + +Larry snorted and dialed the Department of Records. He'd never heard of +Frank Nostrand before, so he got Information. + +The bright young thing who answered seemed to have a harried expression +untypical of Records employees. Larry said to her, "I'd like the brief on +a Mr. Frank Nostrand who is evidently an expert on rockets. The only other +thing I know about him is that he recently got in the news as the result +of a controversy with Senator McCord." + +"Just a moment, sir," the bright young thing said. + +She touched buttons and reached into a delivery chute. When her eyes came +up to meet his again, they were more than ever harried. They were +absolutely confused. + +"Mr. Franklin Howard Nostrand," she said, "currently employed by Madison +Air as a rocket research technician." + +"That must be him," Larry said. "I'm in a hurry, Miss. What's his +background?" + +Her eyes rounded. "It says ... it says he's an Archbishop of the Anglican +Church." + +Larry Woolford looked at her. + +She looked back, pleadingly. + +Larry scowled and said, "His university degrees, please." + +Her eyes darted to the report and she swallowed. "A bachelor in Home +Economics, sir." + +"Look here, Miss, how could a Home Economics degree result in his becoming +either an Archbishop or a rocket technician?" + +"I'm sorry, sir. That's what it says." + +Larry was fuming but there was no point in taking it out on this junior +employee of the Department of Records. He snapped, "Just give me his +address, please." + +She said agonizingly, "Sir, it says, Lhasa, Tibet." + +A red light flicked at the side of his phone and he said to her, "I'll +call you back. I'm getting a priority call." + +He flicked her off, and flicked the incoming call in. It was LaVerne Polk. +She seemed to be on the harried side, too. + +"Larry," she said, "you better get over here right away." + +"What's up, LaVerne?" + +"This Movement," she said, "it seems to have started moving! The Boss says +to get over here soonest." + + ------------------------------------- + +The top of his car was retracted. Larry Woolford slammed down the walk of +his auto-bungalow and vaulted over the side and into the seat. He banged +the start button, dropped the lift lever, depressed the thrust pedal and +took off at maximum acceleration. + +He took the police level for maximum speed and was in downtown Greater +Washington in flat minutes. + +So the Movement had started moving. That could mean almost anything. It +was just enough to keep him stewing until he got to the Boss and found out +what was going on. + +He turned his car over to a parker and made his way to the entrance +utilized by the second-grade department officials. In another year, or at +most two, he told himself all over again, he'd be using that other door. +He had an intuitive feeling that if he licked this current assignment it'd +be the opening wedge he needed and he'd wind up in a status bracket unique +for his age. + +LaVerne looked up when he hurried into her anteroom. She evidently had two +or three calls going on at once, taking orders from one phone, giving them +in another. Something was obviously erupting. She didn't speak to him, +merely nodded her head at the inner office. + +In the Boss' office were six or eight others besides Larry's superior. +Their expressions and attitudes ran from bewilderment to shock. They +weren't the men you'd expect to have such reactions. At least not those +that Larry Woolford recognized. Three of them, Ben Ruthenberg, Bill Fraina +and Dave Moskowitz were F.B.I. men with whom Larry had worked on occasion. +One of the others he recognized as being a supervisor with the C.I.A. Walt +Foster, Larry's rival in the Boss' affections, was also present. + +The Boss growled at him, "Where in the heavens have you been, Lawrence?" + +"Following our leads on this so-called Movement, sir," Larry told him. +"What's going on?" + +Ruthenberg, the Department of Justice man, grunted sour amusement. +"So-called Movement, isn't exactly the correct phrase. It's a Movement, +all right." + +The Boss said, "Please dial Records and get your dossier, Lawrence. +That'll be the quickest way to bring you up on developments." + +Mystified, but already with a growing premonition, Larry dialed Records. +Knowing his own classification code, he had no need of Information this +time. He got the hundred-word brief and stared at it as it filled the +screen. The only items really correct were his name and present +occupation. Otherwise his education was listed as grammar school only. His +military career had him ending the war as a General of the Armies, and his +criminal career record included four years on Alcatraz for molesting small +children. + +Blankly, he faded the brief and dialed his full dossier. It failed to +duplicate the brief, but that was no advantage. This time he had an M.D. +degree from Johns Hopkins, but his military career listed him as a +dishonorable discharge from the navy where he'd served in the steward +department. His criminal record was happily nil, but his religion was +listed as Holy Roller. Political affiliations had him down as a member of +the Dixiecrats. + +The others were looking at him, most of them blankly, although there were +grins on the faces of Moskowitz and the C.I.A. man. + +Moskowitz said, "With a name like mine, yet, they have me a Bishop of the +Orthodox Greek Catholic Church." + +Larry said, "What's it all about?" + +Ruthenberg said unhappily, "It started early this morning. We don't know +exactly when as yet." Which didn't seem to answer the question. + +Larry said, "I don't get it. Obviously, the Records department is fouled +up in some manner. How, and why?" + +"How, we know," the Boss rumbled disgustedly. "Why is another matter. +You've spent more time than anyone else on this assignment, Lawrence. +Perhaps you can tell us." He grabbed up a pipe from his desk, tried to +light it noisily, noticed finally that it held no tobacco and threw it to +the desk again. "Evidently, a large group of these Movement individuals +either already worked in Records or wriggled themselves into key positions +in the technical end of the department. Now they've sabotaged the files." + +"We've caught most of them already," one of the F.B.I. men growled, "but +damn little good that does us at this point." + +The C.I.A. supervisor made a gesture indicating that he gave it all up. +"Not only here but in Chicago and San Francisco as well. All at once. +Evidently perfectly rehearsed. Personnel records from coast to coast are +bollixed. Why?" + +Larry said slowly, "I think I know that now. Yesterday, I wouldn't have +but I've been picking up odds and ends." + +They all looked at him. + + ------------------------------------- + +Larry sat down and ran a hand back through his hair. "The general idea is +to change the country's reliance on social-label judgments." + +"On _what_," the Boss barked. + +"On one person judging another according to social-labels. Voss and the +others--" + +"Who did you say?" Ruthenberg snapped. + +"Voss. Professor Peter Voss from the University over in Baltimore section. +He's the ring leader." + +Ruthenberg snapped to Fraina, "Get on the phone and send out a pick-up +order for him." + +Fraina was on his feet. "What charge, Ben?" + +Ben Ruthenberg snorted. "Rape, or something. Get moving, we'll figure out +a charge later. The guy's a fruitcake." + +Larry said wearily, "He's evidently gone into hiding. I've been trying to +locate him. He managed to slip me some knockout drops and got away +yesterday." + +The Boss looked at him in disgust. + +Ruthenberg said evenly, "We've had men go into hiding before. Get going, +Fraina." + +Fraina left the office and the others looked back to Larry. + +The Boss said, "About this social-label nonsense--" + +Larry said, "They think the country is going to pot because of it. People +hold high office or places of responsibility not because of superior +intelligence, or even acquired skill, but because of the social-labels +they've accumulated, and these can be based on something as flimsy--from +the Movement's viewpoint--as who your grandparents were, what school you +attended, how much seniority you have on the job, what part of town you +live in, or what tailor cuts your clothes." + +Their expressions ran from scowls and frowns to complete puzzlement. + +Walt Foster grumbled, "What's all this got to do with sabotaging the +country's Records tapes?" + +Larry shrugged. "I don't have the complete picture, but one thing is sure. +It's going to be harder for a while to base your opinions on a quick +hundred-word brief on a man. Yesterday, an employer, considering hiring +somebody, could dial the man's dossier, check it, and form his opinions by +the status labels the would-be employee could produce. Today, he's damn +well going to have to exercise his own judgment." + +LaVerne's face lit up the screen on the Boss' desk and she said, "Those +two members of the Movement who were picked up in Alexandria are here, +sir." + +"Send them in," the Boss rumbled. He looked at Larry. "The F.B.I. managed +to arrest almost everyone directly involved in the sabotage." + +The two prisoners seemed more amused than otherwise. They were young men, +in their early thirties--well dressed and obviously intelligent. The Boss +had them seated side by side and glared at them for a long moment before +speaking. Larry and the others took chairs in various parts of the room +and added their own stares to the barrage. + +The Boss said, "Your situation is an unhappy one, gentlemen." + +One of the two shrugged. + +The Boss said, "You can, ah, hedge your bets, by co-operating with us. It +might make the difference between a year or two in prison--and life." + +One of them grinned and then yawned. "I doubt it," he said. + +The Boss tried a slightly different tack. "You have no reason to maintain +a feeling of obligation to Voss and the others. You have obviously been +abandoned. Had they any feeling for you there would have been more +efficacious arrangements for your escape." + +The more articulate of the two shrugged again. "We were expendable," he +said. "However, it won't be long before we're free again." + +"You think so?" Ruthenberg grunted. + +The revolutionist looked at him. "Yes, I do," he said. "Six months from +now and we'll be heroes since by that time the Movement will have been a +success." + +The Boss snorted. "Just because you deranged the Records? Why that's but +temporary." + +"Not so temporary as you think," the technician replied. "This country has +allowed itself to get deeply enmeshed in punch-card and tape records. Oh, +it made sense enough. With the population we have, and the endless files +that result from our ultra-complicated society, it was simply a matter +finally of developing a standardized system of records for the nation as a +whole. Now, for all practical purposes, _all_ of our records these days +are kept with the Department of Records, confidential as well as public +records. Why should a university, for instance, keep literally tons of +files, with all the expense and space and time involved, when it can +merely file the same records with the governmental department and have +them safe and easily available at any time? Now, the Movement has +completely and irrevocably destroyed almost all files that deal with the +social-labels to which we object. An excellent first step, in forcing our +country back into judgment based on ability and intelligence." + +"First step!" Larry blurted. + +The two prisoners looked at him. "That's right," the quieter of the two +said. "This is just the first step." + +"Don't kid yourselves," Ben Ruthenberg snapped at them. "It's also the +last!" + +The two members of the Movement grinned at him. + + ------------------------------------- + +When the others had gone, the Boss looked at Larry Woolford. He said +sourly, "When this department was being formed, I doubt anyone had in mind +this particular type of subversion, Lawrence." + +Larry grunted. "Give me a good old-fashioned Commie, any time. Look, sir, +what are the Department of Justice boys going to do with those prisoners?" + +"Hold them on any of various charges. We've conflicted with the F.B.I. in +the past on overlapping jurisdiction, but thank heavens for them now. +Their manpower is needed." + +Larry leaned forward. "Sir, we ought to take all members of the Movement +we've already arrested, feed them a dose of Scop-Serum, and pressure them +to open up on the organization's operations." + +His superior looked at him, waiting for him to continue. + +Larry said urgently, "Those two we just had in here thought the whole +thing was a big joke. The first step, they called it. Sir, there's +something considerably bigger than this cooking. Uncle Sam might pride +himself on the personal liberties guaranteed by this country, but unless +we break this organization, and do it fast, there's going to be trouble +that will make this fouling of the records look like the minor matter +those two jokers seemed to think it." + +The Boss thought about that. He said slowly, "Lawrence, the Supreme Court +ruled against the use of Scop-Serum. Not that it is over efficient, +anyway. Largely, these so-called truth serums don't accomplish much more +than to lower resistance, slacken natural inhibitions, weaken the will." + +"Sure," Larry said. "But give a man a good dose of Scop-Serum and he'd +betray his own mother. Not because he's helpless to tell a lie, but +because under the influence of the drug he figures it just isn't important +enough to bother about. Sir, Supreme Court or not, I think those two ought +to be given Scop-Serum along with all other Movement members we've picked +up." + +The Boss was shaking his head. "Lawrence, these men are not wide-eyed +radicals picked up in a street demonstration. They're highly respected +members of our society. They're educators, scientists, engineers, +technicians. Anything done to them is going to make headlines. Those that +were actually involved in the sabotage will have criminal charges brought +against them, but they're going to get a considerable amount of publicity, +and we're going to be in no position to alienate any of their +constitutional rights." + +Larry stood up, approached his chief's desk and leaned over it urgently. +"Sir, that's fine, but we've got to move and move fast. Something's up and +we don't even know what! Take that counterfeit money. From Susan Self's +description, there's actually billions of dollars worth of it." + +"Oh, come now, Lawrence. The child exaggerated. Besides, that's a problem +for Steven Hackett and the Secret Service, we have enough on our hands as +it is. Forget about the counterfeit, Lawrence. I think I shall put you in +complete control of field work on this, to co-operate in liaison with Ben +Ruthenberg and the F.B.I. So far as we're concerned, the counterfeit angle +belongs to Secret Service, we're working on subversion, and until the +Civil Liberties Union or whoever else proves otherwise, we'll consider +this Movement an organization attempting to subvert the country by illegal +means." + +Larry Woolford made a hard decision quickly. He was shaking his head. +"Sir, I'd rather you gave the administrative end to someone else and let +me continue in the field. I've got some leads--I think. If I get bogged +down in interdepartmental red tape, and in paper work here at +headquarters, I'll never get to the heart of this and I'm laying bets that +we either crack this within days or there are going to be some awfully big +changes in this country." + +The Boss glared at him. "You mean you're refusing this assignment, +Woolford. Confound it, don't you realize it's a promotion?" + +Larry was worriedly dogged. "Sir, I'd rather stay in the field." + +"Very well," the other snapped disgustedly, "I hope you deliver some +results, Woolford, otherwise I am afraid I won't feel particularly happy +about your somewhat cavalier rejection of this opportunity." He flicked on +the phone and snapped to LaVerne Polk, "Miss Polk, locate Walter Foster +for me. He is to take over our end of this Movement matter." + +LaVerne said, "Yes, sir," and her face was gone. + +The Boss looked up, still scowling. "What are you waiting for, Woolford?" + +"Yes, sir," Larry said. It was just coming home to him now, what he'd +done. There possibly went his yearned for promotion in the department. +There went his chance of an upgrading in status. And Walt Foster, of all +people, in his place. + + ------------------------------------- + +At LaVerne's desk, Larry stopped off long enough to say, "Did you ever +assign that secretary to me?" + +LaVerne shook her head at him. "She's come and gone, Larry. She sat around +for a couple of days, after seeing you not even once, and then I gave her +another assignment." + +"Well, bring her back again, will you? I want her to do up briefs for me +on all the information we accumulate on the Movement. It'll be coming in +from all sides now. From the Press, from those members we've arrested, +from our F.B.I. pals, now that they're interested, and so forth." + +"I'll give you Irene Day," LaVerne said. "Where are you off to now, +Larry?" + +"Probably a wild goose chase," Larry growled. "Which reminds me. Do me a +favor, LaVerne. Call Personal Service and find out where Frank Nostrand +is. He's some kind of rocket technician at Madison Air Laboratories. I'll +be in my office." + +"Frank Nostrand," LaVerne said briskly. "Will do, Larry." + +Back in his own cubicle, Larry stood for a moment in thought. He was +increasingly aware of the uncomfortable feeling that time was running out +on them. That things were coming to a dangerous head. + +He stared down at the dozen or more books and pamphlets that his never +seen secretary had heaped up for him. Well, he certainly didn't have time +for them now. + +He sat down at the desk and dialed an inter-office number. + +The harassed looking face of Walter Foster faded in. On seeing Larry +Woolford he growled accusingly, "My pal. You've let them dump this whole +thing into my lap." + +Larry grinned at him. "Better you than me, old buddy. Besides, it's a +promotion. Pull this off and you'll be the Boss' right-hand man." + +"That's a laugh," Foster said. "It's a madhouse. This Movement gang is as +weird as they come." + +"I bleed for you," Larry said. "However, here's a tip. Frol Eivazov, of +the _Chrezvychainaya Komissiya_ is somewhere in the country." + +"Frol Eivazov!" Foster blurted. "What've the Commies got to do with this? +Is this something the Boss knows about?" + +"Haven't had time to go into it with him," Larry said. "However, it seems +that friend Frol is here to find out what the Movement is all about. +Evidently the big boys in Peking and Moscow are nervous about any changes +that might take place over here. I suggest you have him picked up, Walt." + + [Illustration.] + +Walt Foster said, "O.K. I'll put some people on it. Maybe the F.B.I. can +help." + +Larry flicked off as he saw the red priority light on his phone shining. +He pushed it and LaVerne's face faded in. + +She said, "This Franklin Nostrand you wanted to know about. He's evidently +working at the laboratories over in Newport News, Larry. He'll be on the +job until five this afternoon." + +"Fine," he said. Larry grinned at her. "When are we going to have that +date, LaVerne?" + +She made a face. "Some day when the program involves having fun instead of +parading around in the right places, driving the right model car, dressed +in exactly the right clothes, and above all associating with the right +people." + +It was his turn to grimace. "I'm beginning to think you ought to sign up +with Voss and this Movement of his. You'd be right at home with his +weirds." + +She stuck out her tongue at him, and flicked off. + +He looked at the empty screen and chuckled. He had half a mind to get a +record of their conversation, strip out just the section where she'd stuck +out her tongue, and then play it back to her. She'd be taken aback by +being confronted by her own image making faces at her. + +As he made his way to the parking lot for his car, something in their +conversation nagged at him, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He +considered the girl, all over again. She had almost all the qualities he +looked for. She was attractive, without being overly so. He disliked women +out of the ordinarily beautiful, it became too much to live up to. She was +sharp, but not objectionably so. Not to the point of giving you an +inferiority complex. + +But, Holy Smokes, she'd never do as a career man's wife. He could just see +the Boss' ultraconservative better half inviting them to dinner. It would +happen exactly once, never again. + +He obtained his car, lifted it to one of the higher levels and headed for +Newport News. It was a half-hour trip and he wasn't particularly expectant +of results. The tip Sam Sokolski had given him, wasn't much to go by. +Evidently, Frank Nostrand was a friend of the Professor's but that didn't +necessarily mean he was connected with the movement, or that he knew Voss' +whereabouts. + +He might have saved himself the trip. + +The bird had flown again. Not only was Frank Nostrand not at the Madison +Air Laboratories, but he wasn't at home either. Larry Woolford, mindful of +his departmental chief's words on the prestige these people carried, took +a full hour in acquiring a search warrant before breaking into the +Nostrand home. + +Nostrand was supposedly a bachelor, but the auto-bungalow, similar to +Larry Woolford's own, showed signs of double occupancy, and there was +little indication that the guest had been a woman. + +Disgruntled, Larry Woolford dialed the offices, asked for Walt Foster. It +took nearly ten minutes before his colleague faded in. + +"I'm up to my eyebrows, Larry. What'd you want?" + +Larry gave him Frank Nostrand's address. "This guy's disappeared, Walt." + +"So?" + +"He was a close friend of Professor Voss. I got a warrant to search his +house. It shows signs that he had a guest. Possibly it was the Professor. +Do you want to get some of the boys down here to go through the place? +Possibly there's some clue to where they took off for. The Professor's on +the run and he's no professional at this. If we can pick _him_ up, I've +got a sneaking suspicion we'll have the so-called Movement licked." + +Walt Foster slapped a hand to his face in anguish. "You knew where the +Professor was hiding, and you tried to pick him up on your own and let him +get away. Why didn't you discuss this with either the Boss or me? I'm in +charge of this operation! I would have had a dozen men down there. You've +fouled this up!" + +Larry stared at him. Already Walt Foster was making sounds like an enraged +superior. + +He said mildly, "Sorry, Walt. I came down here on a very meager tip. I +didn't really expect it to pan out." + +"Well, in the future, clear with either me or the Boss before running off +half cocked into something, Woolford. Yesterday, you had this whole +assignment on your own. Today, it's no longer a minor matter. Our +department has fifty people on it. The F.B.I. must have five times as many +and that's not even counting the Secret Service's interest. It's no longer +your individual baby." + +"Sorry," Larry repeated mildly. Then, "I don't imagine you've got hold of +Frol Eivazov yet?" + +The other was disgusted. "You think we're magicians? We just put out the +call for him a few hours ago. He's no amateur. If he doesn't want to be +picked up, he'll go to ground and we'll have our work cut out for us +finding him. I can't see that it's particularly important anyway." + +"Maybe you're right," Larry said. "But you never know. He might know +things we don't. See you later." + +Walt Foster stared at him for a moment as though about to say something, +but then tightened his lips and faded off. + +Larry looked at the phone screen for a moment. "Did that phony expect me +to call him _sir_," he muttered. + + ------------------------------------- + +The next two days dissolved into routine. + +Frustrated, Larry Woolford spent most of his time in his office digesting +developments, trying to find a new line of attack. + +For want of something else, he put his new secretary, a brightly efficient +girl, as style and status conscious as LaVerne Polk wasn't, to work typing +up the tapes he'd had cut on Susan Self and the various phone calls he'd +had with Hans Distelmayer and Sam Sokolski. From memory, he dictated to +her his conversation with Professor Peter Voss. + +He carefully read the typed sheets over and over again. He continually had +the feeling in this case that there were loose ends dangling around. +Several important points he should be able to put his finger upon. + +On the morning of the third day he dialed Steve Hackett and on seeing the +other's worried, pug-ugly face fade in on the phone, decided that if +nothing else the Movement was undermining the United States government by +dispensing ulcers to its employees. + +Steve growled, "What is it Woolford? I'm as busy as a whirling dervish in +a revolving door." + +"This is just the glimmer of an idea, Steve. Look, remember that +conversation with Susan, when she described her father taking her to +headquarters?" + +"So?" Steve said impatiently. + +"Remember her description of headquarters?" + +"Go on," Steve rapped. + +"What did it remind you of?" + +"What are you leading to?" + +"This is just a hunch," Larry persisted, "but the way she described the +manner in which her father took her to headquarters suggests they're in +the Greater Washington area." + +Steve was staring at him disgustedly. How obvious could you get? + +Larry hurried on. "What's the biggest business in this area, Steve?" + +"Government." + +"Right. And the way she described headquarters of the Movement, was rooms, +after rooms, after rooms into which they'd stored the money." + +"And?" + +Larry said urgently, "Steve, I think in some way the Movement has taken +over some governmental buildings, or storage warehouse. Possibly some +older buildings no longer in use. It would be a perfect hideout. Who would +expect a subversive organization to be in governmental buildings? All +they'd need would be a few officials here and there who were on their side +and--" + +Steve said wearily, "You couldn't have thought of this two days ago." + +Larry cut himself off sharply, "Eh?" + +Steve said, "We found their headquarters. One of their members cracked. +Ben Ruthenberg of the F.B.I. found he had a morals rap against him some +years ago and scared him into talking by threats of exposure. At any rate, +you're right. They had established themselves in some government buildings +going back to Spanish-American War days. We've arrested eight or ten +officials that were involved." + +"But the money?" + +"The money was gone," Steve said bitterly. "But Susan was right. There had +evidently been room after room of it, stacked to the ceiling. Literally +billions of dollars. They'd moved out hurriedly, but they left kicking +around enough loose hundreds, fifties, twenties, tens and fives to give us +an idea. Look, Woolford, I thought you'd been pulled off this case and +that Walt Foster was handling it." + +Larry said sourly, "I'm beginning to think so, too. They're evidently not +even bothering to let me know about developments like this. See you later, +Steve." + +The other's face faded off. + +Larry Woolford looked across the double desk at Irene Day. "Look," he +said, "when you're offered a promotion, take it. If you don't, someone +else will and you'll be out in the cold." + +Irene Day said brightly, "I've always know that, sir." + +He looked at her. The typical eager beaver. Sharp as a whip. Bright as a +button. "I'll bet you have," he muttered. + +"I beg your pardon, Mr. Woolford?" + +The phone lit as LaVerne said, "The Boss wants to talk to you, Larry." Her +face faded and Larry's superior was scowling at him. + +He snapped, "Did you get anything on this medical records thing, +Woolford?" + +"Medical records?" Larry said blankly. + +The Boss grunted in deprecation. "No, I suppose you haven't. I wish you +would snap into it, Woolford. I don't know what has happened to you of +late. I used to think that you were a good field man." He flicked off +abruptly. + +Larry dialed LaVerne Polk. "What in the world was the Boss just talking +about, LaVerne? About medical records?" + +LaVerne said, frowning, "Didn't you know? The Movement's been at it again. +They've fouled up the records of the State Medical Licensing bureaus, at +the same time sabotaging the remaining records of most, if not all, of the +country's medical schools. They struck simultaneously, throughout the +country." + +He looked at her, expressionlessly. + +LaVerne said, "We've caught several hundred of those responsible. It's the +same thing. Attack of the social-label. From now on, if a man tells you +he's an Ear, Eye and Throat specialist, you'd better do some investigation +before letting him amputate your tongue. You'd better use your judgment +before letting _any_ doctor you don't really know about, work on you. It's +a madhouse, Larry." + + ------------------------------------- + +Larry Woolford, for long moments after LaVerne had broken the connection, +stared unseeingly at his secretary across from him until she stirred. + +He brought his eyes back to the present. "Another preliminary move, not +the important thing, yet. Not the big explosion they're figuring on. Where +have they taken that money, and why?" + +Irene Day blinked at him. "I don't know, I'm sure, sir." + +Larry said, "Get me Mr. Foster on the phone, Irene." + +When Walt Foster's unhappy face faded in, Larry said, "Walt did you get +Frol Eivazov?" + +"Eivazov?" the other said impatiently. "No. We haven't spent much effort +on it. I think this hunch of yours is like the other ones you've been +having lately, Woolford. Frol Eivazov was last reported by our operatives +as being in North Korea." + +"It wasn't a hunch," Larry said tightly. "He's in this country on an +assignment dealing with the Movement." + +"Well, that's your opinion," Foster said snappishly. "I'm busy, Woolford. +See here, at present you're under my orders on this job. In the way of +something to do, instead of sitting around in that office, why don't you +follow up this Eivazov thing yourself?" He considered it a moment. "That's +an order, Woolford. Even if you don't locate him, it'll keep you out of +our hair." + +After the other was gone, Larry Woolford leaned back in his chair, his +face flushed as though the other had slapped it. In a way, he had. + +Larry said slowly, "Miss Day, dial me Hans Distelmayer. His offices are +over in the Belmont Building." + +As always, the screen remained blank as the German spy master spoke. + +Larry said, "Hans, I want to talk to Frol Eivazov." + +"Ah?" + +"I want to know where I can find him." + +The German's voice was humorously gruff. "My friend, my friend." + +Larry said impatiently, "I'm not interested in arresting him at this time. +I want to talk to him." + +The other said heavily. "This goes beyond favors, my friend. On the face +of it, I am not in business for my health. And what you ask is dangerous +from my viewpoint. You realize that upon occasion my organization does +small tasks for the Soviets...." + +"Ha!" Larry said bitterly. + +"... And," the German continued, unruffled, "it is hardly to my interest +to gain the reputation of betraying my sometimes employers. Were you on an +assignment in, say, Bulgaria or Hungary, would you expect me to betray you +to the _Chrezvychainaya Komissiya_?" + +"Not unless somebody paid you enough to make it worth while," Larry said +dryly. + +"Exactly," the espionage chief said. + +"Look," Larry said. "Send your bill to this department, Hans. I've been +given carte blanche on this matter and I want to talk to Frol. Now, where +is he?" + +The German chuckled heavily. "At the Soviet Embassy." + +"What! You mean they've got the gall to house their top spy right in--" + +Distelmayer interrupted him. "Friend Eivazov is currently accredited as a +military attach and quite correctly. He holds the rank of colonel, you +know. He entered this country quite legally, the only precaution taken was +to use his second name, Kliment, instead of Frol, on his papers. +Evidently, your people passed him by without a second look. Ah, I +understand he went to the trouble of making some minor changes in his +facial appearance." + +"We'll expect your bill, Distelmayer," Larry said. "Good-by." + +He got up and reached for his hat, saying to Irene Day, "I don't know how +long I'll be gone." He added, wryly, "If either Foster or the Boss try to +get in touch with me, tell them I'm carrying out orders." + +He drove over to the Soviet Embassy, parked his car directly before the +building. + + ------------------------------------- + +The American plainclothesmen stationed near the entrance, gave him only a +quick onceover as he passed. Inside the gates, the impassive Russian +guards didn't bother to flicker an eyelid. + +At the reception desk in the immense entrada, he identified himself. "I'd +like to see Colonel Frol Eivazov." + +"I am afraid--" the clerk began stiffly. + +"I suppose you have him on the records as Kliment Eivazov." + +The clerk had evidently touched a concealed button. A door opened and a +junior embassy official approached them. + +Larry restated his desire. The other began to open his mouth in denial, +then shrugged. "Just a moment," he said. + +He was gone a full twenty minutes. When he returned, he said briefly, +"This way, please." + +Frol Eivazov was in an inner office, in full uniform. He came to his feet +when Larry Woolford entered and said to the clerk, "That will be all, +Vova." He was a tall man, as Slavs go, but heavy of build and heavy of +face. + +He shook hands with Larry. "It's been a long time," he said in perfect +English. "That conference in Warsaw, wasn't it? Have a chair, Mr. +Woolford." + +Larry took the offered chair and said, "How in the world did you expect to +get by with this nonsense? We'll have you declared _persona non grata_ in +a matter of hours." + +"It's not important," Eivazov shrugged. "I have found what I came to find. +I was about to return to report any way." + +"We won't do anything to hinder you, colonel," Larry said dryly. + +Eivazov snapped his fingers. "It's all amusing," he said. "In our country +we would quickly deal with this Movement nonsense. You Americans with your +pseudo-democracy, your labels without reality, your--" + +Larry said wearily, "Please, Frol, I promise not to convert you if you +promise not to convert me. Needless to say, my department isn't happy +about your presence in this country. You'll be watched from now on. We've +been busy with other matters...." + +Here the Russian laughed. + +"... Or we'd already have flushed you." He allowed his voice to go +curious. "We've wondered about your interest in this phase of our internal +affairs." + +The Russian agent let his facade slip over farther, his heavy lips +sneering. "We are interested in all phases of your antiquated +socio-economic system, Mr. Woolford. In the present peaceful economic +competition between East and West, we would simply _loathe_ to see +anything happen to your present culture." He hesitated deliberately. "If +you can call it a culture." + +Larry said, unprovoked, "If I understand you correctly, you are not in +favor of the changes the Movement advocates." + +The Russian shrugged hugely. "I doubt if they are possible of achievement. +The organization is a sloppy one. Revolutionary? Nonsense," he scoffed. +"They have no plans to change the government. No plans for overthrowing +the regime. Ultimately, what this country needs is true Communism. This +so-called Movement doesn't have that as its eventual goal. It is +laughable." + +Larry said, interestedly, "Then perhaps you'll tell me what little you've +found out about the group." + +"Why not?" The Russian pursed his lips. "They are composed of impractical +idealists. Scientists, intellectuals, a few admitted scholars and even a +few potential leaders. Their sabotage of your Department of Records was an +amusing farce, but, frankly, I have been unable to discover the purpose of +their interest in rockets. For a time I contemplated the possibility that +they had a scheme to develop a nuclear bomb, and to explode it over +Greater Washington in the belief that in the resulting confusion they +might seize power. But, on the face of it their membership is incapable of +such an effort." + +"Their interest in rockets?" Larry said softly. + +"Yes, as you've undoubtedly discovered, half the rocket technicians of +your country seem to have joined with them. We got the tip through"--the +Russian cleared his throat--"several of our converts who happen to be +connected with your space efforts groups." + +"Is that so?" Larry said. "I wondered what you thought about their +interest in money." + +It was the other's turn to look blank. "Money?" he said. + +"That's right. Large quantities of money." + +The Russian said, frowning, "I suppose most citizens in your capitalist +countries are interested largely in money. One of your basic failings." + + ------------------------------------- + +Driving back to the office, Larry Woolford let it pile up on him. + +Ernest Self had been a specialist in solid fuel for rockets. When Larry +had questioned Professor Voss that worthy had particularly stressed his +indignation at how Professor Goddard, the rocket pioneer, had been treated +by his contemporaries. Franklin Nostrand had been employed as a technician +on rocket research at Madison Air Laboratories. It was too darn much for +coincidence. + +And now something else that had been nagging away at the back of his mind +suddenly came clear. + +Susan Self had said that she and her father had seen the precision dancers +at the New Roxy Theater in New York and later the Professor had said they +were going to spend the money on chorus girls. Susan had got it wrong. The +Rockettes--the precision chorus girls. The Professor had said they were +going to spend the money on _rockets_, and Susan had misunderstood. + +But billions of dollars expended on rockets? How? But, above all, to what +end? + +If he'd only been able to hold onto Susan, or her father; or to Voss or +Nostrand, for that matter. Someone to work on. But each had slipped +through his fingers. + +Which brought something else up from his subconscious. Something which had +been tugging at him. + +At the office, Irene Day was packing her things as he entered. Packing as +though she was leaving for good. + +"What goes on?" Larry growled. "I'm going to be needing you. Things are +coming to a head." + +She said, a bit snippishly, Larry thought, "Miss Polk, in the Boss' +office, said for you to see her as soon as you came in, Mr. Woolford." + +"Oh?" + +He made his way to LaVerne's office, his attention actually on the ideas +churning in his mind. + +She looked up when he entered. + +Larry said, "The Boss wanted to see me?" + +LaVerne ducked her head, as though embarrassed. "Not exactly, Larry." + +He gestured with his thumb in the direction of his own cubicle office. +"Irene just said you wanted me." + +LaVerne looked up into his face. "The Boss and Mr. Foster, too, are +boiling about your authorizing that Distelmayer man to bill this +department for information he gave you. The Boss hit the roof. Something +about the Senate Appropriations Committee getting down on him if it came +out that we bought information from professional espionage agents." + +Larry said, "It was information we needed, and Foster gave me the go ahead +on locating Frol Eivazov. Maybe I'd better see the Boss." + +LaVerne said, "I don't think he wants to see you, Larry. They're up to +their ears in this Movement thing. It's in the papers _now_ and nobody +knows what to do next. The President is going to make a speech on TriD, +and the Boss has to supply the information. His orders are for you to +resume your vacation. To take a month off and then see him when you get +back." + +Larry sank down into a chair. "I see," he said, "And at that time he'll +probably transfer me to janitor service." + +"Larry," LaVerne said, almost impatiently, "why in the world didn't you +take that job Walt Foster has now when the Boss offered it to you?" + +"Because I'm stupid, I suppose," Larry said bitterly. "I thought I could +do more working alone than at an administrative post tangled in red tape +and bureaucratic routine." + +She said, "Sorry, Larry." She sounded as though she meant it. + +Larry stood up. "Well, tonight I'm going to hang one on, and tomorrow it's +back to Florida." He said in a rush, "Look LaVerne, how about that date +we've been talking about for six months or more?" + +She looked up at him. "I can't stand vodka martinis." + +"Neither can I," he said glumly. + +"And I don't get a kick out of prancing around, a stuffed shirt among +fellow stuffed shirts, at some goings-on that supposedly improves my +culture status." + +Larry said "At the house I have every known brand of drinkable, and a +stack of ... what did you call it? ... corny music. We can mix our own +drinks and dance all by ourselves." + +She tucked her head to one side and looked at him suspiciously. "Are your +intentions honorable?" + +"We can even discuss that later," he said sourly. + +She laughed. "It's a date, Larry." + + ------------------------------------- + +He picked her up after work, and they drove to his Brandywine +auto-bungalow, largely quiet the whole way. + +At one point she touched his hand with hers and said, "It'll work out, +Larry." + +"Yeah," he said sourly. "I've put ten years into ingratiating myself with +the Boss. Now, overnight, he's got a new boy. I suppose there's some moral +involved." + +When they pulled up before his auto-bungalow, LaVerne whistled +appreciatively. "Quite a neighborhood you're in." + +He grunted. "A good address. What our friend Professor Voss would call one +more status symbol, one more social-label. For it I pay about fifty per +cent more rent than my budget can afford." + +He ushered her inside and took her jacket. "Look," he said, indicating his +living room with a sweep of hand. "See that volume of Klee reproductions +there next to my reading chair? That proves I'm not a weird. Indicates my +culture status. Actually, my appreciation of modern art doesn't go any +further than the Impressionists. But don't tell anybody. See those books +up on my shelves. Same thing. You'll find everything there that _ought_ to +be on the shelves of any ambitious young career man." + +She looked at him from the side of her eyes. "You're really soured, +Larry." + +"Come along," he said. "I want to show you something." + +He took her down the tiny elevator to his den. + +"How hypocritical can you get?" he asked her. "This is where I really +live. But I seldom bring anyone here. Wouldn't want to get a reputation as +a weird. Sit down, LaVerne, I'll make a drink. How about a Sidecar?" + +She sank onto the couch, kicked her shoes off and slipped her feet under +her. "I'd love one," she said. + +His back to her, he brought brandy and cointreau from his liquor cabinet, +lemon and ice from the tiny refrigerator. + +"What?" LaVerne said mockingly. "No auto-bar?" + +"Upstairs with the rest of the status symbols," Larry grunted. + +He put her drink before her and turned and went to the record player. + +"In the way of corny music, how do you like that old-timer, Nat Cole?" + +"King Cole? Love him," LaVerne said. + +The strains of "For All We Know" penetrated the room. + +Larry sat down across from her, finished half his drink in one swallow. + +"I'm beginning to wonder whether or not this Movement doesn't have +something," he said. + +She didn't answer that. They sat in silence for a while, appreciating the +drink. Nat Cole was singing "The Very Thought of You" now. Larry got up +and made two more cocktails. This time he sat next to her. He leaned his +head back on the couch and closed his eyes. + +Finally he said softly, "When Steve Hackett and I were questioning Susan, +there was only one other person who knew that we'd picked her up. There +was only one person other than Steve and me who could have warned Ernest +Self to make a getaway. Later on, there was only one person who could have +warned Frank Nostrand so that he and the Professor could find a new +hideout." + +She said sleepily, "How long have you known about that, darling?" + +"A while," Larry said, his own voice quiet. "I figured it out when I also +decided how Susan Self was spirited out of the Greater Washington Hilton, +before we had the time to question her further. Somebody who had access to +tapes made of me while I was making phone calls cut out a section and +dubbed in a voice so that Betsy Hughes, the Secret Service matron who was +watching Susan, was fooled into believing it was I ordering the girl to be +turned over to the two Movement members who came to get her." + +LaVerne stirred comfortably and let her head sink onto his shoulder. +"You're so warm and ... comfortable," she said. + +Larry said softly, "What does the Movement expect to do with all that +counterfeit money, LaVerne?" + +She stirred against his shoulder, as though bothered by the need to talk. +"Give it all away," she said. "Distribute it all over the country and +destroy the nation's social currency." + +It took him a long moment to assimilate that. + +"What have the rockets to do with it?" + +She stirred once again, as though wishing he'd be silent. "That's how it +will be distributed. About twenty rockets, strategically placed, each with +a _warhead_ of a couple of tons of money. Fired to an altitude of a couple +of hundred miles and then the money is spewed out. In falling, it will be +distributed over cities and countryside, everywhere. Billions upon +billions of dollars worth." + +Larry said, so softly as hardly to be heard, "What will that accomplish?" + +"Money is the greatest social-label of them all. The Professor believes +that through this step the Movement will have accomplished its purpose. +That people will be forced to utilize their judgment, rather than depend +upon social-labels." + +Larry didn't follow that, but he had no time to go further now. He said, +still evenly soft, "And when is the Movement going to do this?" + +La Verne moved comfortably. "The trucks go out to distribute the money +tonight. The rockets are waiting. The firing will take place in a few +days." + +"And where is the Professor now?" + +"Where the money and the trucks are hidden, darling. What difference does +it make?" LaVerne said sleepily. + +"And where is that?" + +"At the Greater Washington Trucking Corporation. It's owned by one of the +Movement's members." + +He said. "There's a password. What is it?" + +"Judgment." + +Larry Woolford bounced to his feet. He looked down at her, then over at +the phone. In three quick steps he was over to it. He grasped its wires +and yanked them from the wall, silencing it. He slipped into the tiny +elevator, locking the door to the den behind him. + +As the door slid closed, her voice wailed, still sleepily husky, "Larry, +darling, where are you--" + +He ran down the walk of the house, vaulted into the car and snapped on its +key. He slammed down the lift lever, kicked the thrust pedal and was +thrown back against the seat by the acceleration. + +Even while he was climbing, he flicked on the radio-phone, called Personal +Service for the location of the Greater Washington Trucking Corporation. + +Fifteen minutes later, he parked a block away from his destination, noting +with satisfaction that it was still an hour or more to go until dark. His +intuition, working doubletime now, told him that they'd probably wait +until nightfall to start their money-laden trucks to rolling. + +He hesitated momentarily before turning on the phone and dialing the Boss' +home address. + +When the other's face faded in, it failed to display pleasure when the +caller's identity was established. His superior growled, "Confound it, +Woolford, you know my privacy is to be respected. This phone is to be used +only in extreme emergency." + +"Yes, sir," Larry said briskly. "It's the Movement--" + +The other's face darkened still further. "You're not on that assignment +any longer, Woolford. Walter Foster has taken over and I'm sympathetic to +his complaints that you've proven more a hindrance than anything else." + +Larry ignored his words, "Sir, I've tracked them down. Professor Voss is +at the Greater Washington Trucking Corporation garages here in the +Alexandria section of town. Any moment now, they're going to start +distribution of all that counterfeit money on some scatterbrain plan to +disrupt the country's exchange system." + +Suddenly alert, the department chief snapped, "Where are you, Woolford?" + +"Outside the garages, sir. But I'm going in now." + +"You stay where you are," the other snapped. "I'll have every department +man and every Secret Service man in town over there within twenty minutes. +You hang on. Those people are lunatics, and probably desperate." + +Inwardly, Larry Woolford grinned. He wasn't going to lose this opportunity +to finish up the job with him on top. He said flatly, "Sir, we can't +chance it. They might escape. I'm going in!" He flicked off the set, +dialed again and raised Sam Sokolski. + +"Sam," he said, his voice clipped. "I've cornered the Movement's leader +and am going in for the finish. Maybe some of you journalist boys better +get on over here." He gave the other the address and flicked off before +there were any questions. + + ------------------------------------- + +From the dash compartment he brought a heavy automatic, and checked the +clip. He put it in his hip pocket and left the car and walked toward the +garages. Time was running out now. + +He strode into the only open door, without shift of pace. Two men were +posted nearby, neither of them truckmen by appearance. They looked at him +in surprise. + +Larry clipped out, "The password is _Judgment_. I've got to see Professor +Voss immediately." + +One of them frowned questioningly, but the other was taken up with the +urgency in Woolford's voice. He nodded with his head. "He's over there in +the office." + +Now ignoring them completely, Larry strode past the long rows of sealed +delivery vans toward the office. + +He pushed the door open, entered and closed it behind him. + +Professor Peter Voss was seated at a paper-littered desk. There was a cot +with an army blanket in a corner of the room, some soiled clothing and two +or three dirty dishes on a tray. The room was being lived in, obviously. + +At the agent's entry, the little man looked up and blinked in distress +through his heavy lenses. + +Larry snapped, "You're under arrest, Voss." + +The professor was obviously dismayed, but he said in as vigorous a voice +as he could muster, "Nonsense! On what charge?" + +"Counterfeiting, among many. Your whole scheme has fallen apart, Voss. You +and your Movement, so-called, are finished." + +The professor's eyes darted, left, right. To Larry Woolford's surprise, +the Movement's leader was alone in here. Undoubtedly, he was awaiting +others, drivers of the trucks, technicians involved in the rockets, other +subordinates. But right now he was alone. + +If Woolford correctly diagnosed the situation, Voss was playing for time, +waiting for the others. Good enough, so was Larry Woolford. Had the +Professor only known it, a shout would have brought at least two followers +and the government agent would have had his work cut out for him. + +Woodford played along. "Just what is this fantastic scheme of yours for +raining down money over half the country, Voss? The very insanity of it +proves your whole outfit is composed of a bunch of nonconformist weirds." + +The Professor was indignant--and stalling for time. He said, +"Nonconformists is correct! He who conforms in an incompetent society is +an incompetent himself." + +Larry stood, his legs apart and hands on hips. He shook his head in +simulated pity at the angry little man. "What's all this about raining +money down over the country?" + +"Don't you see?" the other said. "The perfect method for disrupting our +present system of social-labels. With billions of dollars, perfect +counterfeit, strewing the streets, the fields, the trees, available for +anyone to pick up, all social currency becomes worthless. Utterly +unusable. And it's no use to attempt to print more with another design, +because we can duplicate it as well. Our experts are the world's best, +we're not a group of sulking criminals but capable, trained, dedicated +men. + +"Very well! We will have made it absolutely impossible to have any form of +mass-produced social currency." + +Larry stared at him. "It would completely foul the whole business system! +You'd have chaos!" + +"At first. Private individuals, once the value of money was seen to be +zero, would have lost the amount of cash they had on hand. But banks and +such institutions would lose little. They have accurate records that show +the actual values they held at the time our money rains down." + +Larry was bewildered. "But what are you getting at? What do you expect to +accomplish?" + +The Professor, on his favorite subject, said triumphantly, "The only form +of currency that can be used under these conditions is the _personal_ +check. It's not mass produced, and mass-production can't duplicate it. +It's immune to the attack. Business has to go on, or people will starve--so +personal checks will have to replace paper money. Credit cards and +traveler's checks won't do--we can counterfeit them, too, and will, if +necessary. Realize of course that hard money will still be valid, but it +can't be utilized practically for any but small transactions. Try taking +enough silver dollars to buy a refrigerator down to the store with you." + +"But what's the purpose?" Larry demanded, flabbergasted. + +"Isn't it obvious? Our whole Movement is devoted to the destruction of +social-label judgments. It's all very well to say: _You should not judge +your fellow men_ but when it comes to accepting another man's personal +check, friend, you damn well have to! The bum check artist might have a +field day to begin with--but only to begin with." + +Larry shook his head in exasperation. "You people are a bunch of +anarchists," he accused. + +"No," the Professor denied. "Absolutely not. We are the antithesis of the +anarchist. The anarchist says, 'No man is capable of judging another.' We +say, 'Each man must judge his fellow, must demand proper evaluation of +him.' To judge a man by his clothes, the amount of money he owns, the car +he drives, the neighborhood in which he lives, or the society he keeps, is +out of the question in a vital culture." + +Larry said sourly, "Well, whether or not you're right, Voss, you've lost. +This place is surrounded. My men will be breaking in shortly." + +Voss laughed at him. "Nonsense. All you've done is prevent us from +accomplishing this portion of our program. What will you do after my +arrest? You'll bring me to trial. Do you remember the Scopes' Monkey Trial +back in the 1920s which became a world appreciated farce and made +Tennessee a laughingstock? Well, just wait until you get _me_ into court +backed by my organization's resources. We'll bring home to every thinking +person, not only in this country, but in the world, the fantastic +qualities of our existing culture. Why, +Mr.-Secret-Agent-of-Anti-Subversive-Activity you aren't doing me an injury +by giving me the opportunity to have my day in court. You're doing me a +favor. Newspapers, radios, TriD will give me the chance to expound my +program in the home of every thinking person in the world." + +There was a fiery dedication in the little man's eyes. "This will be my +victory, not my defeat!" + +There were sounds now, coming from the other rooms--the garages. Some +shouts and scuffling. Faintly, Larry Woolford could hear Steve Hackett's +voice. + +He was staring at the Professor, his eyes narrower. + +The Professor was on his feet. He said in defiant triumph, "You think that +you'll win prestige and honor as a result of tracking the Movement down, +don't you, Mr. Woolford? Well, let me tell you, you won't! In six months +from now, Mr. Woolford, you'll be a laughingstock." + +That did it. + +Larry said, "You're under arrest. Turn around with your back to me." + +The Professor snorted his contempt, turned his back and held up his hands, +obviously expecting to be searched. + +In a fluid motion, Larry Woolford drew his gun and fired twice. The other +with no more than a grunt of surprise and pain, stumbled forward to his +knees and then to the floor, his arms and legs akimbo. + +The door broke open and Steve Hackett, gun in hand, burst in. + +"Woolford!" he barked. "What's up?" + +Larry indicated the body on the floor. "There you are, Steve," he said. +"The head of the counterfeit ring. He was trying to escape. I had to shoot +him." + +Behind Steve Hackett crowded Ben Ruthenberg of the F.B.I. and behind him +half a dozen others of various departments. + +The Boss came pushing his way through. + +He glared down at the Professor's body, then up at Larry Woolford. + +"Good work, Lawrence," he said. "How did you bring it off?" + +Larry replaced the gun in his holster and shrugged modestly. "The Polk +girl gave me the final tip-off, sir. I gave her some Scop-Serum in a drink +and she talked. Evidently, she was a member of the Movement." + +The Boss was nodding wisely. "I've had my eye on her, Lawrence. An obvious +weird. But we will have to suppress that Scop-Serum angle." He slapped his +favorite field man on the arm jovially. "Well, boy, this means promotion, +of course." + +Larry grinned. "Thanks, sir. All in a day's work. I don't think we'll have +much trouble with the remnants of this Movement thing. The pitch is to +treat them as counterfeiters, not subversives. Try them for that. Their +silly explanations of what they were going to do with the money will never +be taken seriously." He looked down at the small corpse. "Particularly now +that their kingpin is gone." + +A new wave of agents, F.B.I. men and prisoners washed into the room and +Steve Hackett and Larry were for a moment pushed back into a corner by +themselves. + +Steve looked at him strangely and said, "There's one thing I'd like to +know: Did you really have to shoot him, Woolford?" + +Larry brushed it off. "What's the difference? He was as weird as they +come, wasn't he?" + +THE END + + + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STATUS QUO*** + + + +CREDITS + + +October 26, 2009 + + Project Gutenberg TEI edition 1 + Produced by Greg Weeks, David King, and the Online Distributed + Proofreading Team at <http://www.pgdp.net/>. + + + +A WORD FROM PROJECT GUTENBERG + + +This file should be named 30339-8.txt or 30339-8.zip. + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + + + http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/0/3/3/30339/ + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one -- the old editions will be +renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one +owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and +you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission +and without paying copyright royalties. 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\ No newline at end of file diff --git a/old/30339-h.html b/old/30339-h.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cb2f8e3 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/30339-h.html @@ -0,0 +1,7901 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en" xml:lang="en"><head><meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8" /><meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /><link rel="schema.DC" href="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" /><meta name="DC.Creator" content="Dallas McCord Reynolds" /><meta name="DC.Title" content="Status Quo" /><meta name="DC.Date" content="October 26, 2009" /><meta name="DC.Language" content="English" /><meta name="DC.Publisher" content="Project Gutenberg" /><meta name="DC.Identifier" content="http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/30339" /><meta name="DC.Rights" content="This text is in the public domain." /><title>The Project Gutenberg EBook of Status Quo by Dallas McCord Reynolds</title><style type="text/css">/* +The Gnutenberg Press - default CSS2 stylesheet + +Any generated element will have a class "tei" and a class "tei-elem" +where elem is the element name in TEI. +The order of statements is important !!! 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You may copy it, + give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project + Gutenberg License <a href="#pglicense" class="tei tei-ref">included with this + eBook</a> or online at <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license" class="tei tei-xref">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a></p></div><pre class="pre tei tei-div" style="margin-bottom: 3.00em; margin-top: 3.00em">Title: Status Quo + +Author: Dallas McCord Reynolds + +Release Date: October 26, 2009 [Ebook #30339] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STATUS QUO*** +</pre></div> + </div> + <div class="tei tei-div" style="margin-bottom: 5.00em; margin-top: 5.00em"> + + </div> + + <hr class="page" /><div class="tei tei-div" style="margin-bottom: 5.00em; margin-top: 5.00em"> + <p class="tei tei-p" style="text-align: center; margin-bottom: 1.73em"><span style="font-size: 173%">Status Quo</span></p> + <p class="tei tei-p" style="text-align: center; margin-bottom: 1.73em"><span style="font-size: 173%">by Dallas McCord Reynolds</span></p> + <p class="tei tei-p" style="text-align: center; margin-bottom: 1.20em"><span style="font-size: 120%">Illustrated by John Schoenherr</span></p> + <p class="tei tei-p" style="text-align: center; margin-bottom: 1.00em">Analog Science Fact & Fiction</p> + <p class="tei tei-p" style="text-align: center; margin-bottom: 1.00em">August 1961</p> + </div> + + </div> +<div class="tei tei-body" style="margin-bottom: 6.00em; margin-top: 6.00em"> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page004">[pg 004]</span><a name="Pg004" id="Pg004" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<div class="tei tei-div" style="margin-bottom: 5.00em; margin-top: 5.00em"> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +[Transcriber's Note: This text was produced from Analog Science Fact & +Fiction August 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed.] +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +In his income bracket +and in the suburb in +which he lived, government +employees in the +twenty-five to thirty-five +age group were currently wearing +tweeds. Tweeds were in. Not to wear +tweeds was Non-U. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Lawrence Woolford wore tweeds. +His suit, this morning, had first seen +the light of day on a hand loom in +Donegal. It had been cut by a Swede +widely patronized by serious young +career men in Lawrence Woolford's +status group; English tailors were out +currently and Italians unheard of. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Woolford sauntered down the walk +before his auto-bungalow, scowling at +the sportscar at the curb—wrong year, +wrong make. He'd have to trade +it in on a new model. Which was a +shame in a way, he liked the car. +However, he had no desire to get a +reputation as a weird among colleagues +and friends. What was it +Senator Carey MacArthur had said +the other day? Show me a weird and +I'll show you a person who has taken +the first step toward being a Commie. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Woolford slid under the wheel, +dropped the lift lever, depressed gently +the thrust pedal and took off for +downtown Greater Washington. Theoretically, +he had another four days of +vacation coming to him. He wondered +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page006">[pg 006]</span><a name="Pg006" id="Pg006" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +what the Boss wanted. That +was the trouble in being one of the +Boss' favorite trouble shooters, when +trouble arose you wound up in the +middle of it. Lawrence Woolford was +to the point where he was thinking in +terms of graduating out of field work +and taking on a desk job which +meant promotion in status and pay. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He turned over his car to a parker +at the departmental parking lot and +made his way through the entrance +utilized by second-grade departmental +officials. In another year, he told +himself, he'd be using that other +door. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss' reception secretary +looked up when Lawrence Woolford +entered the anteroom where she presided. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Hello, Larry,”</span> she said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Hear +they called your vacation short. Darn +shame.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +LaVerne Polk was a cute little +whizz of efficiency. Like Napoleon +and his army, she knew the name of +every member of the department and +was on a first-name basis with all. +However, she was definitely a weird. +For instance, styles might come and +styles might go, but LaVerne dressed +for comfort, did her hair the way she +thought it looked best, and wore low-heeled +walking shoes on the job. In +fact, she was ready and willing to +snarl at anyone, no matter how kindly +intentioned, who even hinted that +her nonconformity didn't help her +promotion prospects. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Woolford said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Hi, LaVerne. I +think the Boss is expecting me.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“That he is. Go right in, Larry.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She looked after him when he +turned and left her desk. Lawrence +Woolford cut a pleasant figure as thirty +year old bachelors go. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss looked up from some report +on his desk which he'd been +frowning at, nodded to his field man +and said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Sit down, Lawrence. I'll be +with you in a minute. Please take a +look at this while you're waiting.”</span> He +handed over a banknote. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford took it and found +himself a comfortable chair. He examined +the bill, front and back. It +was a fifty dollar note, almost new. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Finally the Boss, a stocky but impeccable +career bureaucrat of the ultra-latest +school, scribbled his initials +on the report and tossed it into an +Out chute. He said to Woolford, <span class="tei tei-q">“I +am sorry to cut short your vacation, +Lawrence. I considered giving Walter +Foster the assignment, but I think +you're the better choice.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry decided the faint praise routine +was the best tactic, said earnestly +about his closest rival. <span class="tei tei-q">“Walt's a good +man, sir.”</span> And then, <span class="tei tei-q">“What's the +crisis?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“What do you think of that fifty?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +His trouble shooter looked down at +it. <span class="tei tei-q">“What is there to think about it?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss grunted, slid open a desk +drawer and brought forth another bill. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Here, look at this, please.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +It was another fifty. Larry Woolford +frowned at it, not getting whatever +was going on. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Observe the serial numbers,”</span> the +Boss said impatiently. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +They were identical. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Woolford looked up. <span class="tei tei-q">“Counterfeit. +Which one is the bad one?”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page007">[pg 007]</span><a name="Pg007" id="Pg007" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“That is exactly what we would like +to know,”</span> the Boss said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford stared at his superior, +blinked and then examined the +bills again. <span class="tei tei-q">“A beautiful job,”</span> he said, +<span class="tei tei-q">“but what's it got to do with us, sir? +This is Secret Service jurisdiction, +counterfeiting.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“They called us in on it. They +think it might have international +ramifications.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Now they were getting somewhere. +Larry Woolford put the two +bills on the Boss' desk and leaned +back in his chair, waiting. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +His superior said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Remember the +Nazis turning out American and +British banknotes during the Second +War?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I was just a kid.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I thought you might have read +about it. At any rate, obviously a government—with +all its resources—could +counterfeit perfectly any currency in +the world. It would have the skills, +the equipment, the funds to accomplish +the task. The Germans turned +out hundreds of millions of dollars +and pounds with the idea of confounding +the Allied financial basics.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“And why didn't it work?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“The difficulty of getting it into +circulation, for one thing. However, +they did actually use a quantity. For a +time our people were so alarmed that +they wouldn't allow any bills to come +into this country from Mexico except +two-dollar denomination—the one +denomination the Germans hadn't +bothered to duplicate. Oh, they had +the Secret Service in a dither for a +time.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Woolford was frowning. <span class="tei tei-q">“What's +this got to do with our current situation?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss said, <span class="tei tei-q">“It is only a conjecture. +One of those bills is counterfeit +but such an excellent reproduction +that the skill involved is beyond the +resources of any known counterfeiter. +Secret Service wants to know if it +might be coming from abroad, +and, if so, from where. If it's a governmental +project, particularly a Soviet +Complex one, then it comes into +the ken of our particular cloak-and-dagger +department.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Yes, sir.”</span> Woolford said. He got +up and examined the two bills again. +<span class="tei tei-q">“How'd they ever detect that one was +bad?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Pure fortune. A bank clerk with +an all but eidetic memory was going +through a batch of fifties. It's not too +commonly used a denomination, you +know. Coincidence was involved +since in that same sheaf the serial +number was duplicated.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“And then?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“The reproduction was so perfect +that Secret Service was in an immediate +uproar. Short of the Nazi effort, +there has never been anything like it. +A perfect duplication of engraving +and paper identically the same. The +counterfeiters have even evidently +gone to the extent of putting a certain +amount of artificial wear on the +bills before putting them into circulation.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford said, <span class="tei tei-q">“This is out +of my line. How were they able to +check further, and how many more +did they turn up?”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page008">[pg 008]</span><a name="Pg008" id="Pg008" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“The new I.B.M. sorters help. Secret +Service checked every fifty dollar +bill in every institution in town +both banking and governmental. +Thus far, they have located ten bills +in all.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“And other cities?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“None. They've all been passed in +Greater Washington, which is suspicious +in itself. The amount of expense +that has gone into the manufacture +of these bills does not allow +for only a handful of them being +passed. They should be turning up in +number. Lawrence, this reproduction +is such that a pusher could walk into +a bank and have his false currency +changed by any clerk.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Wow,”</span> Larry whistled. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Indeed.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“So you want me to work with Secret +Service on this on the off chance +that the Soviet Complex is doing us +deliberate dirt.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“That is exactly the idea, Lawrence. +Get to work, please, and keep in +touch with me. If you need support, +I can assign Walter Foster or some of +the other operatives to assist you. +This might have endless ramifications.”</span> +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Back in the anteroom, Woolford +said to the Boss' receptionist, <span class="tei tei-q">“I'm on +a local job, LaVerne, how about assigning +me a girl?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Can do,”</span> she said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“And, look, tell her to get hold of +every available work on counterfeiting +and pile it on my desk.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Right. Thinking of going into +business, Larry?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He grinned down at her. <span class="tei tei-q">“That's +the idea. Keeping up with the Jones +clan in this man's town costs roughly +twice my income.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +LaVerne said disapprovingly, +<span class="tei tei-q">“Then why not give it up? With the +classification you've got a single man +ought to be able to save half +his pay.”</span> She added, more quietly, <span class="tei tei-q">“Or +get married and support a family.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Save half my pay?”</span> Larry snorted. +<span class="tei tei-q">“And get a far out reputation, eh? +No thanks, you can't afford to be a +weird these days.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She flushed—and damn prettily, +Larry Woolford decided. She could be +an attractive item if it wasn't for obviously +getting her kicks out of being +individualistic. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said suddenly, <span class="tei tei-q">“Look, promise +like a good girl not to make us +conspicuous and I'll take you to the +Swank Room for dinner tonight.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Is that where all the bright young +men currently have to be seen +once or twice a week?”</span> she snapped +back at him. <span class="tei tei-q">“Get lost, Larry. Being a +healthy, normal woman I'm interested +in men, but not necessarily in +walking status-symbols.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +It was his turn to flush, and, he decided +wryly, he probably didn't do it +as prettily as she did. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +On his way to his office, he wondered +why the Boss kept her on. +Classically, a secretary-receptionist +should have every pore in place, but +in her time LaVerne Polk must have +caused more than one bureaucratic +eyebrow to raise. Efficiency was probably +the answer; the Boss couldn't +afford to let her go. +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page009">[pg 009]</span><a name="Pg009" id="Pg009" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford's office wasn't +much more than a cubicle. He sat +down at the desk and banged a drawer +or two open and closed. He liked +the work, liked the department, but +theoretically he still had several days +of vacation and hated to get back into +routine. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Had he known it, this was hardly +going to be routine. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He flicked the phone finally and +asked for an outline. He dialed three +numbers before getting his subject. +The phone screen remained blank. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Hans?”</span> he said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Lawrence Woolford.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Teutonic accent was heavy, +the voice bluff. <span class="tei tei-q">“Ah, Larry! you need +some assistance to make your vacation? +Perhaps a sinister, exotic young +lady, complete with long cigarette +holder?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford growled, <span class="tei tei-q">“How'd +you know I was on vacation?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The other laughed. <span class="tei tei-q">“You know +better than to ask that, my friend.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“The vacation is over, +Hans. I need some information.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The voice was more guarded now. +<span class="tei tei-q">“I owe you a favor or two.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Don't you though? Look, Hans, +what's new in the Russkie camp?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The heartiness was gone. <span class="tei tei-q">“How do +you mean?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Is there anything big stirring? Is +there anyone new in this country +from the Soviet Complex?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Well now—”</span> the other's voice +drifted away. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford said impatiently, +<span class="tei tei-q">“Look, Hans, let's don't waste time +fencing. You run a clearing agency +for, <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">ah</span></em>, information. You're strictly a +businessman, nonpartisan, so to speak. +Fine, thus far our department has +tolerated you. Perhaps we'll continue +to. Perhaps the reason is that we +figure we get more out of your existence +than we lose. The Russkies +evidently figure the same way, the proof +being that you're alive and +have branches in the capitals of every +power on Earth.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“All right, all right,”</span> the German +said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Let me think a moment. Can +you give me an idea of what you're +looking for?”</span> There was an undernote +of interest in the voice now. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“No. I just want to know if you've +heard anything new anti-my-side, +from the other side. Or if you know +of any fresh personnel recently from +there.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Frankly, I haven't. If you could +give me a hint.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I can't,”</span> Larry said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Look, Hans, +like you say, you owe me a favor or +two. If something comes up, let me +know. Then I'll owe you one.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The voice was jovial again. <span class="tei tei-q">“It's a +bargain, my friend.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +After Woolford had hung up, he +scowled at the phone. He wondered +if Hans Distelmayer was lying. The +German commanded the largest professional +spy ring in the world. It was +possible, but difficult, for anything in +espionage to develop without his having +an inkling. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The phone rang back. It was Steve +Hackett of Secret Service on the +screen. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Hackett said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Woolford, you coming +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page010">[pg 010]</span><a name="Pg010" id="Pg010" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +over? I understand you've been +assigned to get in our hair on this +job.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Huh,”</span> Larry grunted. <span class="tei tei-q">“The way I +hear it, your whole department has +given up, so I'm assigned to help you +out of your usual fumble-fingered +confusion.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Hackett snorted. <span class="tei tei-q">“At any rate, can +you drop over? I'm to work in liaison +with you.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Coming,”</span> Larry said. He hung up, +got to his feet and headed for the +door. If they could crack this thing +the first day, he'd take up that vacation +where it'd been interrupted and +possibly be able to wangle a few +more days out of the Boss to boot. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +At this time of day, parking would +have been a problem, in spite of automation +of the streets. He left his +car in the departmental lot and took a +cab. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Counterfeit Division of the +Secret Service occupied an impressive +section of an impressive governmental +building. Larry Woolford +flashed his credentials here and there, +explained to guards and receptionists +here and there, and finally wound up +in Steve Hackett's office which was +all but a duplicate of his own in size +and decor. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve Hackett himself was a fairly +accurate carbon copy of Woolford, +barring facial resemblance alone. The +fact was, Steve was almost Lincolnesque +in his ugliness. Career man, +about thirty, good university, crew +cut, six foot, one hundred and seventy, +earnest of eye. He wore Harris tweed. +Larry Woolford made a note of that; +possibly herringbone was coming +back in. He winced at the thought of +a major change in his wardrobe; it'd +cost a fortune. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +They'd worked on a few cases together +before when Steve Hackett +had been assigned to the presidential +bodyguard and co-operated well. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve came to his feet and shook +hands. <span class="tei tei-q">“Thought that you were going +to be down in Florida bass fishing this +month. You like your work so well +you can't stay away, or is it a matter +of trying to impress your chief?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry growled, <span class="tei tei-q">“Fine thing. Secret +Service bogs down and they've got to +call me in to clean up the mess.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve motioned him to a chair and +immediately went serious. <span class="tei tei-q">“Do you +know anything about pushing queer, +Woolford?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“That means passing counterfeit +money, doesn't it? All I know is what's +in the TriD crime shows.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I can see you're going to be a lot +of help. Have you got anywhere at all +on the possibility that the stuff might +be coming from abroad?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Nothing positive,”</span> Larry said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Are +you people accomplishing anything?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“We're just getting underway. +There's something off-trail about this +deal, Woolford. It doesn't fit into +routine.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford said, <span class="tei tei-q">“I wouldn't +think so if the stuff is so good not +even a bank clerk can tell the difference.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“That's not what I'm talking about +now. Let me give you a run down on +standard counterfeiting.”</span> The Secret +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page011">[pg 011]</span><a name="Pg011" id="Pg011" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +Service agent pushed back in his +swivel chair, lit a cigarette, and +propped his feet onto the edge of a +partly open desk drawer. <span class="tei tei-q">“Briefly, it +goes like this. Some smart lad gets +himself a set of plates and a platen +press and—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry interrupted, <span class="tei tei-q">“Where does he +get the plates?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“That doesn't matter now,”</span> Steve +said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Various ways. Maybe he makes +them himself, sometimes he buys them +from a crooked engraver. But +I'm talking about pushing green +goods once it's printed. Anyway, our +friend runs off, say, a million dollars +worth of fives. But he doesn't try to +pass them himself. He wholesales +them around netting, say, fifty thousand +dollars. In other words, he sells +twenty dollars in counterfeit for +one good dollar.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry pursed his lips. <span class="tei tei-q">“Quite a discount.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Um-m-m. But that's safest from +his angle. The half dozen or so distributors +he sold it to don't try to pass +it either. They also are playing it +carefully. They peddle it, at say ten +to one, to the next rung down the +ladder.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“And these are the fellows that +pass it, eh?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Not even then, usually. These +small timers take it and pass it on at +five to one to the suckers in the trade, +who take the biggest risks. Most of +these are professional pushers of the +queer, as the term goes. Some, however, +are comparative amateurs. Sailors +for instance, who buy with the +idea of passing it in some foreign +port where seamen's money flows +fast.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford shifted in his +chair. <span class="tei tei-q">“So what are you building up +to?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve Hackett rubbed the end of +his pug nose with a forefinger in +quick irritation. <span class="tei tei-q">“Like I say, that's +standard counterfeit procedure. We're +all set up to meet it, and do a pretty +good job. Where we have our difficulties +is with amateurs.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Woolford scowled at him. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Hackett said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Some guy who makes +and passes it himself, for instance. +He's unknown to the stool pigeons, +has no criminal record, does up comparatively +small amounts and dribbles +his product onto the market over +a period of time. We had one old +devil up in New York once who actually +<em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">drew</span></em> one dollar bills. He was a +tremendous artist. It took us years to +get him.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Well, why go +into all this? We're hardly dealing +with amateurs now.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve looked at him. <span class="tei tei-q">“That's the +trouble. We are.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Are you batty? Not even your +own experts can tell this product +from real money.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I didn't say it was being <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">made</span></em> by +amateurs. It's being <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">pushed</span></em> by amateurs—or +maybe amateur is the better +word.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“How do you know?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“For one thing, most professionals +won't touch anything bigger than a +twenty. Tens are better, fives better +still. When you pass a fifty, the person +you give it to is apt to remember +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page012">[pg 012]</span><a name="Pg012" id="Pg012" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +where he got it.”</span> Steve Hackett said +slowly, <span class="tei tei-q">“Particularly if you give one +as a tip to the <span lang="fr" class="tei tei-foreign" xml:lang="fr"><span style="font-style: italic">maître d'hôtel</span></span> in a +first-class restaurant. A <span lang="fr" class="tei tei-foreign" xml:lang="fr"><span style="font-style: italic">maître d'</span></span> holds +his job on the strength of his ability +to remember faces and names.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="text-align: center; margin-bottom: 1.00em"> + </p><div class="tei tei-figure" style="width: 30%; text-align: center"><img src="images/p12.png" width="230" height="700" alt="Illustration." /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“What else makes you think your +pushers are amateurs?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Amateur,”</span> Hackett corrected. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Ideally, a pusher is an inconspicuous +type. The kind of person whose face +you'd never remember. It's never a +teenage girl who's blowing money.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +It was time to stare now, and Larry +Woolford obliged. <span class="tei tei-q">“A teenager!”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“We've had four descriptions of +her, one of them excellent. Fredrick, +the <span lang="fr" class="tei tei-foreign" xml:lang="fr"><span style="font-style: italic">maître d'</span></span> over at La Calvados, is +the one that counts, but the others +jibe. She's bought perfume and gloves +at Michel Swiss, the swankiest shop +in town, a dress at Chez Marie—she +passed three fifties there—and a hat +at Paulette's over on Monroe Street.</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“That's another sign of the amateur, +by the way. A competent pusher +buys a small item and gets change +from his counterfeit bill. Our girl's +been buying expensive items, obviously +more interested in the product +than in her change.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“This doesn't seem to make much +sense,”</span> Larry Woolford protested. +<span class="tei tei-q">“You have any ideas at all?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“The question is,”</span> Hackett said, +<span class="tei tei-q">“where did she get it? Is she connected +with one of the embassies and +acquired the stuff overseas? If so, that +puts it in your lap again possibly—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The phone rang and Steve flicked +the switch and grumbled, <span class="tei tei-q">“Yeah? +Steven Hackett speaking.”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page013">[pg 013]</span><a name="Pg013" id="Pg013" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He listened for a moment then +banged the phone off and jumped to +his feet. <span class="tei tei-q">“Come on, Larry,”</span> he +snapped. <span class="tei tei-q">“This is it.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry stood, too. <span class="tei tei-q">“Who was that?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Fredrick, over at La Calvados. The +girl has come in for lunch. Let's go!”</span> +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +La Calvados was the swankiest +French restaurant in Greater Washington, +a city not devoid of swank +restaurants. Only the upper-echelons +in governmental circles could afford +its tariffs; the clientele was more apt +to consist of business mucky-mucks +and lobbyists on the make. Larry +Woolford had eaten here exactly +twice. You could get a reputation +spending money far beyond your obvious +pay status. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Fredrick, the <span lang="fr" class="tei tei-foreign" xml:lang="fr"><span style="font-style: italic">maître de hôtel</span></span>, however, +was able to greet them both by +name. <span class="tei tei-q">“Monsieur Hackett, Monsieur +Woolford,”</span> he bowed. He obviously +didn't approve of La Calvados being +used as a hangout where counterfeiters +were picked up the authorities. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Where is she?”</span> Steve said, looking +out over the public dining room. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Fredrick said, unprofessionally agitated, +<span class="tei tei-q">“See here, Monsieur Hackett, +you didn't expect to, ah, arrest the +young lady <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">here</span></em> during our lunch +hour?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve looked at him impatiently. +<span class="tei tei-q">“We don't exactly beat them over the +head with blackjacks, slip the bracelets +on and drag them screaming to +the paddywagon.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Of course not, monsieur, but—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford's chief dined +here several times a week and was +probably on the best of terms with +Fredrick whose decisions on tables +and whose degree of servility had a +good deal of influence on a man's +status in Greater Washington. Larry +said wearily, <span class="tei tei-q">“We can wait until she +leaves. Where is she?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Fredrick had taken them to one +side. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Do you see the young lady over +near the window on the park? The +rather gauche appearing type?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +It was a teenager, all right. A +youngster up to her eyebrows in the +attempt to project sophistication. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Do you know who she +is?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“No,”</span> Fredrick said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Hardly our +usual clientele.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Oh?”</span> Larry said. <span class="tei tei-q">“She looks like +money.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Fredrick said, <span class="tei tei-q">“The dress appears as +though it is of Chez Marie, but she +wears it as though it came from +Klein's. Her perfume is Chanel, but +she has used approximately three +times the quantity one would expect.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“That's our girl, all right,”</span> Steve +murmured. <span class="tei tei-q">“Where can we keep an +eye on her until she leaves?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Why not at the bar here, Messieurs?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Why not?”</span> Larry said. <span class="tei tei-q">“I could +use a drink.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Fredrick cleared his throat. <span class="tei tei-q">“Ah, +Messieurs, that fifty I turned over +you. I suppose it turned out to be +spurious?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve grinned at him. <span class="tei tei-q">“Afraid so, +Fredrick. The department is holding +it.”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page014">[pg 014]</span><a name="Pg014" id="Pg014" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry took out his wallet. <span class="tei tei-q">“However, +we have a certain leeway on expenses +on this assignment and appreciate +your co-operation.”</span> He +handed two twenties and a ten to the +<span lang="fr" class="tei tei-foreign" xml:lang="fr"><span style="font-style: italic">maître d'</span></span>. Fredrick bowed low, the +money disappearing into his clothes +magically. <span class="tei tei-q">“<span lang="fr" class="tei tei-foreign" xml:lang="fr"><span style="font-style: italic">Merci bien</span></span>, monsieur.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +At the bar, Steve scowled at his +colleague. <span class="tei tei-q">“Ha!”</span> he said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Why didn't +I think of that first? He'll get +down on his knees and bump his +head each time he sees you in the +joint from now on.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford waggled a finger +at the other. <span class="tei tei-q">“This is a status conscious +town, my boy. Prestige means +everything. When I take over my +Boss' job, maybe we can swing a +transfer and I'll give you a position +suitable to your attainments.”</span> He +pursed his lips judiciously. <span class="tei tei-q">“Although, +come to think of it, that +might mean a demotion from the job +you're holding now.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Vodka martini,”</span> Steve told the +bartender. <span class="tei tei-q">“Polish vodka, of course.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Of course, sir.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Same for me.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The bartender left and Steve muttered, +<span class="tei tei-q">“I hate vodka.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Yeah,”</span> Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“But what're +you going to do in a place like this, +order some weird drink?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve dug into his pocket for +money. <span class="tei tei-q">“We're not going to have to +drink them. Here she comes.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She walked with her head held +high, hauteur in every step. Ignoring +the peasants at the tables she passed. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Holy smokes,”</span> Steve grunted. +<span class="tei tei-q">“It's a wonder Fredrick let her in.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She hesitated momentarily before +the doorway of the prestige restaurant +allowing the passers-by to realize +she'd just emerged, and then +turned to her right to promenade +along the shopping street. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Fifty feet below La Calvados, Steve +said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Let's go, Woolford.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +One stepped to one elbow, the +other to the other. Steve said quietly, +<span class="tei tei-q">“I wonder if we could ask you a few +questions?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Her eyebrows went up, <span class="tei tei-q">“I <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">beg</span></em> your +pardon!”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve sighed and displayed the +badge pinned to his wallet, keeping +it inconspicuous. <span class="tei tei-q">“Secret Service, +Miss,”</span> he murmured. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Oh, devil,”</span> she said. She looked up +at Larry Woolford, and then back at +Steve. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Among other things, +we're in charge of counterfeit money.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She was about five foot four in her +heels, had obviously been on a round +of beauty shops and had obviously +instructed them to glamorize her. It +hadn't come off. She still looked as +though she'd be more at home as +cheerleader of the junior class in +small town high school. She was +honey blond, green-blue of eye, and +had that complexion they seldom +carry even into the twenties. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I ... I don't know what you're +talking about.”</span> Her chin began to +tremble. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said gently, <span class="tei tei-q">“Don't worry. +We just want to ask you some questions.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Well ... like what?”</span> She was +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page015">[pg 015]</span><a name="Pg015" id="Pg015" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +going to be blinking back tears in a +moment. At least Larry hoped she'd +blink them back. He'd hate to have +her start howling here in public. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“We think you can be of +assistance to the government, and +we'd like your help.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve rolled his eyes upward, but +turned and waved for a street level +cab. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +In the cab, Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Suppose we +go over to my office, Steve?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“O.K. with me,”</span> Steve muttered, +<span class="tei tei-q">“but by the looks of the young lady +here, I think it's a false alarm from +your angle. She's obviously an American. +What's your name, Miss?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“It's Zusanette. Well, really, Susan.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Susan what?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I ... I'm not sure I want to tell +you. I ... I want a lawyer.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“A lawyer!”</span> Steve snorted. <span class="tei tei-q">“You +mean you want the juvenile authorities, +don't you?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Oh, what a mean thing to say,”</span> +she sputtered. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +In the corridor outside the Boss' +suite of offices, Larry said to Steve, +<span class="tei tei-q">“You take Miss ... ah, Zusanette +to my office, will you Steve. I'll be +there in a minute.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He opened the door to the anteroom +and said, <span class="tei tei-q">“LaVerne, we've got a +girl in my office—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Why, Larry!”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He glowered at her. <span class="tei tei-q">“A suspect. I +want a complete tape of everything +said. As soon as we're through, have +copies made, at least three or four.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“And, who, Mr. Woolford, was +your girl Friday last year?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“This is important, honey. I suppose +you've supplied me with a secretary +but I haven't even met her +yet. Take care of it, will you?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Sure enough, Larry.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He followed Steve and the girl to +his office. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Once seated, the girl and Steve in +the only two extra chairs the cubicle +boasted and Larry behind his desk, +he looked at her in what he hoped +was reassurance. <span class="tei tei-q">“Just tell us where +you got the money, Zusanette.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve reached out a hand suddenly +and took her bag from her lap. +She gasped and snatched at it, but +he eluded her and she sat back, her +chin trembling again. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve came up with a thick sheaf +of bills, the top ones, at least, all +fifties and tossed them to Larry's +desk. He took out a school pass and +read, <span class="tei tei-q">“Susan Self, Elwood Avenue.”</span> +He looked up at Larry and said, +<span class="tei tei-q">“That's right off Eastern, near Paterson +Park in the Baltimore section of +town, isn't it?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said to her, <span class="tei tei-q">“Zusanette, I think +you'd better tell us where you got all +this money.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I found it,”</span> she said defiantly. +<span class="tei tei-q">“You can't do anything to me if I +simply found it. Anybody can find +money. Finders keepers—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“But if it's counterfeit,”</span> Steve interrupted +dryly, <span class="tei tei-q">“it might also be, +finders weepers.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Where did you find it, Zusanette?”</span> +Larry said gently. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She tightened her lips, and the +trembling of her chin disappeared. +<span class="tei tei-q">“I ... I can't tell you that. But it's +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page016">[pg 016]</span><a name="Pg016" id="Pg016" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +not counterfeit. Daddy ... my father +said it was as good as any money +the government prints.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“That it is,”</span> Steve said sourly. +<span class="tei tei-q">“But it's still counterfeit, which +makes it very illegal indeed to spend, +Miss Self.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She looked from one of them +to the other, not clear about her position. +She said to Larry, <span class="tei tei-q">“You mean +it's not <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">real</span></em> money?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He kept his tone disarming, but +shook his head, <span class="tei tei-q">“I'm afraid not, Zusanette. +Now, tell us, where did you +find it?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I can't. I promised”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I see. Then you don't know to +whom it originally belonged?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“It didn't belong to anybody.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve Hackett made with a disbelieving +whistle. He was taking the +part of the tough, suspicious cop; +Larry the part of the understanding, +sympathetic officer, trying to give the +suspect a break. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Susan Self turned quickly on Steve. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Well, it didn't. You don't even +know.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“I think she's telling the +truth, Steve. Give her a chance. She's +playing fair.”</span> He looked back at the +girl, and frowned his puzzlement. +<span class="tei tei-q">“All money belongs to <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">somebody</span></em> +doesn't it?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She had them now. She said superiorly. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Not necessarily to some<em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">body</span></em>. +It can belong to, like, an organization.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve grunted skepticism. <span class="tei tei-q">“I think +we ought to arrest her,”</span> he said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry held up a hand, his face registering +opposition. <span class="tei tei-q">“I'll handle this,”</span> +he said sharply. <span class="tei tei-q">“Zusanette is doing +everything she can to co-operate.”</span> He +turned back to the girl. <span class="tei tei-q">“Now, the +question is, what organization did this +money belong to?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She looked triumphantly at Steve +Hackett. <span class="tei tei-q">“It belonged to the Movement.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +They both looked at her. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve said finally, <span class="tei tei-q">“What movement?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She pouted in thought. <span class="tei tei-q">“That's the +only name they call it.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Who's they?”</span> Steve snapped nastily. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I ... I don't know.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Well, you already told +us your father was a member, Zusanette.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Her eyes went wide. <span class="tei tei-q">“I did? I +shouldn't have said that.”</span> But she +evidently took him at his word. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said encouragingly, <span class="tei tei-q">“Well, +we might as well go on. Who else is +a member of this Movement besides +your father?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She shifted in her chair uncomfortably. +<span class="tei tei-q">“I don't know any of their names.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve looked down at the school +pass in his hands. He said to Larry, +<span class="tei tei-q">“I'd better make a phone call.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He left. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Don't worry about him, +Zusanette. Now then, this <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">movement</span></em>. +That's kind of a funny name, isn't it? +What does it mean?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She was evidently glad that the less +than handsome Steve Hackett had +left the room. Her words flowed more +freely. <span class="tei tei-q">“Well, Daddy says that they +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page017">[pg 017]</span><a name="Pg017" id="Pg017" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +call it the Movement rather than a +revolution....”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +An ice cube manifested itself in +the stomach of Lawrence Woolford. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“... Because people get conditioned, +like, to words. Like revolution. +Everybody is against the word +because they all think of killing and +everything, and, Daddy says, there +doesn't have to be any shooting or +killing or anything like that at all. It +just means a fundamental change in +society. And, Daddy says, take the +word propaganda. Everybody's got to +thinking that it automatically means +lies, but it doesn't at all. It just means, +like, the arguments you use to convince +people that what you stand for +is right and it might be lies or it +might not. And, Daddy says, take the +word socialism. So many people have +the wrong idea of what it means that +the socialists ought to scrap the word +and start using something else to +mean what they stand for.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said gently, <span class="tei tei-q">“Your father is +a socialist?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Oh, no.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He nodded in understanding. <span class="tei tei-q">“Oh, +a Communist, eh?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Susan Self was indignant. <span class="tei tei-q">“Daddy +thinks the Communists are strictly +awful, really weird.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve Hackett came back into the +office. He said to Larry, <span class="tei tei-q">“I sent a couple +of the boys out to pick him up.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Susan was on her feet, a hand to +mouth. <span class="tei tei-q">“You mean my father! You're +going to arrest him!”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said soothingly, <span class="tei tei-q">“Sit down, +Zusanette. There's a lot of things +about this that I'm sure your father +can explain.”</span> He said to Steve, <span class="tei tei-q">“She +tells me that the money belonged to +a movement. A revolutionary movement +which doesn't use the term +revolutionary because people react +unfavorably to that word. It's not +Commie.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Susan said indignantly, <span class="tei tei-q">“It's American, +not anything foreign!”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve growled, <span class="tei tei-q">“Let's get back to +the money. What's this movement doing +with a lot of counterfeit bills and +where did you find them?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She evidently figured she'd gone +too far now to take a stand. <span class="tei tei-q">“It's not +Daddy's fault,”</span> she said. <span class="tei tei-q">“He took me +to headquarters twice.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Where's headquarters?”</span> Larry said +trying to keep his voice soothing. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Well ... I don't know. Daddy +was awfully silly about it. He tied his +handkerchief around my eyes near +the end. But the others complained +about me anyway, and Daddy got awfully +mad and said something about +the young people of the country participating +in their emancipation and +all, but the others got mad too, and +said there wasn't any kind of help I +could do around headquarters anyway, +and I'd be better off in school. +Everybody got awfully mad, but after +the second time Daddy promised not +to take me to headquarters any more.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“But where did you find the money, +Zusannette?”</span> Larry said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“At headquarters. There's tons and +tons of it there.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry cleared his throat and said, +<span class="tei tei-q">“When you say tons and tons, you +mean a great deal of it, eh?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She was proudly definite. <span class="tei tei-q">“I mean +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page018">[pg 018]</span><a name="Pg018" id="Pg018" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +tons and tons. A ton is two thousand +pounds.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Look, Zusanette,”</span> Larry said reasonably. +<span class="tei tei-q">“I don't know how much +money weighs, exactly, but let's say a +pound would be, say, a thousand bills.”</span> +He took up a pencil and scribbled on +a pad before him. <span class="tei tei-q">“A pound of fifties +would be $50,000. Then if you multiply +that by 2,000 pounds to make a +ton, you'd have $100,000,000. And +you say there's tons and tons?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“And that's just the fifties,”</span> Susan +said triumphantly. <span class="tei tei-q">“So you can see +the two little packages I picked up +aren't really important at all. It's just +like I found them.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I don't think there's quite a thousand +bills in a pound,”</span> Steve said weakly. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“How much other money +is there?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Oh, piles. Whole rooms. Rooms +after rooms. And hundred dollar bills, +and twenties, and fives, and tens—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Look, Zusanette, +I don't think you're in any position to be +telling us whoppers. This whole story +doesn't make much sense, does it?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Her mouth tightened. <span class="tei tei-q">“I'm not going +to say anything more until Daddy +gets here, anyway,”</span> she said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Which was when the phone rang. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I have an idea that's for me,”</span> +Steve said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The screen lit up and LaVerne Polk +said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Call for Steve Hackett, Larry.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry pushed the phone around so +Steve could look into it. LaVerne +flicked off and was replaced by a +stranger in uniform. Steve said, +<span class="tei tei-q">“Yeah?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The cop said, <span class="tei tei-q">“He's 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.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Susan gasped, <span class="tei tei-q">“You mean Daddy?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve Hackett rubbed a hand over +his flattened nose. <span class="tei tei-q">“Holy Smokes,”</span> he +said. He thanked the cop and flicked +off. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Look Zusanette, everything's +going to be all right. Nothing +will happen to you. You say you managed +to pick up two packets of all +this money they have at headquarters. +O.K. So you thought it wouldn't be +missed and you've always wanted to +spend money the way you see the +stars do on TriD and in the movies.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She looked at him, taken back. +<span class="tei tei-q">“How did you know?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said dryly, <span class="tei tei-q">“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?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +That evidently puzzled her. <span class="tei tei-q">“The +Professor said 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.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve said, carefully, <span class="tei tei-q">“Professor +who?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Susan said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Just the Professor. +That's all we ever call him.”</span> Her chin +went to trembling still again. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page019">[pg 019]</span><a name="Pg019" id="Pg019" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry summed it up for the Boss +later. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +His chief scoffed his disbelief. <span class="tei tei-q">“The +child is full of dreams, Lawrence. It +comes from seeing an over-abundance +of these TriD shows. I have a girl the +same age. I don't know what is happening +to the country. They have no +sense of reality.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford said mildly, <span class="tei tei-q">“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.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss said tolerantly, <span class="tei tei-q">“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 yet?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Susan Self says her father, Ernest +Self, is an inventor. Steve Hackett is +working on locating him.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“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?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +His operative twisted his face in a +grimace. <span class="tei tei-q">“Sure, I do, but I'm not happy +about this, sir. What happens if there +really is an organization, a +Movement, like she said? That brings +it back under our jurisdiction, anti-subversion.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The other shook his head tolerantly. +<span class="tei tei-q">“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 handfuls 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 against +whatever the current government happens to be. Usually, +they are on the point of actual +starvation. Have you ever read Machiavelli?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Niccolo Machiavelli was currently +<em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">the thing</span></em> to read. Larry said with a +certain dignity, <span class="tei tei-q">“I've gone through +<span class="tei tei-q">‘The Prince,’</span> the <span class="tei tei-q">‘Discourses’</span> and currently +I'm amusing myself with his +<span class="tei tei-q">‘History of Florence.’</span> ”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Anybody who can amuse himself +reading Machiavelli,”</span> the Boss said +dryly, <span class="tei tei-q">“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 tolerance—but it's always within +their tolerance zone.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry frowned and said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Well, +what's your point, sir?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss said patiently, <span class="tei tei-q">“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 +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page020">[pg 020]</span><a name="Pg020" id="Pg020" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +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 <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">masses</span></em> to moving. You +have to give speeches, print newspapers, +books, pamphlets, you have +got to send your organizers out to intensify +interest in your program.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“I see what you mean. +If this so-called Movement actually +existed it couldn't expect to get anywhere +as long as remained secret.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss nodded. <span class="tei tei-q">“That is correct. +The <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">leaders</span></em> of a revolutionary movement +might be intellectuals, social +scientists, scholars—in fact they usually +are—take our own American +Revolution with Jefferson, Madison, +Franklin, Washington. Or the French +Revolution with Robespierre, Danton, +Marat, Engels and Lenin. All were +well educated intellectuals from +the middle class. But the revolution itself, +once it starts, comes from below, +from the mass of people pushed beyond +tolerance.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +It came to Lawrence Woolford that +his superior had achieved to his +prominent office not through any +fluke. He knew what he was talking +about. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss wound it up. <span class="tei tei-q">“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.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +His trouble shooter cleared his +throat. <span class="tei tei-q">“I suppose you're right, sir.”</span> +He added hesitantly. <span class="tei tei-q">“We could always +give Susan Self a few drops of +Scop-Serum, sir.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss scowled disapprovingly. +<span class="tei tei-q">“You know how the Supreme Court +ruled on that, Lawrence. And particularly +since the medics revealed its effect +on reducing sexual inhibitions. +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.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry came to his feet. <span class="tei tei-q">“Well, then, +I'll resume my vacation, eh?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +His chief took up a report from his +desk an frowned at it, his attention +already passing to other matters. He +grunted, <span class="tei tei-q">“Clear it with LaVerne, +please. Tell her I said to take another +week to make up for our intruding +on you in this manner.”</span> +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +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 sixteen or seventeen +old's go, picked up such ideas as the +fact that people developed prejudices +against words like revolution and +propaganda? +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +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 +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page021">[pg 021]</span><a name="Pg021" id="Pg021" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +and the bass fishing on the +St. John's River. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He stopped at LaVerne's desk and +gave her his address to be, now that +his vacation was resumed. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She said, smiling up at him. <span class="tei tei-q">“Right. +The boss already told me to get in +touch with Secret Service and let +them know we're pulling out. What +happened to Susan Self?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry looked at her. <span class="tei tei-q">“How'd you +know about Susan?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Her tone was deprecating. <span class="tei tei-q">“Remember? +You had me cut some +tapes on you and that hulking Steve +Hackett grilling the poor kid.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry snorted. <span class="tei tei-q">“Poor kid, yet. With +her tastes for living-it-up, and that +father she has, she'll probably spend +the rest of her life getting in Steve's +hair as a counterfeit pusher.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“What are they going to do with +her? She's just a child.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The agent shrugged. <span class="tei tei-q">“I feel sorry +for her, too, LaVerne. Steve's got her +in a suite at the Greater Washington +Hilton, until things are cleared up. +They don't want the newspapers to +get wind of this until they've got that +inventor father of hers and whatever +he's cooked up to turn out perfect +reproductions of Uncle Sam's money. +Look, I won't be leaving until tomorrow. +What'd you say we go out on +the town tonight?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Why, Larry Woolford! How nice +of you to ask me. Poor Little, Non-U +me. What do you have in mind? I +understand Mort Lenny's at one of +the night clubs.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry winced. <span class="tei tei-q">“You know what +he's been saying about the administration.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She smiled sweetly at him. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Look, we could take in +the Brahms concert, then—”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page022">[pg 022]</span><a name="Pg022" id="Pg022" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Do you like Brahms? I go for +popular music myself. Preferably the +sort of thing they wrote back in the +1930s. Something you can dance to, +something you know the words to. +Corny, they used to call it. Remember +<span class="tei tei-q">‘Sunny Side of the Street,’</span> and <span class="tei tei-q">‘Just +the Way You Look Tonight’</span>.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry winced again. He said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Look, +I admit, I don't go for concerts either +but it doesn't hurt you to—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I know,”</span> she said sweetly. <span class="tei tei-q">“It +doesn't hurt for a bright young bureaucrat +to be seen at concerts.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“How about Dixieland?”</span> he said. +<span class="tei tei-q">“It's all the thing now.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I like corn. Besides, my wardrobe +is all out of style. Paris, London, and +Rome just got in a huddle a couple of +weeks ago and antiquated everything +I own. You wouldn't want to be seen +with a girl a few weeks out of date, +would you?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Oh, now, LaVerne, get off my +back.”</span> He thought about it. <span class="tei tei-q">“Look, +you must have <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">something</span></em> you could +wear.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Get out of here, you vacant minded +conformist! I <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">like</span></em> Mort Lenny, he +makes me laugh; I <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">hate</span></em> vodka martinis, +they give me sour stomach; I +don't <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">like</span></em> the current women's styles, +nor the men's either.”</span> LaVerne spun +back to her auto-typer and began to +dictate into it. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry glared down at her. <span class="tei tei-q">“All +right. O.K. What <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">do</span></em> you like?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She snapped back irrationally, <span class="tei tei-q">“I +like what <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">I</span></em> like.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He laughed at her in ridicule. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +This time she glared at him. <span class="tei tei-q">“That +makes more sense than you're capable +of assimilating, Mr. Walking Status +Symbol. My likes and dislikes aren't +dictated by someone else. If I like +corny music, I'll listen to it and the +devil with Brahms or Dixieland or +anything else that somebody else tells +me is all the thing!”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He turned on his heel angrily. +<span class="tei tei-q">“O.K., O.K., it takes all sorts to make a +world, weirds and all.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“One more label to hang on people,”</span> +she snarled after him. <span class="tei tei-q">“Everything's +labels. Be sure and never +come to any judgments of your own!”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +What a woman! He wondered why +he'd ever bothered to ask her for a +date. There were so many women in +this town you waded through them, +and here he was exposing himself to +be seen in public with a girl everybody +in the department knew was as +weird as they came. It didn't do your +standing any good to be seen around +with the type. He wondered all over +again why the Boss tolerated her as +his receptionist-secretary. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He got his car from the parking lot +and drove home at a high level. Ordinarily, +the distance being what it +was, he drove in the lower and slower +traffic levels but now his frustration +demanded some expression. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Back at his suburban auto-bungalow, +he threw all except the high +priority switch and went on down +into his small second cellar den. He +didn't really feel like a night on the +town anyway. A few vodka martinis +under his belt and he'd sleep late and +he wanted to get up in time for an +early start for Florida. Besides, in that +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page023">[pg 023]</span><a name="Pg023" id="Pg023" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +respect he agreed with the irritating +wench. Vermouth was never meant to +mix with Polish vodka. He wished +that Sidecars would come back. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +In his den, he shucked off his jacket, +kicked off his shoes and shuffled into +Moroccan slippers. He went over to +his current reading rack and scowled +at the paperbacks there. His culture +status books were upstairs where they +could be seen. He pulled out a western, +tossed it over to the cocktail table +that sat next to his chair, and then +went over to the bar. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Up above in his living room, he +had one of the new autobars. You +could dial any one of more than thirty +drinks. Autobars were all the rage. +The Boss had one that gave a selection +of a hundred. But what difference +did it make when nobody but +eccentric old-timers or flighty blondes +drank anything except vodka martinis? +He didn't like autobars anyway. +A well mixed drink is a personal +thing, a work of competence, instinct +and art, not something measured to +the drop, iced to the degree, shaken +or stirred to a mathematical formula. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Out of the tiny refrigerator he +brought a four-ounce cube of frozen +pineapple juice, touched the edge +with his thumbnail and let the ultra +thin plastic peel away. He tossed the +cube into his mixer, took up a bottle +of light rum and poured in about +two ounces. He brought an egg from +the refrigerator and added that. An +ounce of whole milk followed and a +teaspoon of powdered sugar. He +flicked the switch and let the conglomeration +froth together. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He poured it into a king-size +highball glass and took it over to his +chair. Vodka martinis be damned, he +liked a slightly sweet long drink. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He sat down in the chair, picked up +the book and scowled at the cover. He +ought to be reading that Florentine +history of Machiavelli's, especially if +the Boss had got to the point where +he was quoting from the guy. But the +heck with it, he was on vacation. He +didn't think much of the Italian diplomat +of the Renaissance anyway; +how could you be that far back without +being dated? +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He couldn't get beyond the first +page or two. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +And when you can't concentrate +on a Western, you just can't concentrate. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He finished his drink, went over to +his phone and dialed <span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">Department of +Records</span></span> and then <span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">Information</span></span>. When +the bright young thing answered, he +said, <span class="tei tei-q">“I'd like the brief on an Ernest +Self who lives on Elwood Avenue, +Baltimore section of Greater Washington. +I don't know his code number.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She did things with switches and +buttons for a moment and then +brought a sheet from a delivery chute. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Do you want me to read it to you, +sir?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“No, I'll scan it,”</span> Larry said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Her face faded to be replaced by +the brief on Ernest Self. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +It was astonishingly short. <span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">Records</span></span> +seemed to have slipped up on this occasion. +A rare occurrence. He considered +requesting the full dossier, then +changed his mind. Instead he dialed +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page024">[pg 024]</span><a name="Pg024" id="Pg024" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +the number of the <span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">Sun-Post</span></span> and +asked for its science columnist. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Sam Sokolski's puffy face eventually +faded in. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said to him sourly, <span class="tei tei-q">“You +drink too much. You can begin to see +the veins breaking in your nose.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Sam looked at him patiently. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“How'd you like to +come over and toss back a few tonight?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I'm working. I thought you were +on vacation.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry sighed. <span class="tei tei-q">“I am,”</span> he said. <span class="tei tei-q">“O.K., +so you can't take a night off and lift a +few with an old buddy.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“That's right. Anything else, Larry?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Yes. Look, have you ever heard of +an inventor named Ernest Self?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Sure I've heard of him. Covered a +hassle he got into some years ago. A +nice guy.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I'll bet,”</span> Larry said. <span class="tei tei-q">“What does he +invent, something to do with printing +presses, or something?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Printing presses? Don't you remember +the story about him?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Brief me,”</span> Larry said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Well—briefly does it—it got out a +couple of years ago that some of our +rocketeers had bought a solid fuel formula +from an Italian research outfit +for the star probe project. Paid them +a big hunk of Uncle's change for it. +So Self sued.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“You're being <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">too</span></em> brief. +What d'ya mean, he sued? Why?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Because he claimed he'd submitted +the same formula to the same +agency a full eighteen months earlier +and they'd turned him down.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Had he?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Probably.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry didn't get it. <span class="tei tei-q">“Then why'd +they turn him down?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Sam said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Oh, the government +boys had a good alibi. Crackpots turn +up all over the place and you have to +brush them off. Every cellar scientist +who comes along and says he's got a +new super-fuel developed from old +coffee grounds can't be given the welcome +mat. Something was wrong +with his math or something and they +didn't pay much attention to him. +Wouldn't even let him demonstrate +it. But it was the same formula, all +right.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford was scowling. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Something wrong with his math? +What kind of a degree does he have?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Sam grinned in memory. <span class="tei tei-q">“I got a +good quote on that. He doesn't have +any degree. He said he'd learned to +read by the time he'd reached high +school and since then he figured +spending time in classrooms was a +matter of interfering with his education.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“No wonder they turned him down. +No degree at all. You can't get anywhere +in science like that.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Sam said, <span class="tei tei-q">“The courts rejected his +suit but he got a certain amount of +support here and there. Peter Voss, +over at the university, claims he's one +of the great intuitive scientists, whatever +that is, of our generation.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Who said that?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Professor Voss. Not that it makes +any difference what he says. Another +crackpot.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +After Sam's less than handsome face +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page025">[pg 025]</span><a name="Pg025" id="Pg025" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +was gone from the phone, Larry +walked over to the bar with his empty +glass and stared at the mixer for several +minutes. He began to make himself +another flip, but cut it short in +the middle, put down the ingredients +and went back to the phone to dial +<span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">Records</span></span> again. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He went through first the brief and +then the full dossier on Professor +Peter Luther Voss. Aside from his +academic accomplishments, particularly +in the fields of political economy +and international law, and the dozen +or so books accredited to him, there +wasn't anything particularly noteworthy. +A bachelor in his fifties. No +criminal record of any kind, of course, +and no military career. No known political +affiliations. Evidently a strong +predilection for Thorstein Veblen's +theories. And he'd been a friend of +Henry Mencken back when that old +nonconformist was tearing down contemporary +society seemingly largely +for the fun involved in the tearing. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +On the face of it, the man was no +radical, and the term <span class="tei tei-q">“crackpot”</span> +which Sam had applied was hardly +called for. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford went back to the +bar and resumed the job of mixing +his own version of a rum flip. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +But his heart wasn't in it. <span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">The Professor</span></span>, +Susan had said. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Before he'd gone to bed the night +before, Larry Woolford had ordered a +seat on the shuttle jet for Jacksonville +and a hover-cab there to take +him to Astor, on the St. Johns River. +And he'd requested to be wakened in +ample time to get to the shuttleport. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +But it wasn't the saccharine pleasant +face of the Personal Service operator +which confronted him when he +grumpily answered the phone in the +morning. In fact, the screen remained +blank. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry decided that sweet long +drinks were fine, but that anyone who +took several of them in a row needed +to be candied. He grumbled into the +phone, <span class="tei tei-q">“All right, who is it?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +A Teutonic voice chuckled and +said, <span class="tei tei-q">“You're going to have to decide +whether or not you're on vacation, my +friend. At this time of day, why aren't +you at work?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford was waking up. He +said, <span class="tei tei-q">“What can I do for you, Distelmayer?”</span> +The German merchant-of-espionage +wasn't the type to make +personal calls. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Have you forgotten so soon, my +friend?”</span> the other chuckled. <span class="tei tei-q">“It was I +who was going to do you a favor.”</span> He +hesitated momentarily, before adding, +<span class="tei tei-q">“In possible return for future—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Yeah, yeah,”</span> Larry said. He was +fully awake now. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The German said slowly, <span class="tei tei-q">“You +asked if any of your friends from, ah, +abroad were newly in the country. +Frol Eivazov has recently appeared on +the scene.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Eivazov! In various respects, Larry +Woolford's counterpart. Hatchetman +for the <span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">Chrezvychainaya Komissiya</span></span>. +Woolford had met him on occasion +when they'd both been present at international +summit meetings, busily +working at counter-espionage for +their respective superiors. Blandly +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page026">[pg 026]</span><a name="Pg026" id="Pg026" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +shaking hands with each other, blandly +drinking toasts to peace and international +co-existence, blandly sizing +each other up and wondering if it'd +ever come to the point where one +would <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">blandly</span></em> treat the other to a +hole in the head, possibly in some +dark alley in Havana or Singapore, +Leopoldville or Saigon. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said sharply, <span class="tei tei-q">“Where is he? +How'd he get in the country?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“My friend, my friend,”</span> the German +grunted good-humoredly. <span class="tei tei-q">“You +know better than to ask the first question. +As for the second, Frol's command +of American-English is at least +as good as your own. Do you think +his <span class="tei tei-foreign"><span style="font-style: italic">Komissiya</span></span> less capable than your +own department and unable to do +him up suitable papers so that he +could be, perhaps, a <span class="tei tei-q">‘returning tourist’</span> +from Europe?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford was impatient with +himself for asking. He said now, <span class="tei tei-q">“It's +not important. If we want to locate +Frol and pick him up, we'll probably +not have too much trouble doing it.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I wouldn't think so,”</span> the other +said humorously. <span class="tei tei-q">“Since 1919, when +they were first organized, the so-called +Communists in this country, +from the lowest to the highest echelons, +have been so riddled with police +agents that a federal judge in New +England once refused to prosecute a +case against them on the grounds that +the party was a United States government +agency.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry was in no frame of mind for +the other's heavy humor. <span class="tei tei-q">“Look, +Hans,”</span> he said, <span class="tei tei-q">“what I want to know +is what Frol is over here for.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Of course you do,”</span> Hans Distelmayer +said, unable evidently to keep +note of puzzlement from his voice. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Larry,”</span> he said, <span class="tei tei-q">“I assume your people +know of the new American underground.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“<em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">What</span></em> underground?”</span> Larry +snapped. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The professional spy chief said, his +voice strange, <span class="tei tei-q">“The Soviets seem to +have picked up an idea somewhere, +possibly through their membership in +this country, that something is abrewing +in the States. That a change is +being engineered.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry stared at the blank phone +screen. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“What kind of a change?”</span> he said +finally. <span class="tei tei-q">“You mean a change to the +Soviet system?”</span> Surely not even the +self-deluding Russkies could think it +possible to overthrow the American +socio-economic system in favor of the +Soviet brand. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“No, no, no,”</span> the German chuckled. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Of course not. It's not of their +working at all.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Then what's Frol Eivazov's interest, +if they aren't engineering it?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Distelmayer rumbled his characteristic +chuckle with humor. <span class="tei tei-q">“My dear +friend, don't be naive. Anything that +happens in America is of interest to +the Soviets. There is delicate peace +between you now that they have +changed their direction and are occupying +themselves largely with the +economic and agricultural development +of Asia and such portions of +the world as have come under their +hegemony, and while you put all efforts +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page027">[pg 027]</span><a name="Pg027" id="Pg027" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +into modernizing the more backward +countries among your satellites.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said automatically, <span class="tei tei-q">“Our allies +aren't satellites.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The spy-master went on without +contesting the statement. <span class="tei tei-q">“There is +immediate peace but surely governmental +officials on both sides keep +careful watch on the internal developments +of the other. True, the current +heads of the Soviet Complex +would like to see the governments of +all the Western powers changed—but +only if they are changed in the direction +of communism. They are hardly +interested in seeing changes made +which would strengthen the West in +the, ah, Battle For Men's Minds.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry snorted his disgust. <span class="tei tei-q">“What +sort of change in government would +strengthen the United States in—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The German interrupted smoothly, +<span class="tei tei-q">“Evidently, that's what Frol seems to +be here for, Larry. To find out more +about this movement and—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“This <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">what</span></em>?”</span> Larry blurted. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“The term seems to be <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">movement</span></em>.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford held a long silence +before saying, <span class="tei tei-q">“And Frol is actually +here in this country to buck this ... +this movement.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Not necessarily,”</span> the other said +impatiently. <span class="tei tei-q">“He is here to find out +more about it. Evidently Peking and +Moscow have heard just enough to +make them nervous.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“You have anything +more, Hans?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I'm afraid that's about it.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“All right,”</span> Larry said. He added +absently, <span class="tei tei-q">“Thanks, Hans.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Thank me some day with deeds, +not with words,”</span> the German chuckled. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford looked at his watch +and grimaced. He was either going to +get going now or forget about doing +any fishing in Florida this afternoon. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Grudgingly, he dialed the phone +company's Personal Service and said +to the impossibly cheerful blonde +who answered, <span class="tei tei-q">“Where can I find +Professor Peter Voss who teaches +over at the University in Baltimore? I +don't want to talk with him, just want +to know where he'll be an hour from +now.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +While waiting for his information, +he dressed, deciding inwardly that he +hated his job, the department in +which he was employed, the Boss and +Greater Washington. On top of that, +he hated himself. He'd already been +taken off this assignment, why couldn't +he leave it lay? +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The blonde rang him back. Professor +Peter Voss was at home. He had +no classes today. She gave him the +address. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford raised his car from +his auto-bungalow in the Brandywine +suburb and headed northwest at a +high level for the old Baltimore section +of the city. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor's house, he noted, +was of an earlier day and located on +the opposite side of Paterson Park +from Elwood avenue, the street on +which Susan Self and her father had +resided. That didn't necessarily hold +significance, the park was a large one +and the Professor's section a well-to-do +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page028">[pg 028]</span><a name="Pg028" id="Pg028" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +neighborhood, while Self's was +just short of a slum these days. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He brought his car down to street +level, and parked before the scholar's +three-story, brick house. Baltimore-like, +it was identical to every +other house in the block; Larry wondered +vaguely how anybody ever +managed to find his own place when +it was very dark out. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +There was an old-fashioned bell at +the side of the entrance and Larry +Woolford pushed it. There was no +identification screen in the door, evidently +the inhabitants had to open up +to see who was calling, a tiring chore +if you were on the far side of the +house and the caller nothing more +than a salesman. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +It was obviously the Professor himself +who answered. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He was in shirtsleeves, tieless and +with age-old slippers on his stockingless +feet. He evidently hadn't bothered +to shave this morning and he +held a dog-earred pamphlet in his +right hand, his forefinger tucked in it +to mark his place. He wore thick-lensed, +gold-rimmed glasses through +which he blinked at Larry Woolford +questioningly, without speaking. Professor +Peter Voss was a man in his +mid fifties, and, on the face of it, +couldn't care less right now about his +physical appearance. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +A weird, Larry decided immediately. +He wondered at the University, +one of the nation's best, keeping on +such a figure. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Professor Voss?”</span> he said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Lawrence +Woolford.”</span> He brought forth +his identification. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor blinked down at it. +<span class="tei tei-q">“I see,”</span> he said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Won't you come +in?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The house was old, all right. From +the outside, quite acceptable, but the +interior boasted few of the latest +amenities which made all the difference +in modern existence. Larry was +taken back by the fact that the phone +which he spotted in the <span class="tei tei-foreign"><span style="font-style: italic">entrada</span></span> hadn't +even a screen—an old model for +speaking only. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor noticed his glance +and said dryly, <span class="tei tei-q">“The advantages of +combining television and telephone +have never seemed valid to me. In my +own home, I feel free to relax, as you +can observe. Had I a screen on my +phone, it would be necessary for me +to maintain the same appearance as I +must on the streets or before my +classes.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry cleared his throat without +saying anything. This was a weird +one, all right. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The living room was comfortable +in a blatantly primitive way. Three or +four paintings on the walls which +were probably originals, Larry decided, +and should have been in museums. +Not an abstract among them. +A Grant Wood, a Marin, and that +over there could only be a Grandma +Moses. The sort of things you might +keep in your private den, but hardly to +be seen as culture symbols. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The chairs were large, of leather, +and comfortable and probably belonged +to the period before the Second +War. Peter Voss, evidently, was +little short of an exhibitionist. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor took up a battered +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page029">[pg 029]</span><a name="Pg029" id="Pg029" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +humidor. <span class="tei tei-q">“Cigar?”</span> he said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Manila. +Hard to get these days.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +A cigar? Good grief, the man +would be offering him a chaw of tobacco +next. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Thanks, no,”</span> Larry said. <span class="tei tei-q">“I smoke +a pipe.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I see,”</span> the Professor said, lighting +his stogie. <span class="tei tei-q">“Do you really like a pipe? +Personally, I've always thought the +cigar by far the most satisfactory +method of taking tobacco.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +What can you say to a question like +that? Larry ignored it, as though it +was rhetorical. Actually, he smoked +cigarettes in the privacy of his den. A +habit which was on the proletarian +side and not consistent with his status +level. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He said, to get things under way, +<span class="tei tei-q">“Professor Voss, what is an intuitive +scientist?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor exhaled blue smoke, +shook out the old-time kitchen match +with which he'd lit it, and tossed the +matchstick into an ashtray. <span class="tei tei-q">“Intuitive +scientist?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“You once called Ernest Self a +great intuitive scientist.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Oh, Self. Yes, indeed. What is he +doing these days?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said wryly, <span class="tei tei-q">“That's what I +came to ask you about.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor was puzzled. <span class="tei tei-q">“I'm +afraid you came to the wrong place, +Mr. Woolford. I haven't seen Ernest +for quite a time. Why?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Some of his researches seem to +have taken him rather far afield. Actually, +I know practically nothing +about him. I wonder if you could fill +me in a bit.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Peter Voss looked at the ash on the +end of his cigar. <span class="tei tei-q">“I really don't know +the man that well. He lives across the +park. Why don't—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“He's disappeared,”</span> Larry said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor blinked. <span class="tei tei-q">“I see,”</span> he +said. <span class="tei tei-q">“And in view of the fact that you +are a security officer, I assume under +strange circumstances.”</span> Larry Woolford +said nothing and the Professor +sank back into his chair and pursed +his lips. <span class="tei tei-q">“I can't really tell you much. +I became interested in Self two or +three years ago when gathering materials +for a paper on the inadequate +manner in which our country rewards +its inventors.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“I've heard about his suit +against the government.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor became more animated. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Ha!”</span> he snorted. <span class="tei tei-q">“One example +among many. Self is not alone. +Our culture is such that the genius is +smothered. The great contributors to +our society are ignored, or worse.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford was feeling his +way. Now he said mildly, <span class="tei tei-q">“I was under +the impression that American +free enterprise gave the individual +the best opportunity to prove himself +and that if he had it on the ball +he'd get to the top.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Were you really?”</span> the Professor +said snappishly. <span class="tei tei-q">“And did you know +that Edison died a comparatively poor +man with an estate somewhere in the +vicinity of a hundred thousand dollars? +An amount that might sound +like a good deal to you or me, +but, when you consider his contributions, +shockingly little. Did you know +that Eli Whitney realized little, if +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page030">[pg 030]</span><a name="Pg030" id="Pg030" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +anything, from the cotton gin? Or +that McCormick didn't invent the +reaper but gained it in a dubious +court victory? Or take Robert Goddard, +one of the best examples of +modern times. He developed the basics +of rocket technology—gyroscopic +stabilizers, fuel pumps, self-cooling +motors, landing devices. He died in +1945 leaving behind twenty-two volumes +of records that proved priceless. +What did he get out of his researches? +Nothing. It was fifteen years later +that his widow won her suit against +the government for patent infringements!”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="text-align: center; margin-bottom: 1.00em"> + </p><div class="tei tei-figure" style="width: 60%; text-align: center"><img src="images/p30.png" width="700" height="531" alt="Illustration." /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry held up a hand. <span class="tei tei-q">“Really,”</span> he +said. <span class="tei tei-q">“My interest is in Ernest Self.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor relaxed. <span class="tei tei-q">“Sorry. I'm +afraid I get carried away. Self, to get +back to your original question, is a +great intuitive scientist. Unfortunately +for him, society being what it is +today, he fits into few grooves. Our +educational system was little more +than an irritation to him and consequently +he holds no degrees. Needless +to say, this interfered with his +gaining employment with the universities +and the large corporations +which dominate our country's research, +not to mention governmental +agencies.</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Ernest Self holds none of the status +labels that count. The fact that he +is a genius means nothing. He is supposedly +qualified no more than to +hold a janitor's position in laboratories +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page031">[pg 031]</span><a name="Pg031" id="Pg031" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +where his inferiors conduct experiments +in fields where he is a +dozenfold more capable than they. +No one is interested in his genius, +they want to know what status labels +are pinned to him. Ernest has no respect +for labels.”</span> +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford figured he was +picking up background and didn't +force a change of subject. <span class="tei tei-q">“Just what +do you mean by intuitive scientist?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“It's a term I have used loosely,”</span> +the Professor admitted. <span class="tei tei-q">“Possibly a +scientist who makes a break-through +in his field, destroying formerly held +positions—in Self's case, without the +math, without the accepted theories to +back him. He finds something that +works, possibly without knowing why +or how and by using unorthodox analytical +techniques. An intuitive scientist, +if I may use the term, is a +thorn in the side of our theoretical +physicists laden down with their burden +of a status label but who are +themselves short of the makings of a +Leonardo, a Newton, a Galileo, or +even a Nicholas Christofilos.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I'm afraid that last name escapes +me,”</span> Larry said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Similar to Self's case and Robert +Goddard's,”</span> Voss said, his voice bitter. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Although his story has a better ending. +Christofilos invented the strong-focusing +principle that made possible +the multi-billion-volt particle accelerators +currently so widely used in +nuclear physics experimentation. +However, he was nothing but a Greek +elevator electrical system engineer +and the supposed experts turned him +down on the grounds that his math +was faulty. It seems that he submitted +the idea in straight-algebra terms instead +of differential equations. He finally +won through after patenting the +discovery and rubbing their noses in +it. Previously, none of the physics +journals would publish his paper—he +didn't have the right status labels to +impress them.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, almost with amusement, +<span class="tei tei-q">“You seem to have quite a phobia +against the status label, as you call it. +However, I don't see how as complicated +a world as ours could get +along without it.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor snorted his contempt. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Tell me,”</span> he said, <span class="tei tei-q">“to which +class do you consider yourself to +belong?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford shrugged. <span class="tei tei-q">“I suppose +individuals in my bracket are +usually thought of as being middle-middle +class.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“And you have no feeling of revolt +in having such a label hung on you? +Consider this system for a moment. +You have lower-lower, middle-lower, +and upper-lower; then you have lower-middle, +middle-middle, upper-middle; +then you have lower-upper, +middle-upper, and finally we achieve +to upper-upper class. Now tell me, +when we get to that rarified category, +who do we find? Do we find an Einstein, +a Schweitzer, a Picasso; outstanding +scientists, humanitarians, the +great writers, artists and musicians of +our day? Certainly not. We find ultra-wealthy +playboys and girls, a former +king and his duchess who eke out +their income by accepting fees to attend +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page032">[pg 032]</span><a name="Pg032" id="Pg032" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +parties, the international born +set, bearers of meaningless feudalistic +titles. These are your upper-upper +class!”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry laughed. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor snapped, <span class="tei tei-q">“You think +it funny? Let me give you another +example of our status label culture. I +have a friend whom I have known +since childhood. I would estimate +that Charles has an I.Q. of approximately +90, certainly no more. His +family, however, took such necessary +steps as were needed to get Charles +through public school. No great matter +these days, you'll admit, although +on occasion he needed a bit of tutoring. +On graduation, they recognized +that the really better schools might be +a bit difficult for Charles so he was +entered in a university with a good +name but without—shall we say?—the +highest of scholastic ratings. +Charles plodded along, had some +more tutoring, probably had his thesis +ghosted, and eventually graduated. At +that point an uncle died and left +Charles an indefinite amount to be +used in furthering his education to +any extent he wished to go. Charles, +motivated probably by the desire to +avoid obtaining a job and competing +with his fellow man, managed to +wrangle himself into a medical school +and eventually even graduated. Since +funds were still available, he continued +his studies abroad, largely in +Vienna.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor wound it up. <span class="tei tei-q">“Eventually, +he ran out of schools, or his +uncle's estate ran out—I don't know +which came first. At any rate, my +friend Charles, laden down with status +labels, is today practicing as a psychiatrist +in this fair city of ours.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry stared at him blankly. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor said snappishly, <span class="tei tei-q">“So +any time you feel you need to have +your brains unscrambled, you can go +to his office and expend twenty-five +dollars an hour or so. His reputation +is of the highest.”</span> The Professor +grunted his contempt. <span class="tei tei-q">“He doesn't +know the difference between an aspirin +tablet and a Rorschach test.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford stirred in his chair. +<span class="tei tei-q">“We seem to have gotten far off the +subject. What has this got to do with +Self?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor seemed angry. <span class="tei tei-q">“I repeat, +I'm afraid I get carried away on +this subject. I'm in revolt against a +culture based on the status label. It +eliminates the need to judge a man +on his merits. To judge a person by +the clothes he wears, the amount of +money he possesses, the car he drives, +the neighborhood in which he lives, +the society he keeps, or even his ancestry, +is out of the question in a vital, +growing society. You wind up with +nonentities as the leaders of your nation. +In these days, we can't afford it.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He smiled suddenly, rather elfishly, +at the security agent. <span class="tei tei-q">“But admittedly, +this deals with Self only as one of +many victims of a culture based on +status labels. Just what is it you +wanted to know about Ernest?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“When you knew him, evidently +he was working on rocket fuels. Have +you any idea whether he later developed +a method of producing perfect +counterfeit?”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page033">[pg 033]</span><a name="Pg033" id="Pg033" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Ernest Self? +Surely you are jesting.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said unhappily, <span class="tei tei-q">“Then here's +another question. Have you ever heard +him mention belonging to a movement, +or, I think, he might word it +<span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">The Movement</span></span>.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Movement?”</span> the Professor said +emptily. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Evidently a revolutionary group +interested in the overthrow of the +government.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Good heavens,”</span> the Professor said. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Just a moment, Mr. Woolford. You +interrupted me just as I was having +my second cup of coffee. Do you +mind if I—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Certainly not,”</span> Woolford shook +his head. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I simply can't get along until after +my third cup,”</span> the Professor said. +<span class="tei tei-q">“You just wait a moment and I'll +bring the pot in here.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He left Larry to sit in the combined +study and living room while he +shuffled off in his slippers to the +kitchen. Larry Woolford decided that +in his school days he'd had some far +out professors himself, but it would +really be something to study under +this one. Not that the old boy didn't +have some points, of course. Almost +all nonconformists base their particular +peeves on some actuality, but in +this case, what was the percentage? +How could you buck the system? +Particularly when, largely, it worked. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor returned with an +old-fashioned coffeepot, two cups, +and sugar and cream on a tray. He put +them on a side table and said to Larry, +<span class="tei tei-q">“You'll join me? How do you take +it?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry still had the slightest of +hang-overs from his solitary drinking +of the night before. <span class="tei tei-q">“Thanks. Make +it black,”</span> he said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor poured, served, then +did up a cup for himself. He sat back +in his chair and said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Now, where +were we? Something about a revolutionary +group. What has that to do +with counterfeiting?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry sipped the strong coffee. <span class="tei tei-q">“It +seems there might be a connection.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor shook his head. <span class="tei tei-q">“It's +hard to imagine Ernest Self being +connected with a criminal pursuit.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said carefully, <span class="tei tei-q">“Susan seemed +to be of the opinion that you knew +about a large amount of counterfeit +currency that this Movement had on +hand and that you were in favor of +spending it upon chorus girls.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor gaped at him. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry chuckled uncomfortably. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Professor Voss said finally, his +voice very even, <span class="tei tei-q">“My dear sir, I am +afraid that I evidently can be of little +assistance to you.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Admittedly, it doesn't seem to +make much sense.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Susan—you mean that little sixteen +year old?—said <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">I</span></em> was in favor of +spending counterfeit money on chorus +girls?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said unhappily, <span class="tei tei-q">“She used the +term <span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">the Professor</span></span>.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“And why did you assume that the +title must necessarily allude to me? +Even if any of the rest of the fantastic +story was true.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“In my profession, Professor +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page034">[pg 034]</span><a name="Pg034" id="Pg034" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +Voss, we track down every +possible clue. Thus far, you are the +only professor of whom we know +who was connected with Ernest Self.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Voss said stiffly, <span class="tei tei-q">“I can only say, sir, +that in my estimation Mr. Self is a +man of the highest integrity. And, in +addition, that I have never spent a +penny on a chorus girl in my life and +have no intention of beginning, counterfeit +or otherwise.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford decided that he +wasn't doing too well and that he'd +need more ammunition if he was going +to return to this particular attack. +He was surprised that the old boy +hadn't already ordered him from the +house. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He finished the coffee preparatory +to coming to his feet. <span class="tei tei-q">“Then you +think it's out of the question, Ernest +Self belonging to a revolutionary organization?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor protested. <span class="tei tei-q">“I didn't +say that at all. Mr. Self is a man of +ideals. I can well see him belonging +to such an organization.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford decided he'd better +hang on for at least a few more +words. <span class="tei tei-q">“You don't seem to think, +yourself, that a subversive organization +is undesirable in this country.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor's voice was reasonable. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Isn't that according to what it +means to subvert?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“You know what I mean,”</span> Woolford +said in irritation. <span class="tei tei-q">“I don't usually +think of revolutionists, even when +they call themselves simply members +of a <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">movement</span></em>, as exactly idealists.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Then you're wrong,”</span> the Professor +said definitely, pouring himself another +cup of coffee. <span class="tei tei-q">“History bears out +that almost invariably revolutionists +are men of idealism. The fact that +they might be either right or wrong in +their revolutionary program is beside +the point.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford began to say, <span class="tei tei-q">“Are +you sure that you aren't interested in +this <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">move—</span></em>”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +But it was then that the knockout +drops hit him. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He came out of the fog feeling +nausea and with his head splitting. +He groaned and opened one eye experimentally. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve Hackett, far away, said, <span class="tei tei-q">“He's +snapping out of it.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry groaned again, opened the +other eye and attempted to focus. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“What happened?”</span> he muttered. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Now that's an original question,”</span> +Steve said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford struggled up into a +sitting position. He'd been stretched +out on a couch in the Professor's combined +living room and study. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve Hackett, his hands on his +hips, was looking down at him sarcastically. +There were two or three others, +one of whom Larry vaguely remembered +as being a Secret Service +colleague of Steve's, going about and +in and out of the room. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, his fingers pressing into +his forehead, <span class="tei tei-q">“My head's killing me. +Damn it, what's going on?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve said sarcastically, <span class="tei tei-q">“You've +been slipped a mickey, my cloak and +dagger friend, and the bird has flown.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“You mean the Professor? He's a +bird all right.”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page035">[pg 035]</span><a name="Pg035" id="Pg035" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Humor we get, yet,”</span> Hackett said, +his ugly face scowling. <span class="tei tei-q">“Listen, I +thought you people had pulled out of +this case.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry sat up and swung his two feet +around to the floor. <span class="tei tei-q">“So did I,”</span> he +moaned, <span class="tei tei-q">“but there were two or three +things that bothered me and I thought +I'd tidy them up before leaving.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“You tidied them up all right,”</span> +Steve grumbled. <span class="tei tei-q">“This Professor Voss +was practically the only lead I've been +able to discover. An old friend of +Self's. And you allowed him to get +away before we even got here.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +One of Hackett's men came up and +said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Not a sign of him, Steve. He +evidently burned a few papers, +packed a suitcase, and took off. His +things look suspiciously as though he +was ready to go into hiding at a moment's +notice.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve growled to him, <span class="tei tei-q">“Give the +place the works. He's probably left +some clues around that'll give us a +line.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The other went off and Steve Hackett +sat down in one of the leather +chairs and glowered at Larry Woolford. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Listen,”</span> he said, <span class="tei tei-q">“what did you +people want with Susan Self?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry shook his head for clarity and +looked at him. <span class="tei tei-q">“Susan? What are you +talking about? You don't have any +aspirin, do you?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“No. What'd you mean, what am I +talking about? You called Betsy +Hughes and then sent a couple of +men over to pick the Self kid up.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Who's Betsy Hughes?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve shook his head. <span class="tei tei-q">“I don't +know what kind of knockout drops +the old boy gave you, but they sure +worked. Betsy's the operative we had +minding Susan Self over in the +Greater Washington Hilton. About +an hour ago you got her on the phone, +said your department wanted to question +Susan, and that you were sending +two men over to pick her up. The two +men turned up with an order from +you, and took the girl.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry stared at him. Finally he said, +<span class="tei tei-q">“What time is it?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“About two o'clock.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“I came into this house +in the morning, talked to the Professor +for about half an hour and then +was silly enough to let him give me +some loaded coffee. He was such a +weird old buzzard that it never occurred +to me he might be dangerous. +At any rate, I've been unconscious for +several hours. I <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">couldn't've</span></em> called this +Betsy Hughes operative of yours.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +It was Steve Hackett's turn to +stare. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“You mean your department doesn't +have Susan Self?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Not so far as I know. The Boss told +me yesterday that we were pulling +out, that it was all in your hands. +What would we want with Susan?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Oh, great,”</span> Steve snarled. <span class="tei tei-q">“There +goes our last contact. Ernest Self, +Professor Voss, and now Susan Self; +they've all disappeared.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Look,”</span> Larry said unhappily, <span class="tei tei-q">“let's +get me some aspirin and then let's go +and see my chief. I have a sneaking +suspicion our department is back on +this case.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve snorted sarcastically. <span class="tei tei-q">“If you +can foul things up this well when +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page036">[pg 036]</span><a name="Pg036" id="Pg036" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +you're off the case, God only knows +what you'll accomplish using your +facilities on an all-out basis.”</span> +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss said slowly, <span class="tei tei-q">“Whoever +we are working against evidently +isn't short of resources. Abducting +that young lady was no simple matter.”</span> +The career diplomat worked his +lips in and out, in all but a pout. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford, who'd taken time +out to go home, shower, change +clothes and medicate himself out of +his dope induced hangover, sat across +the desk from him, flanked by Steve +Hackett. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss said sourly, <span class="tei tei-q">“It would +seem that I was in error. That our +young Susan Self was not spouting +fantasy. There evidently actually is an +underground movement interested in +changing our institutions.”</span> He stirred +in his chair and his scowl went deeper. +<span class="tei tei-q">“And evidently working on a basis +never conceived of by subversive +organizations of the past. The fact +that they have successfully remained +secret even to this department is the +prime indication that they are attempting +to make their revolutionary +changes in a unique manner.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“The trouble is, we +don't even know what it is they +want.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“However,”</span> his superior said slowly, +<span class="tei tei-q">“we are beginning to get inklings.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve Hackett said, <span class="tei tei-q">“What inklings, +sir? This sort of thing might be routine +for you people, but my field is +counterfeit. I, frankly, don't know +what it's all about.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss looked at him. <span class="tei tei-q">“We have +a clue or two, Mr. Hackett. For one +thing, we know that this Movement +of ours has no affiliations with the +Soviet Complex, nor, so far as we +know, any foreign element whatsoever. +If we take Miss Self's word, it is +strictly an American phenomenon. +From what little we know of Ernest +Self and Peter Voss they might be in +revolt against some of our current institutions +but there is no reason to +believe them, ah, <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">un-American</span></em> in the +usually accepted sense of the word.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The two younger men looked at +him as though he was joking. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He shook his heavy head negatively. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Actually, what do we have on +this so-called Movement thus far? +Aside from treating Lawrence, here, +to some knockout drops—and let us +remember that Lawrence was present +in the Professor's home without a +warrant—all we have is the suspicion +that they have manufactured a quantity +of counterfeit.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“A <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">quantity</span></em> is right,”</span> Steve Hackett +blurted. <span class="tei tei-q">“If we're to accept what that +Self kid told us, they have a few billion +dollars worth of perfect bills on +hand.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“A strange amount for counterfeiters +to produce,”</span> The Boss said uncomfortably. +<span class="tei tei-q">“That is what puzzles +me. Any revolutionary movement +needs funds. Remember Stalin as a +young man? He used to be in charge +of the Bolshevik gang which robbed +banks to raise funds for their underground +newspapers. But a billion dollars? +What in the world can they expect +to need that amount for?”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page037">[pg 037]</span><a name="Pg037" id="Pg037" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Sir, you keep talking as +though these characters were a bunch +of idealistic do-gooders bleeding for +the sake of the country. Actually, +from what we know, they're nothing +but a bunch of revolutionists.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss was shaking his head. +<span class="tei tei-q">“You're not thinking clearly, Lawrence. +Revolution, <span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">per se</span></span>, is not illegal +in the United States. Our Constitution +was probably the first document +of its kind which allowed for +its own amendment. The men who +wrote it provided for changing it +either slightly or <span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">in toto</span></span>. Whenever +the majority of the American people +decide completely to abandon the +Constitution and govern themselves +by new laws, they have the right to do +it.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Then what's the whole purpose of +this department, sir?”</span> Larry argued. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Why've we been formed to combat +foreign and domestic subversion?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +His chief sighed. <span class="tei tei-q">“You shouldn't +have to ask that, Lawrence. The present +government cannot oppose the +will of the majority if it votes, by +constitutional methods, to make any +changes it wishes. But we can, and +do, unmask the activities of anyone +trying to overthrow the government +by force and violence. Any culture +protects itself against that.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“What are we getting at, sir?”</span> +Steve Hackett said, impatiently. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss shrugged. <span class="tei tei-q">“I'm trying to +point out that so far as my department +is concerned, thus far we have +little against this Movement. Secret +Service may have, what with this +wholesale counterfeiting, even though +thus far they seem to have made no +attempt to pass the currency they +have allegedly manufactured. We +wouldn't even know of it, weren't it +for our young Susan pilfering an +amount.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, desperately, <span class="tei tei-q">“Sir, you +just pointed out a few minutes ago +that this Movement is a secret organization +trying to make changes in +some unique manner. In short, they +don't figure on using the ballot to put +over their revolution. That makes +them as illegal as the Commies, doesn't +it?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss said, <span class="tei tei-q">“That's the difficulty; +we don't know what they want. +From your conversations with Susan +Self and especially Professor Voss, +evidently they think the country +needs some basic changes. What these +changes are, and how they expect to +accomplish them, we don't know. Unless +a foreign government is involved, +or unless they plan to alter our institutions +by violence, this department +just doesn't have much jurisdiction.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve Hackett snorted, <span class="tei tei-q">“Secret Service +does! If those bales of money the +Self kid told us about are ever put +into circulation, there'll be hell to +pay.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss sighed. <span class="tei tei-q">“Well,”</span> he said, +<span class="tei tei-q">“Lawrence can continue on the assignment. +If it develops in such manner +as to indicate that this department +is justified in further investigation, +we'll put more men on it. Meanwhile, +it is obviously more a Secret +Service matter. I am sorry to intrude +upon your vacation again, Lawrence.”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page038">[pg 038]</span><a name="Pg038" id="Pg038" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +On awakening in the morning, Larry +Woolford stared glumly at the +ceiling for long moments before +dragging himself from bed. This was, +he decided, the strangest assignment +he'd ever been on. In his day he'd +trekked through South America, +Common Europe, a dozen African +states, and even areas of Southern +Asia, combatting Commie pressures +here, fellow-traveler organizations +there, disrupting plots hatched in the +Soviet Complex in the other place. +On his home grounds in the United +States he'd covered everything from +out and out Soviet espionage, to exposing +Communist activities of complexions +from the faintest of pinks to +the rosiest Trotskyite red. But, he decided +he'd never expected to wind up +after a bunch of weirds whose sole +actionable activity to date seemed to +be the counterfeiting of a fantastic +amount of legal tender which thus far +they were making no attempt to pass. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He got out of bed and went +through the rituals of showering, +shaving and clothing, of coffee, sausage, +and eggs, toast and more +coffee. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +What amazed Larry Woolford was +the shrug-it-off manner in which the +Boss seemed to accept this underground +Movement and its admitted +subversive goals—whatever they +were. Carry the Boss' reasoning to its +ultimate and subversion was perfectly +all right, just as it didn't involve +force and violence. If he was in his +chief's position, he would have +thrown the full resources of the department +into tracking down these +crackpots. As it was, he, Larry Woolford +was the only operative on the +job. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He needed a new angle on which +to work. Steve Hackett was undoubtedly +handling the tracing down of +the counterfeit with all the resources +of the Secret Service. Possibly there +was some way of detecting the source +of the paper they'd used. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He finished his final cup of coffee +in the living room and took up the +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page039">[pg 039]</span><a name="Pg039" id="Pg039" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +pipe he was currently breaking in. +He loaded it automatically from a +humidor and lit it with his pocket +lighter. Three drags, and he tossed it +back to the table, fumbled in a drawer +and located a pack of cigarettes. +Possibly his status group was currently +smoking British briars in public, +but, let's face it, he hated the confounded +things. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He sat down before the phone and +dialed the offices of the <span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">Sun-Post</span></span> and +eventually got Sam Sokolski who this +time beat him to the punch. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Sam said, <span class="tei tei-q">“You shouldn't drink +alone. Listen, Larry, why don't you +get in touch with Alcoholics Anonymous. +It's a great outfit.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“You ought to know,”</span> Larry growled. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Look, Sam, as science columnist for +that rag you work for you probably +come in touch with a lot of eggheads.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Laddy-buck, you have said it,”</span> +Sam said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Fine. Now look, what I want to +know is have you ever heard—even +the slightest of rumors—about an organization +called the Movement?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“What'd'ya mean, slightest of rumors? +Half the weirds I run into are +interested in the outfit. Get two or +three intellectuals, scientists, technicians, +or what have you, together and +they start knocking themselves out on +the pros and cons of the Movement.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford stared at him. <span class="tei tei-q">“Are +you kidding, Sam?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The other was mystified. <span class="tei tei-q">“Why +should I kid you? As a matter of fact, +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page040">[pg 040]</span><a name="Pg040" id="Pg040" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +I was thinking of doing a column one +of these days on Voss and this Movement +of his.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“<em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">Voss</span></em> and this movement of his!”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Sure,”</span> Sam said, <span class="tei tei-q">“he's the top +leader.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Oh, great,”</span> Larry growled. <span class="tei tei-q">“Look, +Sam, eventually there is probably a +story in this for you. Right now, +though, we're trying to keep the lid on +it. Could you brief me a little on this +Movement? What are they trying to +put over?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I seem to spend half my time +briefing you in information any semi-moron +ought to be up on,”</span> Sam said +nastily. <span class="tei tei-q">“However, <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">briefly</span></em>, they're in +revolt against social-label judgments. +They think it's fouling up the country +and that eventually it'll result in +the Russkies passing us in all the +fields that really count.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I keep running into this term,”</span> +Larry complained. <span class="tei tei-q">“What do you +mean, social-label judgments, and +how can they possibly louse up the +country?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Sam said, <span class="tei tei-q">“I was present a month or +so ago when Voss gave an informal +lecture to a group of twenty or so. +Here's one of the examples he used.</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Everybody today wants to be rated +on a (1) personal, or, (2) social-label +basis, depending on which basis +is to his greatest advantage. The Negro +who is a no-good, lazy, obnoxious +person demands to be accepted because +Negroes should not be discriminated +against. The highly competent, +hard working, honest and productive +Negro wants to be accepted because +he is hard-working, honest and productive—and +should be so accepted.</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“See what I mean? This social-label +system is intended to relieve the +individual of the necessity of judging, +and the consequences of being +judged. If you have poor judgment, +and are forced to rely on your own +judgment, you're almost sure to go +under. So persons of poor judgment +support our social-label system. If +you're a louse, and are correctly +judged as being a louse, you'd prefer +that the social dictum <span class="tei tei-q">‘Human beings +are never lice’</span> should apply.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“What in the devil's +this got to do with the race between +this country and the Russkies?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Sam said patiently, <span class="tei tei-q">“Voss and the +Movement he leads contend that a +social-label system winds up with incompetents +running the country in all +fields. Often incompetent scientists +are in charge of our research; incompetent +doctors, in charge of our +health; incompetent politicians run +our government; incompetent teachers, +laden with social-labels, teach our +youth. Our young people are going to +college to secure a degree, not an +education. It's the label that counts, +not the reality.</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Voss contends that it's getting +progressively worse. That we're sinking +into an equivalent of a ritual-taboo, +tribal social-like situation. This +is the system the low-level human being +wants, yearns for and seeks. A +situation in which no one's judgment +is of any use. Then <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">his</span></em> lack of judgment +is no handicap.</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“According to members of the +Movement, today the tribesman type +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page041">[pg 041]</span><a name="Pg041" id="Pg041" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +is seeking to reduce civilization back +to ritual-taboo tribalism wherein no +one man's judgment is of any value. +The union wants advancement based +on seniority, not on ability and judgment. +The persons with whom you +associate socially judge you by the +amount of money you possess, the +family from which you come, the degrees +you hold, by social-labels—not +by your proven abilities. Down with +judgment! is the cry.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“It sounds awfully weird to me,”</span> +Larry grumbled in deprecation. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Sam shrugged. <span class="tei tei-q">“There's a lot of +sense in it. What the Movement +wants is to develop a socio-economic +system in which judgment produces +a maximum advantage.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“What gets me is that +you talk as though half the country +was all caught up in debating this +Movement. But I haven't even heard +of it, neither has my department +chief, nor any of my colleagues, so far +as I know. Why isn't anything about +it in the papers or on the TriD?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Sam said mildly, <span class="tei tei-q">“As a matter of +fact, I took in Mort Lenny's show the +other night and he made some cracks +about it. But it's not the sort of thing +that's even meant to become popular +with the man in the street. To put it +bluntly, Voss and his people aren't +particularly keen about the present +conception of the democratic ideal. +According to him, true democracy +can only be exercised by peers and +society today isn't composed of peers. +If you have one hundred people, +twenty of them competent, intelligent +persons, eighty of them untrained, +incompetent and less than intelligent, +then it's ridiculous to have +the eighty dictate to the twenty.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry looked accusingly at his long-time +friend. <span class="tei tei-q">“You know, Sam, you +sound as though you approve of all +this.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Sam said patiently, <span class="tei tei-q">“I listen to it +all, Larry my boy. I think Voss makes +a lot of sense. There's only one drawback.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“And that is?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“How's he going to put it over? +This social-label system the Movement +complains about was bad +enough ten years ago. But look how +much worse it is today. It's a progressive +thing. And, remember, it's to the +benefit of the incompetent. Since the +incompetent predominates, you're going +to have a hard time starting up a +system based on judgment and ability.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry thought about it for a moment. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Sam said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Look, I'm working, Larry. +Was there anything else?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“You wouldn't know +where I could get hold of Voss, +would you?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“At his home, I imagine, or at the +University.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“He's disappeared. We're looking +for him.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Sam laughed. <span class="tei tei-q">“Gone underground, +eh? The old boy is getting romantic.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Does he have any particular +friends who might be putting him +up?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Sam thought about it. <span class="tei tei-q">“There's +Frank Nostrand. You know, that rocket +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page042">[pg 042]</span><a name="Pg042" id="Pg042" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +expert who was fired when he got +in the big hassle with Senator McCord.”</span> +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +When Sam Sokolski had flicked off, +Larry stared at the vacant phone +screen for a long moment, assimilating +what the other had told him. He +was astonished that an organization +such as the Movement could have +spread to the extent it evidently had +through the country's intellectual circles, +through the scientifically and +technically trained, without his department +being keenly aware of it. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="text-align: center; margin-bottom: 1.00em"> + </p><div class="tei tei-figure" style="width: 60%; text-align: center"><img src="images/p42.png" width="700" height="430" alt="Illustration." /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +One result, he decided glumly, of +labeling everything contrary to the +<span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">status quo</span></span> as <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">weird</span></em> and dismissing it +with contempt. Admittedly, that +would have been his own reaction +only a week ago. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Suppose that he'd been at a cocktail +party, and had drifted up to a group +who were arguing about social-label +judgments and the need to develop a +<em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">movement</span></em> to change society's use of +them. The discussion would have +gone in one ear, out the other, and he +would have muttered inwardly, +<span class="tei tei-q">“Weirds,”</span> and have drifted on to get +himself another vodka martini. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry snorted and dialed the Department +of Records. He'd never +heard of Frank Nostrand before, so he +got Information. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The bright young thing who answered +seemed to have a harried expression +untypical of Records employees. +Larry said to her, <span class="tei tei-q">“I'd like the +brief on a Mr. Frank Nostrand who is +evidently an expert on rockets. The +only other thing I know about him is +that he recently got in the news as the +result of a controversy with Senator +McCord.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Just a moment, sir,”</span> the bright +young thing said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She touched buttons and reached +into a delivery chute. When her eyes +came up to meet his again, they were +more than ever harried. They were +absolutely confused. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Mr. Franklin Howard Nostrand,”</span> +she said, <span class="tei tei-q">“currently employed by +Madison Air as a rocket research technician.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“That must be him,”</span> Larry said. +<span class="tei tei-q">“I'm in a hurry, Miss. What's his +background?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Her eyes rounded. <span class="tei tei-q">“It says ... it +says he's an Archbishop of the Anglican +Church.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford looked at her. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She looked back, pleadingly. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry scowled and said, <span class="tei tei-q">“His university +degrees, please.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Her eyes darted to the report and +she swallowed. <span class="tei tei-q">“A bachelor in Home +Economics, sir.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Look here, Miss, how could a +Home Economics degree result in his +becoming either an Archbishop or a +rocket technician?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I'm sorry, sir. That's what it says.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry was fuming but there was no +point in taking it out on this junior +employee of the Department of Records. +He snapped, <span class="tei tei-q">“Just give me his +address, please.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She said agonizingly, <span class="tei tei-q">“Sir, it says, +Lhasa, Tibet.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +A red light flicked at the side of +his phone and he said to her, <span class="tei tei-q">“I'll call +you back. I'm getting a priority call.”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page043">[pg 043]</span><a name="Pg043" id="Pg043" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He flicked her off, and flicked the +incoming call in. It was LaVerne Polk. +She seemed to be on the harried side, +too. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Larry,”</span> she said, <span class="tei tei-q">“you better get +over here right away.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“What's up, LaVerne?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“This Movement,”</span> she said, <span class="tei tei-q">“it +seems to have started moving! The +Boss says to get over here soonest.”</span> +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The top of his car was retracted. +Larry Woolford slammed down the +walk of his auto-bungalow and vaulted +over the side and into the seat. He +banged the start button, dropped the +lift lever, depressed the thrust pedal +and took off at maximum acceleration. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He took the police level for maximum +speed and was in downtown +Greater Washington in flat minutes. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +So the Movement had started moving. +That could mean almost anything. +It was just enough to keep him +stewing until he got to the Boss and +found out what was going on. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He turned his car over to a parker +and made his way to the entrance +utilized by the second-grade department +officials. In another year, or at +most two, he told himself all over +again, he'd be using that other door. +He had an intuitive feeling that if he +licked this current assignment it'd be +the opening wedge he needed and +he'd wind up in a status bracket +unique for his age. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +LaVerne looked up when he hurried +into her anteroom. She evidently +had two or three calls going on at +once, taking orders from one phone, +giving them in another. Something +was obviously erupting. She didn't +speak to him, merely nodded her head +at the inner office. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +In the Boss' office were six or eight +others besides Larry's superior. Their +expressions and attitudes ran from +bewilderment to shock. They weren't +the men you'd expect to have such reactions. +At least not those that Larry +Woolford recognized. Three of them, +Ben Ruthenberg, Bill Fraina and +Dave Moskowitz were F.B.I. men +with whom Larry had worked on occasion. +One of the others he recognized +as being a supervisor with the +C.I.A. Walt Foster, Larry's rival in the +Boss' affections, was also present. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss growled at him, <span class="tei tei-q">“Where +in the heavens have you been, Lawrence?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Following our leads on this so-called +Movement, sir,”</span> Larry told him. +<span class="tei tei-q">“What's going on?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Ruthenberg, the Department of +Justice man, grunted sour amusement. +<span class="tei tei-q">“So-called Movement, isn't exactly +the correct phrase. It's a Movement, +all right.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Please dial Records +and get your dossier, Lawrence. That'll +be the quickest way to bring you +up on developments.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Mystified, but already with a growing +premonition, Larry dialed Records. +Knowing his own classification +code, he had no need of Information +this time. He got the hundred-word +brief and stared at it as it filled the +screen. The only items really correct +were his name and present occupation. +Otherwise his education was +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page044">[pg 044]</span><a name="Pg044" id="Pg044" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +listed as grammar school only. His +military career had him ending the +war as a General of the Armies, and +his criminal career record included +four years on Alcatraz for molesting +small children. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Blankly, he faded the brief and +dialed his full dossier. It failed to +duplicate the brief, but that was no +advantage. This time he had an M.D. +degree from Johns Hopkins, but his +military career listed him as a dishonorable +discharge from the navy where +he'd served in the steward department. +His criminal record was happily +nil, but his religion was listed as +Holy Roller. Political affiliations had +him down as a member of the Dixiecrats. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The others were looking at him, +most of them blankly, although there +were grins on the faces of Moskowitz +and the C.I.A. man. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Moskowitz said, <span class="tei tei-q">“With a name +like mine, yet, they have me a Bishop +of the Orthodox Greek Catholic +Church.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“What's it all about?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Ruthenberg said unhappily, <span class="tei tei-q">“It +started early this morning. We don't +know exactly when as yet.”</span> Which +didn't seem to answer the question. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“I don't get it. Obviously, +the Records department is fouled +up in some manner. How, and why?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“How, we know,”</span> the Boss rumbled +disgustedly. <span class="tei tei-q">“Why is another matter. +You've spent more time than anyone +else on this assignment, Lawrence. +Perhaps you can tell us.”</span> He grabbed +up a pipe from his desk, tried to light +it noisily, noticed finally that it held +no tobacco and threw it to the desk +again. <span class="tei tei-q">“Evidently, a large group of +these Movement individuals either already +worked in Records or wriggled +themselves into key positions in the +technical end of the department. +Now they've sabotaged the files.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“We've caught most of them already,”</span> +one of the F.B.I. men growled, +<span class="tei tei-q">“but damn little good that does us at +this point.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The C.I.A. supervisor made a gesture +indicating that he gave it all up. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Not only here but in Chicago and +San Francisco as well. All at once. +Evidently perfectly rehearsed. Personnel +records from coast to coast are +bollixed. Why?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said slowly, <span class="tei tei-q">“I think I know +that now. Yesterday, I wouldn't have +but I've been picking up odds and +ends.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +They all looked at him. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry sat down and ran a hand back +through his hair. <span class="tei tei-q">“The general idea is +to change the country's reliance on +social-label judgments.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“On <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">what</span></em>,”</span> the Boss barked. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“On one person judging another +according to social-labels. Voss and +the others—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Who did you say?”</span> Ruthenberg +snapped. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Voss. Professor Peter Voss from +the University over in Baltimore section. +He's the ring leader.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Ruthenberg snapped to Fraina, +<span class="tei tei-q">“Get on the phone and send out a +pick-up order for him.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Fraina was on his feet. <span class="tei tei-q">“What +charge, Ben?”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page045">[pg 045]</span><a name="Pg045" id="Pg045" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Ben Ruthenberg snorted. <span class="tei tei-q">“Rape, +or something. Get moving, we'll figure +out a charge later. The guy's a +fruitcake.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said wearily, <span class="tei tei-q">“He's evidently +gone into hiding. I've been trying to +locate him. He managed to slip me +some knockout drops and got away +yesterday.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss looked at him in disgust. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Ruthenberg said evenly, <span class="tei tei-q">“We've +had men go into hiding before. Get +going, Fraina.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Fraina left the office and the others +looked back to Larry. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss said, <span class="tei tei-q">“About this social-label +nonsense—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“They think the country +is going to pot because of it. People +hold high office or places of responsibility +not because of superior intelligence, +or even acquired skill, but because +of the social-labels they've accumulated, +and these can be based on +something as flimsy—from the Movement's +viewpoint—as who your +grandparents were, what school you +attended, how much seniority you +have on the job, what part of town +you live in, or what tailor cuts your +clothes.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Their expressions ran from scowls +and frowns to complete puzzlement. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Walt Foster grumbled, <span class="tei tei-q">“What's all +this got to do with sabotaging the +country's Records tapes?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry shrugged. <span class="tei tei-q">“I don't have the +complete picture, but one thing is +sure. It's going to be harder for a +while to base your opinions on a +quick hundred-word brief on a man. +Yesterday, an employer, considering +hiring somebody, could dial the man's +dossier, check it, and form his opinions +by the status labels the would-be +employee could produce. Today, he's +damn well going to have to exercise +his own judgment.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +LaVerne's face lit up the screen on +the Boss' desk and she said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Those +two members of the Movement who +were picked up in Alexandria are +here, sir.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Send them in,”</span> the Boss rumbled. +He looked at Larry. <span class="tei tei-q">“The F.B.I. managed +to arrest almost everyone directly +involved in the sabotage.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The two prisoners seemed more +amused than otherwise. They were +young men, in their early thirties—well +dressed and obviously intelligent. +The Boss had them seated side +by side and glared at them for a long +moment before speaking. Larry and +the others took chairs in various parts +of the room and added their own +stares to the barrage. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Your situation is +an unhappy one, gentlemen.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +One of the two shrugged. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss said, <span class="tei tei-q">“You can, ah, hedge +your bets, by co-operating with us. It +might make the difference between a +year or two in prison—and life.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +One of them grinned and then +yawned. <span class="tei tei-q">“I doubt it,”</span> he said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss tried a slightly different +tack. <span class="tei tei-q">“You have no reason to maintain +a feeling of obligation to Voss +and the others. You have obviously +been abandoned. Had they any feeling +for you there would have been +more efficacious arrangements for +your escape.”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page046">[pg 046]</span><a name="Pg046" id="Pg046" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The more articulate of the two +shrugged again. <span class="tei tei-q">“We were expendable,”</span> +he said. <span class="tei tei-q">“However, it won't be +long before we're free again.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“You think so?”</span> Ruthenberg +grunted. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The revolutionist looked at him. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Yes, I do,”</span> he said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Six months from +now and we'll be heroes since by that +time the Movement will have been a +success.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss snorted. <span class="tei tei-q">“Just because +you deranged the Records? Why +that's but temporary.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Not so temporary as you think,”</span> +the technician replied. <span class="tei tei-q">“This country +has allowed itself to get deeply +enmeshed in punch-card and tape records. +Oh, it made sense enough. +With the population we have, and the +endless files that result from our +ultra-complicated society, it was simply +a matter finally of developing a +standardized system of records for the +nation as a whole. Now, for all practical +purposes, <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">all</span></em> of our records these +days are kept with the Department of +Records, confidential as well as public +records. Why should a university, +for instance, keep literally tons of +files, with all the expense and space +and time involved, when it can merely +file the same records with the governmental +department and have them +safe and easily available at any time? +Now, the Movement has completely +and irrevocably destroyed almost all +files that deal with the social-labels to +which we object. An excellent first +step, in forcing our country back into +judgment based on ability and intelligence.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“First step!”</span> Larry blurted. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The two prisoners looked at him. +<span class="tei tei-q">“That's right,”</span> the quieter of the two +said. <span class="tei tei-q">“This is just the first step.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Don't kid yourselves,”</span> Ben Ruthenberg +snapped at them. <span class="tei tei-q">“It's also the +last!”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The two members of the Movement +grinned at him. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +When the others had gone, the +Boss looked at Larry Woolford. He +said sourly, <span class="tei tei-q">“When this department +was being formed, I doubt anyone +had in mind this particular type of +subversion, Lawrence.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry grunted. <span class="tei tei-q">“Give me a good +old-fashioned Commie, any time. +Look, sir, what are the Department of +Justice boys going to do with those +prisoners?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Hold them on any of various +charges. We've conflicted with the +F.B.I. in the past on overlapping +jurisdiction, but thank heavens for +them now. Their manpower is needed.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry leaned forward. <span class="tei tei-q">“Sir, we +ought to take all members of the +Movement we've already arrested, feed +them a dose of Scop-Serum, and +pressure them to open up on the organization's +operations.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +His superior looked at him, waiting +for him to continue. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said urgently, <span class="tei tei-q">“Those two we +just had in here thought the whole +thing was a big joke. The first step, +they called it. Sir, there's something +considerably bigger than this cooking. +Uncle Sam might pride himself +on the personal liberties guaranteed +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page047">[pg 047]</span><a name="Pg047" id="Pg047" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +by this country, but unless we break +this organization, and do it fast, +there's going to be trouble that will +make this fouling of the records look +like the minor matter those two jokers +seemed to think it.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss thought about that. He +said slowly, <span class="tei tei-q">“Lawrence, the Supreme +Court ruled against the use of Scop-Serum. +Not that it is over efficient, +anyway. Largely, these so-called truth +serums don't accomplish much more +than to lower resistance, slacken natural +inhibitions, weaken the will.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Sure,”</span> Larry said. <span class="tei tei-q">“But give a man +a good dose of Scop-Serum and he'd +betray his own mother. Not because +he's helpless to tell a lie, but because +under the influence of the drug he +figures it just isn't important enough +to bother about. Sir, Supreme Court +or not, I think those two ought to be +given Scop-Serum along with all other +Movement members we've picked +up.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss was shaking his head. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Lawrence, these men are not wide-eyed +radicals picked up in a street +demonstration. They're highly respected +members of our society. +They're educators, scientists, engineers, +technicians. Anything done to +them is going to make headlines. +Those that were actually involved in +the sabotage will have criminal +charges brought against them, but +they're going to get a considerable +amount of publicity, and we're going +to be in no position to alienate any of +their constitutional rights.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry stood up, approached his +chief's desk and leaned over it urgently. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Sir, that's fine, but we've got +to move and move fast. Something's +up and we don't even know what! +Take that counterfeit money. From +Susan Self's description, there's actually +billions of dollars worth of it.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Oh, come now, Lawrence. The +child exaggerated. Besides, that's a +problem for Steven Hackett and the +Secret Service, we have enough on +our hands as it is. Forget about the +counterfeit, Lawrence. I think I shall +put you in complete control of field +work on this, to co-operate in liaison +with Ben Ruthenberg and the F.B.I. +So far as we're concerned, the counterfeit +angle belongs to Secret Service, +we're working on subversion, +and until the Civil Liberties Union or +whoever else proves otherwise, we'll +consider this Movement an organization +attempting to subvert the country +by illegal means.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford made a hard decision +quickly. He was shaking his +head. <span class="tei tei-q">“Sir, I'd rather you gave the administrative +end to someone else and +let me continue in the field. I've got +some leads—I think. If I get bogged +down in interdepartmental red tape, +and in paper work here at headquarters, +I'll never get to the heart of this +and I'm laying bets that we either +crack this within days or there are going +to be some awfully big changes +in this country.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss glared at him. <span class="tei tei-q">“You +mean you're refusing this assignment, +Woolford. Confound it, don't you +realize it's a promotion?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry was worriedly dogged. <span class="tei tei-q">“Sir, +I'd rather stay in the field.”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page048">[pg 048]</span><a name="Pg048" id="Pg048" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Very well,”</span> the other snapped disgustedly, +<span class="tei tei-q">“I hope you deliver some +results, Woolford, otherwise I am +afraid I won't feel particularly happy +about your somewhat cavalier rejection +of this opportunity.”</span> He flicked +on the phone and snapped to LaVerne +Polk, <span class="tei tei-q">“Miss Polk, locate Walter +Foster for me. He is to take over our +end of this Movement matter.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +LaVerne said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Yes, sir,”</span> and her +face was gone. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss looked up, still scowling. +<span class="tei tei-q">“What are you waiting for, Woolford?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Yes, sir,”</span> Larry said. It was just +coming home to him now, what he'd +done. There possibly went his yearned +for promotion in the department. +There went his chance of an upgrading +in status. And Walt Foster, of all +people, in his place. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +At LaVerne's desk, Larry stopped +off long enough to say, <span class="tei tei-q">“Did you ever +assign that secretary to me?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +LaVerne shook her head at him. +<span class="tei tei-q">“She's come and gone, Larry. She sat +around for a couple of days, after seeing +you not even once, and then I +gave her another assignment.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Well, bring her back again, will +you? I want her to do up briefs for +me on all the information we accumulate +on the Movement. It'll be coming +in from all sides now. From the +Press, from those members we've arrested, +from our F.B.I. pals, now that +they're interested, and so forth.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I'll give you Irene Day,”</span> LaVerne +said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Where are you off to +now, Larry?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Probably a wild goose chase,”</span> Larry +growled. <span class="tei tei-q">“Which reminds me. Do +me a favor, LaVerne. Call Personal +Service and find out where Frank +Nostrand is. He's some kind of rocket +technician at Madison Air Laboratories. +I'll be in my office.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Frank Nostrand,”</span> LaVerne said +briskly. <span class="tei tei-q">“Will do, Larry.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Back in his own cubicle, Larry +stood for a moment in thought. He +was increasingly aware of the uncomfortable +feeling that time was running +out on them. That things were +coming to a dangerous head. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He stared down at the dozen or +more books and pamphlets that his +never seen secretary had heaped up +for him. Well, he certainly didn't have +time for them now. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He sat down at the desk and dialed +an inter-office number. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The harassed looking face of Walter +Foster faded in. On seeing Larry +Woolford he growled accusingly, <span class="tei tei-q">“My +pal. You've let them dump this +whole thing into my lap.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry grinned at him. <span class="tei tei-q">“Better you +than me, old buddy. Besides, it's a +promotion. Pull this off and you'll be +the Boss' right-hand man.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“That's a laugh,”</span> Foster said. <span class="tei tei-q">“It's a +madhouse. This Movement gang is +as weird as they come.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I bleed for you,”</span> Larry said. +<span class="tei tei-q">“However, here's a tip. Frol Eivazov, +of the <span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">Chrezvychainaya Komissiya</span></span> is +somewhere in the country.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Frol Eivazov!”</span> Foster blurted. +<span class="tei tei-q">“What've the Commies got to do with +this? Is this something the Boss +knows about?”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page049">[pg 049]</span><a name="Pg049" id="Pg049" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Haven't had time to go into it +with him,”</span> Larry said. <span class="tei tei-q">“However, it +seems that friend Frol is here to find +out what the Movement is all about. +Evidently the big boys in Peking +and Moscow are nervous about any +changes that might take place over +here. I suggest you have him picked +up, Walt.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="text-align: center; margin-bottom: 1.00em"> + </p><div class="tei tei-figure" style="width: 30%; text-align: center"><img src="images/p49.png" width="210" height="700" alt="Illustration." /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Walt Foster said, <span class="tei tei-q">“O.K. I'll put +some people on it. Maybe the F.B.I. +can help.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry flicked off as he saw the red +priority light on his phone shining. +He pushed it and LaVerne's face +faded in. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She said, <span class="tei tei-q">“This Franklin Nostrand +you wanted to know about. He's evidently +working at the laboratories +over in Newport News, Larry. He'll +be on the job until five this afternoon.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Fine,”</span> he said. Larry grinned at +her. <span class="tei tei-q">“When are we going to have +that date, LaVerne?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She made a face. <span class="tei tei-q">“Some day when +the program involves having fun instead +of parading around in the right +places, driving the right model car, +dressed in exactly the right clothes, +and above all associating with the +right people.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +It was his turn to grimace. <span class="tei tei-q">“I'm beginning +to think you ought to sign up +with Voss and this Movement of his. +You'd be right at home with his +weirds.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She stuck out her tongue at him, +and flicked off. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He looked at the empty screen and +chuckled. He had half a mind to get a +record of their conversation, strip out +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page050">[pg 050]</span><a name="Pg050" id="Pg050" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +just the section where she'd stuck out +her tongue, and then play it back to +her. She'd be taken aback by being +confronted by her own image making +faces at her. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +As he made his way to the parking +lot for his car, something in their +conversation nagged at him, but he +couldn't put his finger on it. He considered +the girl, all over again. She +had almost all the qualities he looked +for. She was attractive, without being +overly so. He disliked women out of +the ordinarily beautiful, it became too +much to live up to. She was sharp, +but not objectionably so. Not to the +point of giving you an inferiority +complex. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +But, Holy Smokes, she'd never do +as a career man's wife. He could just +see the Boss' ultraconservative better +half inviting them to dinner. It +would happen exactly once, never +again. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He obtained his car, lifted it to one +of the higher levels and headed for +Newport News. It was a half-hour +trip and he wasn't particularly expectant +of results. The tip Sam Sokolski +had given him, wasn't much to +go by. Evidently, Frank Nostrand was +a friend of the Professor's but that +didn't necessarily mean he was connected +with the movement, or that he +knew Voss' whereabouts. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He might have saved himself the +trip. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The bird had flown again. Not +only was Frank Nostrand not at the +Madison Air Laboratories, but he +wasn't at home either. Larry Woolford, +mindful of his departmental +chief's words on the prestige these +people carried, took a full hour in acquiring +a search warrant before breaking +into the Nostrand home. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Nostrand was supposedly a bachelor, +but the auto-bungalow, similar to +Larry Woolford's own, showed signs +of double occupancy, and there was +little indication that the guest had +been a woman. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Disgruntled, Larry Woolford dialed +the offices, asked for Walt Foster. It +took nearly ten minutes before his +colleague faded in. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I'm up to my eyebrows, Larry. +What'd you want?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry gave him Frank Nostrand's +address. <span class="tei tei-q">“This guy's disappeared, +Walt.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“So?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“He was a close friend of Professor +Voss. I got a warrant to search his +house. It shows signs that he had a +guest. Possibly it was the Professor. +Do you want to get some of the boys +down here to go through the place? +Possibly there's some clue to where +they took off for. The Professor's on +the run and he's no professional at +this. If we can pick <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">him</span></em> up, I've got a +sneaking suspicion we'll have the so-called +Movement licked.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Walt Foster slapped a hand to his +face in anguish. <span class="tei tei-q">“You knew where +the Professor was hiding, and you +tried to pick him up on your own and +let him get away. Why didn't you +discuss this with either the Boss or +me? I'm in charge of this operation! +I would have had a dozen men down +there. You've fouled this up!”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry stared at him. Already Walt +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page051">[pg 051]</span><a name="Pg051" id="Pg051" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +Foster was making sounds like an +enraged superior. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He said mildly, <span class="tei tei-q">“Sorry, Walt. I +came down here on a very meager +tip. I didn't really expect it to pan +out.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Well, in the future, clear with +either me or the Boss before running +off half cocked into something, Woolford. +Yesterday, you had this whole +assignment on your own. Today, it's +no longer a minor matter. Our department +has fifty people on it. The +F.B.I. must have five times as many +and that's not even counting the Secret +Service's interest. It's no longer +your individual baby.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Sorry,”</span> Larry repeated mildly. +Then, <span class="tei tei-q">“I don't imagine you've got +hold of Frol Eivazov yet?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The other was disgusted. <span class="tei tei-q">“You +think we're magicians? We just put +out the call for him a few hours ago. +He's no amateur. If he doesn't want +to be picked up, he'll go to ground +and we'll have our work cut out for us +finding him. I can't see that it's particularly +important anyway.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Maybe you're right,”</span> Larry said. +<span class="tei tei-q">“But you never know. He might +know things we don't. See you later.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Walt Foster stared at him for a +moment as though about to say something, +but then tightened his lips and +faded off. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry looked at the phone screen +for a moment. <span class="tei tei-q">“Did that phony expect +me to call him <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">sir</span></em>,”</span> he muttered. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The next two days dissolved into +routine. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Frustrated, Larry Woolford spent +most of his time in his office digesting +developments, trying to find a new +line of attack. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +For want of something else, he put +his new secretary, a brightly efficient +girl, as style and status conscious as +LaVerne Polk wasn't, to work typing +up the tapes he'd had cut on Susan +Self and the various phone calls he'd +had with Hans Distelmayer and Sam +Sokolski. From memory, he dictated +to her his conversation with Professor +Peter Voss. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He carefully read the typed sheets +over and over again. He continually +had the feeling in this case that there +were loose ends dangling around. +Several important points he should be +able to put his finger upon. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +On the morning of the third day he +dialed Steve Hackett and on seeing +the other's worried, pug-ugly face +fade in on the phone, decided that if +nothing else the Movement was undermining +the United States government +by dispensing ulcers to its employees. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve growled, <span class="tei tei-q">“What is it Woolford? +I'm as busy as a whirling dervish +in a revolving door.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“This is just the glimmer of an +idea, Steve. Look, remember that conversation +with Susan, when she described +her father taking her to +headquarters?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“So?”</span> Steve said impatiently. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Remember her description of +headquarters?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Go on,”</span> Steve rapped. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“What did it remind you of?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“What are you leading to?”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page052">[pg 052]</span><a name="Pg052" id="Pg052" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“This is just a hunch,”</span> Larry persisted, +<span class="tei tei-q">“but the way she described the +manner in which her father took her +to headquarters suggests they're in +the Greater Washington area.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve was staring at him disgustedly. +How obvious could you get? +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry hurried on. <span class="tei tei-q">“What's the biggest +business in this area, Steve?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Government.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Right. And the way she described +headquarters of the Movement, was +rooms, after rooms, after rooms into +which they'd stored the money.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“And?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said urgently, <span class="tei tei-q">“Steve, I think +in some way the Movement has taken +over some governmental buildings, or +storage warehouse. Possibly some +older buildings no longer in use. It +would be a perfect hideout. Who +would expect a subversive organization +to be in governmental buildings? +All they'd need would be a few +officials here and there who were on +their side and—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve said wearily, <span class="tei tei-q">“You couldn't +have thought of this two days ago.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry cut himself off sharply, +<span class="tei tei-q">“Eh?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve said, <span class="tei tei-q">“We found their headquarters. +One of their members +cracked. Ben Ruthenberg of the +F.B.I. found he had a morals rap +against him some years ago and scared +him into talking by threats of exposure. +At any rate, you're right. They +had established themselves in some +government buildings going back to +Spanish-American War days. We've +arrested eight or ten officials that +were involved.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“But the money?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“The money was gone,”</span> Steve said +bitterly. <span class="tei tei-q">“But Susan was right. There +had evidently been room after room +of it, stacked to the ceiling. Literally +billions of dollars. They'd moved out +hurriedly, but they left kicking around +enough loose hundreds, fifties, twenties, +tens and fives to give us an idea. +Look, Woolford, I thought you'd +been pulled off this case and that +Walt Foster was handling it.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said sourly, <span class="tei tei-q">“I'm beginning +to think so, too. They're evidently not +even bothering to let me know about +developments like this. See you later, +Steve.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The other's face faded off. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford looked across the +double desk at Irene Day. <span class="tei tei-q">“Look,”</span> he +said, <span class="tei tei-q">“when you're offered a promotion, +take it. If you don't, someone +else will and you'll be out in the +cold.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Irene Day said brightly, <span class="tei tei-q">“I've always +know that, sir.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He looked at her. The typical eager +beaver. Sharp as a whip. Bright as a +button. <span class="tei tei-q">“I'll bet you have,”</span> he muttered. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I beg your pardon, Mr. Woolford?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The phone lit as LaVerne said, +<span class="tei tei-q">“The Boss wants to talk to you, Larry.”</span> +Her face faded and Larry's superior +was scowling at him. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He snapped, <span class="tei tei-q">“Did you get anything +on this medical records thing, +Woolford?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Medical records?”</span> Larry said +blankly. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss grunted in deprecation. +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page053">[pg 053]</span><a name="Pg053" id="Pg053" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +<span class="tei tei-q">“No, I suppose you haven't. I wish +you would snap into it, Woolford. I +don't know what has happened to you +of late. I used to think that you were +a good field man.”</span> He flicked off +abruptly. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry dialed LaVerne Polk. <span class="tei tei-q">“What +in the world was the Boss just talking +about, LaVerne? About medical records?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +LaVerne said, frowning, <span class="tei tei-q">“Didn't +you know? The Movement's been at +it again. They've fouled up the records +of the State Medical Licensing +bureaus, at the same time sabotaging +the remaining records of most, if not +all, of the country's medical schools. +They struck simultaneously, throughout +the country.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He looked at her, expressionlessly. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +LaVerne said, <span class="tei tei-q">“We've caught several +hundred of those responsible. It's +the same thing. Attack of the social-label. +From now on, if a man tells you +he's an Ear, Eye and Throat specialist, +you'd better do some investigation +before letting him amputate your +tongue. You'd better use your judgment +before letting <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">any</span></em> doctor you +don't really know about, work on +you. It's a madhouse, Larry.”</span> +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford, for long moments +after LaVerne had broken the connection, +stared unseeingly at his secretary +across from him until she stirred. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He brought his eyes back to the +present. <span class="tei tei-q">“Another preliminary move, +not the important thing, yet. Not the +big explosion they're figuring on. +Where have they taken that money, +and why?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Irene Day blinked at him. <span class="tei tei-q">“I don't +know, I'm sure, sir.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Get me Mr. Foster on +the phone, Irene.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +When Walt Foster's unhappy face +faded in, Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Walt did you +get Frol Eivazov?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Eivazov?”</span> the other said impatiently. +<span class="tei tei-q">“No. We haven't spent much +effort on it. I think this hunch of +yours is like the other ones you've +been having lately, Woolford. Frol +Eivazov was last reported by our operatives +as being in North Korea.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“It wasn't a hunch,”</span> Larry said +tightly. <span class="tei tei-q">“He's in this country on an +assignment dealing with the Movement.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Well, that's your opinion,”</span> Foster +said snappishly. <span class="tei tei-q">“I'm busy, Woolford. +See here, at present you're under +my orders on this job. In the way +of something to do, instead of sitting +around in that office, why don't you +follow up this Eivazov thing yourself?”</span> +He considered it a moment. +<span class="tei tei-q">“That's an order, Woolford. Even if +you don't locate him, it'll keep you out +of our hair.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +After the other was gone, Larry +Woolford leaned back in his chair, +his face flushed as though the other +had slapped it. In a way, he had. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said slowly, <span class="tei tei-q">“Miss Day, dial +me Hans Distelmayer. His offices are +over in the Belmont Building.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +As always, the screen remained +blank as the German spy master +spoke. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Hans, I want to talk to +Frol Eivazov.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Ah?”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page054">[pg 054]</span><a name="Pg054" id="Pg054" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I want to know where I can find +him.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The German's voice was humorously +gruff. <span class="tei tei-q">“My friend, my friend.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said impatiently, <span class="tei tei-q">“I'm not interested +in arresting him at this time. +I want to talk to him.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The other said heavily. <span class="tei tei-q">“This goes +beyond favors, my friend. On the face +of it, I am not in business for my +health. And what you ask is dangerous +from my viewpoint. You realize +that upon occasion my organization +does small tasks for the Soviets....”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Ha!”</span> Larry said bitterly. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“... And,”</span> the German continued, +unruffled, <span class="tei tei-q">“it is hardly to my interest +to gain the reputation of betraying +my sometimes employers. +Were you on an assignment in, say, +Bulgaria or Hungary, would you +expect me to betray you to the +<span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">Chrezvychainaya Komissiya</span></span>?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Not unless somebody paid you +enough to make it worth while,”</span> +Larry said dryly. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Exactly,”</span> the espionage chief said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Look,”</span> Larry said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Send your bill +to this department, Hans. I've been +given carte blanche on this matter +and I want to talk to Frol. Now, +where is he?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The German chuckled heavily. +<span class="tei tei-q">“At the Soviet Embassy.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“What! You mean they've got the +gall to house their top spy right in—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Distelmayer interrupted him. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Friend Eivazov is currently accredited +as a military attaché and quite +correctly. He holds the rank of colonel, +you know. He entered this country +quite legally, the only precaution +taken was to use his second name, +Kliment, instead of Frol, on his papers. +Evidently, your people passed +him by without a second look. Ah, I +understand he went to the trouble of +making some minor changes in his +facial appearance.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“We'll expect your bill, Distelmayer,”</span> +Larry said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Good-by.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He got up and reached for his hat, +saying to Irene Day, <span class="tei tei-q">“I don't know +how long I'll be gone.”</span> He added, +wryly, <span class="tei tei-q">“If either Foster or the Boss +try to get in touch with me, tell them +I'm carrying out orders.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He drove over to the Soviet Embassy, +parked his car directly before +the building. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The American plainclothesmen +stationed near the entrance, gave him +only a quick onceover as he passed. +Inside the gates, the impassive Russian +guards didn't bother to flicker an +eyelid. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +At the reception desk in the immense +entrada, he identified himself. +<span class="tei tei-q">“I'd like to see Colonel Frol Eivazov.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I am afraid—”</span> the clerk began +stiffly. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I suppose you have him on the +records as Kliment Eivazov.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The clerk had evidently touched a +concealed button. A door opened and +a junior embassy official approached +them. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry restated his desire. The other +began to open his mouth in denial, +then shrugged. <span class="tei tei-q">“Just a moment,”</span> he +said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He was gone a full twenty minutes. +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page055">[pg 055]</span><a name="Pg055" id="Pg055" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +When he returned, he said +briefly, <span class="tei tei-q">“This way, please.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Frol Eivazov was in an inner office, +in full uniform. He came to his +feet when Larry Woolford entered +and said to the clerk, <span class="tei tei-q">“That will be +all, Vova.”</span> He was a tall man, as +Slavs go, but heavy of build and +heavy of face. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He shook hands with Larry. <span class="tei tei-q">“It's +been a long time,”</span> he said in perfect +English. <span class="tei tei-q">“That conference in Warsaw, +wasn't it? Have a chair, Mr. +Woolford.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry took the offered chair and +said, <span class="tei tei-q">“How in the world did you expect +to get by with this nonsense? +We'll have you declared <span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">persona non +grata</span></span> in a matter of hours.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“It's not important,”</span> Eivazov +shrugged. <span class="tei tei-q">“I have found what I came +to find. I was about to return to report +any way.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“We won't do anything to hinder +you, colonel,”</span> Larry said dryly. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Eivazov snapped his fingers. <span class="tei tei-q">“It's +all amusing,”</span> he said. <span class="tei tei-q">“In our country +we would quickly deal with this +Movement nonsense. You Americans +with your pseudo-democracy, your +labels without reality, your—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said wearily, <span class="tei tei-q">“Please, Frol, I +promise not to convert you if you +promise not to convert me. Needless +to say, my department isn't happy +about your presence in this country. +You'll be watched from now on. +We've been busy with other matters....”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Here the Russian laughed. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“... Or we'd already have flushed +you.”</span> He allowed his voice to go +curious. <span class="tei tei-q">“We've wondered about your +interest in this phase of our internal +affairs.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Russian agent let his facade +slip over farther, his heavy lips sneering. +<span class="tei tei-q">“We are interested in all phases +of your antiquated socio-economic +system, Mr. Woolford. In the present +peaceful economic competition between +East and West, we would simply +<em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">loathe</span></em> to see anything happen to +your present culture.”</span> He hesitated +deliberately. <span class="tei tei-q">“If you can call it a +culture.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, unprovoked, <span class="tei tei-q">“If I understand +you correctly, you are not in +favor of the changes the Movement +advocates.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Russian shrugged hugely. <span class="tei tei-q">“I +doubt if they are possible of achievement. +The organization is a sloppy +one. Revolutionary? Nonsense,”</span> he +scoffed. <span class="tei tei-q">“They have no plans to +change the government. No plans for +overthrowing the regime. Ultimately, +what this country needs is true +Communism. This so-called Movement +doesn't have that as its eventual +goal. It is laughable.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, interestedly, <span class="tei tei-q">“Then perhaps +you'll tell me what little you've +found out about the group.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Why not?”</span> The Russian pursed +his lips. <span class="tei tei-q">“They are composed of impractical +idealists. Scientists, intellectuals, +a few admitted scholars and +even a few potential leaders. Their +sabotage of your Department of Records +was an amusing farce, but, +frankly, I have been unable to discover +the purpose of their interest in +rockets. For a time I contemplated +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page056">[pg 056]</span><a name="Pg056" id="Pg056" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +the possibility that they had a scheme +to develop a nuclear bomb, and to +explode it over Greater Washington +in the belief that in the resulting +confusion they might seize power. +But, on the face of it their membership +is incapable of such an effort.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Their interest in rockets?”</span> Larry +said softly. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Yes, as you've undoubtedly discovered, +half the rocket technicians of +your country seem to have joined +with them. We got the tip through”</span>—the +Russian cleared his throat—<span class="tei tei-q">“several +of our converts who happen +to be connected with your space +efforts groups.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Is that so?”</span> Larry said. <span class="tei tei-q">“I wondered +what you thought about their +interest in money.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +It was the other's turn to look +blank. <span class="tei tei-q">“Money?”</span> he said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“That's right. Large quantities of +money.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Russian said, frowning, <span class="tei tei-q">“I suppose +most citizens in your capitalist +countries are interested largely in +money. One of your basic failings.”</span> +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Driving back to the office, Larry +Woolford let it pile up on him. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Ernest Self had been a specialist in +solid fuel for rockets. When Larry +had questioned Professor Voss that +worthy had particularly stressed his +indignation at how Professor Goddard, +the rocket pioneer, had been +treated by his contemporaries. Franklin +Nostrand had been employed as a +technician on rocket research at Madison +Air Laboratories. It was too darn +much for coincidence. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +And now something else that had +been nagging away at the back of his +mind suddenly came clear. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Susan Self had said that she and +her father had seen the precision +dancers at the New Roxy Theater in +New York and later the Professor +had said they were going to spend +the money on chorus girls. Susan had +got it wrong. The Rockettes—the +precision chorus girls. The Professor +had said they were going to spend +the money on <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">rockets</span></em>, and Susan had +misunderstood. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +But billions of dollars expended on +rockets? How? But, above all, to +what end? +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +If he'd only been able to hold onto +Susan, or her father; or to Voss or +Nostrand, for that matter. Someone +to work on. But each had slipped +through his fingers. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Which brought something else up +from his subconscious. Something +which had been tugging at him. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +At the office, Irene Day was packing +her things as he entered. Packing +as though she was leaving for good. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“What goes on?”</span> Larry growled. +<span class="tei tei-q">“I'm going to be needing you. Things +are coming to a head.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She said, a bit snippishly, Larry +thought, <span class="tei tei-q">“Miss Polk, in the Boss' office, +said for you to see her as soon as +you came in, Mr. Woolford.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Oh?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He made his way to LaVerne's office, +his attention actually on the ideas +churning in his mind. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She looked up when he entered. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“The Boss wanted to +see me?”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page057">[pg 057]</span><a name="Pg057" id="Pg057" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +LaVerne ducked her head, as +though embarrassed. <span class="tei tei-q">“Not exactly, +Larry.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He gestured with his thumb in the +direction of his own cubicle office. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Irene just said you wanted me.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +LaVerne looked up into his face. +<span class="tei tei-q">“The Boss and Mr. Foster, too, are +boiling about your authorizing that +Distelmayer man to bill this department +for information he gave you. +The Boss hit the roof. Something +about the Senate Appropriations +Committee getting down on him if it +came out that we bought information +from professional espionage agents.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“It was information we +needed, and Foster gave me the go +ahead on locating Frol Eivazov. Maybe +I'd better see the Boss.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +LaVerne said, <span class="tei tei-q">“I don't think he +wants to see you, Larry. They're up +to their ears in this Movement thing. +It's in the papers <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">now</span></em> and nobody +knows what to do next. The President +is going to make a speech on TriD, +and the Boss has to supply the information. +His orders are for you to +resume your vacation. To take a +month off and then see him when +you get back.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry sank down into a chair. <span class="tei tei-q">“I +see,”</span> he said, <span class="tei tei-q">“And at that time he'll +probably transfer me to janitor service.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Larry,”</span> LaVerne said, almost impatiently, +<span class="tei tei-q">“why in the world didn't +you take that job Walt Foster has +now when the Boss offered it to +you?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Because I'm stupid, I suppose,”</span> +Larry said bitterly. <span class="tei tei-q">“I thought I could +do more working alone than at an administrative +post tangled in red tape +and bureaucratic routine.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Sorry, Larry.”</span> She sounded +as though she meant it. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry stood up. <span class="tei tei-q">“Well, tonight I'm +going to hang one on, and tomorrow +it's back to Florida.”</span> He said in a +rush, <span class="tei tei-q">“Look LaVerne, how about that +date we've been talking about for six +months or more?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She looked up at him. <span class="tei tei-q">“I can't +stand vodka martinis.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Neither can I,”</span> he said glumly. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“And I don't get a kick out of +prancing around, a stuffed shirt +among fellow stuffed shirts, at some +goings-on that supposedly improves +my culture status.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said <span class="tei tei-q">“At the house I have +every known brand of drinkable, and +a stack of ... what did you call it? ... corny +music. We can mix our +own drinks and dance all by ourselves.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She tucked her head to one side +and looked at him suspiciously. <span class="tei tei-q">“Are +your intentions honorable?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“We can even discuss that later,”</span> +he said sourly. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She laughed. <span class="tei tei-q">“It's a date, Larry.”</span> +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He picked her up after work, and +they drove to his Brandywine auto-bungalow, +largely quiet the whole +way. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +At one point she touched his hand +with hers and said, <span class="tei tei-q">“It'll work out, +Larry.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Yeah,”</span> he said sourly. <span class="tei tei-q">“I've put +ten years into ingratiating myself +with the Boss. Now, overnight, he's +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page058">[pg 058]</span><a name="Pg058" id="Pg058" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +got a new boy. I suppose there's some +moral involved.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +When they pulled up before his +auto-bungalow, LaVerne whistled appreciatively. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Quite a neighborhood +you're in.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He grunted. <span class="tei tei-q">“A good address. +What our friend Professor Voss +would call one more status symbol, +one more social-label. For it I pay +about fifty per cent more rent than +my budget can afford.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He ushered her inside and took her +jacket. <span class="tei tei-q">“Look,”</span> he said, indicating his +living room with a sweep of hand. +<span class="tei tei-q">“See that volume of Klee reproductions +there next to my reading chair? +That proves I'm not a weird. Indicates +my culture status. Actually, my +appreciation of modern art doesn't go +any further than the Impressionists. +But don't tell anybody. See those +books up on my shelves. Same thing. +You'll find everything there that +<em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">ought</span></em> to be on the shelves of any ambitious +young career man.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She looked at him from the side of +her eyes. <span class="tei tei-q">“You're really soured, Larry.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Come along,”</span> he said. <span class="tei tei-q">“I want to +show you something.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He took her down the tiny elevator +to his den. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“How hypocritical can you get?”</span> +he asked her. <span class="tei tei-q">“This is where I really +live. But I seldom bring anyone here. +Wouldn't want to get a reputation as +a weird. Sit down, LaVerne, I'll make +a drink. How about a Sidecar?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She sank onto the couch, kicked her +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page059">[pg 059]</span><a name="Pg059" id="Pg059" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +shoes off and slipped her feet under +her. <span class="tei tei-q">“I'd love one,”</span> she said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +His back to her, he brought brandy +and cointreau from his liquor cabinet, +lemon and ice from the tiny refrigerator. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“What?”</span> LaVerne said mockingly. +<span class="tei tei-q">“No auto-bar?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Upstairs with the rest of the status +symbols,”</span> Larry grunted. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He put her drink before her and +turned and went to the record player. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“In the way of corny music, how do +you like that old-timer, Nat Cole?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“King Cole? Love him,”</span> LaVerne +said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The strains of <span class="tei tei-q">“For All We Know”</span> +penetrated the room. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry sat down across from her, finished +half his drink in one swallow. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“I'm beginning to wonder whether +or not this Movement doesn't have +something,”</span> he said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She didn't answer that. They sat in +silence for a while, appreciating the +drink. Nat Cole was singing <span class="tei tei-q">“The +Very Thought of You”</span> now. Larry got +up and made two more cocktails. This +time he sat next to her. He leaned his +head back on the couch and closed +his eyes. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Finally he said softly, <span class="tei tei-q">“When Steve +Hackett and I were questioning Susan, +there was only one other person +who knew that we'd picked her up. +There was only one person other +than Steve and me who could have +warned Ernest Self to make a getaway. +Later on, there was only one +person who could have warned Frank +Nostrand so that he and the Professor +could find a new hideout.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She said sleepily, <span class="tei tei-q">“How long have +you known about that, darling?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“A while,”</span> Larry said, his own voice +quiet. <span class="tei tei-q">“I figured it out when I also decided +how Susan Self was spirited +out of the Greater Washington Hilton, +before we had the time to question +her further. Somebody who had +access to tapes made of me while I +was making phone calls cut out a section +and dubbed in a voice so that +Betsy Hughes, the Secret Service matron +who was watching Susan, was +fooled into believing it was I ordering +the girl to be turned over to the two +Movement members who came to +get her.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +LaVerne stirred comfortably and +let her head sink onto his shoulder. +<span class="tei tei-q">“You're so warm and ... comfortable,”</span> +she said. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said softly, <span class="tei tei-q">“What does the +Movement expect to do with all that +counterfeit money, LaVerne?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She stirred against his shoulder, as +though bothered by the need to talk. +<span class="tei tei-q">“Give it all away,”</span> she said. <span class="tei tei-q">“Distribute +it all over the country and +destroy the nation's social currency.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +It took him a long moment to assimilate +that. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“What have the rockets to do with +it?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +She stirred once again, as though +wishing he'd be silent. <span class="tei tei-q">“That's how it +will be distributed. About twenty +rockets, strategically placed, each with +a <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">warhead</span></em> of a couple of tons of +money. Fired to an altitude of a couple +of hundred miles and then the +money is spewed out. In falling, it +will be distributed over cities and +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page060">[pg 060]</span><a name="Pg060" id="Pg060" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +countryside, everywhere. Billions +upon billions of dollars worth.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, so softly as hardly to be +heard, <span class="tei tei-q">“What will that accomplish?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Money is the greatest social-label +of them all. The Professor believes +that through this step the Movement +will have accomplished its purpose. +That people will be forced to utilize +their judgment, rather than depend +upon social-labels.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry didn't follow that, but he had +no time to go further now. He said, +still evenly soft, <span class="tei tei-q">“And when is the +Movement going to do this?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +La Verne moved comfortably. <span class="tei tei-q">“The +trucks go out to distribute the money +tonight. The rockets are waiting. The +firing will take place in a few days.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“And where is the Professor now?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Where the money and the trucks +are hidden, darling. What difference +does it make?”</span> LaVerne said sleepily. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“And where is that?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“At the Greater Washington +Trucking Corporation. It's owned by +one of the Movement's members.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He said. <span class="tei tei-q">“There's a password. What +is it?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Judgment.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry Woolford bounced to his feet. +He looked down at her, then over at +the phone. In three quick steps he +was over to it. He grasped its wires +and yanked them from the wall, silencing +it. He slipped into the tiny +elevator, locking the door to the den +behind him. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +As the door slid closed, her voice +wailed, still sleepily husky, <span class="tei tei-q">“Larry, +darling, where are you—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He ran down the walk of the house, +vaulted into the car and snapped on +its key. He slammed down the lift +lever, kicked the thrust pedal and +was thrown back against the seat by +the acceleration. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Even while he was climbing, he +flicked on the radio-phone, called +Personal Service for the location of +the Greater Washington Trucking +Corporation. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Fifteen minutes later, he parked a +block away from his destination, noting +with satisfaction that it was still +an hour or more to go until dark. His +intuition, working doubletime now, +told him that they'd probably wait until +nightfall to start their money-laden +trucks to rolling. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He hesitated momentarily before +turning on the phone and dialing the +Boss' home address. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +When the other's face faded in, it +failed to display pleasure when the +caller's identity was established. His +superior growled, <span class="tei tei-q">“Confound it, +Woolford, you know my privacy is to +be respected. This phone is to be +used only in extreme emergency.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Yes, sir,”</span> Larry said briskly. <span class="tei tei-q">“It's +the Movement—”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The other's face darkened still further. +<span class="tei tei-q">“You're not on that assignment +any longer, Woolford. Walter Foster +has taken over and I'm sympathetic to +his complaints that you've proven +more a hindrance than anything +else.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry ignored his words, <span class="tei tei-q">“Sir, I've +tracked them down. Professor Voss is +at the Greater Washington Trucking +Corporation garages here in the Alexandria +section of town. Any moment +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page061">[pg 061]</span><a name="Pg061" id="Pg061" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +now, they're going to start distribution +of all that counterfeit money on +some scatterbrain plan to disrupt the +country's exchange system.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Suddenly alert, the department +chief snapped, <span class="tei tei-q">“Where are you, Woolford?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Outside the garages, sir. But I'm +going in now.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“You stay where you are,”</span> the other +snapped. <span class="tei tei-q">“I'll have every department +man and every Secret Service man in +town over there within twenty minutes. +You hang on. Those people are +lunatics, and probably desperate.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Inwardly, Larry Woolford grinned. +He wasn't going to lose this opportunity +to finish up the job with him on +top. He said flatly, <span class="tei tei-q">“Sir, we can't +chance it. They might escape. I'm going +in!”</span> He flicked off the set, dialed +again and raised Sam Sokolski. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Sam,”</span> he said, his voice clipped. +<span class="tei tei-q">“I've cornered the Movement's leader +and am going in for the finish. Maybe +some of you journalist boys better get +on over here.”</span> He gave the other the +address and flicked off before there +were any questions. +</p> + +<div class="tei tei-tb"><hr style="width: 50%" /></div> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +From the dash compartment he +brought a heavy automatic, and +checked the clip. He put it in his hip +pocket and left the car and walked +toward the garages. Time was running +out now. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He strode into the only open door, +without shift of pace. Two men were +posted nearby, neither of them truckmen +by appearance. They looked at +him in surprise. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry clipped out, <span class="tei tei-q">“The password +is <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">Judgment</span></em>. I've got to see Professor +Voss immediately.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +One of them frowned questioningly, +but the other was taken up with +the urgency in Woolford's voice. He +nodded with his head. <span class="tei tei-q">“He's over +there in the office.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Now ignoring them completely, +Larry strode past the long rows of +sealed delivery vans toward the office. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He pushed the door open, entered +and closed it behind him. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Professor Peter Voss was seated at +a paper-littered desk. There was a cot +with an army blanket in a corner of +the room, some soiled clothing and +two or three dirty dishes on a tray. +The room was being lived in, obviously. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +At the agent's entry, the little man +looked up and blinked in distress +through his heavy lenses. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry snapped, <span class="tei tei-q">“You're under arrest, +Voss.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The professor was obviously dismayed, +but he said in as vigorous a +voice as he could muster, <span class="tei tei-q">“Nonsense! +On what charge?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Counterfeiting, among many. +Your whole scheme has fallen apart, +Voss. You and your Movement, so-called, +are finished.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The professor's eyes darted, left, +right. To Larry Woolford's surprise, +the Movement's leader was alone in +here. Undoubtedly, he was awaiting +others, drivers of the trucks, technicians +involved in the rockets, other +subordinates. But right now he was +alone. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +If Woolford correctly diagnosed +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page062">[pg 062]</span><a name="Pg062" id="Pg062" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +the situation, Voss was playing for +time, waiting for the others. Good +enough, so was Larry Woolford. Had +the Professor only known it, a shout +would have brought at least two followers +and the government agent +would have had his work cut out for +him. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Woodford played along. <span class="tei tei-q">“Just what +is this fantastic scheme of yours for +raining down money over half the +country, Voss? The very insanity of it +proves your whole outfit is composed +of a bunch of nonconformist weirds.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor was indignant—and +stalling for time. He said, <span class="tei tei-q">“Nonconformists +is correct! He who conforms +in an incompetent society is an incompetent +himself.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry stood, his legs apart and +hands on hips. He shook his head in +simulated pity at the angry little man. +<span class="tei tei-q">“What's all this about raining money +down over the country?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Don't you see?”</span> the other said. +<span class="tei tei-q">“The perfect method for disrupting +our present system of social-labels. +With billions of dollars, perfect counterfeit, +strewing the streets, the fields, +the trees, available for anyone to pick +up, all social currency becomes worthless. +Utterly unusable. And it's no use +to attempt to print more with another +design, because we can duplicate +it as well. Our experts are the +world's best, we're not a group of +sulking criminals but capable, trained, +dedicated men.</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Very well! We will have made it +absolutely impossible to have any +form of mass-produced social currency.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry stared at him. <span class="tei tei-q">“It would completely +foul the whole business system! +You'd have chaos!”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“At first. Private individuals, once +the value of money was seen to be +zero, would have lost the amount of +cash they had on hand. But banks +and such institutions would lose little. +They have accurate records that +show the actual values they held at +the time our money rains down.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry was bewildered. <span class="tei tei-q">“But what +are you getting at? What do you expect +to accomplish?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor, on his favorite subject, +said triumphantly, <span class="tei tei-q">“The only +form of currency that can be used +under these conditions is the <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">personal</span></em> +check. It's not mass produced, and +mass-production can't duplicate it. +It's immune to the attack. Business +has to go on, or people will starve—so +personal checks will have to replace +paper money. Credit cards and +traveler's checks won't do—we can +counterfeit them, too, and will, if +necessary. Realize of course that hard +money will still be valid, but it can't +be utilized practically for any but +small transactions. Try taking enough +silver dollars to buy a refrigerator +down to the store with you.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“But what's the purpose?”</span> Larry +demanded, flabbergasted. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Isn't it obvious? Our whole Movement +is devoted to the destruction of +social-label judgments. It's all very +well to say: <span class="tei tei-hi"><span style="font-style: italic">You should not judge +your fellow men</span></span> but when it comes to +accepting another man's personal +check, friend, you damn well have to! +The bum check artist might have a +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page063">[pg 063]</span><a name="Pg063" id="Pg063" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +field day to begin with—but only to +begin with.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry shook his head in exasperation. +<span class="tei tei-q">“You people are a bunch of +anarchists,”</span> he accused. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“No,”</span> the Professor denied. <span class="tei tei-q">“Absolutely +not. We are the antithesis of +the anarchist. The anarchist says, <span class="tei tei-q">‘No +man is capable of judging another.’</span> +We say, <span class="tei tei-q">‘Each man must judge his fellow, +must demand proper evaluation +of him.’</span> To judge a man by his +clothes, the amount of money he +owns, the car he drives, the neighborhood +in which he lives, or the society +he keeps, is out of the question in a +vital culture.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said sourly, <span class="tei tei-q">“Well, whether +or not you're right, Voss, you've lost. +This place is surrounded. My men +will be breaking in shortly.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Voss laughed at him. <span class="tei tei-q">“Nonsense. +All you've done is prevent us from +accomplishing this portion of our +program. What will you do after my +arrest? You'll bring me to trial. Do +you remember the Scopes' Monkey +Trial back in the 1920s which became +a world appreciated farce and +made Tennessee a laughingstock? +Well, just wait until you get <em class="tei tei-emph"><span style="font-style: italic">me</span></em> into +court backed by my organization's resources. +We'll bring home to every +thinking person, not only in this +country, but in the world, the fantastic +qualities of our existing culture. +Why, Mr.-Secret-Agent-of-Anti-Subversive-Activity +you aren't doing me +an injury by giving me the opportunity +to have my day in court. You're +doing me a favor. Newspapers, radios, +TriD will give me the chance to expound +my program in the home of +every thinking person in the world.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +There was a fiery dedication in the +little man's eyes. <span class="tei tei-q">“This will be my +victory, not my defeat!”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +There were sounds now, coming +from the other rooms—the garages. +Some shouts and scuffling. Faintly, +Larry Woolford could hear Steve +Hackett's voice. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He was staring at the Professor, his +eyes narrower. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor was on his feet. He +said in defiant triumph, <span class="tei tei-q">“You think +that you'll win prestige and honor as +a result of tracking the Movement +down, don't you, Mr. Woolford? +Well, let me tell you, you won't! In +six months from now, Mr. Woolford, +you'll be a laughingstock.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +That did it. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry said, <span class="tei tei-q">“You're under arrest. +Turn around with your back to me.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Professor snorted his contempt, +turned his back and held up +his hands, obviously expecting to be +searched. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +In a fluid motion, Larry Woolford +drew his gun and fired twice. The +other with no more than a grunt of +surprise and pain, stumbled forward +to his knees and then to the floor, his +arms and legs akimbo. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The door broke open and Steve +Hackett, gun in hand, burst in. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Woolford!”</span> he barked. <span class="tei tei-q">“What's +up?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry indicated the body on the +floor. <span class="tei tei-q">“There you are, Steve,”</span> he said. +<span class="tei tei-q">“The head of the counterfeit ring. He +was trying to escape. I had to shoot +him.”</span> +</p> + +<span class="tei tei-pb" id="page064">[pg 064]</span><a name="Pg064" id="Pg064" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Behind Steve Hackett crowded Ben +Ruthenberg of the F.B.I. and behind +him half a dozen others of various +departments. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss came pushing his way +through. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +He glared down at the Professor's +body, then up at Larry Woolford. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +<span class="tei tei-q">“Good work, Lawrence,”</span> he +said. <span class="tei tei-q">“How did you bring it off?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry replaced the gun in his holster +and shrugged modestly. <span class="tei tei-q">“The +Polk girl gave me the final tip-off, +sir. I gave her some Scop-Serum in a +drink and she talked. Evidently, she +was a member of the Movement.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +The Boss was nodding wisely. <span class="tei tei-q">“I've +had my eye on her, Lawrence. An obvious +weird. But we will have to suppress +that Scop-Serum angle.”</span> He +slapped his favorite field man on the +arm jovially. <span class="tei tei-q">“Well, boy, this means +promotion, of course.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry grinned. <span class="tei tei-q">“Thanks, sir. All in +a day's work. I don't think we'll +have much trouble with the remnants +of this Movement thing. The pitch is +to treat them as counterfeiters, not +subversives. Try them for that. Their +silly explanations of what they were +going to do with the money will never +be taken seriously.”</span> He looked down +at the small corpse. <span class="tei tei-q">“Particularly now +that their kingpin is gone.”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +A new wave of agents, F.B.I. men +and prisoners washed into the room +and Steve Hackett and Larry were for +a moment pushed back into a corner +by themselves. +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Steve looked at him strangely and +said, <span class="tei tei-q">“There's one thing I'd like to +know: Did you really have to shoot +him, Woolford?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +Larry brushed it off. <span class="tei tei-q">“What's the +difference? He was as weird as they +come, wasn't he?”</span> +</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em"> +THE END +</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr class="doublepage" /><div class="tei tei-back" style="margin-bottom: 2.00em; margin-top: 6.00em"> + <hr class="doublepage" /><div class="tei tei-div" style="margin-bottom: 5.00em; margin-top: 5.00em"> + <div id="pgfooter" class="tei tei-div" style="margin-bottom: 4.00em; margin-top: 4.00em"><pre class="pre tei tei-div" style="margin-bottom: 3.00em; margin-top: 3.00em">***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STATUS QUO*** +</pre><hr class="doublepage" /><div class="tei tei-div" style="margin-bottom: 3.00em; margin-top: 3.00em"><a name="rightpageheader1" id="rightpageheader1"></a><a name="pgtoc2" id="pgtoc2"></a><a name="pdf3" id="pdf3"></a><h1 class="tei tei-head" style="text-align: left; margin-bottom: 3.46em; margin-top: 3.46em"><span style="font-size: 173%">Credits</span></h1><table summary="This is a list." class="tei tei-list" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em; margin-top: 1.00em"><tbody><tr><th class="tei tei-label tei-label-gloss">October 26, 2009 </th></tr><tr><td class="tei tei-item"><table summary="This is a list." class="tei tei-list" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em; margin-top: 1.00em"><tbody><tr class="tei tei-labelitem"><th class="tei tei-label"></th><td class="tei tei-item">Project Gutenberg TEI edition 1</td></tr><tr class="tei tei-labelitem"><th class="tei tei-label"></th><td class="tei tei-item"><span class="tei tei-respStmt"> + <span class="tei tei-name"> + Produced by Greg Weeks, David King, and the Online + Distributed Proofreading Team at <http://www.pgdp.net/>. + </span> + </span></td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr></tbody></table></div><hr class="doublepage" /><div class="tei tei-div" style="margin-bottom: 3.00em; margin-top: 3.00em"><a name="rightpageheader4" id="rightpageheader4"></a><a name="pgtoc5" id="pgtoc5"></a><a name="pdf6" id="pdf6"></a><h1 class="tei tei-head" style="text-align: left; margin-bottom: 3.46em; margin-top: 3.46em"><span style="font-size: 173%">A Word from Project Gutenberg</span></h1><p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em">This file should be named + 30339-h.html or + 30339-h.zip.</p><p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em">This and all associated files of various formats will be found + in: + + <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/0/3/3/30339/" class="block tei tei-xref" style="margin-bottom: 1.80em; margin-left: 3.60em; margin-top: 1.80em; margin-right: 3.60em"><span style="font-size: 90%">http://www.gutenberg.org</span><span style="font-size: 90%">/dirs/3/0/3/3/30339/</span></a></p><p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em">Updated editions will replace the previous one — the old + editions will be renamed.</p><p class="tei tei-p" style="margin-bottom: 1.00em">Creating the works from public domain print editions means that + no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the + Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United + States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. + Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this + license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works + to protect the Project Gutenberg™ concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it + away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg + License online at www.gutenberg.org/license</p> + </availability> + </publicationStmt> + <sourceDesc> + <bibl> + Created electronically. + </bibl> + </sourceDesc> + </fileDesc> + <encodingDesc> + </encodingDesc> + <profileDesc> + <langUsage> + <language id="en"></language> + <language id="fr"></language> + </langUsage> + </profileDesc> + <revisionDesc> + <change> + <date value="2009-19-26">October 26, 2009</date> + <respStmt> + <name> + Produced by Greg Weeks, David King, and the Online + Distributed Proofreading Team at <http://www.pgdp.net/>. + </name> + </respStmt> + <item>Project Gutenberg TEI edition 1</item> + </change> + </revisionDesc> +</teiHeader> + +<pgExtensions> + <pgStyleSheet> + .boxed { x-class: boxed } + .shaded { x-class: shaded } + .rules { x-class: rules; rules: all } + .indent { margin-left: 2 } + .bold { font-weight: bold } + .italic { font-style: italic } + .smallcaps { font-variant: small-caps } + </pgStyleSheet> + + <pgCharMap formats="txt.iso-8859-1"> + <char id="U0x2014"> + <charName>mdash</charName> + <desc>EM DASH</desc> + <mapping>--</mapping> + </char> + <char id="U0x2003"> + <charName>emsp</charName> + <desc>EM SPACE</desc> + <mapping> </mapping> + </char> + <char id="U0x2026"> + <charName>hellip</charName> + <desc>HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS</desc> + <mapping>...</mapping> + </char> + </pgCharMap> +</pgExtensions> + +<text lang="en"> + <front> + <div> + <divGen type="pgheader" /> + </div> + <div> + <divGen type="encodingDesc" /> + </div> + + <div rend="page-break-before: always"> + <p rend="font-size: xx-large; text-align: center">Status Quo</p> + <p rend="font-size: xx-large; text-align: center">by Dallas McCord Reynolds</p> + <p rend="font-size: large; text-align: center">Illustrated by John Schoenherr</p> + <p rend="text-align: center">Analog Science Fact & Fiction</p> + <p rend="text-align: center">August 1961</p> + </div> + + </front> +<body> + +<pb n='004'/><anchor id='Pg004'/> + +<div> + +<p> +[Transcriber's Note: This text was produced from Analog Science Fact & +Fiction August 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed.] +</p> + +<p> +In his income bracket +and in the suburb in +which he lived, government +employees in the +twenty-five to thirty-five +age group were currently wearing +tweeds. Tweeds were in. Not to wear +tweeds was Non-U. +</p> + +<p> +Lawrence Woolford wore tweeds. +His suit, this morning, had first seen +the light of day on a hand loom in +Donegal. It had been cut by a Swede +widely patronized by serious young +career men in Lawrence Woolford's +status group; English tailors were out +currently and Italians unheard of. +</p> + +<p> +Woolford sauntered down the walk +before his auto-bungalow, scowling at +the sportscar at the curb—wrong year, +wrong make. He'd have to trade +it in on a new model. Which was a +shame in a way, he liked the car. +However, he had no desire to get a +reputation as a weird among colleagues +and friends. What was it +Senator Carey MacArthur had said +the other day? Show me a weird and +I'll show you a person who has taken +the first step toward being a Commie. +</p> + +<p> +Woolford slid under the wheel, +dropped the lift lever, depressed gently +the thrust pedal and took off for +downtown Greater Washington. Theoretically, +he had another four days of +vacation coming to him. He wondered +<pb n='006'/><anchor id='Pg006'/> +what the Boss wanted. That +was the trouble in being one of the +Boss' favorite trouble shooters, when +trouble arose you wound up in the +middle of it. Lawrence Woolford was +to the point where he was thinking in +terms of graduating out of field work +and taking on a desk job which +meant promotion in status and pay. +</p> + +<p> +He turned over his car to a parker +at the departmental parking lot and +made his way through the entrance +utilized by second-grade departmental +officials. In another year, he told +himself, he'd be using that other +door. +</p> + +<p> +The Boss' reception secretary +looked up when Lawrence Woolford +entered the anteroom where she presided. +<q>Hello, Larry,</q> she said. <q>Hear +they called your vacation short. Darn +shame.</q> +</p> + +<p> +LaVerne Polk was a cute little +whizz of efficiency. Like Napoleon +and his army, she knew the name of +every member of the department and +was on a first-name basis with all. +However, she was definitely a weird. +For instance, styles might come and +styles might go, but LaVerne dressed +for comfort, did her hair the way she +thought it looked best, and wore low-heeled +walking shoes on the job. In +fact, she was ready and willing to +snarl at anyone, no matter how kindly +intentioned, who even hinted that +her nonconformity didn't help her +promotion prospects. +</p> + +<p> +Woolford said, <q>Hi, LaVerne. I +think the Boss is expecting me.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>That he is. Go right in, Larry.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She looked after him when he +turned and left her desk. Lawrence +Woolford cut a pleasant figure as thirty +year old bachelors go. +</p> + +<p> +The Boss looked up from some report +on his desk which he'd been +frowning at, nodded to his field man +and said, <q>Sit down, Lawrence. I'll be +with you in a minute. Please take a +look at this while you're waiting.</q> He +handed over a banknote. +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford took it and found +himself a comfortable chair. He examined +the bill, front and back. It +was a fifty dollar note, almost new. +</p> + +<p> +Finally the Boss, a stocky but impeccable +career bureaucrat of the ultra-latest +school, scribbled his initials +on the report and tossed it into an +Out chute. He said to Woolford, <q>I +am sorry to cut short your vacation, +Lawrence. I considered giving Walter +Foster the assignment, but I think +you're the better choice.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry decided the faint praise routine +was the best tactic, said earnestly +about his closest rival. <q>Walt's a good +man, sir.</q> And then, <q>What's the +crisis?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>What do you think of that fifty?</q> +</p> + +<p> +His trouble shooter looked down at +it. <q>What is there to think about it?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss grunted, slid open a desk +drawer and brought forth another bill. +<q>Here, look at this, please.</q> +</p> + +<p> +It was another fifty. Larry Woolford +frowned at it, not getting whatever +was going on. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Observe the serial numbers,</q> the +Boss said impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +They were identical. +</p> + +<p> +Woolford looked up. <q>Counterfeit. +Which one is the bad one?</q> +</p> + +<pb n='007'/><anchor id='Pg007'/> + +<p> +<q>That is exactly what we would like +to know,</q> the Boss said. +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford stared at his superior, +blinked and then examined the +bills again. <q>A beautiful job,</q> he said, +<q>but what's it got to do with us, sir? +This is Secret Service jurisdiction, +counterfeiting.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>They called us in on it. They +think it might have international +ramifications.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Now they were getting somewhere. +Larry Woolford put the two +bills on the Boss' desk and leaned +back in his chair, waiting. +</p> + +<p> +His superior said, <q>Remember the +Nazis turning out American and +British banknotes during the Second +War?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I was just a kid.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I thought you might have read +about it. At any rate, obviously a government—with +all its resources—could +counterfeit perfectly any currency in +the world. It would have the skills, +the equipment, the funds to accomplish +the task. The Germans turned +out hundreds of millions of dollars +and pounds with the idea of confounding +the Allied financial basics.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>And why didn't it work?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>The difficulty of getting it into +circulation, for one thing. However, +they did actually use a quantity. For a +time our people were so alarmed that +they wouldn't allow any bills to come +into this country from Mexico except +two-dollar denomination—the one +denomination the Germans hadn't +bothered to duplicate. Oh, they had +the Secret Service in a dither for a +time.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Woolford was frowning. <q>What's +this got to do with our current situation?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss said, <q>It is only a conjecture. +One of those bills is counterfeit +but such an excellent reproduction +that the skill involved is beyond the +resources of any known counterfeiter. +Secret Service wants to know if it +might be coming from abroad, +and, if so, from where. If it's a governmental +project, particularly a Soviet +Complex one, then it comes into +the ken of our particular cloak-and-dagger +department.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Yes, sir.</q> Woolford said. He got +up and examined the two bills again. +<q>How'd they ever detect that one was +bad?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Pure fortune. A bank clerk with +an all but eidetic memory was going +through a batch of fifties. It's not too +commonly used a denomination, you +know. Coincidence was involved +since in that same sheaf the serial +number was duplicated.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>And then?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>The reproduction was so perfect +that Secret Service was in an immediate +uproar. Short of the Nazi effort, +there has never been anything like it. +A perfect duplication of engraving +and paper identically the same. The +counterfeiters have even evidently +gone to the extent of putting a certain +amount of artificial wear on the +bills before putting them into circulation.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford said, <q>This is out +of my line. How were they able to +check further, and how many more +did they turn up?</q> +</p> + +<pb n='008'/><anchor id='Pg008'/> + +<p> +<q>The new I.B.M. sorters help. Secret +Service checked every fifty dollar +bill in every institution in town +both banking and governmental. +Thus far, they have located ten bills +in all.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>And other cities?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>None. They've all been passed in +Greater Washington, which is suspicious +in itself. The amount of expense +that has gone into the manufacture +of these bills does not allow +for only a handful of them being +passed. They should be turning up in +number. Lawrence, this reproduction +is such that a pusher could walk into +a bank and have his false currency +changed by any clerk.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Wow,</q> Larry whistled. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Indeed.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>So you want me to work with Secret +Service on this on the off chance +that the Soviet Complex is doing us +deliberate dirt.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>That is exactly the idea, Lawrence. +Get to work, please, and keep in +touch with me. If you need support, +I can assign Walter Foster or some of +the other operatives to assist you. +This might have endless ramifications.</q> +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +Back in the anteroom, Woolford +said to the Boss' receptionist, <q>I'm on +a local job, LaVerne, how about assigning +me a girl?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Can do,</q> she said. +</p> + +<p> +<q>And, look, tell her to get hold of +every available work on counterfeiting +and pile it on my desk.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Right. Thinking of going into +business, Larry?</q> +</p> + +<p> +He grinned down at her. <q>That's +the idea. Keeping up with the Jones +clan in this man's town costs roughly +twice my income.</q> +</p> + +<p> +LaVerne said disapprovingly, +<q>Then why not give it up? With the +classification you've got a single man +ought to be able to save half +his pay.</q> She added, more quietly, <q>Or +get married and support a family.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Save half my pay?</q> Larry snorted. +<q>And get a far out reputation, eh? +No thanks, you can't afford to be a +weird these days.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She flushed—and damn prettily, +Larry Woolford decided. She could be +an attractive item if it wasn't for obviously +getting her kicks out of being +individualistic. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said suddenly, <q>Look, promise +like a good girl not to make us +conspicuous and I'll take you to the +Swank Room for dinner tonight.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Is that where all the bright young +men currently have to be seen +once or twice a week?</q> she snapped +back at him. <q>Get lost, Larry. Being a +healthy, normal woman I'm interested +in men, but not necessarily in +walking status-symbols.</q> +</p> + +<p> +It was his turn to flush, and, he decided +wryly, he probably didn't do it +as prettily as she did. +</p> + +<p> +On his way to his office, he wondered +why the Boss kept her on. +Classically, a secretary-receptionist +should have every pore in place, but +in her time LaVerne Polk must have +caused more than one bureaucratic +eyebrow to raise. Efficiency was probably +the answer; the Boss couldn't +afford to let her go. +</p> + +<pb n='009'/><anchor id='Pg009'/> + +<p> +Larry Woolford's office wasn't +much more than a cubicle. He sat +down at the desk and banged a drawer +or two open and closed. He liked +the work, liked the department, but +theoretically he still had several days +of vacation and hated to get back into +routine. +</p> + +<p> +Had he known it, this was hardly +going to be routine. +</p> + +<p> +He flicked the phone finally and +asked for an outline. He dialed three +numbers before getting his subject. +The phone screen remained blank. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Hans?</q> he said. <q>Lawrence Woolford.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Teutonic accent was heavy, +the voice bluff. <q>Ah, Larry! you need +some assistance to make your vacation? +Perhaps a sinister, exotic young +lady, complete with long cigarette +holder?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford growled, <q>How'd +you know I was on vacation?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The other laughed. <q>You know +better than to ask that, my friend.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>The vacation is over, +Hans. I need some information.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The voice was more guarded now. +<q>I owe you a favor or two.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Don't you though? Look, Hans, +what's new in the Russkie camp?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The heartiness was gone. <q>How do +you mean?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Is there anything big stirring? Is +there anyone new in this country +from the Soviet Complex?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Well now—</q> the other's voice +drifted away. +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford said impatiently, +<q>Look, Hans, let's don't waste time +fencing. You run a clearing agency +for, <emph>ah</emph>, information. You're strictly a +businessman, nonpartisan, so to speak. +Fine, thus far our department has +tolerated you. Perhaps we'll continue +to. Perhaps the reason is that we +figure we get more out of your existence +than we lose. The Russkies +evidently figure the same way, the proof +being that you're alive and +have branches in the capitals of every +power on Earth.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>All right, all right,</q> the German +said. <q>Let me think a moment. Can +you give me an idea of what you're +looking for?</q> There was an undernote +of interest in the voice now. +</p> + +<p> +<q>No. I just want to know if you've +heard anything new anti-my-side, +from the other side. Or if you know +of any fresh personnel recently from +there.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Frankly, I haven't. If you could +give me a hint.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I can't,</q> Larry said. <q>Look, Hans, +like you say, you owe me a favor or +two. If something comes up, let me +know. Then I'll owe you one.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The voice was jovial again. <q>It's a +bargain, my friend.</q> +</p> + +<p> +After Woolford had hung up, he +scowled at the phone. He wondered +if Hans Distelmayer was lying. The +German commanded the largest professional +spy ring in the world. It was +possible, but difficult, for anything in +espionage to develop without his having +an inkling. +</p> + +<p> +The phone rang back. It was Steve +Hackett of Secret Service on the +screen. +</p> + +<p> +Hackett said, <q>Woolford, you coming +<pb n='010'/><anchor id='Pg010'/> +over? I understand you've been +assigned to get in our hair on this +job.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Huh,</q> Larry grunted. <q>The way I +hear it, your whole department has +given up, so I'm assigned to help you +out of your usual fumble-fingered +confusion.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Hackett snorted. <q>At any rate, can +you drop over? I'm to work in liaison +with you.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Coming,</q> Larry said. He hung up, +got to his feet and headed for the +door. If they could crack this thing +the first day, he'd take up that vacation +where it'd been interrupted and +possibly be able to wangle a few +more days out of the Boss to boot. +</p> + +<p> +At this time of day, parking would +have been a problem, in spite of automation +of the streets. He left his +car in the departmental lot and took a +cab. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +The Counterfeit Division of the +Secret Service occupied an impressive +section of an impressive governmental +building. Larry Woolford +flashed his credentials here and there, +explained to guards and receptionists +here and there, and finally wound up +in Steve Hackett's office which was +all but a duplicate of his own in size +and decor. +</p> + +<p> +Steve Hackett himself was a fairly +accurate carbon copy of Woolford, +barring facial resemblance alone. The +fact was, Steve was almost Lincolnesque +in his ugliness. Career man, +about thirty, good university, crew +cut, six foot, one hundred and seventy, +earnest of eye. He wore Harris tweed. +Larry Woolford made a note of that; +possibly herringbone was coming +back in. He winced at the thought of +a major change in his wardrobe; it'd +cost a fortune. +</p> + +<p> +They'd worked on a few cases together +before when Steve Hackett +had been assigned to the presidential +bodyguard and co-operated well. +</p> + +<p> +Steve came to his feet and shook +hands. <q>Thought that you were going +to be down in Florida bass fishing this +month. You like your work so well +you can't stay away, or is it a matter +of trying to impress your chief?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry growled, <q>Fine thing. Secret +Service bogs down and they've got to +call me in to clean up the mess.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve motioned him to a chair and +immediately went serious. <q>Do you +know anything about pushing queer, +Woolford?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>That means passing counterfeit +money, doesn't it? All I know is what's +in the TriD crime shows.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I can see you're going to be a lot +of help. Have you got anywhere at all +on the possibility that the stuff might +be coming from abroad?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Nothing positive,</q> Larry said. <q>Are +you people accomplishing anything?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>We're just getting underway. +There's something off-trail about this +deal, Woolford. It doesn't fit into +routine.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford said, <q>I wouldn't +think so if the stuff is so good not +even a bank clerk can tell the difference.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>That's not what I'm talking about +now. Let me give you a run down on +standard counterfeiting.</q> The Secret +<pb n='011'/><anchor id='Pg011'/> +Service agent pushed back in his +swivel chair, lit a cigarette, and +propped his feet onto the edge of a +partly open desk drawer. <q>Briefly, it +goes like this. Some smart lad gets +himself a set of plates and a platen +press and—</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry interrupted, <q>Where does he +get the plates?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>That doesn't matter now,</q> Steve +said. <q>Various ways. Maybe he makes +them himself, sometimes he buys them +from a crooked engraver. But +I'm talking about pushing green +goods once it's printed. Anyway, our +friend runs off, say, a million dollars +worth of fives. But he doesn't try to +pass them himself. He wholesales +them around netting, say, fifty thousand +dollars. In other words, he sells +twenty dollars in counterfeit for +one good dollar.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry pursed his lips. <q>Quite a discount.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Um-m-m. But that's safest from +his angle. The half dozen or so distributors +he sold it to don't try to pass +it either. They also are playing it +carefully. They peddle it, at say ten +to one, to the next rung down the +ladder.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>And these are the fellows that +pass it, eh?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Not even then, usually. These +small timers take it and pass it on at +five to one to the suckers in the trade, +who take the biggest risks. Most of +these are professional pushers of the +queer, as the term goes. Some, however, +are comparative amateurs. Sailors +for instance, who buy with the +idea of passing it in some foreign +port where seamen's money flows +fast.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford shifted in his +chair. <q>So what are you building up +to?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve Hackett rubbed the end of +his pug nose with a forefinger in +quick irritation. <q>Like I say, that's +standard counterfeit procedure. We're +all set up to meet it, and do a pretty +good job. Where we have our difficulties +is with amateurs.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Woolford scowled at him. +</p> + +<p> +Hackett said, <q>Some guy who makes +and passes it himself, for instance. +He's unknown to the stool pigeons, +has no criminal record, does up comparatively +small amounts and dribbles +his product onto the market over +a period of time. We had one old +devil up in New York once who actually +<emph>drew</emph> one dollar bills. He was a +tremendous artist. It took us years to +get him.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford said, <q>Well, why go +into all this? We're hardly dealing +with amateurs now.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve looked at him. <q>That's the +trouble. We are.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Are you batty? Not even your +own experts can tell this product +from real money.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I didn't say it was being <emph>made</emph> by +amateurs. It's being <emph>pushed</emph> by amateurs—or +maybe amateur is the better +word.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>How do you know?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>For one thing, most professionals +won't touch anything bigger than a +twenty. Tens are better, fives better +still. When you pass a fifty, the person +you give it to is apt to remember +<pb n='012'/><anchor id='Pg012'/> +where he got it.</q> Steve Hackett said +slowly, <q>Particularly if you give one +as a tip to the <foreign lang='fr' rend='italic'>maître d'hôtel</foreign> in a +first-class restaurant. A <foreign lang='fr' rend='italic'>maître d'</foreign> holds +his job on the strength of his ability +to remember faces and names.</q> +</p> + +<p rend='text-align: center'> + <figure url='images/p12.png' rend='width: 30%'> + <figDesc>Illustration.</figDesc> + </figure> +</p> + +<p> +<q>What else makes you think your +pushers are amateurs?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Amateur,</q> Hackett corrected. +<q>Ideally, a pusher is an inconspicuous +type. The kind of person whose face +you'd never remember. It's never a +teenage girl who's blowing money.</q> +</p> + +<p> +It was time to stare now, and Larry +Woolford obliged. <q>A teenager!</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q rend='pre'>We've had four descriptions of +her, one of them excellent. Fredrick, +the <foreign lang='fr' rend='italic'>maître d'</foreign> over at La Calvados, is +the one that counts, but the others +jibe. She's bought perfume and gloves +at Michel Swiss, the swankiest shop +in town, a dress at Chez Marie—she +passed three fifties there—and a hat +at Paulette's over on Monroe Street.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>That's another sign of the amateur, +by the way. A competent pusher +buys a small item and gets change +from his counterfeit bill. Our girl's +been buying expensive items, obviously +more interested in the product +than in her change.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>This doesn't seem to make much +sense,</q> Larry Woolford protested. +<q>You have any ideas at all?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>The question is,</q> Hackett said, +<q>where did she get it? Is she connected +with one of the embassies and +acquired the stuff overseas? If so, that +puts it in your lap again possibly—</q> +</p> + +<p> +The phone rang and Steve flicked +the switch and grumbled, <q>Yeah? +Steven Hackett speaking.</q> +</p> + +<pb n='013'/><anchor id='Pg013'/> + +<p> +He listened for a moment then +banged the phone off and jumped to +his feet. <q>Come on, Larry,</q> he +snapped. <q>This is it.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry stood, too. <q>Who was that?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Fredrick, over at La Calvados. The +girl has come in for lunch. Let's go!</q> +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +La Calvados was the swankiest +French restaurant in Greater Washington, +a city not devoid of swank +restaurants. Only the upper-echelons +in governmental circles could afford +its tariffs; the clientele was more apt +to consist of business mucky-mucks +and lobbyists on the make. Larry +Woolford had eaten here exactly +twice. You could get a reputation +spending money far beyond your obvious +pay status. +</p> + +<p> +Fredrick, the <foreign lang='fr' rend='italic'>maître de hôtel</foreign>, however, +was able to greet them both by +name. <q>Monsieur Hackett, Monsieur +Woolford,</q> he bowed. He obviously +didn't approve of La Calvados being +used as a hangout where counterfeiters +were picked up the authorities. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Where is she?</q> Steve said, looking +out over the public dining room. +</p> + +<p> +Fredrick said, unprofessionally agitated, +<q>See here, Monsieur Hackett, +you didn't expect to, ah, arrest the +young lady <emph>here</emph> during our lunch +hour?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve looked at him impatiently. +<q>We don't exactly beat them over the +head with blackjacks, slip the bracelets +on and drag them screaming to +the paddywagon.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Of course not, monsieur, but—</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford's chief dined +here several times a week and was +probably on the best of terms with +Fredrick whose decisions on tables +and whose degree of servility had a +good deal of influence on a man's +status in Greater Washington. Larry +said wearily, <q>We can wait until she +leaves. Where is she?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Fredrick had taken them to one +side. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Do you see the young lady over +near the window on the park? The +rather gauche appearing type?</q> +</p> + +<p> +It was a teenager, all right. A +youngster up to her eyebrows in the +attempt to project sophistication. +</p> + +<p> +Steve said, <q>Do you know who she +is?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>No,</q> Fredrick said. <q>Hardly our +usual clientele.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Oh?</q> Larry said. <q>She looks like +money.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Fredrick said, <q>The dress appears as +though it is of Chez Marie, but she +wears it as though it came from +Klein's. Her perfume is Chanel, but +she has used approximately three +times the quantity one would expect.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>That's our girl, all right,</q> Steve +murmured. <q>Where can we keep an +eye on her until she leaves?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Why not at the bar here, Messieurs?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Why not?</q> Larry said. <q>I could +use a drink.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Fredrick cleared his throat. <q>Ah, +Messieurs, that fifty I turned over +you. I suppose it turned out to be +spurious?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve grinned at him. <q>Afraid so, +Fredrick. The department is holding +it.</q> +</p> + +<pb n='014'/><anchor id='Pg014'/> + +<p> +Larry took out his wallet. <q>However, +we have a certain leeway on expenses +on this assignment and appreciate +your co-operation.</q> He +handed two twenties and a ten to the +<foreign lang='fr' rend='italic'>maître d'</foreign>. Fredrick bowed low, the +money disappearing into his clothes +magically. <q><foreign lang='fr' rend='italic'>Merci bien</foreign>, monsieur.</q> +</p> + +<p> +At the bar, Steve scowled at his +colleague. <q>Ha!</q> he said. <q>Why didn't +I think of that first? He'll get +down on his knees and bump his +head each time he sees you in the +joint from now on.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford waggled a finger +at the other. <q>This is a status conscious +town, my boy. Prestige means +everything. When I take over my +Boss' job, maybe we can swing a +transfer and I'll give you a position +suitable to your attainments.</q> He +pursed his lips judiciously. <q>Although, +come to think of it, that +might mean a demotion from the job +you're holding now.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Vodka martini,</q> Steve told the +bartender. <q>Polish vodka, of course.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Of course, sir.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>Same for me.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The bartender left and Steve muttered, +<q>I hate vodka.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Yeah,</q> Larry said, <q>But what're +you going to do in a place like this, +order some weird drink?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve dug into his pocket for +money. <q>We're not going to have to +drink them. Here she comes.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She walked with her head held +high, hauteur in every step. Ignoring +the peasants at the tables she passed. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Holy smokes,</q> Steve grunted. +<q>It's a wonder Fredrick let her in.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She hesitated momentarily before +the doorway of the prestige restaurant +allowing the passers-by to realize +she'd just emerged, and then +turned to her right to promenade +along the shopping street. +</p> + +<p> +Fifty feet below La Calvados, Steve +said, <q>Let's go, Woolford.</q> +</p> + +<p> +One stepped to one elbow, the +other to the other. Steve said quietly, +<q>I wonder if we could ask you a few +questions?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Her eyebrows went up, <q>I <emph>beg</emph> your +pardon!</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve sighed and displayed the +badge pinned to his wallet, keeping +it inconspicuous. <q>Secret Service, +Miss,</q> he murmured. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Oh, devil,</q> she said. She looked up +at Larry Woolford, and then back at +Steve. +</p> + +<p> +Steve said, <q>Among other things, +we're in charge of counterfeit money.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She was about five foot four in her +heels, had obviously been on a round +of beauty shops and had obviously +instructed them to glamorize her. It +hadn't come off. She still looked as +though she'd be more at home as +cheerleader of the junior class in +small town high school. She was +honey blond, green-blue of eye, and +had that complexion they seldom +carry even into the twenties. +</p> + +<p> +<q>I ... I don't know what you're +talking about.</q> Her chin began to +tremble. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said gently, <q>Don't worry. +We just want to ask you some questions.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Well ... like what?</q> She was +<pb n='015'/><anchor id='Pg015'/> +going to be blinking back tears in a +moment. At least Larry hoped she'd +blink them back. He'd hate to have +her start howling here in public. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>We think you can be of +assistance to the government, and +we'd like your help.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve rolled his eyes upward, but +turned and waved for a street level +cab. +</p> + +<p> +In the cab, Larry said, <q>Suppose we +go over to my office, Steve?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>O.K. with me,</q> Steve muttered, +<q>but by the looks of the young lady +here, I think it's a false alarm from +your angle. She's obviously an American. +What's your name, Miss?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>It's Zusanette. Well, really, Susan.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Susan what?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I ... I'm not sure I want to tell +you. I ... I want a lawyer.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>A lawyer!</q> Steve snorted. <q>You +mean you want the juvenile authorities, +don't you?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Oh, what a mean thing to say,</q> +she sputtered. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +In the corridor outside the Boss' +suite of offices, Larry said to Steve, +<q>You take Miss ... ah, Zusanette +to my office, will you Steve. I'll be +there in a minute.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He opened the door to the anteroom +and said, <q>LaVerne, we've got a +girl in my office—</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Why, Larry!</q> +</p> + +<p> +He glowered at her. <q>A suspect. I +want a complete tape of everything +said. As soon as we're through, have +copies made, at least three or four.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>And, who, Mr. Woolford, was +your girl Friday last year?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>This is important, honey. I suppose +you've supplied me with a secretary +but I haven't even met her +yet. Take care of it, will you?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Sure enough, Larry.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He followed Steve and the girl to +his office. +</p> + +<p> +Once seated, the girl and Steve in +the only two extra chairs the cubicle +boasted and Larry behind his desk, +he looked at her in what he hoped +was reassurance. <q>Just tell us where +you got the money, Zusanette.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve reached out a hand suddenly +and took her bag from her lap. +She gasped and snatched at it, but +he eluded her and she sat back, her +chin trembling again. +</p> + +<p> +Steve came up with a thick sheaf +of bills, the top ones, at least, all +fifties and tossed them to Larry's +desk. He took out a school pass and +read, <q>Susan Self, Elwood Avenue.</q> +He looked up at Larry and said, +<q>That's right off Eastern, near Paterson +Park in the Baltimore section of +town, isn't it?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said to her, <q>Zusanette, I think +you'd better tell us where you got all +this money.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I found it,</q> she said defiantly. +<q>You can't do anything to me if I +simply found it. Anybody can find +money. Finders keepers—</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>But if it's counterfeit,</q> Steve interrupted +dryly, <q>it might also be, +finders weepers.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Where did you find it, Zusanette?</q> +Larry said gently. +</p> + +<p> +She tightened her lips, and the +trembling of her chin disappeared. +<q>I ... I can't tell you that. But it's +<pb n='016'/><anchor id='Pg016'/> +not counterfeit. Daddy ... my father +said it was as good as any money +the government prints.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>That it is,</q> Steve said sourly. +<q>But it's still counterfeit, which +makes it very illegal indeed to spend, +Miss Self.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She looked from one of them +to the other, not clear about her position. +She said to Larry, <q>You mean +it's not <emph>real</emph> money?</q> +</p> + +<p> +He kept his tone disarming, but +shook his head, <q>I'm afraid not, Zusanette. +Now, tell us, where did you +find it?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I can't. I promised</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I see. Then you don't know to +whom it originally belonged?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>It didn't belong to anybody.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve Hackett made with a disbelieving +whistle. He was taking the +part of the tough, suspicious cop; +Larry the part of the understanding, +sympathetic officer, trying to give the +suspect a break. +</p> + +<p> +Susan Self turned quickly on Steve. +<q>Well, it didn't. You don't even +know.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>I think she's telling the +truth, Steve. Give her a chance. She's +playing fair.</q> He looked back at the +girl, and frowned his puzzlement. +<q>All money belongs to <emph>somebody</emph> +doesn't it?</q> +</p> + +<p> +She had them now. She said superiorly. +<q>Not necessarily to some<emph>body</emph>. +It can belong to, like, an organization.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve grunted skepticism. <q>I think +we ought to arrest her,</q> he said. +</p> + +<p> +Larry held up a hand, his face registering +opposition. <q>I'll handle this,</q> +he said sharply. <q>Zusanette is doing +everything she can to co-operate.</q> He +turned back to the girl. <q>Now, the +question is, what organization did this +money belong to?</q> +</p> + +<p> +She looked triumphantly at Steve +Hackett. <q>It belonged to the Movement.</q> +</p> + +<p> +They both looked at her. +</p> + +<p> +Steve said finally, <q>What movement?</q> +</p> + +<p> +She pouted in thought. <q>That's the +only name they call it.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Who's they?</q> Steve snapped nastily. +</p> + +<p> +<q>I ... I don't know.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>Well, you already told +us your father was a member, Zusanette.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes went wide. <q>I did? I +shouldn't have said that.</q> But she +evidently took him at his word. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said encouragingly, <q>Well, +we might as well go on. Who else is +a member of this Movement besides +your father?</q> +</p> + +<p> +She shifted in her chair uncomfortably. +<q>I don't know any of their names.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve looked down at the school +pass in his hands. He said to Larry, +<q>I'd better make a phone call.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He left. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>Don't worry about him, +Zusanette. Now then, this <emph>movement</emph>. +That's kind of a funny name, isn't it? +What does it mean?</q> +</p> + +<p> +She was evidently glad that the less +than handsome Steve Hackett had +left the room. Her words flowed more +freely. <q>Well, Daddy says that they +<pb n='017'/><anchor id='Pg017'/> +call it the Movement rather than a +revolution....</q> +</p> + +<p> +An ice cube manifested itself in +the stomach of Lawrence Woolford. +</p> + +<p> +<q>... Because people get conditioned, +like, to words. Like revolution. +Everybody is against the word +because they all think of killing and +everything, and, Daddy says, there +doesn't have to be any shooting or +killing or anything like that at all. It +just means a fundamental change in +society. And, Daddy says, take the +word propaganda. Everybody's got to +thinking that it automatically means +lies, but it doesn't at all. It just means, +like, the arguments you use to convince +people that what you stand for +is right and it might be lies or it +might not. And, Daddy says, take the +word socialism. So many people have +the wrong idea of what it means that +the socialists ought to scrap the word +and start using something else to +mean what they stand for.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said gently, <q>Your father is +a socialist?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Oh, no.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He nodded in understanding. <q>Oh, +a Communist, eh?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Susan Self was indignant. <q>Daddy +thinks the Communists are strictly +awful, really weird.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve Hackett came back into the +office. He said to Larry, <q>I sent a couple +of the boys out to pick him up.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Susan was on her feet, a hand to +mouth. <q>You mean my father! You're +going to arrest him!</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said soothingly, <q>Sit down, +Zusanette. There's a lot of things +about this that I'm sure your father +can explain.</q> He said to Steve, <q>She +tells me that the money belonged to +a movement. A revolutionary movement +which doesn't use the term +revolutionary because people react +unfavorably to that word. It's not +Commie.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Susan said indignantly, <q>It's American, +not anything foreign!</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve growled, <q>Let's get back to +the money. What's this movement doing +with a lot of counterfeit bills and +where did you find them?</q> +</p> + +<p> +She evidently figured she'd gone +too far now to take a stand. <q>It's not +Daddy's fault,</q> she said. <q>He took me +to headquarters twice.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Where's headquarters?</q> Larry said +trying to keep his voice soothing. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Well ... I don't know. Daddy +was awfully silly about it. He tied his +handkerchief around my eyes near +the end. But the others complained +about me anyway, and Daddy got awfully +mad and said something about +the young people of the country participating +in their emancipation and +all, but the others got mad too, and +said there wasn't any kind of help I +could do around headquarters anyway, +and I'd be better off in school. +Everybody got awfully mad, but after +the second time Daddy promised not +to take me to headquarters any more.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>But where did you find the money, +Zusannette?</q> Larry said. +</p> + +<p> +<q>At headquarters. There's tons and +tons of it there.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry cleared his throat and said, +<q>When you say tons and tons, you +mean a great deal of it, eh?</q> +</p> + +<p> +She was proudly definite. <q>I mean +<pb n='018'/><anchor id='Pg018'/> +tons and tons. A ton is two thousand +pounds.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Look, Zusanette,</q> Larry said reasonably. +<q>I don't know how much +money weighs, exactly, but let's say a +pound would be, say, a thousand bills.</q> +He took up a pencil and scribbled on +a pad before him. <q>A pound of fifties +would be $50,000. Then if you multiply +that by 2,000 pounds to make a +ton, you'd have $100,000,000. And +you say there's tons and tons?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>And that's just the fifties,</q> Susan +said triumphantly. <q>So you can see +the two little packages I picked up +aren't really important at all. It's just +like I found them.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I don't think there's quite a thousand +bills in a pound,</q> Steve said weakly. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>How much other money +is there?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Oh, piles. Whole rooms. Rooms +after rooms. And hundred dollar bills, +and twenties, and fives, and tens—</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>Look, Zusanette, +I don't think you're in any position to be +telling us whoppers. This whole story +doesn't make much sense, does it?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Her mouth tightened. <q>I'm not going +to say anything more until Daddy +gets here, anyway,</q> she said. +</p> + +<p> +Which was when the phone rang. +</p> + +<p> +<q>I have an idea that's for me,</q> +Steve said. +</p> + +<p> +The screen lit up and LaVerne Polk +said, <q>Call for Steve Hackett, Larry.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry pushed the phone around so +Steve could look into it. LaVerne +flicked off and was replaced by a +stranger in uniform. Steve said, +<q>Yeah?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The cop said, <q>He's 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.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Susan gasped, <q>You mean Daddy?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve Hackett rubbed a hand over +his flattened nose. <q>Holy Smokes,</q> he +said. He thanked the cop and flicked +off. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>Look Zusanette, everything's +going to be all right. Nothing +will happen to you. You say you managed +to pick up two packets of all +this money they have at headquarters. +O.K. So you thought it wouldn't be +missed and you've always wanted to +spend money the way you see the +stars do on TriD and in the movies.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him, taken back. +<q>How did you know?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said dryly, <q>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?</q> +</p> + +<p> +That evidently puzzled her. <q>The +Professor said 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.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve said, carefully, <q>Professor +who?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Susan said, <q>Just the Professor. +That's all we ever call him.</q> Her chin +went to trembling still again. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<pb n='019'/><anchor id='Pg019'/> + +<p> +Larry summed it up for the Boss +later. +</p> + +<p> +His chief scoffed his disbelief. <q>The +child is full of dreams, Lawrence. It +comes from seeing an over-abundance +of these TriD shows. I have a girl the +same age. I don't know what is happening +to the country. They have no +sense of reality.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford said mildly, <q>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.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss said tolerantly, <q>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 yet?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Susan Self says her father, Ernest +Self, is an inventor. Steve Hackett is +working on locating him.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>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?</q> +</p> + +<p> +His operative twisted his face in a +grimace. <q>Sure, I do, but I'm not happy +about this, sir. What happens if there +really is an organization, a +Movement, like she said? That brings +it back under our jurisdiction, anti-subversion.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The other shook his head tolerantly. +<q>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 handfuls 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 against +whatever the current government happens to be. Usually, +they are on the point of actual +starvation. Have you ever read Machiavelli?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Niccolo Machiavelli was currently +<emph>the thing</emph> to read. Larry said with a +certain dignity, <q>I've gone through +<q>The Prince,</q> the <q>Discourses</q> and currently +I'm amusing myself with his +<q>History of Florence.</q></q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Anybody who can amuse himself +reading Machiavelli,</q> the Boss said +dryly, <q>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 tolerance—but it's always within +their tolerance zone.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry frowned and said, <q>Well, +what's your point, sir?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss said patiently, <q>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 +<pb n='020'/><anchor id='Pg020'/> +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 <emph>masses</emph> to moving. You +have to give speeches, print newspapers, +books, pamphlets, you have +got to send your organizers out to intensify +interest in your program.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>I see what you mean. +If this so-called Movement actually +existed it couldn't expect to get anywhere +as long as remained secret.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss nodded. <q>That is correct. +The <emph>leaders</emph> of a revolutionary movement +might be intellectuals, social +scientists, scholars—in fact they usually +are—take our own American +Revolution with Jefferson, Madison, +Franklin, Washington. Or the French +Revolution with Robespierre, Danton, +Marat, Engels and Lenin. All were +well educated intellectuals from +the middle class. But the revolution itself, +once it starts, comes from below, +from the mass of people pushed beyond +tolerance.</q> +</p> + +<p> +It came to Lawrence Woolford that +his superior had achieved to his +prominent office not through any +fluke. He knew what he was talking +about. +</p> + +<p> +The Boss wound it up. <q>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.</q> +</p> + +<p> +His trouble shooter cleared his +throat. <q>I suppose you're right, sir.</q> +He added hesitantly. <q>We could always +give Susan Self a few drops of +Scop-Serum, sir.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss scowled disapprovingly. +<q>You know how the Supreme Court +ruled on that, Lawrence. And particularly +since the medics revealed its effect +on reducing sexual inhibitions. +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.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry came to his feet. <q>Well, then, +I'll resume my vacation, eh?</q> +</p> + +<p> +His chief took up a report from his +desk an frowned at it, his attention +already passing to other matters. He +grunted, <q>Clear it with LaVerne, +please. Tell her I said to take another +week to make up for our intruding +on you in this manner.</q> +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +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 sixteen or seventeen +old's go, picked up such ideas as the +fact that people developed prejudices +against words like revolution and +propaganda? +</p> + +<p> +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 +<pb n='021'/><anchor id='Pg021'/> +and the bass fishing on the +St. John's River. +</p> + +<p> +He stopped at LaVerne's desk and +gave her his address to be, now that +his vacation was resumed. +</p> + +<p> +She said, smiling up at him. <q>Right. +The boss already told me to get in +touch with Secret Service and let +them know we're pulling out. What +happened to Susan Self?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry looked at her. <q>How'd you +know about Susan?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Her tone was deprecating. <q>Remember? +You had me cut some +tapes on you and that hulking Steve +Hackett grilling the poor kid.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry snorted. <q>Poor kid, yet. With +her tastes for living-it-up, and that +father she has, she'll probably spend +the rest of her life getting in Steve's +hair as a counterfeit pusher.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>What are they going to do with +her? She's just a child.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The agent shrugged. <q>I feel sorry +for her, too, LaVerne. Steve's got her +in a suite at the Greater Washington +Hilton, until things are cleared up. +They don't want the newspapers to +get wind of this until they've got that +inventor father of hers and whatever +he's cooked up to turn out perfect +reproductions of Uncle Sam's money. +Look, I won't be leaving until tomorrow. +What'd you say we go out on +the town tonight?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Why, Larry Woolford! How nice +of you to ask me. Poor Little, Non-U +me. What do you have in mind? I +understand Mort Lenny's at one of +the night clubs.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry winced. <q>You know what +he's been saying about the administration.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She smiled sweetly at him. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>Look, we could take in +the Brahms concert, then—</q> +</p> + +<pb n='022'/><anchor id='Pg022'/> + +<p> +<q>Do you like Brahms? I go for +popular music myself. Preferably the +sort of thing they wrote back in the +1930s. Something you can dance to, +something you know the words to. +Corny, they used to call it. Remember +<q>Sunny Side of the Street,</q> and <q>Just +the Way You Look Tonight</q>.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry winced again. He said, <q>Look, +I admit, I don't go for concerts either +but it doesn't hurt you to—</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I know,</q> she said sweetly. <q>It +doesn't hurt for a bright young bureaucrat +to be seen at concerts.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>How about Dixieland?</q> he said. +<q>It's all the thing now.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I like corn. Besides, my wardrobe +is all out of style. Paris, London, and +Rome just got in a huddle a couple of +weeks ago and antiquated everything +I own. You wouldn't want to be seen +with a girl a few weeks out of date, +would you?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Oh, now, LaVerne, get off my +back.</q> He thought about it. <q>Look, +you must have <emph>something</emph> you could +wear.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Get out of here, you vacant minded +conformist! I <emph>like</emph> Mort Lenny, he +makes me laugh; I <emph>hate</emph> vodka martinis, +they give me sour stomach; I +don't <emph>like</emph> the current women's styles, +nor the men's either.</q> LaVerne spun +back to her auto-typer and began to +dictate into it. +</p> + +<p> +Larry glared down at her. <q>All +right. O.K. What <emph>do</emph> you like?</q> +</p> + +<p> +She snapped back irrationally, <q>I +like what <emph>I</emph> like.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He laughed at her in ridicule. +</p> + +<p> +This time she glared at him. <q>That +makes more sense than you're capable +of assimilating, Mr. Walking Status +Symbol. My likes and dislikes aren't +dictated by someone else. If I like +corny music, I'll listen to it and the +devil with Brahms or Dixieland or +anything else that somebody else tells +me is all the thing!</q> +</p> + +<p> +He turned on his heel angrily. +<q>O.K., O.K., it takes all sorts to make a +world, weirds and all.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>One more label to hang on people,</q> +she snarled after him. <q>Everything's +labels. Be sure and never +come to any judgments of your own!</q> +</p> + +<p> +What a woman! He wondered why +he'd ever bothered to ask her for a +date. There were so many women in +this town you waded through them, +and here he was exposing himself to +be seen in public with a girl everybody +in the department knew was as +weird as they came. It didn't do your +standing any good to be seen around +with the type. He wondered all over +again why the Boss tolerated her as +his receptionist-secretary. +</p> + +<p> +He got his car from the parking lot +and drove home at a high level. Ordinarily, +the distance being what it +was, he drove in the lower and slower +traffic levels but now his frustration +demanded some expression. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +Back at his suburban auto-bungalow, +he threw all except the high +priority switch and went on down +into his small second cellar den. He +didn't really feel like a night on the +town anyway. A few vodka martinis +under his belt and he'd sleep late and +he wanted to get up in time for an +early start for Florida. Besides, in that +<pb n='023'/><anchor id='Pg023'/> +respect he agreed with the irritating +wench. Vermouth was never meant to +mix with Polish vodka. He wished +that Sidecars would come back. +</p> + +<p> +In his den, he shucked off his jacket, +kicked off his shoes and shuffled into +Moroccan slippers. He went over to +his current reading rack and scowled +at the paperbacks there. His culture +status books were upstairs where they +could be seen. He pulled out a western, +tossed it over to the cocktail table +that sat next to his chair, and then +went over to the bar. +</p> + +<p> +Up above in his living room, he +had one of the new autobars. You +could dial any one of more than thirty +drinks. Autobars were all the rage. +The Boss had one that gave a selection +of a hundred. But what difference +did it make when nobody but +eccentric old-timers or flighty blondes +drank anything except vodka martinis? +He didn't like autobars anyway. +A well mixed drink is a personal +thing, a work of competence, instinct +and art, not something measured to +the drop, iced to the degree, shaken +or stirred to a mathematical formula. +</p> + +<p> +Out of the tiny refrigerator he +brought a four-ounce cube of frozen +pineapple juice, touched the edge +with his thumbnail and let the ultra +thin plastic peel away. He tossed the +cube into his mixer, took up a bottle +of light rum and poured in about +two ounces. He brought an egg from +the refrigerator and added that. An +ounce of whole milk followed and a +teaspoon of powdered sugar. He +flicked the switch and let the conglomeration +froth together. +</p> + +<p> +He poured it into a king-size +highball glass and took it over to his +chair. Vodka martinis be damned, he +liked a slightly sweet long drink. +</p> + +<p> +He sat down in the chair, picked up +the book and scowled at the cover. He +ought to be reading that Florentine +history of Machiavelli's, especially if +the Boss had got to the point where +he was quoting from the guy. But the +heck with it, he was on vacation. He +didn't think much of the Italian diplomat +of the Renaissance anyway; +how could you be that far back without +being dated? +</p> + +<p> +He couldn't get beyond the first +page or two. +</p> + +<p> +And when you can't concentrate +on a Western, you just can't concentrate. +</p> + +<p> +He finished his drink, went over to +his phone and dialed <hi rend='italic'>Department of +Records</hi> and then <hi rend='italic'>Information</hi>. When +the bright young thing answered, he +said, <q>I'd like the brief on an Ernest +Self who lives on Elwood Avenue, +Baltimore section of Greater Washington. +I don't know his code number.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She did things with switches and +buttons for a moment and then +brought a sheet from a delivery chute. +<q>Do you want me to read it to you, +sir?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>No, I'll scan it,</q> Larry said. +</p> + +<p> +Her face faded to be replaced by +the brief on Ernest Self. +</p> + +<p> +It was astonishingly short. <hi rend='italic'>Records</hi> +seemed to have slipped up on this occasion. +A rare occurrence. He considered +requesting the full dossier, then +changed his mind. Instead he dialed +<pb n='024'/><anchor id='Pg024'/> +the number of the <hi rend='italic'>Sun-Post</hi> and +asked for its science columnist. +</p> + +<p> +Sam Sokolski's puffy face eventually +faded in. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said to him sourly, <q>You +drink too much. You can begin to see +the veins breaking in your nose.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Sam looked at him patiently. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>How'd you like to +come over and toss back a few tonight?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I'm working. I thought you were +on vacation.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry sighed. <q>I am,</q> he said. <q>O.K., +so you can't take a night off and lift a +few with an old buddy.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>That's right. Anything else, Larry?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Yes. Look, have you ever heard of +an inventor named Ernest Self?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Sure I've heard of him. Covered a +hassle he got into some years ago. A +nice guy.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I'll bet,</q> Larry said. <q>What does he +invent, something to do with printing +presses, or something?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Printing presses? Don't you remember +the story about him?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Brief me,</q> Larry said. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Well—briefly does it—it got out a +couple of years ago that some of our +rocketeers had bought a solid fuel formula +from an Italian research outfit +for the star probe project. Paid them +a big hunk of Uncle's change for it. +So Self sued.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>You're being <emph>too</emph> brief. +What d'ya mean, he sued? Why?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Because he claimed he'd submitted +the same formula to the same +agency a full eighteen months earlier +and they'd turned him down.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Had he?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Probably.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry didn't get it. <q>Then why'd +they turn him down?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Sam said, <q>Oh, the government +boys had a good alibi. Crackpots turn +up all over the place and you have to +brush them off. Every cellar scientist +who comes along and says he's got a +new super-fuel developed from old +coffee grounds can't be given the welcome +mat. Something was wrong +with his math or something and they +didn't pay much attention to him. +Wouldn't even let him demonstrate +it. But it was the same formula, all +right.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford was scowling. +<q>Something wrong with his math? +What kind of a degree does he have?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Sam grinned in memory. <q>I got a +good quote on that. He doesn't have +any degree. He said he'd learned to +read by the time he'd reached high +school and since then he figured +spending time in classrooms was a +matter of interfering with his education.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>No wonder they turned him down. +No degree at all. You can't get anywhere +in science like that.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Sam said, <q>The courts rejected his +suit but he got a certain amount of +support here and there. Peter Voss, +over at the university, claims he's one +of the great intuitive scientists, whatever +that is, of our generation.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Who said that?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Professor Voss. Not that it makes +any difference what he says. Another +crackpot.</q> +</p> + +<p> +After Sam's less than handsome face +<pb n='025'/><anchor id='Pg025'/> +was gone from the phone, Larry +walked over to the bar with his empty +glass and stared at the mixer for several +minutes. He began to make himself +another flip, but cut it short in +the middle, put down the ingredients +and went back to the phone to dial +<hi rend='italic'>Records</hi> again. +</p> + +<p> +He went through first the brief and +then the full dossier on Professor +Peter Luther Voss. Aside from his +academic accomplishments, particularly +in the fields of political economy +and international law, and the dozen +or so books accredited to him, there +wasn't anything particularly noteworthy. +A bachelor in his fifties. No +criminal record of any kind, of course, +and no military career. No known political +affiliations. Evidently a strong +predilection for Thorstein Veblen's +theories. And he'd been a friend of +Henry Mencken back when that old +nonconformist was tearing down contemporary +society seemingly largely +for the fun involved in the tearing. +</p> + +<p> +On the face of it, the man was no +radical, and the term <q>crackpot</q> +which Sam had applied was hardly +called for. +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford went back to the +bar and resumed the job of mixing +his own version of a rum flip. +</p> + +<p> +But his heart wasn't in it. <hi rend='italic'>The Professor</hi>, +Susan had said. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +Before he'd gone to bed the night +before, Larry Woolford had ordered a +seat on the shuttle jet for Jacksonville +and a hover-cab there to take +him to Astor, on the St. Johns River. +And he'd requested to be wakened in +ample time to get to the shuttleport. +</p> + +<p> +But it wasn't the saccharine pleasant +face of the Personal Service operator +which confronted him when he +grumpily answered the phone in the +morning. In fact, the screen remained +blank. +</p> + +<p> +Larry decided that sweet long +drinks were fine, but that anyone who +took several of them in a row needed +to be candied. He grumbled into the +phone, <q>All right, who is it?</q> +</p> + +<p> +A Teutonic voice chuckled and +said, <q>You're going to have to decide +whether or not you're on vacation, my +friend. At this time of day, why aren't +you at work?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford was waking up. He +said, <q>What can I do for you, Distelmayer?</q> +The German merchant-of-espionage +wasn't the type to make +personal calls. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Have you forgotten so soon, my +friend?</q> the other chuckled. <q>It was I +who was going to do you a favor.</q> He +hesitated momentarily, before adding, +<q>In possible return for future—</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Yeah, yeah,</q> Larry said. He was +fully awake now. +</p> + +<p> +The German said slowly, <q>You +asked if any of your friends from, ah, +abroad were newly in the country. +Frol Eivazov has recently appeared on +the scene.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Eivazov! In various respects, Larry +Woolford's counterpart. Hatchetman +for the <hi rend='italic'>Chrezvychainaya Komissiya</hi>. +Woolford had met him on occasion +when they'd both been present at international +summit meetings, busily +working at counter-espionage for +their respective superiors. Blandly +<pb n='026'/><anchor id='Pg026'/> +shaking hands with each other, blandly +drinking toasts to peace and international +co-existence, blandly sizing +each other up and wondering if it'd +ever come to the point where one +would <emph>blandly</emph> treat the other to a +hole in the head, possibly in some +dark alley in Havana or Singapore, +Leopoldville or Saigon. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said sharply, <q>Where is he? +How'd he get in the country?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>My friend, my friend,</q> the German +grunted good-humoredly. <q>You +know better than to ask the first question. +As for the second, Frol's command +of American-English is at least +as good as your own. Do you think +his <foreign rend='italic'>Komissiya</foreign> less capable than your +own department and unable to do +him up suitable papers so that he +could be, perhaps, a <q>returning tourist</q> +from Europe?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford was impatient with +himself for asking. He said now, <q>It's +not important. If we want to locate +Frol and pick him up, we'll probably +not have too much trouble doing it.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I wouldn't think so,</q> the other +said humorously. <q>Since 1919, when +they were first organized, the so-called +Communists in this country, +from the lowest to the highest echelons, +have been so riddled with police +agents that a federal judge in New +England once refused to prosecute a +case against them on the grounds that +the party was a United States government +agency.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry was in no frame of mind for +the other's heavy humor. <q>Look, +Hans,</q> he said, <q>what I want to know +is what Frol is over here for.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Of course you do,</q> Hans Distelmayer +said, unable evidently to keep +note of puzzlement from his voice. +<q>Larry,</q> he said, <q>I assume your people +know of the new American underground.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q><emph>What</emph> underground?</q> Larry +snapped. +</p> + +<p> +The professional spy chief said, his +voice strange, <q>The Soviets seem to +have picked up an idea somewhere, +possibly through their membership in +this country, that something is abrewing +in the States. That a change is +being engineered.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry stared at the blank phone +screen. +</p> + +<p> +<q>What kind of a change?</q> he said +finally. <q>You mean a change to the +Soviet system?</q> Surely not even the +self-deluding Russkies could think it +possible to overthrow the American +socio-economic system in favor of the +Soviet brand. +</p> + +<p> +<q>No, no, no,</q> the German chuckled. +<q>Of course not. It's not of their +working at all.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Then what's Frol Eivazov's interest, +if they aren't engineering it?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Distelmayer rumbled his characteristic +chuckle with humor. <q>My dear +friend, don't be naive. Anything that +happens in America is of interest to +the Soviets. There is delicate peace +between you now that they have +changed their direction and are occupying +themselves largely with the +economic and agricultural development +of Asia and such portions of +the world as have come under their +hegemony, and while you put all efforts +<pb n='027'/><anchor id='Pg027'/> +into modernizing the more backward +countries among your satellites.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said automatically, <q>Our allies +aren't satellites.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The spy-master went on without +contesting the statement. <q>There is +immediate peace but surely governmental +officials on both sides keep +careful watch on the internal developments +of the other. True, the current +heads of the Soviet Complex +would like to see the governments of +all the Western powers changed—but +only if they are changed in the direction +of communism. They are hardly +interested in seeing changes made +which would strengthen the West in +the, ah, Battle For Men's Minds.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry snorted his disgust. <q>What +sort of change in government would +strengthen the United States in—</q> +</p> + +<p> +The German interrupted smoothly, +<q>Evidently, that's what Frol seems to +be here for, Larry. To find out more +about this movement and—</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>This <emph>what</emph>?</q> Larry blurted. +</p> + +<p> +<q>The term seems to be <emph>movement</emph>.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford held a long silence +before saying, <q>And Frol is actually +here in this country to buck this ... +this movement.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Not necessarily,</q> the other said +impatiently. <q>He is here to find out +more about it. Evidently Peking and +Moscow have heard just enough to +make them nervous.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>You have anything +more, Hans?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I'm afraid that's about it.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>All right,</q> Larry said. He added +absently, <q>Thanks, Hans.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Thank me some day with deeds, +not with words,</q> the German chuckled. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +Larry Woolford looked at his watch +and grimaced. He was either going to +get going now or forget about doing +any fishing in Florida this afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +Grudgingly, he dialed the phone +company's Personal Service and said +to the impossibly cheerful blonde +who answered, <q>Where can I find +Professor Peter Voss who teaches +over at the University in Baltimore? I +don't want to talk with him, just want +to know where he'll be an hour from +now.</q> +</p> + +<p> +While waiting for his information, +he dressed, deciding inwardly that he +hated his job, the department in +which he was employed, the Boss and +Greater Washington. On top of that, +he hated himself. He'd already been +taken off this assignment, why couldn't +he leave it lay? +</p> + +<p> +The blonde rang him back. Professor +Peter Voss was at home. He had +no classes today. She gave him the +address. +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford raised his car from +his auto-bungalow in the Brandywine +suburb and headed northwest at a +high level for the old Baltimore section +of the city. +</p> + +<p> +The Professor's house, he noted, +was of an earlier day and located on +the opposite side of Paterson Park +from Elwood avenue, the street on +which Susan Self and her father had +resided. That didn't necessarily hold +significance, the park was a large one +and the Professor's section a well-to-do +<pb n='028'/><anchor id='Pg028'/> +neighborhood, while Self's was +just short of a slum these days. +</p> + +<p> +He brought his car down to street +level, and parked before the scholar's +three-story, brick house. Baltimore-like, +it was identical to every +other house in the block; Larry wondered +vaguely how anybody ever +managed to find his own place when +it was very dark out. +</p> + +<p> +There was an old-fashioned bell at +the side of the entrance and Larry +Woolford pushed it. There was no +identification screen in the door, evidently +the inhabitants had to open up +to see who was calling, a tiring chore +if you were on the far side of the +house and the caller nothing more +than a salesman. +</p> + +<p> +It was obviously the Professor himself +who answered. +</p> + +<p> +He was in shirtsleeves, tieless and +with age-old slippers on his stockingless +feet. He evidently hadn't bothered +to shave this morning and he +held a dog-earred pamphlet in his +right hand, his forefinger tucked in it +to mark his place. He wore thick-lensed, +gold-rimmed glasses through +which he blinked at Larry Woolford +questioningly, without speaking. Professor +Peter Voss was a man in his +mid fifties, and, on the face of it, +couldn't care less right now about his +physical appearance. +</p> + +<p> +A weird, Larry decided immediately. +He wondered at the University, +one of the nation's best, keeping on +such a figure. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Professor Voss?</q> he said. <q>Lawrence +Woolford.</q> He brought forth +his identification. +</p> + +<p> +The Professor blinked down at it. +<q>I see,</q> he said. <q>Won't you come +in?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The house was old, all right. From +the outside, quite acceptable, but the +interior boasted few of the latest +amenities which made all the difference +in modern existence. Larry was +taken back by the fact that the phone +which he spotted in the <foreign rend='italic'>entrada</foreign> hadn't +even a screen—an old model for +speaking only. +</p> + +<p> +The Professor noticed his glance +and said dryly, <q>The advantages of +combining television and telephone +have never seemed valid to me. In my +own home, I feel free to relax, as you +can observe. Had I a screen on my +phone, it would be necessary for me +to maintain the same appearance as I +must on the streets or before my +classes.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry cleared his throat without +saying anything. This was a weird +one, all right. +</p> + +<p> +The living room was comfortable +in a blatantly primitive way. Three or +four paintings on the walls which +were probably originals, Larry decided, +and should have been in museums. +Not an abstract among them. +A Grant Wood, a Marin, and that +over there could only be a Grandma +Moses. The sort of things you might +keep in your private den, but hardly to +be seen as culture symbols. +</p> + +<p> +The chairs were large, of leather, +and comfortable and probably belonged +to the period before the Second +War. Peter Voss, evidently, was +little short of an exhibitionist. +</p> + +<p> +The Professor took up a battered +<pb n='029'/><anchor id='Pg029'/> +humidor. <q>Cigar?</q> he said. <q>Manila. +Hard to get these days.</q> +</p> + +<p> +A cigar? Good grief, the man +would be offering him a chaw of tobacco +next. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Thanks, no,</q> Larry said. <q>I smoke +a pipe.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I see,</q> the Professor said, lighting +his stogie. <q>Do you really like a pipe? +Personally, I've always thought the +cigar by far the most satisfactory +method of taking tobacco.</q> +</p> + +<p> +What can you say to a question like +that? Larry ignored it, as though it +was rhetorical. Actually, he smoked +cigarettes in the privacy of his den. A +habit which was on the proletarian +side and not consistent with his status +level. +</p> + +<p> +He said, to get things under way, +<q>Professor Voss, what is an intuitive +scientist?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Professor exhaled blue smoke, +shook out the old-time kitchen match +with which he'd lit it, and tossed the +matchstick into an ashtray. <q>Intuitive +scientist?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>You once called Ernest Self a +great intuitive scientist.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Oh, Self. Yes, indeed. What is he +doing these days?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said wryly, <q>That's what I +came to ask you about.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Professor was puzzled. <q>I'm +afraid you came to the wrong place, +Mr. Woolford. I haven't seen Ernest +for quite a time. Why?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Some of his researches seem to +have taken him rather far afield. Actually, +I know practically nothing +about him. I wonder if you could fill +me in a bit.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Peter Voss looked at the ash on the +end of his cigar. <q>I really don't know +the man that well. He lives across the +park. Why don't—</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>He's disappeared,</q> Larry said. +</p> + +<p> +The Professor blinked. <q>I see,</q> he +said. <q>And in view of the fact that you +are a security officer, I assume under +strange circumstances.</q> Larry Woolford +said nothing and the Professor +sank back into his chair and pursed +his lips. <q>I can't really tell you much. +I became interested in Self two or +three years ago when gathering materials +for a paper on the inadequate +manner in which our country rewards +its inventors.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>I've heard about his suit +against the government.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Professor became more animated. +<q>Ha!</q> he snorted. <q>One example +among many. Self is not alone. +Our culture is such that the genius is +smothered. The great contributors to +our society are ignored, or worse.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford was feeling his +way. Now he said mildly, <q>I was under +the impression that American +free enterprise gave the individual +the best opportunity to prove himself +and that if he had it on the ball +he'd get to the top.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Were you really?</q> the Professor +said snappishly. <q>And did you know +that Edison died a comparatively poor +man with an estate somewhere in the +vicinity of a hundred thousand dollars? +An amount that might sound +like a good deal to you or me, +but, when you consider his contributions, +shockingly little. Did you know +that Eli Whitney realized little, if +<pb n='030'/><anchor id='Pg030'/> +anything, from the cotton gin? Or +that McCormick didn't invent the +reaper but gained it in a dubious +court victory? Or take Robert Goddard, +one of the best examples of +modern times. He developed the basics +of rocket technology—gyroscopic +stabilizers, fuel pumps, self-cooling +motors, landing devices. He died in +1945 leaving behind twenty-two volumes +of records that proved priceless. +What did he get out of his researches? +Nothing. It was fifteen years later +that his widow won her suit against +the government for patent infringements!</q> +</p> + +<p rend='text-align: center'> + <figure url='images/p30.png' rend='width: 60%'> + <figDesc>Illustration.</figDesc> + </figure> +</p> + +<p> +Larry held up a hand. <q>Really,</q> he +said. <q>My interest is in Ernest Self.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Professor relaxed. <q rend='pre'>Sorry. I'm +afraid I get carried away. Self, to get +back to your original question, is a +great intuitive scientist. Unfortunately +for him, society being what it is +today, he fits into few grooves. Our +educational system was little more +than an irritation to him and consequently +he holds no degrees. Needless +to say, this interfered with his +gaining employment with the universities +and the large corporations +which dominate our country's research, +not to mention governmental +agencies.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Ernest Self holds none of the status +labels that count. The fact that he +is a genius means nothing. He is supposedly +qualified no more than to +hold a janitor's position in laboratories +<pb n='031'/><anchor id='Pg031'/> +where his inferiors conduct experiments +in fields where he is a +dozenfold more capable than they. +No one is interested in his genius, +they want to know what status labels +are pinned to him. Ernest has no respect +for labels.</q> +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +Larry Woolford figured he was +picking up background and didn't +force a change of subject. <q>Just what +do you mean by intuitive scientist?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>It's a term I have used loosely,</q> +the Professor admitted. <q>Possibly a +scientist who makes a break-through +in his field, destroying formerly held +positions—in Self's case, without the +math, without the accepted theories to +back him. He finds something that +works, possibly without knowing why +or how and by using unorthodox analytical +techniques. An intuitive scientist, +if I may use the term, is a +thorn in the side of our theoretical +physicists laden down with their burden +of a status label but who are +themselves short of the makings of a +Leonardo, a Newton, a Galileo, or +even a Nicholas Christofilos.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I'm afraid that last name escapes +me,</q> Larry said. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Similar to Self's case and Robert +Goddard's,</q> Voss said, his voice bitter. +<q>Although his story has a better ending. +Christofilos invented the strong-focusing +principle that made possible +the multi-billion-volt particle accelerators +currently so widely used in +nuclear physics experimentation. +However, he was nothing but a Greek +elevator electrical system engineer +and the supposed experts turned him +down on the grounds that his math +was faulty. It seems that he submitted +the idea in straight-algebra terms instead +of differential equations. He finally +won through after patenting the +discovery and rubbing their noses in +it. Previously, none of the physics +journals would publish his paper—he +didn't have the right status labels to +impress them.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, almost with amusement, +<q>You seem to have quite a phobia +against the status label, as you call it. +However, I don't see how as complicated +a world as ours could get +along without it.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Professor snorted his contempt. +<q>Tell me,</q> he said, <q>to which +class do you consider yourself to +belong?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford shrugged. <q>I suppose +individuals in my bracket are +usually thought of as being middle-middle +class.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>And you have no feeling of revolt +in having such a label hung on you? +Consider this system for a moment. +You have lower-lower, middle-lower, +and upper-lower; then you have lower-middle, +middle-middle, upper-middle; +then you have lower-upper, +middle-upper, and finally we achieve +to upper-upper class. Now tell me, +when we get to that rarified category, +who do we find? Do we find an Einstein, +a Schweitzer, a Picasso; outstanding +scientists, humanitarians, the +great writers, artists and musicians of +our day? Certainly not. We find ultra-wealthy +playboys and girls, a former +king and his duchess who eke out +their income by accepting fees to attend +<pb n='032'/><anchor id='Pg032'/> +parties, the international born +set, bearers of meaningless feudalistic +titles. These are your upper-upper +class!</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry laughed. +</p> + +<p> +The Professor snapped, <q>You think +it funny? Let me give you another +example of our status label culture. I +have a friend whom I have known +since childhood. I would estimate +that Charles has an I.Q. of approximately +90, certainly no more. His +family, however, took such necessary +steps as were needed to get Charles +through public school. No great matter +these days, you'll admit, although +on occasion he needed a bit of tutoring. +On graduation, they recognized +that the really better schools might be +a bit difficult for Charles so he was +entered in a university with a good +name but without—shall we say?—the +highest of scholastic ratings. +Charles plodded along, had some +more tutoring, probably had his thesis +ghosted, and eventually graduated. At +that point an uncle died and left +Charles an indefinite amount to be +used in furthering his education to +any extent he wished to go. Charles, +motivated probably by the desire to +avoid obtaining a job and competing +with his fellow man, managed to +wrangle himself into a medical school +and eventually even graduated. Since +funds were still available, he continued +his studies abroad, largely in +Vienna.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Professor wound it up. <q>Eventually, +he ran out of schools, or his +uncle's estate ran out—I don't know +which came first. At any rate, my +friend Charles, laden down with status +labels, is today practicing as a psychiatrist +in this fair city of ours.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry stared at him blankly. +</p> + +<p> +The Professor said snappishly, <q>So +any time you feel you need to have +your brains unscrambled, you can go +to his office and expend twenty-five +dollars an hour or so. His reputation +is of the highest.</q> The Professor +grunted his contempt. <q>He doesn't +know the difference between an aspirin +tablet and a Rorschach test.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford stirred in his chair. +<q>We seem to have gotten far off the +subject. What has this got to do with +Self?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Professor seemed angry. <q>I repeat, +I'm afraid I get carried away on +this subject. I'm in revolt against a +culture based on the status label. It +eliminates the need to judge a man +on his merits. To judge a person by +the clothes he wears, the amount of +money he possesses, the car he drives, +the neighborhood in which he lives, +the society he keeps, or even his ancestry, +is out of the question in a vital, +growing society. You wind up with +nonentities as the leaders of your nation. +In these days, we can't afford it.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He smiled suddenly, rather elfishly, +at the security agent. <q>But admittedly, +this deals with Self only as one of +many victims of a culture based on +status labels. Just what is it you +wanted to know about Ernest?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>When you knew him, evidently +he was working on rocket fuels. Have +you any idea whether he later developed +a method of producing perfect +counterfeit?</q> +</p> + +<pb n='033'/><anchor id='Pg033'/> + +<p> +The Professor said, <q>Ernest Self? +Surely you are jesting.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said unhappily, <q>Then here's +another question. Have you ever heard +him mention belonging to a movement, +or, I think, he might word it +<hi rend='italic'>The Movement</hi>.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Movement?</q> the Professor said +emptily. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Evidently a revolutionary group +interested in the overthrow of the +government.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Good heavens,</q> the Professor said. +<q>Just a moment, Mr. Woolford. You +interrupted me just as I was having +my second cup of coffee. Do you +mind if I—</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Certainly not,</q> Woolford shook +his head. +</p> + +<p> +<q>I simply can't get along until after +my third cup,</q> the Professor said. +<q>You just wait a moment and I'll +bring the pot in here.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He left Larry to sit in the combined +study and living room while he +shuffled off in his slippers to the +kitchen. Larry Woolford decided that +in his school days he'd had some far +out professors himself, but it would +really be something to study under +this one. Not that the old boy didn't +have some points, of course. Almost +all nonconformists base their particular +peeves on some actuality, but in +this case, what was the percentage? +How could you buck the system? +Particularly when, largely, it worked. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +The Professor returned with an +old-fashioned coffeepot, two cups, +and sugar and cream on a tray. He put +them on a side table and said to Larry, +<q>You'll join me? How do you take +it?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry still had the slightest of +hang-overs from his solitary drinking +of the night before. <q>Thanks. Make +it black,</q> he said. +</p> + +<p> +The Professor poured, served, then +did up a cup for himself. He sat back +in his chair and said, <q>Now, where +were we? Something about a revolutionary +group. What has that to do +with counterfeiting?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry sipped the strong coffee. <q>It +seems there might be a connection.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Professor shook his head. <q>It's +hard to imagine Ernest Self being +connected with a criminal pursuit.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said carefully, <q>Susan seemed +to be of the opinion that you knew +about a large amount of counterfeit +currency that this Movement had on +hand and that you were in favor of +spending it upon chorus girls.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Professor gaped at him. +</p> + +<p> +Larry chuckled uncomfortably. +</p> + +<p> +Professor Voss said finally, his +voice very even, <q>My dear sir, I am +afraid that I evidently can be of little +assistance to you.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Admittedly, it doesn't seem to +make much sense.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Susan—you mean that little sixteen +year old?—said <emph>I</emph> was in favor of +spending counterfeit money on chorus +girls?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said unhappily, <q>She used the +term <hi rend='italic'>the Professor</hi>.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>And why did you assume that the +title must necessarily allude to me? +Even if any of the rest of the fantastic +story was true.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>In my profession, Professor +<pb n='034'/><anchor id='Pg034'/> +Voss, we track down every +possible clue. Thus far, you are the +only professor of whom we know +who was connected with Ernest Self.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Voss said stiffly, <q>I can only say, sir, +that in my estimation Mr. Self is a +man of the highest integrity. And, in +addition, that I have never spent a +penny on a chorus girl in my life and +have no intention of beginning, counterfeit +or otherwise.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford decided that he +wasn't doing too well and that he'd +need more ammunition if he was going +to return to this particular attack. +He was surprised that the old boy +hadn't already ordered him from the +house. +</p> + +<p> +He finished the coffee preparatory +to coming to his feet. <q>Then you +think it's out of the question, Ernest +Self belonging to a revolutionary organization?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Professor protested. <q>I didn't +say that at all. Mr. Self is a man of +ideals. I can well see him belonging +to such an organization.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford decided he'd better +hang on for at least a few more +words. <q>You don't seem to think, +yourself, that a subversive organization +is undesirable in this country.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Professor's voice was reasonable. +<q>Isn't that according to what it +means to subvert?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>You know what I mean,</q> Woolford +said in irritation. <q>I don't usually +think of revolutionists, even when +they call themselves simply members +of a <emph>movement</emph>, as exactly idealists.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Then you're wrong,</q> the Professor +said definitely, pouring himself another +cup of coffee. <q>History bears out +that almost invariably revolutionists +are men of idealism. The fact that +they might be either right or wrong in +their revolutionary program is beside +the point.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford began to say, <q>Are +you sure that you aren't interested in +this <emph>move—</emph></q> +</p> + +<p> +But it was then that the knockout +drops hit him. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +He came out of the fog feeling +nausea and with his head splitting. +He groaned and opened one eye experimentally. +</p> + +<p> +Steve Hackett, far away, said, <q>He's +snapping out of it.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry groaned again, opened the +other eye and attempted to focus. +</p> + +<p> +<q>What happened?</q> he muttered. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Now that's an original question,</q> +Steve said. +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford struggled up into a +sitting position. He'd been stretched +out on a couch in the Professor's combined +living room and study. +</p> + +<p> +Steve Hackett, his hands on his +hips, was looking down at him sarcastically. +There were two or three others, +one of whom Larry vaguely remembered +as being a Secret Service +colleague of Steve's, going about and +in and out of the room. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, his fingers pressing into +his forehead, <q>My head's killing me. +Damn it, what's going on?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve said sarcastically, <q>You've +been slipped a mickey, my cloak and +dagger friend, and the bird has flown.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>You mean the Professor? He's a +bird all right.</q> +</p> + +<pb n='035'/><anchor id='Pg035'/> + +<p> +<q>Humor we get, yet,</q> Hackett said, +his ugly face scowling. <q>Listen, I +thought you people had pulled out of +this case.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry sat up and swung his two feet +around to the floor. <q>So did I,</q> he +moaned, <q>but there were two or three +things that bothered me and I thought +I'd tidy them up before leaving.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>You tidied them up all right,</q> +Steve grumbled. <q>This Professor Voss +was practically the only lead I've been +able to discover. An old friend of +Self's. And you allowed him to get +away before we even got here.</q> +</p> + +<p> +One of Hackett's men came up and +said, <q>Not a sign of him, Steve. He +evidently burned a few papers, +packed a suitcase, and took off. His +things look suspiciously as though he +was ready to go into hiding at a moment's +notice.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve growled to him, <q>Give the +place the works. He's probably left +some clues around that'll give us a +line.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The other went off and Steve Hackett +sat down in one of the leather +chairs and glowered at Larry Woolford. +<q>Listen,</q> he said, <q>what did you +people want with Susan Self?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry shook his head for clarity and +looked at him. <q>Susan? What are you +talking about? You don't have any +aspirin, do you?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>No. What'd you mean, what am I +talking about? You called Betsy +Hughes and then sent a couple of +men over to pick the Self kid up.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Who's Betsy Hughes?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve shook his head. <q>I don't +know what kind of knockout drops +the old boy gave you, but they sure +worked. Betsy's the operative we had +minding Susan Self over in the +Greater Washington Hilton. About +an hour ago you got her on the phone, +said your department wanted to question +Susan, and that you were sending +two men over to pick her up. The two +men turned up with an order from +you, and took the girl.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry stared at him. Finally he said, +<q>What time is it?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>About two o'clock.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>I came into this house +in the morning, talked to the Professor +for about half an hour and then +was silly enough to let him give me +some loaded coffee. He was such a +weird old buzzard that it never occurred +to me he might be dangerous. +At any rate, I've been unconscious for +several hours. I <emph>couldn't've</emph> called this +Betsy Hughes operative of yours.</q> +</p> + +<p> +It was Steve Hackett's turn to +stare. +</p> + +<p> +<q>You mean your department doesn't +have Susan Self?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Not so far as I know. The Boss told +me yesterday that we were pulling +out, that it was all in your hands. +What would we want with Susan?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Oh, great,</q> Steve snarled. <q>There +goes our last contact. Ernest Self, +Professor Voss, and now Susan Self; +they've all disappeared.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Look,</q> Larry said unhappily, <q>let's +get me some aspirin and then let's go +and see my chief. I have a sneaking +suspicion our department is back on +this case.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve snorted sarcastically. <q>If you +can foul things up this well when +<pb n='036'/><anchor id='Pg036'/> +you're off the case, God only knows +what you'll accomplish using your +facilities on an all-out basis.</q> +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +The Boss said slowly, <q>Whoever +we are working against evidently +isn't short of resources. Abducting +that young lady was no simple matter.</q> +The career diplomat worked his +lips in and out, in all but a pout. +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford, who'd taken time +out to go home, shower, change +clothes and medicate himself out of +his dope induced hangover, sat across +the desk from him, flanked by Steve +Hackett. +</p> + +<p> +The Boss said sourly, <q>It would +seem that I was in error. That our +young Susan Self was not spouting +fantasy. There evidently actually is an +underground movement interested in +changing our institutions.</q> He stirred +in his chair and his scowl went deeper. +<q>And evidently working on a basis +never conceived of by subversive +organizations of the past. The fact +that they have successfully remained +secret even to this department is the +prime indication that they are attempting +to make their revolutionary +changes in a unique manner.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>The trouble is, we +don't even know what it is they +want.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>However,</q> his superior said slowly, +<q>we are beginning to get inklings.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve Hackett said, <q>What inklings, +sir? This sort of thing might be routine +for you people, but my field is +counterfeit. I, frankly, don't know +what it's all about.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss looked at him. <q>We have +a clue or two, Mr. Hackett. For one +thing, we know that this Movement +of ours has no affiliations with the +Soviet Complex, nor, so far as we +know, any foreign element whatsoever. +If we take Miss Self's word, it is +strictly an American phenomenon. +From what little we know of Ernest +Self and Peter Voss they might be in +revolt against some of our current institutions +but there is no reason to +believe them, ah, <emph>un-American</emph> in the +usually accepted sense of the word.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The two younger men looked at +him as though he was joking. +</p> + +<p> +He shook his heavy head negatively. +<q>Actually, what do we have on +this so-called Movement thus far? +Aside from treating Lawrence, here, +to some knockout drops—and let us +remember that Lawrence was present +in the Professor's home without a +warrant—all we have is the suspicion +that they have manufactured a quantity +of counterfeit.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>A <emph>quantity</emph> is right,</q> Steve Hackett +blurted. <q>If we're to accept what that +Self kid told us, they have a few billion +dollars worth of perfect bills on +hand.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>A strange amount for counterfeiters +to produce,</q> The Boss said uncomfortably. +<q>That is what puzzles +me. Any revolutionary movement +needs funds. Remember Stalin as a +young man? He used to be in charge +of the Bolshevik gang which robbed +banks to raise funds for their underground +newspapers. But a billion dollars? +What in the world can they expect +to need that amount for?</q> +</p> + +<pb n='037'/><anchor id='Pg037'/> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>Sir, you keep talking as +though these characters were a bunch +of idealistic do-gooders bleeding for +the sake of the country. Actually, +from what we know, they're nothing +but a bunch of revolutionists.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss was shaking his head. +<q>You're not thinking clearly, Lawrence. +Revolution, <hi rend='italic'>per se</hi>, is not illegal +in the United States. Our Constitution +was probably the first document +of its kind which allowed for +its own amendment. The men who +wrote it provided for changing it +either slightly or <hi rend='italic'>in toto</hi>. Whenever +the majority of the American people +decide completely to abandon the +Constitution and govern themselves +by new laws, they have the right to do +it.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Then what's the whole purpose of +this department, sir?</q> Larry argued. +<q>Why've we been formed to combat +foreign and domestic subversion?</q> +</p> + +<p> +His chief sighed. <q>You shouldn't +have to ask that, Lawrence. The present +government cannot oppose the +will of the majority if it votes, by +constitutional methods, to make any +changes it wishes. But we can, and +do, unmask the activities of anyone +trying to overthrow the government +by force and violence. Any culture +protects itself against that.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>What are we getting at, sir?</q> +Steve Hackett said, impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +The Boss shrugged. <q>I'm trying to +point out that so far as my department +is concerned, thus far we have +little against this Movement. Secret +Service may have, what with this +wholesale counterfeiting, even though +thus far they seem to have made no +attempt to pass the currency they +have allegedly manufactured. We +wouldn't even know of it, weren't it +for our young Susan pilfering an +amount.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, desperately, <q>Sir, you +just pointed out a few minutes ago +that this Movement is a secret organization +trying to make changes in +some unique manner. In short, they +don't figure on using the ballot to put +over their revolution. That makes +them as illegal as the Commies, doesn't +it?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss said, <q>That's the difficulty; +we don't know what they want. +From your conversations with Susan +Self and especially Professor Voss, +evidently they think the country +needs some basic changes. What these +changes are, and how they expect to +accomplish them, we don't know. Unless +a foreign government is involved, +or unless they plan to alter our institutions +by violence, this department +just doesn't have much jurisdiction.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve Hackett snorted, <q>Secret Service +does! If those bales of money the +Self kid told us about are ever put +into circulation, there'll be hell to +pay.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss sighed. <q>Well,</q> he said, +<q>Lawrence can continue on the assignment. +If it develops in such manner +as to indicate that this department +is justified in further investigation, +we'll put more men on it. Meanwhile, +it is obviously more a Secret +Service matter. I am sorry to intrude +upon your vacation again, Lawrence.</q> +</p> + +<pb n='038'/><anchor id='Pg038'/> + +<p> +On awakening in the morning, Larry +Woolford stared glumly at the +ceiling for long moments before +dragging himself from bed. This was, +he decided, the strangest assignment +he'd ever been on. In his day he'd +trekked through South America, +Common Europe, a dozen African +states, and even areas of Southern +Asia, combatting Commie pressures +here, fellow-traveler organizations +there, disrupting plots hatched in the +Soviet Complex in the other place. +On his home grounds in the United +States he'd covered everything from +out and out Soviet espionage, to exposing +Communist activities of complexions +from the faintest of pinks to +the rosiest Trotskyite red. But, he decided +he'd never expected to wind up +after a bunch of weirds whose sole +actionable activity to date seemed to +be the counterfeiting of a fantastic +amount of legal tender which thus far +they were making no attempt to pass. +</p> + +<p> +He got out of bed and went +through the rituals of showering, +shaving and clothing, of coffee, sausage, +and eggs, toast and more +coffee. +</p> + +<p> +What amazed Larry Woolford was +the shrug-it-off manner in which the +Boss seemed to accept this underground +Movement and its admitted +subversive goals—whatever they +were. Carry the Boss' reasoning to its +ultimate and subversion was perfectly +all right, just as it didn't involve +force and violence. If he was in his +chief's position, he would have +thrown the full resources of the department +into tracking down these +crackpots. As it was, he, Larry Woolford +was the only operative on the +job. +</p> + +<p> +He needed a new angle on which +to work. Steve Hackett was undoubtedly +handling the tracing down of +the counterfeit with all the resources +of the Secret Service. Possibly there +was some way of detecting the source +of the paper they'd used. +</p> + +<p> +He finished his final cup of coffee +in the living room and took up the +<pb n='039'/><anchor id='Pg039'/> +pipe he was currently breaking in. +He loaded it automatically from a +humidor and lit it with his pocket +lighter. Three drags, and he tossed it +back to the table, fumbled in a drawer +and located a pack of cigarettes. +Possibly his status group was currently +smoking British briars in public, +but, let's face it, he hated the confounded +things. +</p> + +<p> +He sat down before the phone and +dialed the offices of the <hi rend='italic'>Sun-Post</hi> and +eventually got Sam Sokolski who this +time beat him to the punch. +</p> + +<p> +Sam said, <q>You shouldn't drink +alone. Listen, Larry, why don't you +get in touch with Alcoholics Anonymous. +It's a great outfit.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>You ought to know,</q> Larry growled. +<q>Look, Sam, as science columnist for +that rag you work for you probably +come in touch with a lot of eggheads.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Laddy-buck, you have said it,</q> +Sam said. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Fine. Now look, what I want to +know is have you ever heard—even +the slightest of rumors—about an organization +called the Movement?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>What'd'ya mean, slightest of rumors? +Half the weirds I run into are +interested in the outfit. Get two or +three intellectuals, scientists, technicians, +or what have you, together and +they start knocking themselves out on +the pros and cons of the Movement.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford stared at him. <q>Are +you kidding, Sam?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The other was mystified. <q>Why +should I kid you? As a matter of fact, +<pb n='040'/><anchor id='Pg040'/> +I was thinking of doing a column one +of these days on Voss and this Movement +of his.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q><emph>Voss</emph> and this movement of his!</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Sure,</q> Sam said, <q>he's the top +leader.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Oh, great,</q> Larry growled. <q>Look, +Sam, eventually there is probably a +story in this for you. Right now, +though, we're trying to keep the lid on +it. Could you brief me a little on this +Movement? What are they trying to +put over?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I seem to spend half my time +briefing you in information any semi-moron +ought to be up on,</q> Sam said +nastily. <q>However, <emph>briefly</emph>, they're in +revolt against social-label judgments. +They think it's fouling up the country +and that eventually it'll result in +the Russkies passing us in all the +fields that really count.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I keep running into this term,</q> +Larry complained. <q>What do you +mean, social-label judgments, and +how can they possibly louse up the +country?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Sam said, <q rend='pre'>I was present a month or +so ago when Voss gave an informal +lecture to a group of twenty or so. +Here's one of the examples he used.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q rend='pre'>Everybody today wants to be rated +on a (1) personal, or, (2) social-label +basis, depending on which basis +is to his greatest advantage. The Negro +who is a no-good, lazy, obnoxious +person demands to be accepted because +Negroes should not be discriminated +against. The highly competent, +hard working, honest and productive +Negro wants to be accepted because +he is hard-working, honest and productive—and +should be so accepted.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>See what I mean? This social-label +system is intended to relieve the +individual of the necessity of judging, +and the consequences of being +judged. If you have poor judgment, +and are forced to rely on your own +judgment, you're almost sure to go +under. So persons of poor judgment +support our social-label system. If +you're a louse, and are correctly +judged as being a louse, you'd prefer +that the social dictum <q>Human beings +are never lice</q> should apply.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>What in the devil's +this got to do with the race between +this country and the Russkies?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Sam said patiently, <q rend='pre'>Voss and the +Movement he leads contend that a +social-label system winds up with incompetents +running the country in all +fields. Often incompetent scientists +are in charge of our research; incompetent +doctors, in charge of our +health; incompetent politicians run +our government; incompetent teachers, +laden with social-labels, teach our +youth. Our young people are going to +college to secure a degree, not an +education. It's the label that counts, +not the reality.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q rend='pre'>Voss contends that it's getting +progressively worse. That we're sinking +into an equivalent of a ritual-taboo, +tribal social-like situation. This +is the system the low-level human being +wants, yearns for and seeks. A +situation in which no one's judgment +is of any use. Then <emph>his</emph> lack of judgment +is no handicap.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>According to members of the +Movement, today the tribesman type +<pb n='041'/><anchor id='Pg041'/> +is seeking to reduce civilization back +to ritual-taboo tribalism wherein no +one man's judgment is of any value. +The union wants advancement based +on seniority, not on ability and judgment. +The persons with whom you +associate socially judge you by the +amount of money you possess, the +family from which you come, the degrees +you hold, by social-labels—not +by your proven abilities. Down with +judgment! is the cry.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>It sounds awfully weird to me,</q> +Larry grumbled in deprecation. +</p> + +<p> +Sam shrugged. <q>There's a lot of +sense in it. What the Movement +wants is to develop a socio-economic +system in which judgment produces +a maximum advantage.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>What gets me is that +you talk as though half the country +was all caught up in debating this +Movement. But I haven't even heard +of it, neither has my department +chief, nor any of my colleagues, so far +as I know. Why isn't anything about +it in the papers or on the TriD?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Sam said mildly, <q>As a matter of +fact, I took in Mort Lenny's show the +other night and he made some cracks +about it. But it's not the sort of thing +that's even meant to become popular +with the man in the street. To put it +bluntly, Voss and his people aren't +particularly keen about the present +conception of the democratic ideal. +According to him, true democracy +can only be exercised by peers and +society today isn't composed of peers. +If you have one hundred people, +twenty of them competent, intelligent +persons, eighty of them untrained, +incompetent and less than intelligent, +then it's ridiculous to have +the eighty dictate to the twenty.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry looked accusingly at his long-time +friend. <q>You know, Sam, you +sound as though you approve of all +this.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Sam said patiently, <q>I listen to it +all, Larry my boy. I think Voss makes +a lot of sense. There's only one drawback.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>And that is?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>How's he going to put it over? +This social-label system the Movement +complains about was bad +enough ten years ago. But look how +much worse it is today. It's a progressive +thing. And, remember, it's to the +benefit of the incompetent. Since the +incompetent predominates, you're going +to have a hard time starting up a +system based on judgment and ability.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry thought about it for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +Sam said, <q>Look, I'm working, Larry. +Was there anything else?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>You wouldn't know +where I could get hold of Voss, +would you?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>At his home, I imagine, or at the +University.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>He's disappeared. We're looking +for him.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Sam laughed. <q>Gone underground, +eh? The old boy is getting romantic.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Does he have any particular +friends who might be putting him +up?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Sam thought about it. <q>There's +Frank Nostrand. You know, that rocket +<pb n='042'/><anchor id='Pg042'/> +expert who was fired when he got +in the big hassle with Senator McCord.</q> +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +When Sam Sokolski had flicked off, +Larry stared at the vacant phone +screen for a long moment, assimilating +what the other had told him. He +was astonished that an organization +such as the Movement could have +spread to the extent it evidently had +through the country's intellectual circles, +through the scientifically and +technically trained, without his department +being keenly aware of it. +</p> + +<p rend='text-align: center'> + <figure url='images/p42.png' rend='width: 60%'> + <figDesc>Illustration.</figDesc> + </figure> +</p> + +<p> +One result, he decided glumly, of +labeling everything contrary to the +<hi rend='italic'>status quo</hi> as <emph>weird</emph> and dismissing it +with contempt. Admittedly, that +would have been his own reaction +only a week ago. +</p> + +<p> +Suppose that he'd been at a cocktail +party, and had drifted up to a group +who were arguing about social-label +judgments and the need to develop a +<emph>movement</emph> to change society's use of +them. The discussion would have +gone in one ear, out the other, and he +would have muttered inwardly, +<q>Weirds,</q> and have drifted on to get +himself another vodka martini. +</p> + +<p> +Larry snorted and dialed the Department +of Records. He'd never +heard of Frank Nostrand before, so he +got Information. +</p> + +<p> +The bright young thing who answered +seemed to have a harried expression +untypical of Records employees. +Larry said to her, <q>I'd like the +brief on a Mr. Frank Nostrand who is +evidently an expert on rockets. The +only other thing I know about him is +that he recently got in the news as the +result of a controversy with Senator +McCord.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Just a moment, sir,</q> the bright +young thing said. +</p> + +<p> +She touched buttons and reached +into a delivery chute. When her eyes +came up to meet his again, they were +more than ever harried. They were +absolutely confused. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Mr. Franklin Howard Nostrand,</q> +she said, <q>currently employed by +Madison Air as a rocket research technician.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>That must be him,</q> Larry said. +<q>I'm in a hurry, Miss. What's his +background?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes rounded. <q>It says ... it +says he's an Archbishop of the Anglican +Church.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford looked at her. +</p> + +<p> +She looked back, pleadingly. +</p> + +<p> +Larry scowled and said, <q>His university +degrees, please.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes darted to the report and +she swallowed. <q>A bachelor in Home +Economics, sir.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Look here, Miss, how could a +Home Economics degree result in his +becoming either an Archbishop or a +rocket technician?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I'm sorry, sir. That's what it says.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry was fuming but there was no +point in taking it out on this junior +employee of the Department of Records. +He snapped, <q>Just give me his +address, please.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She said agonizingly, <q>Sir, it says, +Lhasa, Tibet.</q> +</p> + +<p> +A red light flicked at the side of +his phone and he said to her, <q>I'll call +you back. I'm getting a priority call.</q> +</p> + +<pb n='043'/><anchor id='Pg043'/> + +<p> +He flicked her off, and flicked the +incoming call in. It was LaVerne Polk. +She seemed to be on the harried side, +too. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Larry,</q> she said, <q>you better get +over here right away.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>What's up, LaVerne?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>This Movement,</q> she said, <q>it +seems to have started moving! The +Boss says to get over here soonest.</q> +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +The top of his car was retracted. +Larry Woolford slammed down the +walk of his auto-bungalow and vaulted +over the side and into the seat. He +banged the start button, dropped the +lift lever, depressed the thrust pedal +and took off at maximum acceleration. +</p> + +<p> +He took the police level for maximum +speed and was in downtown +Greater Washington in flat minutes. +</p> + +<p> +So the Movement had started moving. +That could mean almost anything. +It was just enough to keep him +stewing until he got to the Boss and +found out what was going on. +</p> + +<p> +He turned his car over to a parker +and made his way to the entrance +utilized by the second-grade department +officials. In another year, or at +most two, he told himself all over +again, he'd be using that other door. +He had an intuitive feeling that if he +licked this current assignment it'd be +the opening wedge he needed and +he'd wind up in a status bracket +unique for his age. +</p> + +<p> +LaVerne looked up when he hurried +into her anteroom. She evidently +had two or three calls going on at +once, taking orders from one phone, +giving them in another. Something +was obviously erupting. She didn't +speak to him, merely nodded her head +at the inner office. +</p> + +<p> +In the Boss' office were six or eight +others besides Larry's superior. Their +expressions and attitudes ran from +bewilderment to shock. They weren't +the men you'd expect to have such reactions. +At least not those that Larry +Woolford recognized. Three of them, +Ben Ruthenberg, Bill Fraina and +Dave Moskowitz were F.B.I. men +with whom Larry had worked on occasion. +One of the others he recognized +as being a supervisor with the +C.I.A. Walt Foster, Larry's rival in the +Boss' affections, was also present. +</p> + +<p> +The Boss growled at him, <q>Where +in the heavens have you been, Lawrence?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Following our leads on this so-called +Movement, sir,</q> Larry told him. +<q>What's going on?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Ruthenberg, the Department of +Justice man, grunted sour amusement. +<q>So-called Movement, isn't exactly +the correct phrase. It's a Movement, +all right.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss said, <q>Please dial Records +and get your dossier, Lawrence. That'll +be the quickest way to bring you +up on developments.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Mystified, but already with a growing +premonition, Larry dialed Records. +Knowing his own classification +code, he had no need of Information +this time. He got the hundred-word +brief and stared at it as it filled the +screen. The only items really correct +were his name and present occupation. +Otherwise his education was +<pb n='044'/><anchor id='Pg044'/> +listed as grammar school only. His +military career had him ending the +war as a General of the Armies, and +his criminal career record included +four years on Alcatraz for molesting +small children. +</p> + +<p> +Blankly, he faded the brief and +dialed his full dossier. It failed to +duplicate the brief, but that was no +advantage. This time he had an M.D. +degree from Johns Hopkins, but his +military career listed him as a dishonorable +discharge from the navy where +he'd served in the steward department. +His criminal record was happily +nil, but his religion was listed as +Holy Roller. Political affiliations had +him down as a member of the Dixiecrats. +</p> + +<p> +The others were looking at him, +most of them blankly, although there +were grins on the faces of Moskowitz +and the C.I.A. man. +</p> + +<p> +Moskowitz said, <q>With a name +like mine, yet, they have me a Bishop +of the Orthodox Greek Catholic +Church.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>What's it all about?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Ruthenberg said unhappily, <q>It +started early this morning. We don't +know exactly when as yet.</q> Which +didn't seem to answer the question. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>I don't get it. Obviously, +the Records department is fouled +up in some manner. How, and why?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>How, we know,</q> the Boss rumbled +disgustedly. <q>Why is another matter. +You've spent more time than anyone +else on this assignment, Lawrence. +Perhaps you can tell us.</q> He grabbed +up a pipe from his desk, tried to light +it noisily, noticed finally that it held +no tobacco and threw it to the desk +again. <q>Evidently, a large group of +these Movement individuals either already +worked in Records or wriggled +themselves into key positions in the +technical end of the department. +Now they've sabotaged the files.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>We've caught most of them already,</q> +one of the F.B.I. men growled, +<q>but damn little good that does us at +this point.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The C.I.A. supervisor made a gesture +indicating that he gave it all up. +<q>Not only here but in Chicago and +San Francisco as well. All at once. +Evidently perfectly rehearsed. Personnel +records from coast to coast are +bollixed. Why?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said slowly, <q>I think I know +that now. Yesterday, I wouldn't have +but I've been picking up odds and +ends.</q> +</p> + +<p> +They all looked at him. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +Larry sat down and ran a hand back +through his hair. <q>The general idea is +to change the country's reliance on +social-label judgments.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>On <emph>what</emph>,</q> the Boss barked. +</p> + +<p> +<q>On one person judging another +according to social-labels. Voss and +the others—</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Who did you say?</q> Ruthenberg +snapped. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Voss. Professor Peter Voss from +the University over in Baltimore section. +He's the ring leader.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Ruthenberg snapped to Fraina, +<q>Get on the phone and send out a +pick-up order for him.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Fraina was on his feet. <q>What +charge, Ben?</q> +</p> + +<pb n='045'/><anchor id='Pg045'/> + +<p> +Ben Ruthenberg snorted. <q>Rape, +or something. Get moving, we'll figure +out a charge later. The guy's a +fruitcake.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said wearily, <q>He's evidently +gone into hiding. I've been trying to +locate him. He managed to slip me +some knockout drops and got away +yesterday.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss looked at him in disgust. +</p> + +<p> +Ruthenberg said evenly, <q>We've +had men go into hiding before. Get +going, Fraina.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Fraina left the office and the others +looked back to Larry. +</p> + +<p> +The Boss said, <q>About this social-label +nonsense—</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>They think the country +is going to pot because of it. People +hold high office or places of responsibility +not because of superior intelligence, +or even acquired skill, but because +of the social-labels they've accumulated, +and these can be based on +something as flimsy—from the Movement's +viewpoint—as who your +grandparents were, what school you +attended, how much seniority you +have on the job, what part of town +you live in, or what tailor cuts your +clothes.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Their expressions ran from scowls +and frowns to complete puzzlement. +</p> + +<p> +Walt Foster grumbled, <q>What's all +this got to do with sabotaging the +country's Records tapes?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry shrugged. <q>I don't have the +complete picture, but one thing is +sure. It's going to be harder for a +while to base your opinions on a +quick hundred-word brief on a man. +Yesterday, an employer, considering +hiring somebody, could dial the man's +dossier, check it, and form his opinions +by the status labels the would-be +employee could produce. Today, he's +damn well going to have to exercise +his own judgment.</q> +</p> + +<p> +LaVerne's face lit up the screen on +the Boss' desk and she said, <q>Those +two members of the Movement who +were picked up in Alexandria are +here, sir.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Send them in,</q> the Boss rumbled. +He looked at Larry. <q>The F.B.I. managed +to arrest almost everyone directly +involved in the sabotage.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The two prisoners seemed more +amused than otherwise. They were +young men, in their early thirties—well +dressed and obviously intelligent. +The Boss had them seated side +by side and glared at them for a long +moment before speaking. Larry and +the others took chairs in various parts +of the room and added their own +stares to the barrage. +</p> + +<p> +The Boss said, <q>Your situation is +an unhappy one, gentlemen.</q> +</p> + +<p> +One of the two shrugged. +</p> + +<p> +The Boss said, <q>You can, ah, hedge +your bets, by co-operating with us. It +might make the difference between a +year or two in prison—and life.</q> +</p> + +<p> +One of them grinned and then +yawned. <q>I doubt it,</q> he said. +</p> + +<p> +The Boss tried a slightly different +tack. <q>You have no reason to maintain +a feeling of obligation to Voss +and the others. You have obviously +been abandoned. Had they any feeling +for you there would have been +more efficacious arrangements for +your escape.</q> +</p> + +<pb n='046'/><anchor id='Pg046'/> + +<p> +The more articulate of the two +shrugged again. <q>We were expendable,</q> +he said. <q>However, it won't be +long before we're free again.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>You think so?</q> Ruthenberg +grunted. +</p> + +<p> +The revolutionist looked at him. +<q>Yes, I do,</q> he said. <q>Six months from +now and we'll be heroes since by that +time the Movement will have been a +success.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss snorted. <q>Just because +you deranged the Records? Why +that's but temporary.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Not so temporary as you think,</q> +the technician replied. <q>This country +has allowed itself to get deeply +enmeshed in punch-card and tape records. +Oh, it made sense enough. +With the population we have, and the +endless files that result from our +ultra-complicated society, it was simply +a matter finally of developing a +standardized system of records for the +nation as a whole. Now, for all practical +purposes, <emph>all</emph> of our records these +days are kept with the Department of +Records, confidential as well as public +records. Why should a university, +for instance, keep literally tons of +files, with all the expense and space +and time involved, when it can merely +file the same records with the governmental +department and have them +safe and easily available at any time? +Now, the Movement has completely +and irrevocably destroyed almost all +files that deal with the social-labels to +which we object. An excellent first +step, in forcing our country back into +judgment based on ability and intelligence.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>First step!</q> Larry blurted. +</p> + +<p> +The two prisoners looked at him. +<q>That's right,</q> the quieter of the two +said. <q>This is just the first step.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Don't kid yourselves,</q> Ben Ruthenberg +snapped at them. <q>It's also the +last!</q> +</p> + +<p> +The two members of the Movement +grinned at him. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +When the others had gone, the +Boss looked at Larry Woolford. He +said sourly, <q>When this department +was being formed, I doubt anyone +had in mind this particular type of +subversion, Lawrence.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry grunted. <q>Give me a good +old-fashioned Commie, any time. +Look, sir, what are the Department of +Justice boys going to do with those +prisoners?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Hold them on any of various +charges. We've conflicted with the +F.B.I. in the past on overlapping +jurisdiction, but thank heavens for +them now. Their manpower is needed.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry leaned forward. <q>Sir, we +ought to take all members of the +Movement we've already arrested, feed +them a dose of Scop-Serum, and +pressure them to open up on the organization's +operations.</q> +</p> + +<p> +His superior looked at him, waiting +for him to continue. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said urgently, <q>Those two we +just had in here thought the whole +thing was a big joke. The first step, +they called it. Sir, there's something +considerably bigger than this cooking. +Uncle Sam might pride himself +on the personal liberties guaranteed +<pb n='047'/><anchor id='Pg047'/> +by this country, but unless we break +this organization, and do it fast, +there's going to be trouble that will +make this fouling of the records look +like the minor matter those two jokers +seemed to think it.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss thought about that. He +said slowly, <q>Lawrence, the Supreme +Court ruled against the use of Scop-Serum. +Not that it is over efficient, +anyway. Largely, these so-called truth +serums don't accomplish much more +than to lower resistance, slacken natural +inhibitions, weaken the will.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Sure,</q> Larry said. <q>But give a man +a good dose of Scop-Serum and he'd +betray his own mother. Not because +he's helpless to tell a lie, but because +under the influence of the drug he +figures it just isn't important enough +to bother about. Sir, Supreme Court +or not, I think those two ought to be +given Scop-Serum along with all other +Movement members we've picked +up.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss was shaking his head. +<q>Lawrence, these men are not wide-eyed +radicals picked up in a street +demonstration. They're highly respected +members of our society. +They're educators, scientists, engineers, +technicians. Anything done to +them is going to make headlines. +Those that were actually involved in +the sabotage will have criminal +charges brought against them, but +they're going to get a considerable +amount of publicity, and we're going +to be in no position to alienate any of +their constitutional rights.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry stood up, approached his +chief's desk and leaned over it urgently. +<q>Sir, that's fine, but we've got +to move and move fast. Something's +up and we don't even know what! +Take that counterfeit money. From +Susan Self's description, there's actually +billions of dollars worth of it.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Oh, come now, Lawrence. The +child exaggerated. Besides, that's a +problem for Steven Hackett and the +Secret Service, we have enough on +our hands as it is. Forget about the +counterfeit, Lawrence. I think I shall +put you in complete control of field +work on this, to co-operate in liaison +with Ben Ruthenberg and the F.B.I. +So far as we're concerned, the counterfeit +angle belongs to Secret Service, +we're working on subversion, +and until the Civil Liberties Union or +whoever else proves otherwise, we'll +consider this Movement an organization +attempting to subvert the country +by illegal means.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford made a hard decision +quickly. He was shaking his +head. <q>Sir, I'd rather you gave the administrative +end to someone else and +let me continue in the field. I've got +some leads—I think. If I get bogged +down in interdepartmental red tape, +and in paper work here at headquarters, +I'll never get to the heart of this +and I'm laying bets that we either +crack this within days or there are going +to be some awfully big changes +in this country.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss glared at him. <q>You +mean you're refusing this assignment, +Woolford. Confound it, don't you +realize it's a promotion?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry was worriedly dogged. <q>Sir, +I'd rather stay in the field.</q> +</p> + +<pb n='048'/><anchor id='Pg048'/> + +<p> +<q>Very well,</q> the other snapped disgustedly, +<q>I hope you deliver some +results, Woolford, otherwise I am +afraid I won't feel particularly happy +about your somewhat cavalier rejection +of this opportunity.</q> He flicked +on the phone and snapped to LaVerne +Polk, <q>Miss Polk, locate Walter +Foster for me. He is to take over our +end of this Movement matter.</q> +</p> + +<p> +LaVerne said, <q>Yes, sir,</q> and her +face was gone. +</p> + +<p> +The Boss looked up, still scowling. +<q>What are you waiting for, Woolford?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Yes, sir,</q> Larry said. It was just +coming home to him now, what he'd +done. There possibly went his yearned +for promotion in the department. +There went his chance of an upgrading +in status. And Walt Foster, of all +people, in his place. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +At LaVerne's desk, Larry stopped +off long enough to say, <q>Did you ever +assign that secretary to me?</q> +</p> + +<p> +LaVerne shook her head at him. +<q>She's come and gone, Larry. She sat +around for a couple of days, after seeing +you not even once, and then I +gave her another assignment.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Well, bring her back again, will +you? I want her to do up briefs for +me on all the information we accumulate +on the Movement. It'll be coming +in from all sides now. From the +Press, from those members we've arrested, +from our F.B.I. pals, now that +they're interested, and so forth.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I'll give you Irene Day,</q> LaVerne +said. <q>Where are you off to +now, Larry?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Probably a wild goose chase,</q> Larry +growled. <q>Which reminds me. Do +me a favor, LaVerne. Call Personal +Service and find out where Frank +Nostrand is. He's some kind of rocket +technician at Madison Air Laboratories. +I'll be in my office.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Frank Nostrand,</q> LaVerne said +briskly. <q>Will do, Larry.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Back in his own cubicle, Larry +stood for a moment in thought. He +was increasingly aware of the uncomfortable +feeling that time was running +out on them. That things were +coming to a dangerous head. +</p> + +<p> +He stared down at the dozen or +more books and pamphlets that his +never seen secretary had heaped up +for him. Well, he certainly didn't have +time for them now. +</p> + +<p> +He sat down at the desk and dialed +an inter-office number. +</p> + +<p> +The harassed looking face of Walter +Foster faded in. On seeing Larry +Woolford he growled accusingly, <q>My +pal. You've let them dump this +whole thing into my lap.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry grinned at him. <q>Better you +than me, old buddy. Besides, it's a +promotion. Pull this off and you'll be +the Boss' right-hand man.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>That's a laugh,</q> Foster said. <q>It's a +madhouse. This Movement gang is +as weird as they come.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I bleed for you,</q> Larry said. +<q>However, here's a tip. Frol Eivazov, +of the <hi rend='italic'>Chrezvychainaya Komissiya</hi> is +somewhere in the country.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Frol Eivazov!</q> Foster blurted. +<q>What've the Commies got to do with +this? Is this something the Boss +knows about?</q> +</p> + +<pb n='049'/><anchor id='Pg049'/> + +<p> +<q>Haven't had time to go into it +with him,</q> Larry said. <q>However, it +seems that friend Frol is here to find +out what the Movement is all about. +Evidently the big boys in Peking +and Moscow are nervous about any +changes that might take place over +here. I suggest you have him picked +up, Walt.</q> +</p> + +<p rend='text-align: center'> + <figure url='images/p49.png' rend='width: 30%'> + <figDesc>Illustration.</figDesc> + </figure> +</p> + +<p> +Walt Foster said, <q>O.K. I'll put +some people on it. Maybe the F.B.I. +can help.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry flicked off as he saw the red +priority light on his phone shining. +He pushed it and LaVerne's face +faded in. +</p> + +<p> +She said, <q>This Franklin Nostrand +you wanted to know about. He's evidently +working at the laboratories +over in Newport News, Larry. He'll +be on the job until five this afternoon.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Fine,</q> he said. Larry grinned at +her. <q>When are we going to have +that date, LaVerne?</q> +</p> + +<p> +She made a face. <q>Some day when +the program involves having fun instead +of parading around in the right +places, driving the right model car, +dressed in exactly the right clothes, +and above all associating with the +right people.</q> +</p> + +<p> +It was his turn to grimace. <q>I'm beginning +to think you ought to sign up +with Voss and this Movement of his. +You'd be right at home with his +weirds.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She stuck out her tongue at him, +and flicked off. +</p> + +<p> +He looked at the empty screen and +chuckled. He had half a mind to get a +record of their conversation, strip out +<pb n='050'/><anchor id='Pg050'/> +just the section where she'd stuck out +her tongue, and then play it back to +her. She'd be taken aback by being +confronted by her own image making +faces at her. +</p> + +<p> +As he made his way to the parking +lot for his car, something in their +conversation nagged at him, but he +couldn't put his finger on it. He considered +the girl, all over again. She +had almost all the qualities he looked +for. She was attractive, without being +overly so. He disliked women out of +the ordinarily beautiful, it became too +much to live up to. She was sharp, +but not objectionably so. Not to the +point of giving you an inferiority +complex. +</p> + +<p> +But, Holy Smokes, she'd never do +as a career man's wife. He could just +see the Boss' ultraconservative better +half inviting them to dinner. It +would happen exactly once, never +again. +</p> + +<p> +He obtained his car, lifted it to one +of the higher levels and headed for +Newport News. It was a half-hour +trip and he wasn't particularly expectant +of results. The tip Sam Sokolski +had given him, wasn't much to +go by. Evidently, Frank Nostrand was +a friend of the Professor's but that +didn't necessarily mean he was connected +with the movement, or that he +knew Voss' whereabouts. +</p> + +<p> +He might have saved himself the +trip. +</p> + +<p> +The bird had flown again. Not +only was Frank Nostrand not at the +Madison Air Laboratories, but he +wasn't at home either. Larry Woolford, +mindful of his departmental +chief's words on the prestige these +people carried, took a full hour in acquiring +a search warrant before breaking +into the Nostrand home. +</p> + +<p> +Nostrand was supposedly a bachelor, +but the auto-bungalow, similar to +Larry Woolford's own, showed signs +of double occupancy, and there was +little indication that the guest had +been a woman. +</p> + +<p> +Disgruntled, Larry Woolford dialed +the offices, asked for Walt Foster. It +took nearly ten minutes before his +colleague faded in. +</p> + +<p> +<q>I'm up to my eyebrows, Larry. +What'd you want?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry gave him Frank Nostrand's +address. <q>This guy's disappeared, +Walt.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>So?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>He was a close friend of Professor +Voss. I got a warrant to search his +house. It shows signs that he had a +guest. Possibly it was the Professor. +Do you want to get some of the boys +down here to go through the place? +Possibly there's some clue to where +they took off for. The Professor's on +the run and he's no professional at +this. If we can pick <emph>him</emph> up, I've got a +sneaking suspicion we'll have the so-called +Movement licked.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Walt Foster slapped a hand to his +face in anguish. <q>You knew where +the Professor was hiding, and you +tried to pick him up on your own and +let him get away. Why didn't you +discuss this with either the Boss or +me? I'm in charge of this operation! +I would have had a dozen men down +there. You've fouled this up!</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry stared at him. Already Walt +<pb n='051'/><anchor id='Pg051'/> +Foster was making sounds like an +enraged superior. +</p> + +<p> +He said mildly, <q>Sorry, Walt. I +came down here on a very meager +tip. I didn't really expect it to pan +out.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Well, in the future, clear with +either me or the Boss before running +off half cocked into something, Woolford. +Yesterday, you had this whole +assignment on your own. Today, it's +no longer a minor matter. Our department +has fifty people on it. The +F.B.I. must have five times as many +and that's not even counting the Secret +Service's interest. It's no longer +your individual baby.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Sorry,</q> Larry repeated mildly. +Then, <q>I don't imagine you've got +hold of Frol Eivazov yet?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The other was disgusted. <q>You +think we're magicians? We just put +out the call for him a few hours ago. +He's no amateur. If he doesn't want +to be picked up, he'll go to ground +and we'll have our work cut out for us +finding him. I can't see that it's particularly +important anyway.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Maybe you're right,</q> Larry said. +<q>But you never know. He might +know things we don't. See you later.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Walt Foster stared at him for a +moment as though about to say something, +but then tightened his lips and +faded off. +</p> + +<p> +Larry looked at the phone screen +for a moment. <q>Did that phony expect +me to call him <emph>sir</emph>,</q> he muttered. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +The next two days dissolved into +routine. +</p> + +<p> +Frustrated, Larry Woolford spent +most of his time in his office digesting +developments, trying to find a new +line of attack. +</p> + +<p> +For want of something else, he put +his new secretary, a brightly efficient +girl, as style and status conscious as +LaVerne Polk wasn't, to work typing +up the tapes he'd had cut on Susan +Self and the various phone calls he'd +had with Hans Distelmayer and Sam +Sokolski. From memory, he dictated +to her his conversation with Professor +Peter Voss. +</p> + +<p> +He carefully read the typed sheets +over and over again. He continually +had the feeling in this case that there +were loose ends dangling around. +Several important points he should be +able to put his finger upon. +</p> + +<p> +On the morning of the third day he +dialed Steve Hackett and on seeing +the other's worried, pug-ugly face +fade in on the phone, decided that if +nothing else the Movement was undermining +the United States government +by dispensing ulcers to its employees. +</p> + +<p> +Steve growled, <q>What is it Woolford? +I'm as busy as a whirling dervish +in a revolving door.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>This is just the glimmer of an +idea, Steve. Look, remember that conversation +with Susan, when she described +her father taking her to +headquarters?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>So?</q> Steve said impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Remember her description of +headquarters?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Go on,</q> Steve rapped. +</p> + +<p> +<q>What did it remind you of?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>What are you leading to?</q> +</p> + +<pb n='052'/><anchor id='Pg052'/> + +<p> +<q>This is just a hunch,</q> Larry persisted, +<q>but the way she described the +manner in which her father took her +to headquarters suggests they're in +the Greater Washington area.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve was staring at him disgustedly. +How obvious could you get? +</p> + +<p> +Larry hurried on. <q>What's the biggest +business in this area, Steve?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Government.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Right. And the way she described +headquarters of the Movement, was +rooms, after rooms, after rooms into +which they'd stored the money.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>And?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said urgently, <q>Steve, I think +in some way the Movement has taken +over some governmental buildings, or +storage warehouse. Possibly some +older buildings no longer in use. It +would be a perfect hideout. Who +would expect a subversive organization +to be in governmental buildings? +All they'd need would be a few +officials here and there who were on +their side and—</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve said wearily, <q>You couldn't +have thought of this two days ago.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry cut himself off sharply, +<q>Eh?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Steve said, <q>We found their headquarters. +One of their members +cracked. Ben Ruthenberg of the +F.B.I. found he had a morals rap +against him some years ago and scared +him into talking by threats of exposure. +At any rate, you're right. They +had established themselves in some +government buildings going back to +Spanish-American War days. We've +arrested eight or ten officials that +were involved.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>But the money?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>The money was gone,</q> Steve said +bitterly. <q>But Susan was right. There +had evidently been room after room +of it, stacked to the ceiling. Literally +billions of dollars. They'd moved out +hurriedly, but they left kicking around +enough loose hundreds, fifties, twenties, +tens and fives to give us an idea. +Look, Woolford, I thought you'd +been pulled off this case and that +Walt Foster was handling it.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said sourly, <q>I'm beginning +to think so, too. They're evidently not +even bothering to let me know about +developments like this. See you later, +Steve.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The other's face faded off. +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford looked across the +double desk at Irene Day. <q>Look,</q> he +said, <q>when you're offered a promotion, +take it. If you don't, someone +else will and you'll be out in the +cold.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Irene Day said brightly, <q>I've always +know that, sir.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her. The typical eager +beaver. Sharp as a whip. Bright as a +button. <q>I'll bet you have,</q> he muttered. +</p> + +<p> +<q>I beg your pardon, Mr. Woolford?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The phone lit as LaVerne said, +<q>The Boss wants to talk to you, Larry.</q> +Her face faded and Larry's superior +was scowling at him. +</p> + +<p> +He snapped, <q>Did you get anything +on this medical records thing, +Woolford?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Medical records?</q> Larry said +blankly. +</p> + +<p> +The Boss grunted in deprecation. +<pb n='053'/><anchor id='Pg053'/> +<q>No, I suppose you haven't. I wish +you would snap into it, Woolford. I +don't know what has happened to you +of late. I used to think that you were +a good field man.</q> He flicked off +abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +Larry dialed LaVerne Polk. <q>What +in the world was the Boss just talking +about, LaVerne? About medical records?</q> +</p> + +<p> +LaVerne said, frowning, <q>Didn't +you know? The Movement's been at +it again. They've fouled up the records +of the State Medical Licensing +bureaus, at the same time sabotaging +the remaining records of most, if not +all, of the country's medical schools. +They struck simultaneously, throughout +the country.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her, expressionlessly. +</p> + +<p> +LaVerne said, <q>We've caught several +hundred of those responsible. It's +the same thing. Attack of the social-label. +From now on, if a man tells you +he's an Ear, Eye and Throat specialist, +you'd better do some investigation +before letting him amputate your +tongue. You'd better use your judgment +before letting <emph>any</emph> doctor you +don't really know about, work on +you. It's a madhouse, Larry.</q> +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +Larry Woolford, for long moments +after LaVerne had broken the connection, +stared unseeingly at his secretary +across from him until she stirred. +</p> + +<p> +He brought his eyes back to the +present. <q>Another preliminary move, +not the important thing, yet. Not the +big explosion they're figuring on. +Where have they taken that money, +and why?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Irene Day blinked at him. <q>I don't +know, I'm sure, sir.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>Get me Mr. Foster on +the phone, Irene.</q> +</p> + +<p> +When Walt Foster's unhappy face +faded in, Larry said, <q>Walt did you +get Frol Eivazov?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Eivazov?</q> the other said impatiently. +<q>No. We haven't spent much +effort on it. I think this hunch of +yours is like the other ones you've +been having lately, Woolford. Frol +Eivazov was last reported by our operatives +as being in North Korea.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>It wasn't a hunch,</q> Larry said +tightly. <q>He's in this country on an +assignment dealing with the Movement.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Well, that's your opinion,</q> Foster +said snappishly. <q>I'm busy, Woolford. +See here, at present you're under +my orders on this job. In the way +of something to do, instead of sitting +around in that office, why don't you +follow up this Eivazov thing yourself?</q> +He considered it a moment. +<q>That's an order, Woolford. Even if +you don't locate him, it'll keep you out +of our hair.</q> +</p> + +<p> +After the other was gone, Larry +Woolford leaned back in his chair, +his face flushed as though the other +had slapped it. In a way, he had. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said slowly, <q>Miss Day, dial +me Hans Distelmayer. His offices are +over in the Belmont Building.</q> +</p> + +<p> +As always, the screen remained +blank as the German spy master +spoke. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>Hans, I want to talk to +Frol Eivazov.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Ah?</q> +</p> + +<pb n='054'/><anchor id='Pg054'/> + +<p> +<q>I want to know where I can find +him.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The German's voice was humorously +gruff. <q>My friend, my friend.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said impatiently, <q>I'm not interested +in arresting him at this time. +I want to talk to him.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The other said heavily. <q>This goes +beyond favors, my friend. On the face +of it, I am not in business for my +health. And what you ask is dangerous +from my viewpoint. You realize +that upon occasion my organization +does small tasks for the Soviets....</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Ha!</q> Larry said bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +<q>... And,</q> the German continued, +unruffled, <q>it is hardly to my interest +to gain the reputation of betraying +my sometimes employers. +Were you on an assignment in, say, +Bulgaria or Hungary, would you +expect me to betray you to the +<hi rend='italic'>Chrezvychainaya Komissiya</hi>?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Not unless somebody paid you +enough to make it worth while,</q> +Larry said dryly. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Exactly,</q> the espionage chief said. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Look,</q> Larry said. <q>Send your bill +to this department, Hans. I've been +given carte blanche on this matter +and I want to talk to Frol. Now, +where is he?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The German chuckled heavily. +<q>At the Soviet Embassy.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>What! You mean they've got the +gall to house their top spy right in—</q> +</p> + +<p> +Distelmayer interrupted him. +<q>Friend Eivazov is currently accredited +as a military attaché and quite +correctly. He holds the rank of colonel, +you know. He entered this country +quite legally, the only precaution +taken was to use his second name, +Kliment, instead of Frol, on his papers. +Evidently, your people passed +him by without a second look. Ah, I +understand he went to the trouble of +making some minor changes in his +facial appearance.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>We'll expect your bill, Distelmayer,</q> +Larry said. <q>Good-by.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He got up and reached for his hat, +saying to Irene Day, <q>I don't know +how long I'll be gone.</q> He added, +wryly, <q>If either Foster or the Boss +try to get in touch with me, tell them +I'm carrying out orders.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He drove over to the Soviet Embassy, +parked his car directly before +the building. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +The American plainclothesmen +stationed near the entrance, gave him +only a quick onceover as he passed. +Inside the gates, the impassive Russian +guards didn't bother to flicker an +eyelid. +</p> + +<p> +At the reception desk in the immense +entrada, he identified himself. +<q>I'd like to see Colonel Frol Eivazov.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>I am afraid—</q> the clerk began +stiffly. +</p> + +<p> +<q>I suppose you have him on the +records as Kliment Eivazov.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The clerk had evidently touched a +concealed button. A door opened and +a junior embassy official approached +them. +</p> + +<p> +Larry restated his desire. The other +began to open his mouth in denial, +then shrugged. <q>Just a moment,</q> he +said. +</p> + +<p> +He was gone a full twenty minutes. +<pb n='055'/><anchor id='Pg055'/> +When he returned, he said +briefly, <q>This way, please.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Frol Eivazov was in an inner office, +in full uniform. He came to his +feet when Larry Woolford entered +and said to the clerk, <q>That will be +all, Vova.</q> He was a tall man, as +Slavs go, but heavy of build and +heavy of face. +</p> + +<p> +He shook hands with Larry. <q>It's +been a long time,</q> he said in perfect +English. <q>That conference in Warsaw, +wasn't it? Have a chair, Mr. +Woolford.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry took the offered chair and +said, <q>How in the world did you expect +to get by with this nonsense? +We'll have you declared <hi rend='italic'>persona non +grata</hi> in a matter of hours.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>It's not important,</q> Eivazov +shrugged. <q>I have found what I came +to find. I was about to return to report +any way.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>We won't do anything to hinder +you, colonel,</q> Larry said dryly. +</p> + +<p> +Eivazov snapped his fingers. <q>It's +all amusing,</q> he said. <q>In our country +we would quickly deal with this +Movement nonsense. You Americans +with your pseudo-democracy, your +labels without reality, your—</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said wearily, <q>Please, Frol, I +promise not to convert you if you +promise not to convert me. Needless +to say, my department isn't happy +about your presence in this country. +You'll be watched from now on. +We've been busy with other matters....</q> +</p> + +<p> +Here the Russian laughed. +</p> + +<p> +<q>... Or we'd already have flushed +you.</q> He allowed his voice to go +curious. <q>We've wondered about your +interest in this phase of our internal +affairs.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Russian agent let his facade +slip over farther, his heavy lips sneering. +<q>We are interested in all phases +of your antiquated socio-economic +system, Mr. Woolford. In the present +peaceful economic competition between +East and West, we would simply +<emph>loathe</emph> to see anything happen to +your present culture.</q> He hesitated +deliberately. <q>If you can call it a +culture.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, unprovoked, <q>If I understand +you correctly, you are not in +favor of the changes the Movement +advocates.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Russian shrugged hugely. <q>I +doubt if they are possible of achievement. +The organization is a sloppy +one. Revolutionary? Nonsense,</q> he +scoffed. <q>They have no plans to +change the government. No plans for +overthrowing the regime. Ultimately, +what this country needs is true +Communism. This so-called Movement +doesn't have that as its eventual +goal. It is laughable.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, interestedly, <q>Then perhaps +you'll tell me what little you've +found out about the group.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Why not?</q> The Russian pursed +his lips. <q>They are composed of impractical +idealists. Scientists, intellectuals, +a few admitted scholars and +even a few potential leaders. Their +sabotage of your Department of Records +was an amusing farce, but, +frankly, I have been unable to discover +the purpose of their interest in +rockets. For a time I contemplated +<pb n='056'/><anchor id='Pg056'/> +the possibility that they had a scheme +to develop a nuclear bomb, and to +explode it over Greater Washington +in the belief that in the resulting +confusion they might seize power. +But, on the face of it their membership +is incapable of such an effort.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Their interest in rockets?</q> Larry +said softly. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Yes, as you've undoubtedly discovered, +half the rocket technicians of +your country seem to have joined +with them. We got the tip through</q>—the +Russian cleared his throat—<q>several +of our converts who happen +to be connected with your space +efforts groups.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Is that so?</q> Larry said. <q>I wondered +what you thought about their +interest in money.</q> +</p> + +<p> +It was the other's turn to look +blank. <q>Money?</q> he said. +</p> + +<p> +<q>That's right. Large quantities of +money.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Russian said, frowning, <q>I suppose +most citizens in your capitalist +countries are interested largely in +money. One of your basic failings.</q> +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +Driving back to the office, Larry +Woolford let it pile up on him. +</p> + +<p> +Ernest Self had been a specialist in +solid fuel for rockets. When Larry +had questioned Professor Voss that +worthy had particularly stressed his +indignation at how Professor Goddard, +the rocket pioneer, had been +treated by his contemporaries. Franklin +Nostrand had been employed as a +technician on rocket research at Madison +Air Laboratories. It was too darn +much for coincidence. +</p> + +<p> +And now something else that had +been nagging away at the back of his +mind suddenly came clear. +</p> + +<p> +Susan Self had said that she and +her father had seen the precision +dancers at the New Roxy Theater in +New York and later the Professor +had said they were going to spend +the money on chorus girls. Susan had +got it wrong. The Rockettes—the +precision chorus girls. The Professor +had said they were going to spend +the money on <emph>rockets</emph>, and Susan had +misunderstood. +</p> + +<p> +But billions of dollars expended on +rockets? How? But, above all, to +what end? +</p> + +<p> +If he'd only been able to hold onto +Susan, or her father; or to Voss or +Nostrand, for that matter. Someone +to work on. But each had slipped +through his fingers. +</p> + +<p> +Which brought something else up +from his subconscious. Something +which had been tugging at him. +</p> + +<p> +At the office, Irene Day was packing +her things as he entered. Packing +as though she was leaving for good. +</p> + +<p> +<q>What goes on?</q> Larry growled. +<q>I'm going to be needing you. Things +are coming to a head.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She said, a bit snippishly, Larry +thought, <q>Miss Polk, in the Boss' office, +said for you to see her as soon as +you came in, Mr. Woolford.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Oh?</q> +</p> + +<p> +He made his way to LaVerne's office, +his attention actually on the ideas +churning in his mind. +</p> + +<p> +She looked up when he entered. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>The Boss wanted to +see me?</q> +</p> + +<pb n='057'/><anchor id='Pg057'/> + +<p> +LaVerne ducked her head, as +though embarrassed. <q>Not exactly, +Larry.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He gestured with his thumb in the +direction of his own cubicle office. +<q>Irene just said you wanted me.</q> +</p> + +<p> +LaVerne looked up into his face. +<q>The Boss and Mr. Foster, too, are +boiling about your authorizing that +Distelmayer man to bill this department +for information he gave you. +The Boss hit the roof. Something +about the Senate Appropriations +Committee getting down on him if it +came out that we bought information +from professional espionage agents.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>It was information we +needed, and Foster gave me the go +ahead on locating Frol Eivazov. Maybe +I'd better see the Boss.</q> +</p> + +<p> +LaVerne said, <q>I don't think he +wants to see you, Larry. They're up +to their ears in this Movement thing. +It's in the papers <emph>now</emph> and nobody +knows what to do next. The President +is going to make a speech on TriD, +and the Boss has to supply the information. +His orders are for you to +resume your vacation. To take a +month off and then see him when +you get back.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry sank down into a chair. <q>I +see,</q> he said, <q>And at that time he'll +probably transfer me to janitor service.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Larry,</q> LaVerne said, almost impatiently, +<q>why in the world didn't +you take that job Walt Foster has +now when the Boss offered it to +you?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Because I'm stupid, I suppose,</q> +Larry said bitterly. <q>I thought I could +do more working alone than at an administrative +post tangled in red tape +and bureaucratic routine.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She said, <q>Sorry, Larry.</q> She sounded +as though she meant it. +</p> + +<p> +Larry stood up. <q>Well, tonight I'm +going to hang one on, and tomorrow +it's back to Florida.</q> He said in a +rush, <q>Look LaVerne, how about that +date we've been talking about for six +months or more?</q> +</p> + +<p> +She looked up at him. <q>I can't +stand vodka martinis.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Neither can I,</q> he said glumly. +</p> + +<p> +<q>And I don't get a kick out of +prancing around, a stuffed shirt +among fellow stuffed shirts, at some +goings-on that supposedly improves +my culture status.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said <q>At the house I have +every known brand of drinkable, and +a stack of ... what did you call it? ... corny +music. We can mix our +own drinks and dance all by ourselves.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She tucked her head to one side +and looked at him suspiciously. <q>Are +your intentions honorable?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>We can even discuss that later,</q> +he said sourly. +</p> + +<p> +She laughed. <q>It's a date, Larry.</q> +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +He picked her up after work, and +they drove to his Brandywine auto-bungalow, +largely quiet the whole +way. +</p> + +<p> +At one point she touched his hand +with hers and said, <q>It'll work out, +Larry.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Yeah,</q> he said sourly. <q>I've put +ten years into ingratiating myself +with the Boss. Now, overnight, he's +<pb n='058'/><anchor id='Pg058'/> +got a new boy. I suppose there's some +moral involved.</q> +</p> + +<p> +When they pulled up before his +auto-bungalow, LaVerne whistled appreciatively. +<q>Quite a neighborhood +you're in.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He grunted. <q>A good address. +What our friend Professor Voss +would call one more status symbol, +one more social-label. For it I pay +about fifty per cent more rent than +my budget can afford.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He ushered her inside and took her +jacket. <q>Look,</q> he said, indicating his +living room with a sweep of hand. +<q>See that volume of Klee reproductions +there next to my reading chair? +That proves I'm not a weird. Indicates +my culture status. Actually, my +appreciation of modern art doesn't go +any further than the Impressionists. +But don't tell anybody. See those +books up on my shelves. Same thing. +You'll find everything there that +<emph>ought</emph> to be on the shelves of any ambitious +young career man.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him from the side of +her eyes. <q>You're really soured, Larry.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Come along,</q> he said. <q>I want to +show you something.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He took her down the tiny elevator +to his den. +</p> + +<p> +<q>How hypocritical can you get?</q> +he asked her. <q>This is where I really +live. But I seldom bring anyone here. +Wouldn't want to get a reputation as +a weird. Sit down, LaVerne, I'll make +a drink. How about a Sidecar?</q> +</p> + +<p> +She sank onto the couch, kicked her +<pb n='059'/><anchor id='Pg059'/> +shoes off and slipped her feet under +her. <q>I'd love one,</q> she said. +</p> + +<p> +His back to her, he brought brandy +and cointreau from his liquor cabinet, +lemon and ice from the tiny refrigerator. +</p> + +<p> +<q>What?</q> LaVerne said mockingly. +<q>No auto-bar?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Upstairs with the rest of the status +symbols,</q> Larry grunted. +</p> + +<p> +He put her drink before her and +turned and went to the record player. +</p> + +<p> +<q>In the way of corny music, how do +you like that old-timer, Nat Cole?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>King Cole? Love him,</q> LaVerne +said. +</p> + +<p> +The strains of <q>For All We Know</q> +penetrated the room. +</p> + +<p> +Larry sat down across from her, finished +half his drink in one swallow. +</p> + +<p> +<q>I'm beginning to wonder whether +or not this Movement doesn't have +something,</q> he said. +</p> + +<p> +She didn't answer that. They sat in +silence for a while, appreciating the +drink. Nat Cole was singing <q>The +Very Thought of You</q> now. Larry got +up and made two more cocktails. This +time he sat next to her. He leaned his +head back on the couch and closed +his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Finally he said softly, <q>When Steve +Hackett and I were questioning Susan, +there was only one other person +who knew that we'd picked her up. +There was only one person other +than Steve and me who could have +warned Ernest Self to make a getaway. +Later on, there was only one +person who could have warned Frank +Nostrand so that he and the Professor +could find a new hideout.</q> +</p> + +<p> +She said sleepily, <q>How long have +you known about that, darling?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>A while,</q> Larry said, his own voice +quiet. <q>I figured it out when I also decided +how Susan Self was spirited +out of the Greater Washington Hilton, +before we had the time to question +her further. Somebody who had +access to tapes made of me while I +was making phone calls cut out a section +and dubbed in a voice so that +Betsy Hughes, the Secret Service matron +who was watching Susan, was +fooled into believing it was I ordering +the girl to be turned over to the two +Movement members who came to +get her.</q> +</p> + +<p> +LaVerne stirred comfortably and +let her head sink onto his shoulder. +<q>You're so warm and ... comfortable,</q> +she said. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said softly, <q>What does the +Movement expect to do with all that +counterfeit money, LaVerne?</q> +</p> + +<p> +She stirred against his shoulder, as +though bothered by the need to talk. +<q>Give it all away,</q> she said. <q>Distribute +it all over the country and +destroy the nation's social currency.</q> +</p> + +<p> +It took him a long moment to assimilate +that. +</p> + +<p> +<q>What have the rockets to do with +it?</q> +</p> + +<p> +She stirred once again, as though +wishing he'd be silent. <q>That's how it +will be distributed. About twenty +rockets, strategically placed, each with +a <emph>warhead</emph> of a couple of tons of +money. Fired to an altitude of a couple +of hundred miles and then the +money is spewed out. In falling, it +will be distributed over cities and +<pb n='060'/><anchor id='Pg060'/> +countryside, everywhere. Billions +upon billions of dollars worth.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, so softly as hardly to be +heard, <q>What will that accomplish?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Money is the greatest social-label +of them all. The Professor believes +that through this step the Movement +will have accomplished its purpose. +That people will be forced to utilize +their judgment, rather than depend +upon social-labels.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry didn't follow that, but he had +no time to go further now. He said, +still evenly soft, <q>And when is the +Movement going to do this?</q> +</p> + +<p> +La Verne moved comfortably. <q>The +trucks go out to distribute the money +tonight. The rockets are waiting. The +firing will take place in a few days.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>And where is the Professor now?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Where the money and the trucks +are hidden, darling. What difference +does it make?</q> LaVerne said sleepily. +</p> + +<p> +<q>And where is that?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>At the Greater Washington +Trucking Corporation. It's owned by +one of the Movement's members.</q> +</p> + +<p> +He said. <q>There's a password. What +is it?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Judgment.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry Woolford bounced to his feet. +He looked down at her, then over at +the phone. In three quick steps he +was over to it. He grasped its wires +and yanked them from the wall, silencing +it. He slipped into the tiny +elevator, locking the door to the den +behind him. +</p> + +<p> +As the door slid closed, her voice +wailed, still sleepily husky, <q>Larry, +darling, where are you—</q> +</p> + +<p> +He ran down the walk of the house, +vaulted into the car and snapped on +its key. He slammed down the lift +lever, kicked the thrust pedal and +was thrown back against the seat by +the acceleration. +</p> + +<p> +Even while he was climbing, he +flicked on the radio-phone, called +Personal Service for the location of +the Greater Washington Trucking +Corporation. +</p> + +<p> +Fifteen minutes later, he parked a +block away from his destination, noting +with satisfaction that it was still +an hour or more to go until dark. His +intuition, working doubletime now, +told him that they'd probably wait until +nightfall to start their money-laden +trucks to rolling. +</p> + +<p> +He hesitated momentarily before +turning on the phone and dialing the +Boss' home address. +</p> + +<p> +When the other's face faded in, it +failed to display pleasure when the +caller's identity was established. His +superior growled, <q>Confound it, +Woolford, you know my privacy is to +be respected. This phone is to be +used only in extreme emergency.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Yes, sir,</q> Larry said briskly. <q>It's +the Movement—</q> +</p> + +<p> +The other's face darkened still further. +<q>You're not on that assignment +any longer, Woolford. Walter Foster +has taken over and I'm sympathetic to +his complaints that you've proven +more a hindrance than anything +else.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry ignored his words, <q>Sir, I've +tracked them down. Professor Voss is +at the Greater Washington Trucking +Corporation garages here in the Alexandria +section of town. Any moment +<pb n='061'/><anchor id='Pg061'/> +now, they're going to start distribution +of all that counterfeit money on +some scatterbrain plan to disrupt the +country's exchange system.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly alert, the department +chief snapped, <q>Where are you, Woolford?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Outside the garages, sir. But I'm +going in now.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>You stay where you are,</q> the other +snapped. <q>I'll have every department +man and every Secret Service man in +town over there within twenty minutes. +You hang on. Those people are +lunatics, and probably desperate.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Inwardly, Larry Woolford grinned. +He wasn't going to lose this opportunity +to finish up the job with him on +top. He said flatly, <q>Sir, we can't +chance it. They might escape. I'm going +in!</q> He flicked off the set, dialed +again and raised Sam Sokolski. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Sam,</q> he said, his voice clipped. +<q>I've cornered the Movement's leader +and am going in for the finish. Maybe +some of you journalist boys better get +on over here.</q> He gave the other the +address and flicked off before there +were any questions. +</p> + +<milestone unit='tb' rend='rule: 50%'/> + +<p> +From the dash compartment he +brought a heavy automatic, and +checked the clip. He put it in his hip +pocket and left the car and walked +toward the garages. Time was running +out now. +</p> + +<p> +He strode into the only open door, +without shift of pace. Two men were +posted nearby, neither of them truckmen +by appearance. They looked at +him in surprise. +</p> + +<p> +Larry clipped out, <q>The password +is <emph>Judgment</emph>. I've got to see Professor +Voss immediately.</q> +</p> + +<p> +One of them frowned questioningly, +but the other was taken up with +the urgency in Woolford's voice. He +nodded with his head. <q>He's over +there in the office.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Now ignoring them completely, +Larry strode past the long rows of +sealed delivery vans toward the office. +</p> + +<p> +He pushed the door open, entered +and closed it behind him. +</p> + +<p> +Professor Peter Voss was seated at +a paper-littered desk. There was a cot +with an army blanket in a corner of +the room, some soiled clothing and +two or three dirty dishes on a tray. +The room was being lived in, obviously. +</p> + +<p> +At the agent's entry, the little man +looked up and blinked in distress +through his heavy lenses. +</p> + +<p> +Larry snapped, <q>You're under arrest, +Voss.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The professor was obviously dismayed, +but he said in as vigorous a +voice as he could muster, <q>Nonsense! +On what charge?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Counterfeiting, among many. +Your whole scheme has fallen apart, +Voss. You and your Movement, so-called, +are finished.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The professor's eyes darted, left, +right. To Larry Woolford's surprise, +the Movement's leader was alone in +here. Undoubtedly, he was awaiting +others, drivers of the trucks, technicians +involved in the rockets, other +subordinates. But right now he was +alone. +</p> + +<p> +If Woolford correctly diagnosed +<pb n='062'/><anchor id='Pg062'/> +the situation, Voss was playing for +time, waiting for the others. Good +enough, so was Larry Woolford. Had +the Professor only known it, a shout +would have brought at least two followers +and the government agent +would have had his work cut out for +him. +</p> + +<p> +Woodford played along. <q>Just what +is this fantastic scheme of yours for +raining down money over half the +country, Voss? The very insanity of it +proves your whole outfit is composed +of a bunch of nonconformist weirds.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Professor was indignant—and +stalling for time. He said, <q>Nonconformists +is correct! He who conforms +in an incompetent society is an incompetent +himself.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry stood, his legs apart and +hands on hips. He shook his head in +simulated pity at the angry little man. +<q>What's all this about raining money +down over the country?</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Don't you see?</q> the other said. +<q rend='pre'>The perfect method for disrupting +our present system of social-labels. +With billions of dollars, perfect counterfeit, +strewing the streets, the fields, +the trees, available for anyone to pick +up, all social currency becomes worthless. +Utterly unusable. And it's no use +to attempt to print more with another +design, because we can duplicate +it as well. Our experts are the +world's best, we're not a group of +sulking criminals but capable, trained, +dedicated men.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>Very well! We will have made it +absolutely impossible to have any +form of mass-produced social currency.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry stared at him. <q>It would completely +foul the whole business system! +You'd have chaos!</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>At first. Private individuals, once +the value of money was seen to be +zero, would have lost the amount of +cash they had on hand. But banks +and such institutions would lose little. +They have accurate records that +show the actual values they held at +the time our money rains down.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry was bewildered. <q>But what +are you getting at? What do you expect +to accomplish?</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Professor, on his favorite subject, +said triumphantly, <q>The only +form of currency that can be used +under these conditions is the <emph>personal</emph> +check. It's not mass produced, and +mass-production can't duplicate it. +It's immune to the attack. Business +has to go on, or people will starve—so +personal checks will have to replace +paper money. Credit cards and +traveler's checks won't do—we can +counterfeit them, too, and will, if +necessary. Realize of course that hard +money will still be valid, but it can't +be utilized practically for any but +small transactions. Try taking enough +silver dollars to buy a refrigerator +down to the store with you.</q> +</p> + +<p> +<q>But what's the purpose?</q> Larry +demanded, flabbergasted. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Isn't it obvious? Our whole Movement +is devoted to the destruction of +social-label judgments. It's all very +well to say: <hi rend='italic'>You should not judge +your fellow men</hi> but when it comes to +accepting another man's personal +check, friend, you damn well have to! +The bum check artist might have a +<pb n='063'/><anchor id='Pg063'/> +field day to begin with—but only to +begin with.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry shook his head in exasperation. +<q>You people are a bunch of +anarchists,</q> he accused. +</p> + +<p> +<q>No,</q> the Professor denied. <q>Absolutely +not. We are the antithesis of +the anarchist. The anarchist says, <q>No +man is capable of judging another.</q> +We say, <q>Each man must judge his fellow, +must demand proper evaluation +of him.</q> To judge a man by his +clothes, the amount of money he +owns, the car he drives, the neighborhood +in which he lives, or the society +he keeps, is out of the question in a +vital culture.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry said sourly, <q>Well, whether +or not you're right, Voss, you've lost. +This place is surrounded. My men +will be breaking in shortly.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Voss laughed at him. <q>Nonsense. +All you've done is prevent us from +accomplishing this portion of our +program. What will you do after my +arrest? You'll bring me to trial. Do +you remember the Scopes' Monkey +Trial back in the 1920s which became +a world appreciated farce and +made Tennessee a laughingstock? +Well, just wait until you get <emph>me</emph> into +court backed by my organization's resources. +We'll bring home to every +thinking person, not only in this +country, but in the world, the fantastic +qualities of our existing culture. +Why, Mr.-Secret-Agent-of-Anti-Subversive-Activity +you aren't doing me +an injury by giving me the opportunity +to have my day in court. You're +doing me a favor. Newspapers, radios, +TriD will give me the chance to expound +my program in the home of +every thinking person in the world.</q> +</p> + +<p> +There was a fiery dedication in the +little man's eyes. <q>This will be my +victory, not my defeat!</q> +</p> + +<p> +There were sounds now, coming +from the other rooms—the garages. +Some shouts and scuffling. Faintly, +Larry Woolford could hear Steve +Hackett's voice. +</p> + +<p> +He was staring at the Professor, his +eyes narrower. +</p> + +<p> +The Professor was on his feet. He +said in defiant triumph, <q>You think +that you'll win prestige and honor as +a result of tracking the Movement +down, don't you, Mr. Woolford? +Well, let me tell you, you won't! In +six months from now, Mr. Woolford, +you'll be a laughingstock.</q> +</p> + +<p> +That did it. +</p> + +<p> +Larry said, <q>You're under arrest. +Turn around with your back to me.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Professor snorted his contempt, +turned his back and held up +his hands, obviously expecting to be +searched. +</p> + +<p> +In a fluid motion, Larry Woolford +drew his gun and fired twice. The +other with no more than a grunt of +surprise and pain, stumbled forward +to his knees and then to the floor, his +arms and legs akimbo. +</p> + +<p> +The door broke open and Steve +Hackett, gun in hand, burst in. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Woolford!</q> he barked. <q>What's +up?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry indicated the body on the +floor. <q>There you are, Steve,</q> he said. +<q>The head of the counterfeit ring. He +was trying to escape. I had to shoot +him.</q> +</p> + +<pb n='064'/><anchor id='Pg064'/> + +<p> +Behind Steve Hackett crowded Ben +Ruthenberg of the F.B.I. and behind +him half a dozen others of various +departments. +</p> + +<p> +The Boss came pushing his way +through. +</p> + +<p> +He glared down at the Professor's +body, then up at Larry Woolford. +</p> + +<p> +<q>Good work, Lawrence,</q> he +said. <q>How did you bring it off?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry replaced the gun in his holster +and shrugged modestly. <q>The +Polk girl gave me the final tip-off, +sir. I gave her some Scop-Serum in a +drink and she talked. Evidently, she +was a member of the Movement.</q> +</p> + +<p> +The Boss was nodding wisely. <q>I've +had my eye on her, Lawrence. An obvious +weird. But we will have to suppress +that Scop-Serum angle.</q> He +slapped his favorite field man on the +arm jovially. <q>Well, boy, this means +promotion, of course.</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry grinned. <q>Thanks, sir. All in +a day's work. I don't think we'll +have much trouble with the remnants +of this Movement thing. The pitch is +to treat them as counterfeiters, not +subversives. Try them for that. Their +silly explanations of what they were +going to do with the money will never +be taken seriously.</q> He looked down +at the small corpse. <q>Particularly now +that their kingpin is gone.</q> +</p> + +<p> +A new wave of agents, F.B.I. men +and prisoners washed into the room +and Steve Hackett and Larry were for +a moment pushed back into a corner +by themselves. +</p> + +<p> +Steve looked at him strangely and +said, <q>There's one thing I'd like to +know: Did you really have to shoot +him, Woolford?</q> +</p> + +<p> +Larry brushed it off. <q>What's the +difference? He was as weird as they +come, wasn't he?</q> +</p> + +<p> +THE END +</p> +</div> +</body> +<back rend="page-break-before: right"> + <div rend="page-break-before: right"> + <divGen type="pgfooter" /> + </div> +</back> +</text> +</TEI.2> diff --git a/old/30339.txt b/old/30339.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c0d2375 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/30339.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4018 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Status Quo by Dallas McCord Reynolds + + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no +restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under +the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or +online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license + + + +Title: Status Quo + +Author: Dallas McCord Reynolds + +Release Date: October 26, 2009 [Ebook #30339] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STATUS QUO*** + + + + + + Status Quo + + by Dallas McCord Reynolds + + Illustrated by John Schoenherr + + Analog Science Fact & Fiction + + August 1961 + + + + + + +[Transcriber's Note: This text was produced from Analog Science Fact & +Fiction August 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that +the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] + +In his income bracket and in the suburb in which he lived, government +employees in the twenty-five to thirty-five age group were currently +wearing tweeds. Tweeds were in. Not to wear tweeds was Non-U. + +Lawrence Woolford wore tweeds. His suit, this morning, had first seen the +light of day on a hand loom in Donegal. It had been cut by a Swede widely +patronized by serious young career men in Lawrence Woolford's status +group; English tailors were out currently and Italians unheard of. + +Woolford sauntered down the walk before his auto-bungalow, scowling at the +sportscar at the curb--wrong year, wrong make. He'd have to trade it in on +a new model. Which was a shame in a way, he liked the car. However, he had +no desire to get a reputation as a weird among colleagues and friends. +What was it Senator Carey MacArthur had said the other day? Show me a +weird and I'll show you a person who has taken the first step toward being +a Commie. + +Woolford slid under the wheel, dropped the lift lever, depressed gently +the thrust pedal and took off for downtown Greater Washington. +Theoretically, he had another four days of vacation coming to him. He +wondered what the Boss wanted. That was the trouble in being one of the +Boss' favorite trouble shooters, when trouble arose you wound up in the +middle of it. Lawrence Woolford was to the point where he was thinking in +terms of graduating out of field work and taking on a desk job which meant +promotion in status and pay. + +He turned over his car to a parker at the departmental parking lot and +made his way through the entrance utilized by second-grade departmental +officials. In another year, he told himself, he'd be using that other +door. + +The Boss' reception secretary looked up when Lawrence Woolford entered the +anteroom where she presided. "Hello, Larry," she said. "Hear they called +your vacation short. Darn shame." + +LaVerne Polk was a cute little whizz of efficiency. Like Napoleon and his +army, she knew the name of every member of the department and was on a +first-name basis with all. However, she was definitely a weird. For +instance, styles might come and styles might go, but LaVerne dressed for +comfort, did her hair the way she thought it looked best, and wore +low-heeled walking shoes on the job. In fact, she was ready and willing to +snarl at anyone, no matter how kindly intentioned, who even hinted that +her nonconformity didn't help her promotion prospects. + +Woolford said, "Hi, LaVerne. I think the Boss is expecting me." + +"That he is. Go right in, Larry." + +She looked after him when he turned and left her desk. Lawrence Woolford +cut a pleasant figure as thirty year old bachelors go. + +The Boss looked up from some report on his desk which he'd been frowning +at, nodded to his field man and said, "Sit down, Lawrence. I'll be with +you in a minute. Please take a look at this while you're waiting." He +handed over a banknote. + +Larry Woolford took it and found himself a comfortable chair. He examined +the bill, front and back. It was a fifty dollar note, almost new. + +Finally the Boss, a stocky but impeccable career bureaucrat of the +ultra-latest school, scribbled his initials on the report and tossed it +into an Out chute. He said to Woolford, "I am sorry to cut short your +vacation, Lawrence. I considered giving Walter Foster the assignment, but +I think you're the better choice." + +Larry decided the faint praise routine was the best tactic, said earnestly +about his closest rival. "Walt's a good man, sir." And then, "What's the +crisis?" + +"What do you think of that fifty?" + +His trouble shooter looked down at it. "What is there to think about it?" + +The Boss grunted, slid open a desk drawer and brought forth another bill. +"Here, look at this, please." + +It was another fifty. Larry Woolford frowned at it, not getting whatever +was going on. + +"Observe the serial numbers," the Boss said impatiently. + +They were identical. + +Woolford looked up. "Counterfeit. Which one is the bad one?" + +"That is exactly what we would like to know," the Boss said. + +Larry Woolford stared at his superior, blinked and then examined the bills +again. "A beautiful job," he said, "but what's it got to do with us, sir? +This is Secret Service jurisdiction, counterfeiting." + +"They called us in on it. They think it might have international +ramifications." + +Now they were getting somewhere. Larry Woolford put the two bills on the +Boss' desk and leaned back in his chair, waiting. + +His superior said, "Remember the Nazis turning out American and British +banknotes during the Second War?" + +"I was just a kid." + +"I thought you might have read about it. At any rate, obviously a +government--with all its resources--could counterfeit perfectly any currency +in the world. It would have the skills, the equipment, the funds to +accomplish the task. The Germans turned out hundreds of millions of +dollars and pounds with the idea of confounding the Allied financial +basics." + +"And why didn't it work?" + +"The difficulty of getting it into circulation, for one thing. However, +they did actually use a quantity. For a time our people were so alarmed +that they wouldn't allow any bills to come into this country from Mexico +except two-dollar denomination--the one denomination the Germans hadn't +bothered to duplicate. Oh, they had the Secret Service in a dither for a +time." + +Woolford was frowning. "What's this got to do with our current situation?" + +The Boss said, "It is only a conjecture. One of those bills is counterfeit +but such an excellent reproduction that the skill involved is beyond the +resources of any known counterfeiter. Secret Service wants to know if it +might be coming from abroad, and, if so, from where. If it's a +governmental project, particularly a Soviet Complex one, then it comes +into the ken of our particular cloak-and-dagger department." + +"Yes, sir." Woolford said. He got up and examined the two bills again. +"How'd they ever detect that one was bad?" + +"Pure fortune. A bank clerk with an all but eidetic memory was going +through a batch of fifties. It's not too commonly used a denomination, you +know. Coincidence was involved since in that same sheaf the serial number +was duplicated." + +"And then?" + +"The reproduction was so perfect that Secret Service was in an immediate +uproar. Short of the Nazi effort, there has never been anything like it. A +perfect duplication of engraving and paper identically the same. The +counterfeiters have even evidently gone to the extent of putting a certain +amount of artificial wear on the bills before putting them into +circulation." + +Larry Woolford said, "This is out of my line. How were they able to check +further, and how many more did they turn up?" + +"The new I.B.M. sorters help. Secret Service checked every fifty dollar +bill in every institution in town both banking and governmental. Thus far, +they have located ten bills in all." + +"And other cities?" + +"None. They've all been passed in Greater Washington, which is suspicious +in itself. The amount of expense that has gone into the manufacture of +these bills does not allow for only a handful of them being passed. They +should be turning up in number. Lawrence, this reproduction is such that a +pusher could walk into a bank and have his false currency changed by any +clerk." + +"Wow," Larry whistled. + +"Indeed." + +"So you want me to work with Secret Service on this on the off chance that +the Soviet Complex is doing us deliberate dirt." + +"That is exactly the idea, Lawrence. Get to work, please, and keep in +touch with me. If you need support, I can assign Walter Foster or some of +the other operatives to assist you. This might have endless +ramifications." + + ------------------------------------- + +Back in the anteroom, Woolford said to the Boss' receptionist, "I'm on a +local job, LaVerne, how about assigning me a girl?" + +"Can do," she said. + +"And, look, tell her to get hold of every available work on counterfeiting +and pile it on my desk." + +"Right. Thinking of going into business, Larry?" + +He grinned down at her. "That's the idea. Keeping up with the Jones clan +in this man's town costs roughly twice my income." + +LaVerne said disapprovingly, "Then why not give it up? With the +classification you've got a single man ought to be able to save half his +pay." She added, more quietly, "Or get married and support a family." + +"Save half my pay?" Larry snorted. "And get a far out reputation, eh? No +thanks, you can't afford to be a weird these days." + +She flushed--and damn prettily, Larry Woolford decided. She could be an +attractive item if it wasn't for obviously getting her kicks out of being +individualistic. + +Larry said suddenly, "Look, promise like a good girl not to make us +conspicuous and I'll take you to the Swank Room for dinner tonight." + +"Is that where all the bright young men currently have to be seen once or +twice a week?" she snapped back at him. "Get lost, Larry. Being a healthy, +normal woman I'm interested in men, but not necessarily in walking +status-symbols." + +It was his turn to flush, and, he decided wryly, he probably didn't do it +as prettily as she did. + +On his way to his office, he wondered why the Boss kept her on. +Classically, a secretary-receptionist should have every pore in place, but +in her time LaVerne Polk must have caused more than one bureaucratic +eyebrow to raise. Efficiency was probably the answer; the Boss couldn't +afford to let her go. + +Larry Woolford's office wasn't much more than a cubicle. He sat down at +the desk and banged a drawer or two open and closed. He liked the work, +liked the department, but theoretically he still had several days of +vacation and hated to get back into routine. + +Had he known it, this was hardly going to be routine. + +He flicked the phone finally and asked for an outline. He dialed three +numbers before getting his subject. The phone screen remained blank. + +"Hans?" he said. "Lawrence Woolford." + +The Teutonic accent was heavy, the voice bluff. "Ah, Larry! you need some +assistance to make your vacation? Perhaps a sinister, exotic young lady, +complete with long cigarette holder?" + +Larry Woolford growled, "How'd you know I was on vacation?" + +The other laughed. "You know better than to ask that, my friend." + +Larry said, "The vacation is over, Hans. I need some information." + +The voice was more guarded now. "I owe you a favor or two." + +"Don't you though? Look, Hans, what's new in the Russkie camp?" + +The heartiness was gone. "How do you mean?" + +"Is there anything big stirring? Is there anyone new in this country from +the Soviet Complex?" + +"Well now--" the other's voice drifted away. + +Larry Woolford said impatiently, "Look, Hans, let's don't waste time +fencing. You run a clearing agency for, _ah_, information. You're strictly +a businessman, nonpartisan, so to speak. Fine, thus far our department has +tolerated you. Perhaps we'll continue to. Perhaps the reason is that we +figure we get more out of your existence than we lose. The Russkies +evidently figure the same way, the proof being that you're alive and have +branches in the capitals of every power on Earth." + +"All right, all right," the German said. "Let me think a moment. Can you +give me an idea of what you're looking for?" There was an undernote of +interest in the voice now. + +"No. I just want to know if you've heard anything new anti-my-side, from +the other side. Or if you know of any fresh personnel recently from +there." + +"Frankly, I haven't. If you could give me a hint." + +"I can't," Larry said. "Look, Hans, like you say, you owe me a favor or +two. If something comes up, let me know. Then I'll owe you one." + +The voice was jovial again. "It's a bargain, my friend." + +After Woolford had hung up, he scowled at the phone. He wondered if Hans +Distelmayer was lying. The German commanded the largest professional spy +ring in the world. It was possible, but difficult, for anything in +espionage to develop without his having an inkling. + +The phone rang back. It was Steve Hackett of Secret Service on the screen. + +Hackett said, "Woolford, you coming over? I understand you've been +assigned to get in our hair on this job." + +"Huh," Larry grunted. "The way I hear it, your whole department has given +up, so I'm assigned to help you out of your usual fumble-fingered +confusion." + +Hackett snorted. "At any rate, can you drop over? I'm to work in liaison +with you." + +"Coming," Larry said. He hung up, got to his feet and headed for the door. +If they could crack this thing the first day, he'd take up that vacation +where it'd been interrupted and possibly be able to wangle a few more days +out of the Boss to boot. + +At this time of day, parking would have been a problem, in spite of +automation of the streets. He left his car in the departmental lot and +took a cab. + + ------------------------------------- + +The Counterfeit Division of the Secret Service occupied an impressive +section of an impressive governmental building. Larry Woolford flashed his +credentials here and there, explained to guards and receptionists here and +there, and finally wound up in Steve Hackett's office which was all but a +duplicate of his own in size and decor. + +Steve Hackett himself was a fairly accurate carbon copy of Woolford, +barring facial resemblance alone. The fact was, Steve was almost +Lincolnesque in his ugliness. Career man, about thirty, good university, +crew cut, six foot, one hundred and seventy, earnest of eye. He wore +Harris tweed. Larry Woolford made a note of that; possibly herringbone was +coming back in. He winced at the thought of a major change in his +wardrobe; it'd cost a fortune. + +They'd worked on a few cases together before when Steve Hackett had been +assigned to the presidential bodyguard and co-operated well. + +Steve came to his feet and shook hands. "Thought that you were going to be +down in Florida bass fishing this month. You like your work so well you +can't stay away, or is it a matter of trying to impress your chief?" + +Larry growled, "Fine thing. Secret Service bogs down and they've got to +call me in to clean up the mess." + +Steve motioned him to a chair and immediately went serious. "Do you know +anything about pushing queer, Woolford?" + +"That means passing counterfeit money, doesn't it? All I know is what's +in the TriD crime shows." + +"I can see you're going to be a lot of help. Have you got anywhere at all +on the possibility that the stuff might be coming from abroad?" + +"Nothing positive," Larry said. "Are you people accomplishing anything?" + +"We're just getting underway. There's something off-trail about this deal, +Woolford. It doesn't fit into routine." + +Larry Woolford said, "I wouldn't think so if the stuff is so good not even +a bank clerk can tell the difference." + +"That's not what I'm talking about now. Let me give you a run down on +standard counterfeiting." The Secret Service agent pushed back in his +swivel chair, lit a cigarette, and propped his feet onto the edge of a +partly open desk drawer. "Briefly, it goes like this. Some smart lad gets +himself a set of plates and a platen press and--" + +Larry interrupted, "Where does he get the plates?" + +"That doesn't matter now," Steve said. "Various ways. Maybe he makes them +himself, sometimes he buys them from a crooked engraver. But I'm talking +about pushing green goods once it's printed. Anyway, our friend runs off, +say, a million dollars worth of fives. But he doesn't try to pass them +himself. He wholesales them around netting, say, fifty thousand dollars. +In other words, he sells twenty dollars in counterfeit for one good +dollar." + +Larry pursed his lips. "Quite a discount." + +"Um-m-m. But that's safest from his angle. The half dozen or so +distributors he sold it to don't try to pass it either. They also are +playing it carefully. They peddle it, at say ten to one, to the next rung +down the ladder." + +"And these are the fellows that pass it, eh?" + +"Not even then, usually. These small timers take it and pass it on at five +to one to the suckers in the trade, who take the biggest risks. Most of +these are professional pushers of the queer, as the term goes. Some, +however, are comparative amateurs. Sailors for instance, who buy with the +idea of passing it in some foreign port where seamen's money flows fast." + +Larry Woolford shifted in his chair. "So what are you building up to?" + +Steve Hackett rubbed the end of his pug nose with a forefinger in quick +irritation. "Like I say, that's standard counterfeit procedure. We're all +set up to meet it, and do a pretty good job. Where we have our +difficulties is with amateurs." + +Woolford scowled at him. + +Hackett said, "Some guy who makes and passes it himself, for instance. +He's unknown to the stool pigeons, has no criminal record, does up +comparatively small amounts and dribbles his product onto the market over +a period of time. We had one old devil up in New York once who actually +_drew_ one dollar bills. He was a tremendous artist. It took us years to +get him." + +Larry Woolford said, "Well, why go into all this? We're hardly dealing +with amateurs now." + +Steve looked at him. "That's the trouble. We are." + +"Are you batty? Not even your own experts can tell this product from real +money." + +"I didn't say it was being _made_ by amateurs. It's being _pushed_ by +amateurs--or maybe amateur is the better word." + +"How do you know?" + +"For one thing, most professionals won't touch anything bigger than a +twenty. Tens are better, fives better still. When you pass a fifty, the +person you give it to is apt to remember where he got it." Steve Hackett +said slowly, "Particularly if you give one as a tip to the _maitre +d'hotel_ in a first-class restaurant. A _maitre d'_ holds his job on the +strength of his ability to remember faces and names." + + [Illustration.] + +"What else makes you think your pushers are amateurs?" + +"Amateur," Hackett corrected. "Ideally, a pusher is an inconspicuous type. +The kind of person whose face you'd never remember. It's never a teenage +girl who's blowing money." + +It was time to stare now, and Larry Woolford obliged. "A teenager!" + +"We've had four descriptions of her, one of them excellent. Fredrick, the +_maitre d'_ over at La Calvados, is the one that counts, but the others +jibe. She's bought perfume and gloves at Michel Swiss, the swankiest shop +in town, a dress at Chez Marie--she passed three fifties there--and a hat at +Paulette's over on Monroe Street. + +"That's another sign of the amateur, by the way. A competent pusher buys a +small item and gets change from his counterfeit bill. Our girl's been +buying expensive items, obviously more interested in the product than in +her change." + +"This doesn't seem to make much sense," Larry Woolford protested. "You +have any ideas at all?" + +"The question is," Hackett said, "where did she get it? Is she connected +with one of the embassies and acquired the stuff overseas? If so, that +puts it in your lap again possibly--" + +The phone rang and Steve flicked the switch and grumbled, "Yeah? Steven +Hackett speaking." + +He listened for a moment then banged the phone off and jumped to his feet. +"Come on, Larry," he snapped. "This is it." + +Larry stood, too. "Who was that?" + +"Fredrick, over at La Calvados. The girl has come in for lunch. Let's go!" + + ------------------------------------- + +La Calvados was the swankiest French restaurant in Greater Washington, a +city not devoid of swank restaurants. Only the upper-echelons in +governmental circles could afford its tariffs; the clientele was more apt +to consist of business mucky-mucks and lobbyists on the make. Larry +Woolford had eaten here exactly twice. You could get a reputation spending +money far beyond your obvious pay status. + +Fredrick, the _maitre de hotel_, however, was able to greet them both by +name. "Monsieur Hackett, Monsieur Woolford," he bowed. He obviously didn't +approve of La Calvados being used as a hangout where counterfeiters were +picked up the authorities. + +"Where is she?" Steve said, looking out over the public dining room. + +Fredrick said, unprofessionally agitated, "See here, Monsieur Hackett, you +didn't expect to, ah, arrest the young lady _here_ during our lunch hour?" + +Steve looked at him impatiently. "We don't exactly beat them over the head +with blackjacks, slip the bracelets on and drag them screaming to the +paddywagon." + +"Of course not, monsieur, but--" + +Larry Woolford's chief dined here several times a week and was probably on +the best of terms with Fredrick whose decisions on tables and whose degree +of servility had a good deal of influence on a man's status in Greater +Washington. Larry said wearily, "We can wait until she leaves. Where is +she?" + +Fredrick had taken them to one side. + +"Do you see the young lady over near the window on the park? The rather +gauche appearing type?" + +It was a teenager, all right. A youngster up to her eyebrows in the +attempt to project sophistication. + +Steve said, "Do you know who she is?" + +"No," Fredrick said. "Hardly our usual clientele." + +"Oh?" Larry said. "She looks like money." + +Fredrick said, "The dress appears as though it is of Chez Marie, but she +wears it as though it came from Klein's. Her perfume is Chanel, but she +has used approximately three times the quantity one would expect." + +"That's our girl, all right," Steve murmured. "Where can we keep an eye on +her until she leaves?" + +"Why not at the bar here, Messieurs?" + +"Why not?" Larry said. "I could use a drink." + +Fredrick cleared his throat. "Ah, Messieurs, that fifty I turned over you. +I suppose it turned out to be spurious?" + +Steve grinned at him. "Afraid so, Fredrick. The department is holding it." + +Larry took out his wallet. "However, we have a certain leeway on expenses +on this assignment and appreciate your co-operation." He handed two +twenties and a ten to the _maitre d'_. Fredrick bowed low, the money +disappearing into his clothes magically. "_Merci bien_, monsieur." + +At the bar, Steve scowled at his colleague. "Ha!" he said. "Why didn't I +think of that first? He'll get down on his knees and bump his head each +time he sees you in the joint from now on." + +Larry Woolford waggled a finger at the other. "This is a status conscious +town, my boy. Prestige means everything. When I take over my Boss' job, +maybe we can swing a transfer and I'll give you a position suitable to +your attainments." He pursed his lips judiciously. "Although, come to +think of it, that might mean a demotion from the job you're holding now." + +"Vodka martini," Steve told the bartender. "Polish vodka, of course." + +"Of course, sir." + +Larry said, "Same for me." + +The bartender left and Steve muttered, "I hate vodka." + +"Yeah," Larry said, "But what're you going to do in a place like this, +order some weird drink?" + +Steve dug into his pocket for money. "We're not going to have to drink +them. Here she comes." + +She walked with her head held high, hauteur in every step. Ignoring the +peasants at the tables she passed. + +"Holy smokes," Steve grunted. "It's a wonder Fredrick let her in." + +She hesitated momentarily before the doorway of the prestige restaurant +allowing the passers-by to realize she'd just emerged, and then turned to +her right to promenade along the shopping street. + +Fifty feet below La Calvados, Steve said, "Let's go, Woolford." + +One stepped to one elbow, the other to the other. Steve said quietly, "I +wonder if we could ask you a few questions?" + +Her eyebrows went up, "I _beg_ your pardon!" + +Steve sighed and displayed the badge pinned to his wallet, keeping it +inconspicuous. "Secret Service, Miss," he murmured. + +"Oh, devil," she said. She looked up at Larry Woolford, and then back at +Steve. + +Steve said, "Among other things, we're in charge of counterfeit money." + +She was about five foot four in her heels, had obviously been on a round +of beauty shops and had obviously instructed them to glamorize her. It +hadn't come off. She still looked as though she'd be more at home as +cheerleader of the junior class in small town high school. She was honey +blond, green-blue of eye, and had that complexion they seldom carry even +into the twenties. + +"I ... I don't know what you're talking about." Her chin began to tremble. + +Larry said gently, "Don't worry. We just want to ask you some questions." + +"Well ... like what?" She was going to be blinking back tears in a moment. +At least Larry hoped she'd blink them back. He'd hate to have her start +howling here in public. + +Larry said, "We think you can be of assistance to the government, and we'd +like your help." + +Steve rolled his eyes upward, but turned and waved for a street level cab. + +In the cab, Larry said, "Suppose we go over to my office, Steve?" + +"O.K. with me," Steve muttered, "but by the looks of the young lady here, +I think it's a false alarm from your angle. She's obviously an American. +What's your name, Miss?" + +"It's Zusanette. Well, really, Susan." + +"Susan what?" + +"I ... I'm not sure I want to tell you. I ... I want a lawyer." + +"A lawyer!" Steve snorted. "You mean you want the juvenile authorities, +don't you?" + +"Oh, what a mean thing to say," she sputtered. + + ------------------------------------- + +In the corridor outside the Boss' suite of offices, Larry said to Steve, +"You take Miss ... ah, Zusanette to my office, will you Steve. I'll be +there in a minute." + +He opened the door to the anteroom and said, "LaVerne, we've got a girl in +my office--" + +"Why, Larry!" + +He glowered at her. "A suspect. I want a complete tape of everything said. +As soon as we're through, have copies made, at least three or four." + +"And, who, Mr. Woolford, was your girl Friday last year?" + +"This is important, honey. I suppose you've supplied me with a secretary +but I haven't even met her yet. Take care of it, will you?" + +"Sure enough, Larry." + +He followed Steve and the girl to his office. + +Once seated, the girl and Steve in the only two extra chairs the cubicle +boasted and Larry behind his desk, he looked at her in what he hoped was +reassurance. "Just tell us where you got the money, Zusanette." + +Steve reached out a hand suddenly and took her bag from her lap. She +gasped and snatched at it, but he eluded her and she sat back, her chin +trembling again. + +Steve came up with a thick sheaf of bills, the top ones, at least, all +fifties and tossed them to Larry's desk. He took out a school pass and +read, "Susan Self, Elwood Avenue." He looked up at Larry and said, "That's +right off Eastern, near Paterson Park in the Baltimore section of town, +isn't it?" + +Larry said to her, "Zusanette, I think you'd better tell us where you got +all this money." + +"I found it," she said defiantly. "You can't do anything to me if I simply +found it. Anybody can find money. Finders keepers--" + +"But if it's counterfeit," Steve interrupted dryly, "it might also be, +finders weepers." + +"Where did you find it, Zusanette?" Larry said gently. + +She tightened her lips, and the trembling of her chin disappeared. "I ... +I can't tell you that. But it's not counterfeit. Daddy ... my father said +it was as good as any money the government prints." + +"That it is," Steve said sourly. "But it's still counterfeit, which makes +it very illegal indeed to spend, Miss Self." + +She looked from one of them to the other, not clear about her position. +She said to Larry, "You mean it's not _real_ money?" + +He kept his tone disarming, but shook his head, "I'm afraid not, +Zusanette. Now, tell us, where did you find it?" + +"I can't. I promised" + +"I see. Then you don't know to whom it originally belonged?" + +"It didn't belong to anybody." + +Steve Hackett made with a disbelieving whistle. He was taking the part of +the tough, suspicious cop; Larry the part of the understanding, +sympathetic officer, trying to give the suspect a break. + +Susan Self turned quickly on Steve. "Well, it didn't. You don't even +know." + +Larry said, "I think she's telling the truth, Steve. Give her a chance. +She's playing fair." He looked back at the girl, and frowned his +puzzlement. "All money belongs to _somebody_ doesn't it?" + +She had them now. She said superiorly. "Not necessarily to some_body_. It +can belong to, like, an organization." + +Steve grunted skepticism. "I think we ought to arrest her," he said. + +Larry held up a hand, his face registering opposition. "I'll handle this," +he said sharply. "Zusanette is doing everything she can to co-operate." He +turned back to the girl. "Now, the question is, what organization did this +money belong to?" + +She looked triumphantly at Steve Hackett. "It belonged to the Movement." + +They both looked at her. + +Steve said finally, "What movement?" + +She pouted in thought. "That's the only name they call it." + +"Who's they?" Steve snapped nastily. + +"I ... I don't know." + +Larry said, "Well, you already told us your father was a member, +Zusanette." + +Her eyes went wide. "I did? I shouldn't have said that." But she evidently +took him at his word. + +Larry said encouragingly, "Well, we might as well go on. Who else is a +member of this Movement besides your father?" + +She shifted in her chair uncomfortably. "I don't know any of their names." + +Steve looked down at the school pass in his hands. He said to Larry, "I'd +better make a phone call." + +He left. + + ------------------------------------- + +Larry said, "Don't worry about him, Zusanette. Now then, this _movement_. +That's kind of a funny name, isn't it? What does it mean?" + +She was evidently glad that the less than handsome Steve Hackett had left +the room. Her words flowed more freely. "Well, Daddy says that they call +it the Movement rather than a revolution...." + +An ice cube manifested itself in the stomach of Lawrence Woolford. + +"... Because people get conditioned, like, to words. Like revolution. +Everybody is against the word because they all think of killing and +everything, and, Daddy says, there doesn't have to be any shooting or +killing or anything like that at all. It just means a fundamental change +in society. And, Daddy says, take the word propaganda. Everybody's got to +thinking that it automatically means lies, but it doesn't at all. It just +means, like, the arguments you use to convince people that what you stand +for is right and it might be lies or it might not. And, Daddy says, take +the word socialism. So many people have the wrong idea of what it means +that the socialists ought to scrap the word and start using something else +to mean what they stand for." + +Larry said gently, "Your father is a socialist?" + +"Oh, no." + +He nodded in understanding. "Oh, a Communist, eh?" + +Susan Self was indignant. "Daddy thinks the Communists are strictly awful, +really weird." + +Steve Hackett came back into the office. He said to Larry, "I sent a +couple of the boys out to pick him up." + +Susan was on her feet, a hand to mouth. "You mean my father! You're going +to arrest him!" + +Larry said soothingly, "Sit down, Zusanette. There's a lot of things about +this that I'm sure your father can explain." He said to Steve, "She tells +me that the money belonged to a movement. A revolutionary movement which +doesn't use the term revolutionary because people react unfavorably to +that word. It's not Commie." + +Susan said indignantly, "It's American, not anything foreign!" + +Steve growled, "Let's get back to the money. What's this movement doing +with a lot of counterfeit bills and where did you find them?" + +She evidently figured she'd gone too far now to take a stand. "It's not +Daddy's fault," she said. "He took me to headquarters twice." + +"Where's headquarters?" Larry said trying to keep his voice soothing. + +"Well ... I don't know. Daddy was awfully silly about it. He tied his +handkerchief around my eyes near the end. But the others complained about +me anyway, and Daddy got awfully mad and said something about the young +people of the country participating in their emancipation and all, but the +others got mad too, and said there wasn't any kind of help I could do +around headquarters anyway, and I'd be better off in school. Everybody got +awfully mad, but after the second time Daddy promised not to take me to +headquarters any more." + +"But where did you find the money, Zusannette?" Larry said. + +"At headquarters. There's tons and tons of it there." + +Larry cleared his throat and said, "When you say tons and tons, you mean a +great deal of it, eh?" + +She was proudly definite. "I mean tons and tons. A ton is two thousand +pounds." + +"Look, Zusanette," Larry said reasonably. "I don't know how much money +weighs, exactly, but let's say a pound would be, say, a thousand bills." +He took up a pencil and scribbled on a pad before him. "A pound of fifties +would be $50,000. Then if you multiply that by 2,000 pounds to make a ton, +you'd have $100,000,000. And you say there's tons and tons?" + +"And that's just the fifties," Susan said triumphantly. "So you can see +the two little packages I picked up aren't really important at all. It's +just like I found them." + +"I don't think there's quite a thousand bills in a pound," Steve said +weakly. + +Larry said, "How much other money is there?" + +"Oh, piles. Whole rooms. Rooms after rooms. And hundred dollar bills, and +twenties, and fives, and tens--" + +Larry said, "Look, Zusanette, I don't think you're in any position to be +telling us whoppers. This whole story doesn't make much 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. + +"I have an idea that's for me," Steve said. + +The screen lit up and LaVerne Polk said, "Call for Steve Hackett, Larry." + +Larry pushed the phone around so Steve could look into it. LaVerne flicked +off and was replaced by a stranger in uniform. Steve said, "Yeah?" + +The cop said, "He's 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." + +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 +will happen to you. You say you managed to pick up two packets of all this +money they have at headquarters. O.K. So you thought it wouldn't be missed +and you've always wanted to spend money the way you see the stars do on +TriD and in the movies." + +She looked at him, taken back. "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 said 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 still again. + + ------------------------------------- + +Larry summed it up for the Boss later. + +His chief scoffed his disbelief. "The child is full of dreams, Lawrence. +It comes from seeing an over-abundance of these TriD 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 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, but I'm not +happy about this, sir. 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 handfuls 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 against whatever the current government happens to be. +Usually, they are on the point of actual starvation. 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 dryly, +"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 tolerance--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 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 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, Washington. Or the French Revolution with Robespierre, Danton, +Marat, Engels and Lenin. All were well educated intellectuals from the +middle class. But the revolution itself, once it starts, comes from below, +from the mass of people pushed beyond tolerance." + +It came to Lawrence Woolford that his superior had achieved to 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 trouble shooter 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. 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 an 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 sixteen or seventeen old's 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 on the St. John's River. + +He stopped at LaVerne's desk and gave her his address to be, now that his +vacation was resumed. + +She said, smiling up at him. "Right. The boss already told me to get in +touch with Secret Service and let them know we're pulling out. What +happened to Susan Self?" + +Larry looked at her. "How'd you know about Susan?" + +Her tone was deprecating. "Remember? You had me cut some tapes on you and +that hulking Steve Hackett grilling the poor kid." + +Larry snorted. "Poor kid, yet. With her tastes for living-it-up, and that +father she has, she'll probably spend the rest of her life getting in +Steve's hair as a counterfeit pusher." + +"What are they going to do with her? She's just a child." + +The agent shrugged. "I feel sorry for her, too, LaVerne. Steve's got her +in a suite at the Greater Washington Hilton, until things are cleared up. +They don't want the newspapers to get wind of this until they've got that +inventor father of hers and whatever he's cooked up to turn out perfect +reproductions of Uncle Sam's money. Look, I won't be leaving until +tomorrow. What'd you say we go out on the town tonight?" + +"Why, Larry Woolford! How nice of you to ask me. Poor Little, Non-U me. +What do you have in mind? I understand Mort Lenny's at one of the night +clubs." + +Larry winced. "You know what he's been saying about the administration." + +She smiled sweetly at him. + +Larry said, "Look, we could take in the Brahms concert, then--" + +"Do you like Brahms? I go for popular music myself. Preferably the sort of +thing they wrote back in the 1930s. Something you can dance to, something +you know the words to. Corny, they used to call it. Remember 'Sunny Side +of the Street,' and 'Just the Way You Look Tonight'." + +Larry winced again. He said, "Look, I admit, I don't go for concerts +either but it doesn't hurt you to--" + +"I know," she said sweetly. "It doesn't hurt for a bright young bureaucrat +to be seen at concerts." + +"How about Dixieland?" he said. "It's all the thing now." + +"I like corn. Besides, my wardrobe is all out of style. Paris, London, and +Rome just got in a huddle a couple of weeks ago and antiquated everything +I own. You wouldn't want to be seen with a girl a few weeks out of date, +would you?" + +"Oh, now, LaVerne, get off my back." He thought about it. "Look, you must +have _something_ you could wear." + +"Get out of here, you vacant minded conformist! I _like_ Mort Lenny, he +makes me laugh; I _hate_ vodka martinis, they give me sour stomach; I +don't _like_ the current women's styles, nor the men's either." LaVerne +spun back to her auto-typer and began to dictate into it. + +Larry glared down at her. "All right. O.K. What _do_ you like?" + +She snapped back irrationally, "I like what _I_ like." + +He laughed at her in ridicule. + +This time she glared at him. "That makes more sense than you're capable of +assimilating, Mr. Walking Status Symbol. My likes and dislikes aren't +dictated by someone else. If I like corny music, I'll listen to it and the +devil with Brahms or Dixieland or anything else that somebody else tells +me is all the thing!" + +He turned on his heel angrily. "O.K., O.K., it takes all sorts to make a +world, weirds and all." + +"One more label to hang on people," she snarled after him. "Everything's +labels. Be sure and never come to any judgments of your own!" + +What a woman! He wondered why he'd ever bothered to ask her for a date. +There were so many women in this town you waded through them, and here he +was exposing himself to be seen in public with a girl everybody in the +department knew was as weird as they came. It didn't do your standing any +good to be seen around with the type. He wondered all over again why the +Boss tolerated her as his receptionist-secretary. + +He got his car from the parking lot and drove home at a high level. +Ordinarily, the distance being what it was, he drove in the lower and +slower traffic levels but now his frustration demanded some expression. + + ------------------------------------- + +Back at his suburban auto-bungalow, he threw all except the high priority +switch and went on down into his small second cellar den. He didn't really +feel like a night on the town anyway. A few vodka martinis under his belt +and he'd sleep late and he wanted to get up in time for an early start for +Florida. Besides, in that respect he agreed with the irritating wench. +Vermouth was never meant to mix with Polish vodka. He wished that Sidecars +would come back. + +In his den, he shucked off his jacket, kicked off his shoes and shuffled +into Moroccan slippers. He went over to his current reading rack and +scowled at the paperbacks there. His culture status books were upstairs +where they could be seen. He pulled out a western, tossed it over to the +cocktail table that sat next to his chair, and then went over to the bar. + +Up above in his living room, he had one of the new autobars. You could +dial any one of more than thirty drinks. Autobars were all the rage. The +Boss had one that gave a selection of a hundred. But what difference did +it make when nobody but eccentric old-timers or flighty blondes drank +anything except vodka martinis? He didn't like autobars anyway. A well +mixed drink is a personal thing, a work of competence, instinct and art, +not something measured to the drop, iced to the degree, shaken or stirred +to a mathematical formula. + +Out of the tiny refrigerator he brought a four-ounce cube of frozen +pineapple juice, touched the edge with his thumbnail and let the ultra +thin plastic peel away. He tossed the cube into his mixer, took up a +bottle of light rum and poured in about two ounces. He brought an egg from +the refrigerator and added that. An ounce of whole milk followed and a +teaspoon of powdered sugar. He flicked the switch and let the +conglomeration froth together. + +He poured it into a king-size highball glass and took it over to his +chair. Vodka martinis be damned, he liked a slightly sweet long drink. + +He sat down in the chair, picked up the book and scowled at the cover. He +ought to be reading that Florentine history of Machiavelli's, especially +if the Boss had got to the point where he was quoting from the guy. But +the heck with it, he was on vacation. He didn't think much of the Italian +diplomat of the Renaissance anyway; how could you be that far back without +being dated? + +He couldn't get beyond the first page or two. + +And when you can't concentrate on a Western, you just can't concentrate. + +He finished his drink, went over to his phone and dialed _Department of +Records_ and then _Information_. When the bright young thing answered, he +said, "I'd like the brief on an Ernest Self who lives on Elwood Avenue, +Baltimore section of Greater Washington. I don't know his code number." + +She did things with switches and buttons for a moment and then brought a +sheet from a delivery chute. "Do you want me to read it to you, sir?" + +"No, I'll scan it," Larry said. + +Her face faded to be replaced by the brief on Ernest Self. + +It was astonishingly short. _Records_ seemed to have slipped up on this +occasion. A rare occurrence. He considered requesting the full dossier, +then changed his mind. Instead he dialed the number of the _Sun-Post_ and +asked for its science columnist. + +Sam Sokolski's puffy face eventually faded in. + +Larry said to him sourly, "You drink too much. You can begin to see the +veins breaking in your nose." + +Sam looked at him patiently. + +Larry said, "How'd you like to come over and toss back a few tonight?" + +"I'm working. I thought you were on vacation." + +Larry sighed. "I am," he said. "O.K., so you can't take a night off and +lift a few with an old buddy." + +"That's right. Anything else, Larry?" + +"Yes. Look, have you ever heard of an inventor named Ernest Self?" + +"Sure I've heard of him. Covered a hassle he got into some years ago. A +nice guy." + +"I'll bet," Larry said. "What does he invent, something to do with +printing presses, or something?" + +"Printing presses? Don't you remember the story about him?" + +"Brief me," Larry said. + +"Well--briefly does it--it got out a couple of years ago that some of our +rocketeers had bought a solid fuel formula from an Italian research outfit +for the star probe project. Paid them a big hunk of Uncle's change for it. +So Self sued." + +Larry said, "You're being _too_ brief. What d'ya mean, he sued? Why?" + +"Because he claimed he'd submitted the same formula to the same agency a +full eighteen months earlier and they'd turned him down." + +"Had he?" + +"Probably." + +Larry didn't get it. "Then why'd they turn him down?" + +Sam said, "Oh, the government boys had a good alibi. Crackpots turn up all +over the place and you have to brush them off. Every cellar scientist who +comes along and says he's got a new super-fuel developed from old coffee +grounds can't be given the welcome mat. Something was wrong with his math +or something and they didn't pay much attention to him. Wouldn't even let +him demonstrate it. But it was the same formula, all right." + +Larry Woolford was scowling. "Something wrong with his math? What kind of +a degree does he have?" + +Sam grinned in memory. "I got a good quote on that. He doesn't have any +degree. He said he'd learned to read by the time he'd reached high school +and since then he figured spending time in classrooms was a matter of +interfering with his education." + +"No wonder they turned him down. No degree at all. You can't get anywhere +in science like that." + +Sam said, "The courts rejected his suit but he got a certain amount of +support here and there. Peter Voss, over at the university, claims he's +one of the great intuitive scientists, whatever that is, of our +generation." + +"Who said that?" + +"Professor Voss. Not that it makes any difference what he says. Another +crackpot." + +After Sam's less than handsome face was gone from the phone, Larry walked +over to the bar with his empty glass and stared at the mixer for several +minutes. He began to make himself another flip, but cut it short in the +middle, put down the ingredients and went back to the phone to dial +_Records_ again. + +He went through first the brief and then the full dossier on Professor +Peter Luther Voss. Aside from his academic accomplishments, particularly +in the fields of political economy and international law, and the dozen or +so books accredited to him, there wasn't anything particularly noteworthy. +A bachelor in his fifties. No criminal record of any kind, of course, and +no military career. No known political affiliations. Evidently a strong +predilection for Thorstein Veblen's theories. And he'd been a friend of +Henry Mencken back when that old nonconformist was tearing down +contemporary society seemingly largely for the fun involved in the +tearing. + +On the face of it, the man was no radical, and the term "crackpot" which +Sam had applied was hardly called for. + +Larry Woolford went back to the bar and resumed the job of mixing his own +version of a rum flip. + +But his heart wasn't in it. _The Professor_, Susan had said. + + ------------------------------------- + +Before he'd gone to bed the night before, Larry Woolford had ordered a +seat on the shuttle jet for Jacksonville and a hover-cab there to take him +to Astor, on the St. Johns River. And he'd requested to be wakened in +ample time to get to the shuttleport. + +But it wasn't the saccharine pleasant face of the Personal Service +operator which confronted him when he grumpily answered the phone in the +morning. In fact, the screen remained blank. + +Larry decided that sweet long drinks were fine, but that anyone who took +several of them in a row needed to be candied. He grumbled into the phone, +"All right, who is it?" + +A Teutonic voice chuckled and said, "You're going to have to decide +whether or not you're on vacation, my friend. At this time of day, why +aren't you at work?" + +Larry Woolford was waking up. He said, "What can I do for you, +Distelmayer?" The German merchant-of-espionage wasn't the type to make +personal calls. + +"Have you forgotten so soon, my friend?" the other chuckled. "It was I who +was going to do you a favor." He hesitated momentarily, before adding, "In +possible return for future--" + +"Yeah, yeah," Larry said. He was fully awake now. + +The German said slowly, "You asked if any of your friends from, ah, abroad +were newly in the country. Frol Eivazov has recently appeared on the +scene." + +Eivazov! In various respects, Larry Woolford's counterpart. Hatchetman for +the _Chrezvychainaya Komissiya_. Woolford had met him on occasion when +they'd both been present at international summit meetings, busily working +at counter-espionage for their respective superiors. Blandly shaking hands +with each other, blandly drinking toasts to peace and international +co-existence, blandly sizing each other up and wondering if it'd ever come +to the point where one would _blandly_ treat the other to a hole in the +head, possibly in some dark alley in Havana or Singapore, Leopoldville or +Saigon. + +Larry said sharply, "Where is he? How'd he get in the country?" + +"My friend, my friend," the German grunted good-humoredly. "You know +better than to ask the first question. As for the second, Frol's command +of American-English is at least as good as your own. Do you think his +_Komissiya_ less capable than your own department and unable to do him up +suitable papers so that he could be, perhaps, a 'returning tourist' from +Europe?" + +Larry Woolford was impatient with himself for asking. He said now, "It's +not important. If we want to locate Frol and pick him up, we'll probably +not have too much trouble doing it." + +"I wouldn't think so," the other said humorously. "Since 1919, when they +were first organized, the so-called Communists in this country, from the +lowest to the highest echelons, have been so riddled with police agents +that a federal judge in New England once refused to prosecute a case +against them on the grounds that the party was a United States government +agency." + +Larry was in no frame of mind for the other's heavy humor. "Look, Hans," +he said, "what I want to know is what Frol is over here for." + +"Of course you do," Hans Distelmayer said, unable evidently to keep note +of puzzlement from his voice. "Larry," he said, "I assume your people know +of the new American underground." + +"_What_ underground?" Larry snapped. + +The professional spy chief said, his voice strange, "The Soviets seem to +have picked up an idea somewhere, possibly through their membership in +this country, that something is abrewing in the States. That a change is +being engineered." + +Larry stared at the blank phone screen. + +"What kind of a change?" he said finally. "You mean a change to the Soviet +system?" Surely not even the self-deluding Russkies could think it +possible to overthrow the American socio-economic system in favor of the +Soviet brand. + +"No, no, no," the German chuckled. "Of course not. It's not of their +working at all." + +"Then what's Frol Eivazov's interest, if they aren't engineering it?" + +Distelmayer rumbled his characteristic chuckle with humor. "My dear +friend, don't be naive. Anything that happens in America is of interest to +the Soviets. There is delicate peace between you now that they have +changed their direction and are occupying themselves largely with the +economic and agricultural development of Asia and such portions of the +world as have come under their hegemony, and while you put all efforts +into modernizing the more backward countries among your satellites." + +Larry said automatically, "Our allies aren't satellites." + +The spy-master went on without contesting the statement. "There is +immediate peace but surely governmental officials on both sides keep +careful watch on the internal developments of the other. True, the current +heads of the Soviet Complex would like to see the governments of all the +Western powers changed--but only if they are changed in the direction of +communism. They are hardly interested in seeing changes made which would +strengthen the West in the, ah, Battle For Men's Minds." + +Larry snorted his disgust. "What sort of change in government would +strengthen the United States in--" + +The German interrupted smoothly, "Evidently, that's what Frol seems to be +here for, Larry. To find out more about this movement and--" + +"This _what_?" Larry blurted. + +"The term seems to be _movement_." + +Larry Woolford held a long silence before saying, "And Frol is actually +here in this country to buck this ... this movement." + +"Not necessarily," the other said impatiently. "He is here to find out +more about it. Evidently Peking and Moscow have heard just enough to make +them nervous." + +Larry said, "You have anything more, Hans?" + +"I'm afraid that's about it." + +"All right," Larry said. He added absently, "Thanks, Hans." + +"Thank me some day with deeds, not with words," the German chuckled. + + ------------------------------------- + +Larry Woolford looked at his watch and grimaced. He was either going to +get going now or forget about doing any fishing in Florida this afternoon. + +Grudgingly, he dialed the phone company's Personal Service and said to the +impossibly cheerful blonde who answered, "Where can I find Professor Peter +Voss who teaches over at the University in Baltimore? I don't want to talk +with him, just want to know where he'll be an hour from now." + +While waiting for his information, he dressed, deciding inwardly that he +hated his job, the department in which he was employed, the Boss and +Greater Washington. On top of that, he hated himself. He'd already been +taken off this assignment, why couldn't he leave it lay? + +The blonde rang him back. Professor Peter Voss was at home. He had no +classes today. She gave him the address. + +Larry Woolford raised his car from his auto-bungalow in the Brandywine +suburb and headed northwest at a high level for the old Baltimore section +of the city. + +The Professor's house, he noted, was of an earlier day and located on the +opposite side of Paterson Park from Elwood avenue, the street on which +Susan Self and her father had resided. That didn't necessarily hold +significance, the park was a large one and the Professor's section a +well-to-do neighborhood, while Self's was just short of a slum these days. + +He brought his car down to street level, and parked before the scholar's +three-story, brick house. Baltimore-like, it was identical to every other +house in the block; Larry wondered vaguely how anybody ever managed to +find his own place when it was very dark out. + +There was an old-fashioned bell at the side of the entrance and Larry +Woolford pushed it. There was no identification screen in the door, +evidently the inhabitants had to open up to see who was calling, a tiring +chore if you were on the far side of the house and the caller nothing more +than a salesman. + +It was obviously the Professor himself who answered. + +He was in shirtsleeves, tieless and with age-old slippers on his +stockingless feet. He evidently hadn't bothered to shave this morning and +he held a dog-earred pamphlet in his right hand, his forefinger tucked in +it to mark his place. He wore thick-lensed, gold-rimmed glasses through +which he blinked at Larry Woolford questioningly, without speaking. +Professor Peter Voss was a man in his mid fifties, and, on the face of it, +couldn't care less right now about his physical appearance. + +A weird, Larry decided immediately. He wondered at the University, one of +the nation's best, keeping on such a figure. + +"Professor Voss?" he said. "Lawrence Woolford." He brought forth his +identification. + +The Professor blinked down at it. "I see," he said. "Won't you come in?" + +The house was old, all right. From the outside, quite acceptable, but the +interior boasted few of the latest amenities which made all the difference +in modern existence. Larry was taken back by the fact that the phone which +he spotted in the _entrada_ hadn't even a screen--an old model for speaking +only. + +The Professor noticed his glance and said dryly, "The advantages of +combining television and telephone have never seemed valid to me. In my +own home, I feel free to relax, as you can observe. Had I a screen on my +phone, it would be necessary for me to maintain the same appearance as I +must on the streets or before my classes." + +Larry cleared his throat without saying anything. This was a weird one, +all right. + +The living room was comfortable in a blatantly primitive way. Three or +four paintings on the walls which were probably originals, Larry decided, +and should have been in museums. Not an abstract among them. A Grant Wood, +a Marin, and that over there could only be a Grandma Moses. The sort of +things you might keep in your private den, but hardly to be seen as +culture symbols. + +The chairs were large, of leather, and comfortable and probably belonged +to the period before the Second War. Peter Voss, evidently, was little +short of an exhibitionist. + +The Professor took up a battered humidor. "Cigar?" he said. "Manila. Hard +to get these days." + +A cigar? Good grief, the man would be offering him a chaw of tobacco next. + +"Thanks, no," Larry said. "I smoke a pipe." + +"I see," the Professor said, lighting his stogie. "Do you really like a +pipe? Personally, I've always thought the cigar by far the most +satisfactory method of taking tobacco." + +What can you say to a question like that? Larry ignored it, as though it +was rhetorical. Actually, he smoked cigarettes in the privacy of his den. +A habit which was on the proletarian side and not consistent with his +status level. + +He said, to get things under way, "Professor Voss, what is an intuitive +scientist?" + +The Professor exhaled blue smoke, shook out the old-time kitchen match +with which he'd lit it, and tossed the matchstick into an ashtray. +"Intuitive scientist?" + +"You once called Ernest Self a great intuitive scientist." + +"Oh, Self. Yes, indeed. What is he doing these days?" + +Larry said wryly, "That's what I came to ask you about." + +The Professor was puzzled. "I'm afraid you came to the wrong place, Mr. +Woolford. I haven't seen Ernest for quite a time. Why?" + +"Some of his researches seem to have taken him rather far afield. +Actually, I know practically nothing about him. I wonder if you could fill +me in a bit." + +Peter Voss looked at the ash on the end of his cigar. "I really don't know +the man that well. He lives across the park. Why don't--" + +"He's disappeared," Larry said. + +The Professor blinked. "I see," he said. "And in view of the fact that you +are a security officer, I assume under strange circumstances." Larry +Woolford said nothing and the Professor sank back into his chair and +pursed his lips. "I can't really tell you much. I became interested in +Self two or three years ago when gathering materials for a paper on the +inadequate manner in which our country rewards its inventors." + +Larry said, "I've heard about his suit against the government." + +The Professor became more animated. "Ha!" he snorted. "One example among +many. Self is not alone. Our culture is such that the genius is smothered. +The great contributors to our society are ignored, or worse." + +Larry Woolford was feeling his way. Now he said mildly, "I was under the +impression that American free enterprise gave the individual the best +opportunity to prove himself and that if he had it on the ball he'd get to +the top." + +"Were you really?" the Professor said snappishly. "And did you know that +Edison died a comparatively poor man with an estate somewhere in the +vicinity of a hundred thousand dollars? An amount that might sound like a +good deal to you or me, but, when you consider his contributions, +shockingly little. Did you know that Eli Whitney realized little, if +anything, from the cotton gin? Or that McCormick didn't invent the reaper +but gained it in a dubious court victory? Or take Robert Goddard, one of +the best examples of modern times. He developed the basics of rocket +technology--gyroscopic stabilizers, fuel pumps, self-cooling motors, +landing devices. He died in 1945 leaving behind twenty-two volumes of +records that proved priceless. What did he get out of his researches? +Nothing. It was fifteen years later that his widow won her suit against +the government for patent infringements!" + + [Illustration.] + +Larry held up a hand. "Really," he said. "My interest is in Ernest Self." + +The Professor relaxed. "Sorry. I'm afraid I get carried away. Self, to get +back to your original question, is a great intuitive scientist. +Unfortunately for him, society being what it is today, he fits into few +grooves. Our educational system was little more than an irritation to him +and consequently he holds no degrees. Needless to say, this interfered +with his gaining employment with the universities and the large +corporations which dominate our country's research, not to mention +governmental agencies. + +"Ernest Self holds none of the status labels that count. The fact that he +is a genius means nothing. He is supposedly qualified no more than to hold +a janitor's position in laboratories where his inferiors conduct +experiments in fields where he is a dozenfold more capable than they. No +one is interested in his genius, they want to know what status labels are +pinned to him. Ernest has no respect for labels." + + ------------------------------------- + +Larry Woolford figured he was picking up background and didn't force a +change of subject. "Just what do you mean by intuitive scientist?" + +"It's a term I have used loosely," the Professor admitted. "Possibly a +scientist who makes a break-through in his field, destroying formerly held +positions--in Self's case, without the math, without the accepted theories +to back him. He finds something that works, possibly without knowing why +or how and by using unorthodox analytical techniques. An intuitive +scientist, if I may use the term, is a thorn in the side of our +theoretical physicists laden down with their burden of a status label but +who are themselves short of the makings of a Leonardo, a Newton, a +Galileo, or even a Nicholas Christofilos." + +"I'm afraid that last name escapes me," Larry said. + +"Similar to Self's case and Robert Goddard's," Voss said, his voice +bitter. "Although his story has a better ending. Christofilos invented the +strong-focusing principle that made possible the multi-billion-volt +particle accelerators currently so widely used in nuclear physics +experimentation. However, he was nothing but a Greek elevator electrical +system engineer and the supposed experts turned him down on the grounds +that his math was faulty. It seems that he submitted the idea in +straight-algebra terms instead of differential equations. He finally won +through after patenting the discovery and rubbing their noses in it. +Previously, none of the physics journals would publish his paper--he didn't +have the right status labels to impress them." + +Larry said, almost with amusement, "You seem to have quite a phobia +against the status label, as you call it. However, I don't see how as +complicated a world as ours could get along without it." + +The Professor snorted his contempt. "Tell me," he said, "to which class do +you consider yourself to belong?" + +Larry Woolford shrugged. "I suppose individuals in my bracket are usually +thought of as being middle-middle class." + +"And you have no feeling of revolt in having such a label hung on you? +Consider this system for a moment. You have lower-lower, middle-lower, and +upper-lower; then you have lower-middle, middle-middle, upper-middle; then +you have lower-upper, middle-upper, and finally we achieve to upper-upper +class. Now tell me, when we get to that rarified category, who do we find? +Do we find an Einstein, a Schweitzer, a Picasso; outstanding scientists, +humanitarians, the great writers, artists and musicians of our day? +Certainly not. We find ultra-wealthy playboys and girls, a former king and +his duchess who eke out their income by accepting fees to attend parties, +the international born set, bearers of meaningless feudalistic titles. +These are your upper-upper class!" + +Larry laughed. + +The Professor snapped, "You think it funny? Let me give you another +example of our status label culture. I have a friend whom I have known +since childhood. I would estimate that Charles has an I.Q. of +approximately 90, certainly no more. His family, however, took such +necessary steps as were needed to get Charles through public school. No +great matter these days, you'll admit, although on occasion he needed a +bit of tutoring. On graduation, they recognized that the really better +schools might be a bit difficult for Charles so he was entered in a +university with a good name but without--shall we say?--the highest of +scholastic ratings. Charles plodded along, had some more tutoring, +probably had his thesis ghosted, and eventually graduated. At that point +an uncle died and left Charles an indefinite amount to be used in +furthering his education to any extent he wished to go. Charles, motivated +probably by the desire to avoid obtaining a job and competing with his +fellow man, managed to wrangle himself into a medical school and +eventually even graduated. Since funds were still available, he continued +his studies abroad, largely in Vienna." + +The Professor wound it up. "Eventually, he ran out of schools, or his +uncle's estate ran out--I don't know which came first. At any rate, my +friend Charles, laden down with status labels, is today practicing as a +psychiatrist in this fair city of ours." + +Larry stared at him blankly. + +The Professor said snappishly, "So any time you feel you need to have your +brains unscrambled, you can go to his office and expend twenty-five +dollars an hour or so. His reputation is of the highest." The Professor +grunted his contempt. "He doesn't know the difference between an aspirin +tablet and a Rorschach test." + +Larry Woolford stirred in his chair. "We seem to have gotten far off the +subject. What has this got to do with Self?" + +The Professor seemed angry. "I repeat, I'm afraid I get carried away on +this subject. I'm in revolt against a culture based on the status label. +It eliminates the need to judge a man on his merits. To judge a person by +the clothes he wears, the amount of money he possesses, the car he drives, +the neighborhood in which he lives, the society he keeps, or even his +ancestry, is out of the question in a vital, growing society. You wind up +with nonentities as the leaders of your nation. In these days, we can't +afford it." + +He smiled suddenly, rather elfishly, at the security agent. "But +admittedly, this deals with Self only as one of many victims of a culture +based on status labels. Just what is it you wanted to know about Ernest?" + +"When you knew him, evidently he was working on rocket fuels. Have you any +idea whether he later developed a method of producing perfect +counterfeit?" + +The Professor said, "Ernest Self? Surely you are jesting." + +Larry said unhappily, "Then here's another question. Have you ever heard +him mention belonging to a movement, or, I think, he might word it _The +Movement_." + +"Movement?" the Professor said emptily. + +"Evidently a revolutionary group interested in the overthrow of the +government." + +"Good heavens," the Professor said. "Just a moment, Mr. Woolford. You +interrupted me just as I was having my second cup of coffee. Do you mind +if I--" + +"Certainly not," Woolford shook his head. + +"I simply can't get along until after my third cup," the Professor said. +"You just wait a moment and I'll bring the pot in here." + +He left Larry to sit in the combined study and living room while he +shuffled off in his slippers to the kitchen. Larry Woolford decided that +in his school days he'd had some far out professors himself, but it would +really be something to study under this one. Not that the old boy didn't +have some points, of course. Almost all nonconformists base their +particular peeves on some actuality, but in this case, what was the +percentage? How could you buck the system? Particularly when, largely, it +worked. + + ------------------------------------- + +The Professor returned with an old-fashioned coffeepot, two cups, and +sugar and cream on a tray. He put them on a side table and said to Larry, +"You'll join me? How do you take it?" + +Larry still had the slightest of hang-overs from his solitary drinking of +the night before. "Thanks. Make it black," he said. + +The Professor poured, served, then did up a cup for himself. He sat back +in his chair and said, "Now, where were we? Something about a +revolutionary group. What has that to do with counterfeiting?" + +Larry sipped the strong coffee. "It seems there might be a connection." + +The Professor shook his head. "It's hard to imagine Ernest Self being +connected with a criminal pursuit." + +Larry said carefully, "Susan seemed to be of the opinion that you knew +about a large amount of counterfeit currency that this Movement had on +hand and that you were in favor of spending it upon chorus girls." + +The Professor gaped at him. + +Larry chuckled uncomfortably. + +Professor Voss said finally, his voice very even, "My dear sir, I am +afraid that I evidently can be of little assistance to you." + +"Admittedly, it doesn't seem to make much sense." + +"Susan--you mean that little sixteen year old?--said _I_ was in favor of +spending counterfeit money on chorus girls?" + +Larry said unhappily, "She used the term _the Professor_." + +"And why did you assume that the title must necessarily allude to me? Even +if any of the rest of the fantastic story was true." + +Larry said, "In my profession, Professor Voss, we track down every +possible clue. Thus far, you are the only professor of whom we know who +was connected with Ernest Self." + +Voss said stiffly, "I can only say, sir, that in my estimation Mr. Self is +a man of the highest integrity. And, in addition, that I have never spent +a penny on a chorus girl in my life and have no intention of beginning, +counterfeit or otherwise." + +Larry Woolford decided that he wasn't doing too well and that he'd need +more ammunition if he was going to return to this particular attack. He +was surprised that the old boy hadn't already ordered him from the house. + +He finished the coffee preparatory to coming to his feet. "Then you think +it's out of the question, Ernest Self belonging to a revolutionary +organization?" + +The Professor protested. "I didn't say that at all. Mr. Self is a man of +ideals. I can well see him belonging to such an organization." + +Larry Woolford decided he'd better hang on for at least a few more words. +"You don't seem to think, yourself, that a subversive organization is +undesirable in this country." + +The Professor's voice was reasonable. "Isn't that according to what it +means to subvert?" + +"You know what I mean," Woolford said in irritation. "I don't usually +think of revolutionists, even when they call themselves simply members of +a _movement_, as exactly idealists." + +"Then you're wrong," the Professor said definitely, pouring himself +another cup of coffee. "History bears out that almost invariably +revolutionists are men of idealism. The fact that they might be either +right or wrong in their revolutionary program is beside the point." + +Larry Woolford began to say, "Are you sure that you aren't interested in +this _move--_" + +But it was then that the knockout drops hit him. + + ------------------------------------- + +He came out of the fog feeling nausea and with his head splitting. He +groaned and opened one eye experimentally. + +Steve Hackett, far away, said, "He's snapping out of it." + +Larry groaned again, opened the other eye and attempted to focus. + +"What happened?" he muttered. + +"Now that's an original question," Steve said. + +Larry Woolford struggled up into a sitting position. He'd been stretched +out on a couch in the Professor's combined living room and study. + +Steve Hackett, his hands on his hips, was looking down at him +sarcastically. There were two or three others, one of whom Larry vaguely +remembered as being a Secret Service colleague of Steve's, going about and +in and out of the room. + +Larry said, his fingers pressing into his forehead, "My head's killing me. +Damn it, what's going on?" + +Steve said sarcastically, "You've been slipped a mickey, my cloak and +dagger friend, and the bird has flown." + +"You mean the Professor? He's a bird all right." + +"Humor we get, yet," Hackett said, his ugly face scowling. "Listen, I +thought you people had pulled out of this case." + +Larry sat up and swung his two feet around to the floor. "So did I," he +moaned, "but there were two or three things that bothered me and I thought +I'd tidy them up before leaving." + +"You tidied them up all right," Steve grumbled. "This Professor Voss was +practically the only lead I've been able to discover. An old friend of +Self's. And you allowed him to get away before we even got here." + +One of Hackett's men came up and said, "Not a sign of him, Steve. He +evidently burned a few papers, packed a suitcase, and took off. His things +look suspiciously as though he was ready to go into hiding at a moment's +notice." + +Steve growled to him, "Give the place the works. He's probably left some +clues around that'll give us a line." + +The other went off and Steve Hackett sat down in one of the leather chairs +and glowered at Larry Woolford. "Listen," he said, "what did you people +want with Susan Self?" + +Larry shook his head for clarity and looked at him. "Susan? What are you +talking about? You don't have any aspirin, do you?" + +"No. What'd you mean, what am I talking about? You called Betsy Hughes and +then sent a couple of men over to pick the Self kid up." + +"Who's Betsy Hughes?" + +Steve shook his head. "I don't know what kind of knockout drops the old +boy gave you, but they sure worked. Betsy's the operative we had minding +Susan Self over in the Greater Washington Hilton. About an hour ago you +got her on the phone, said your department wanted to question Susan, and +that you were sending two men over to pick her up. The two men turned up +with an order from you, and took the girl." + +Larry stared at him. Finally he said, "What time is it?" + +"About two o'clock." + +Larry said, "I came into this house in the morning, talked to the +Professor for about half an hour and then was silly enough to let him give +me some loaded coffee. He was such a weird old buzzard that it never +occurred to me he might be dangerous. At any rate, I've been unconscious +for several hours. I _couldn't've_ called this Betsy Hughes operative of +yours." + +It was Steve Hackett's turn to stare. + +"You mean your department doesn't have Susan Self?" + +"Not so far as I know. The Boss told me yesterday that we were pulling +out, that it was all in your hands. What would we want with Susan?" + +"Oh, great," Steve snarled. "There goes our last contact. Ernest Self, +Professor Voss, and now Susan Self; they've all disappeared." + +"Look," Larry said unhappily, "let's get me some aspirin and then let's go +and see my chief. I have a sneaking suspicion our department is back on +this case." + +Steve snorted sarcastically. "If you can foul things up this well when +you're off the case, God only knows what you'll accomplish using your +facilities on an all-out basis." + + ------------------------------------- + +The Boss said slowly, "Whoever we are working against evidently isn't +short of resources. Abducting that young lady was no simple matter." The +career diplomat worked his lips in and out, in all but a pout. + +Larry Woolford, who'd taken time out to go home, shower, change clothes +and medicate himself out of his dope induced hangover, sat across the desk +from him, flanked by Steve Hackett. + +The Boss said sourly, "It would seem that I was in error. That our young +Susan Self was not spouting fantasy. There evidently actually is an +underground movement interested in changing our institutions." He stirred +in his chair and his scowl went deeper. "And evidently working on a basis +never conceived of by subversive organizations of the past. The fact that +they have successfully remained secret even to this department is the +prime indication that they are attempting to make their revolutionary +changes in a unique manner." + +Larry said, "The trouble is, we don't even know what it is they want." + +"However," his superior said slowly, "we are beginning to get inklings." + +Steve Hackett said, "What inklings, sir? This sort of thing might be +routine for you people, but my field is counterfeit. I, frankly, don't +know what it's all about." + +The Boss looked at him. "We have a clue or two, Mr. Hackett. For one +thing, we know that this Movement of ours has no affiliations with the +Soviet Complex, nor, so far as we know, any foreign element whatsoever. If +we take Miss Self's word, it is strictly an American phenomenon. From what +little we know of Ernest Self and Peter Voss they might be in revolt +against some of our current institutions but there is no reason to believe +them, ah, _un-American_ in the usually accepted sense of the word." + +The two younger men looked at him as though he was joking. + +He shook his heavy head negatively. "Actually, what do we have on this +so-called Movement thus far? Aside from treating Lawrence, here, to some +knockout drops--and let us remember that Lawrence was present in the +Professor's home without a warrant--all we have is the suspicion that they +have manufactured a quantity of counterfeit." + +"A _quantity_ is right," Steve Hackett blurted. "If we're to accept what +that Self kid told us, they have a few billion dollars worth of perfect +bills on hand." + +"A strange amount for counterfeiters to produce," The Boss said +uncomfortably. "That is what puzzles me. Any revolutionary movement needs +funds. Remember Stalin as a young man? He used to be in charge of the +Bolshevik gang which robbed banks to raise funds for their underground +newspapers. But a billion dollars? What in the world can they expect to +need that amount for?" + +Larry said, "Sir, you keep talking as though these characters were a bunch +of idealistic do-gooders bleeding for the sake of the country. Actually, +from what we know, they're nothing but a bunch of revolutionists." + +The Boss was shaking his head. "You're not thinking clearly, Lawrence. +Revolution, _per se_, is not illegal in the United States. Our +Constitution was probably the first document of its kind which allowed for +its own amendment. The men who wrote it provided for changing it either +slightly or _in toto_. Whenever the majority of the American people decide +completely to abandon the Constitution and govern themselves by new laws, +they have the right to do it." + +"Then what's the whole purpose of this department, sir?" Larry argued. +"Why've we been formed to combat foreign and domestic subversion?" + +His chief sighed. "You shouldn't have to ask that, Lawrence. The present +government cannot oppose the will of the majority if it votes, by +constitutional methods, to make any changes it wishes. But we can, and do, +unmask the activities of anyone trying to overthrow the government by +force and violence. Any culture protects itself against that." + +"What are we getting at, sir?" Steve Hackett said, impatiently. + +The Boss shrugged. "I'm trying to point out that so far as my department +is concerned, thus far we have little against this Movement. Secret +Service may have, what with this wholesale counterfeiting, even though +thus far they seem to have made no attempt to pass the currency they have +allegedly manufactured. We wouldn't even know of it, weren't it for our +young Susan pilfering an amount." + +Larry said, desperately, "Sir, you just pointed out a few minutes ago that +this Movement is a secret organization trying to make changes in some +unique manner. In short, they don't figure on using the ballot to put over +their revolution. That makes them as illegal as the Commies, doesn't it?" + +The Boss said, "That's the difficulty; we don't know what they want. From +your conversations with Susan Self and especially Professor Voss, +evidently they think the country needs some basic changes. What these +changes are, and how they expect to accomplish them, we don't know. Unless +a foreign government is involved, or unless they plan to alter our +institutions by violence, this department just doesn't have much +jurisdiction." + +Steve Hackett snorted, "Secret Service does! If those bales of money the +Self kid told us about are ever put into circulation, there'll be hell to +pay." + +The Boss sighed. "Well," he said, "Lawrence can continue on the +assignment. If it develops in such manner as to indicate that this +department is justified in further investigation, we'll put more men on +it. Meanwhile, it is obviously more a Secret Service matter. I am sorry to +intrude upon your vacation again, Lawrence." + +On awakening in the morning, Larry Woolford stared glumly at the ceiling +for long moments before dragging himself from bed. This was, he decided, +the strangest assignment he'd ever been on. In his day he'd trekked +through South America, Common Europe, a dozen African states, and even +areas of Southern Asia, combatting Commie pressures here, fellow-traveler +organizations there, disrupting plots hatched in the Soviet Complex in the +other place. On his home grounds in the United States he'd covered +everything from out and out Soviet espionage, to exposing Communist +activities of complexions from the faintest of pinks to the rosiest +Trotskyite red. But, he decided he'd never expected to wind up after a +bunch of weirds whose sole actionable activity to date seemed to be the +counterfeiting of a fantastic amount of legal tender which thus far they +were making no attempt to pass. + +He got out of bed and went through the rituals of showering, shaving and +clothing, of coffee, sausage, and eggs, toast and more coffee. + +What amazed Larry Woolford was the shrug-it-off manner in which the Boss +seemed to accept this underground Movement and its admitted subversive +goals--whatever they were. Carry the Boss' reasoning to its ultimate and +subversion was perfectly all right, just as it didn't involve force and +violence. If he was in his chief's position, he would have thrown the full +resources of the department into tracking down these crackpots. As it was, +he, Larry Woolford was the only operative on the job. + +He needed a new angle on which to work. Steve Hackett was undoubtedly +handling the tracing down of the counterfeit with all the resources of the +Secret Service. Possibly there was some way of detecting the source of the +paper they'd used. + +He finished his final cup of coffee in the living room and took up the +pipe he was currently breaking in. He loaded it automatically from a +humidor and lit it with his pocket lighter. Three drags, and he tossed it +back to the table, fumbled in a drawer and located a pack of cigarettes. +Possibly his status group was currently smoking British briars in public, +but, let's face it, he hated the confounded things. + +He sat down before the phone and dialed the offices of the _Sun-Post_ and +eventually got Sam Sokolski who this time beat him to the punch. + +Sam said, "You shouldn't drink alone. Listen, Larry, why don't you get in +touch with Alcoholics Anonymous. It's a great outfit." + +"You ought to know," Larry growled. "Look, Sam, as science columnist for +that rag you work for you probably come in touch with a lot of eggheads." + +"Laddy-buck, you have said it," Sam said. + +"Fine. Now look, what I want to know is have you ever heard--even the +slightest of rumors--about an organization called the Movement?" + +"What'd'ya mean, slightest of rumors? Half the weirds I run into are +interested in the outfit. Get two or three intellectuals, scientists, +technicians, or what have you, together and they start knocking themselves +out on the pros and cons of the Movement." + +Larry Woolford stared at him. "Are you kidding, Sam?" + +The other was mystified. "Why should I kid you? As a matter of fact, I was +thinking of doing a column one of these days on Voss and this Movement of +his." + +"_Voss_ and this movement of his!" + +"Sure," Sam said, "he's the top leader." + +"Oh, great," Larry growled. "Look, Sam, eventually there is probably a +story in this for you. Right now, though, we're trying to keep the lid on +it. Could you brief me a little on this Movement? What are they trying to +put over?" + +"I seem to spend half my time briefing you in information any semi-moron +ought to be up on," Sam said nastily. "However, _briefly_, they're in +revolt against social-label judgments. They think it's fouling up the +country and that eventually it'll result in the Russkies passing us in all +the fields that really count." + +"I keep running into this term," Larry complained. "What do you mean, +social-label judgments, and how can they possibly louse up the country?" + +Sam said, "I was present a month or so ago when Voss gave an informal +lecture to a group of twenty or so. Here's one of the examples he used. + +"Everybody today wants to be rated on a (1) personal, or, (2) social-label +basis, depending on which basis is to his greatest advantage. The Negro +who is a no-good, lazy, obnoxious person demands to be accepted because +Negroes should not be discriminated against. The highly competent, hard +working, honest and productive Negro wants to be accepted because he is +hard-working, honest and productive--and should be so accepted. + +"See what I mean? This social-label system is intended to relieve the +individual of the necessity of judging, and the consequences of being +judged. If you have poor judgment, and are forced to rely on your own +judgment, you're almost sure to go under. So persons of poor judgment +support our social-label system. If you're a louse, and are correctly +judged as being a louse, you'd prefer that the social dictum 'Human beings +are never lice' should apply." + +Larry said, "What in the devil's this got to do with the race between this +country and the Russkies?" + +Sam said patiently, "Voss and the Movement he leads contend that a +social-label system winds up with incompetents running the country in all +fields. Often incompetent scientists are in charge of our research; +incompetent doctors, in charge of our health; incompetent politicians run +our government; incompetent teachers, laden with social-labels, teach our +youth. Our young people are going to college to secure a degree, not an +education. It's the label that counts, not the reality. + +"Voss contends that it's getting progressively worse. That we're sinking +into an equivalent of a ritual-taboo, tribal social-like situation. This +is the system the low-level human being wants, yearns for and seeks. A +situation in which no one's judgment is of any use. Then _his_ lack of +judgment is no handicap. + +"According to members of the Movement, today the tribesman type is seeking +to reduce civilization back to ritual-taboo tribalism wherein no one man's +judgment is of any value. The union wants advancement based on seniority, +not on ability and judgment. The persons with whom you associate socially +judge you by the amount of money you possess, the family from which you +come, the degrees you hold, by social-labels--not by your proven abilities. +Down with judgment! is the cry." + +"It sounds awfully weird to me," Larry grumbled in deprecation. + +Sam shrugged. "There's a lot of sense in it. What the Movement wants is to +develop a socio-economic system in which judgment produces a maximum +advantage." + +Larry said, "What gets me is that you talk as though half the country was +all caught up in debating this Movement. But I haven't even heard of it, +neither has my department chief, nor any of my colleagues, so far as I +know. Why isn't anything about it in the papers or on the TriD?" + +Sam said mildly, "As a matter of fact, I took in Mort Lenny's show the +other night and he made some cracks about it. But it's not the sort of +thing that's even meant to become popular with the man in the street. To +put it bluntly, Voss and his people aren't particularly keen about the +present conception of the democratic ideal. According to him, true +democracy can only be exercised by peers and society today isn't composed +of peers. If you have one hundred people, twenty of them competent, +intelligent persons, eighty of them untrained, incompetent and less than +intelligent, then it's ridiculous to have the eighty dictate to the +twenty." + +Larry looked accusingly at his long-time friend. "You know, Sam, you sound +as though you approve of all this." + +Sam said patiently, "I listen to it all, Larry my boy. I think Voss makes +a lot of sense. There's only one drawback." + +"And that is?" + +"How's he going to put it over? This social-label system the Movement +complains about was bad enough ten years ago. But look how much worse it +is today. It's a progressive thing. And, remember, it's to the benefit of +the incompetent. Since the incompetent predominates, you're going to have +a hard time starting up a system based on judgment and ability." + +Larry thought about it for a moment. + +Sam said, "Look, I'm working, Larry. Was there anything else?" + +Larry said, "You wouldn't know where I could get hold of Voss, would you?" + +"At his home, I imagine, or at the University." + +"He's disappeared. We're looking for him." + +Sam laughed. "Gone underground, eh? The old boy is getting romantic." + +"Does he have any particular friends who might be putting him up?" + +Sam thought about it. "There's Frank Nostrand. You know, that rocket +expert who was fired when he got in the big hassle with Senator McCord." + + ------------------------------------- + +When Sam Sokolski had flicked off, Larry stared at the vacant phone screen +for a long moment, assimilating what the other had told him. He was +astonished that an organization such as the Movement could have spread to +the extent it evidently had through the country's intellectual circles, +through the scientifically and technically trained, without his department +being keenly aware of it. + + [Illustration.] + +One result, he decided glumly, of labeling everything contrary to the +_status quo_ as _weird_ and dismissing it with contempt. Admittedly, that +would have been his own reaction only a week ago. + +Suppose that he'd been at a cocktail party, and had drifted up to a group +who were arguing about social-label judgments and the need to develop a +_movement_ to change society's use of them. The discussion would have gone +in one ear, out the other, and he would have muttered inwardly, "Weirds," +and have drifted on to get himself another vodka martini. + +Larry snorted and dialed the Department of Records. He'd never heard of +Frank Nostrand before, so he got Information. + +The bright young thing who answered seemed to have a harried expression +untypical of Records employees. Larry said to her, "I'd like the brief on +a Mr. Frank Nostrand who is evidently an expert on rockets. The only other +thing I know about him is that he recently got in the news as the result +of a controversy with Senator McCord." + +"Just a moment, sir," the bright young thing said. + +She touched buttons and reached into a delivery chute. When her eyes came +up to meet his again, they were more than ever harried. They were +absolutely confused. + +"Mr. Franklin Howard Nostrand," she said, "currently employed by Madison +Air as a rocket research technician." + +"That must be him," Larry said. "I'm in a hurry, Miss. What's his +background?" + +Her eyes rounded. "It says ... it says he's an Archbishop of the Anglican +Church." + +Larry Woolford looked at her. + +She looked back, pleadingly. + +Larry scowled and said, "His university degrees, please." + +Her eyes darted to the report and she swallowed. "A bachelor in Home +Economics, sir." + +"Look here, Miss, how could a Home Economics degree result in his becoming +either an Archbishop or a rocket technician?" + +"I'm sorry, sir. That's what it says." + +Larry was fuming but there was no point in taking it out on this junior +employee of the Department of Records. He snapped, "Just give me his +address, please." + +She said agonizingly, "Sir, it says, Lhasa, Tibet." + +A red light flicked at the side of his phone and he said to her, "I'll +call you back. I'm getting a priority call." + +He flicked her off, and flicked the incoming call in. It was LaVerne Polk. +She seemed to be on the harried side, too. + +"Larry," she said, "you better get over here right away." + +"What's up, LaVerne?" + +"This Movement," she said, "it seems to have started moving! The Boss says +to get over here soonest." + + ------------------------------------- + +The top of his car was retracted. Larry Woolford slammed down the walk of +his auto-bungalow and vaulted over the side and into the seat. He banged +the start button, dropped the lift lever, depressed the thrust pedal and +took off at maximum acceleration. + +He took the police level for maximum speed and was in downtown Greater +Washington in flat minutes. + +So the Movement had started moving. That could mean almost anything. It +was just enough to keep him stewing until he got to the Boss and found out +what was going on. + +He turned his car over to a parker and made his way to the entrance +utilized by the second-grade department officials. In another year, or at +most two, he told himself all over again, he'd be using that other door. +He had an intuitive feeling that if he licked this current assignment it'd +be the opening wedge he needed and he'd wind up in a status bracket unique +for his age. + +LaVerne looked up when he hurried into her anteroom. She evidently had two +or three calls going on at once, taking orders from one phone, giving them +in another. Something was obviously erupting. She didn't speak to him, +merely nodded her head at the inner office. + +In the Boss' office were six or eight others besides Larry's superior. +Their expressions and attitudes ran from bewilderment to shock. They +weren't the men you'd expect to have such reactions. At least not those +that Larry Woolford recognized. Three of them, Ben Ruthenberg, Bill Fraina +and Dave Moskowitz were F.B.I. men with whom Larry had worked on occasion. +One of the others he recognized as being a supervisor with the C.I.A. Walt +Foster, Larry's rival in the Boss' affections, was also present. + +The Boss growled at him, "Where in the heavens have you been, Lawrence?" + +"Following our leads on this so-called Movement, sir," Larry told him. +"What's going on?" + +Ruthenberg, the Department of Justice man, grunted sour amusement. +"So-called Movement, isn't exactly the correct phrase. It's a Movement, +all right." + +The Boss said, "Please dial Records and get your dossier, Lawrence. +That'll be the quickest way to bring you up on developments." + +Mystified, but already with a growing premonition, Larry dialed Records. +Knowing his own classification code, he had no need of Information this +time. He got the hundred-word brief and stared at it as it filled the +screen. The only items really correct were his name and present +occupation. Otherwise his education was listed as grammar school only. His +military career had him ending the war as a General of the Armies, and his +criminal career record included four years on Alcatraz for molesting small +children. + +Blankly, he faded the brief and dialed his full dossier. It failed to +duplicate the brief, but that was no advantage. This time he had an M.D. +degree from Johns Hopkins, but his military career listed him as a +dishonorable discharge from the navy where he'd served in the steward +department. His criminal record was happily nil, but his religion was +listed as Holy Roller. Political affiliations had him down as a member of +the Dixiecrats. + +The others were looking at him, most of them blankly, although there were +grins on the faces of Moskowitz and the C.I.A. man. + +Moskowitz said, "With a name like mine, yet, they have me a Bishop of the +Orthodox Greek Catholic Church." + +Larry said, "What's it all about?" + +Ruthenberg said unhappily, "It started early this morning. We don't know +exactly when as yet." Which didn't seem to answer the question. + +Larry said, "I don't get it. Obviously, the Records department is fouled +up in some manner. How, and why?" + +"How, we know," the Boss rumbled disgustedly. "Why is another matter. +You've spent more time than anyone else on this assignment, Lawrence. +Perhaps you can tell us." He grabbed up a pipe from his desk, tried to +light it noisily, noticed finally that it held no tobacco and threw it to +the desk again. "Evidently, a large group of these Movement individuals +either already worked in Records or wriggled themselves into key positions +in the technical end of the department. Now they've sabotaged the files." + +"We've caught most of them already," one of the F.B.I. men growled, "but +damn little good that does us at this point." + +The C.I.A. supervisor made a gesture indicating that he gave it all up. +"Not only here but in Chicago and San Francisco as well. All at once. +Evidently perfectly rehearsed. Personnel records from coast to coast are +bollixed. Why?" + +Larry said slowly, "I think I know that now. Yesterday, I wouldn't have +but I've been picking up odds and ends." + +They all looked at him. + + ------------------------------------- + +Larry sat down and ran a hand back through his hair. "The general idea is +to change the country's reliance on social-label judgments." + +"On _what_," the Boss barked. + +"On one person judging another according to social-labels. Voss and the +others--" + +"Who did you say?" Ruthenberg snapped. + +"Voss. Professor Peter Voss from the University over in Baltimore section. +He's the ring leader." + +Ruthenberg snapped to Fraina, "Get on the phone and send out a pick-up +order for him." + +Fraina was on his feet. "What charge, Ben?" + +Ben Ruthenberg snorted. "Rape, or something. Get moving, we'll figure out +a charge later. The guy's a fruitcake." + +Larry said wearily, "He's evidently gone into hiding. I've been trying to +locate him. He managed to slip me some knockout drops and got away +yesterday." + +The Boss looked at him in disgust. + +Ruthenberg said evenly, "We've had men go into hiding before. Get going, +Fraina." + +Fraina left the office and the others looked back to Larry. + +The Boss said, "About this social-label nonsense--" + +Larry said, "They think the country is going to pot because of it. People +hold high office or places of responsibility not because of superior +intelligence, or even acquired skill, but because of the social-labels +they've accumulated, and these can be based on something as flimsy--from +the Movement's viewpoint--as who your grandparents were, what school you +attended, how much seniority you have on the job, what part of town you +live in, or what tailor cuts your clothes." + +Their expressions ran from scowls and frowns to complete puzzlement. + +Walt Foster grumbled, "What's all this got to do with sabotaging the +country's Records tapes?" + +Larry shrugged. "I don't have the complete picture, but one thing is sure. +It's going to be harder for a while to base your opinions on a quick +hundred-word brief on a man. Yesterday, an employer, considering hiring +somebody, could dial the man's dossier, check it, and form his opinions by +the status labels the would-be employee could produce. Today, he's damn +well going to have to exercise his own judgment." + +LaVerne's face lit up the screen on the Boss' desk and she said, "Those +two members of the Movement who were picked up in Alexandria are here, +sir." + +"Send them in," the Boss rumbled. He looked at Larry. "The F.B.I. managed +to arrest almost everyone directly involved in the sabotage." + +The two prisoners seemed more amused than otherwise. They were young men, +in their early thirties--well dressed and obviously intelligent. The Boss +had them seated side by side and glared at them for a long moment before +speaking. Larry and the others took chairs in various parts of the room +and added their own stares to the barrage. + +The Boss said, "Your situation is an unhappy one, gentlemen." + +One of the two shrugged. + +The Boss said, "You can, ah, hedge your bets, by co-operating with us. It +might make the difference between a year or two in prison--and life." + +One of them grinned and then yawned. "I doubt it," he said. + +The Boss tried a slightly different tack. "You have no reason to maintain +a feeling of obligation to Voss and the others. You have obviously been +abandoned. Had they any feeling for you there would have been more +efficacious arrangements for your escape." + +The more articulate of the two shrugged again. "We were expendable," he +said. "However, it won't be long before we're free again." + +"You think so?" Ruthenberg grunted. + +The revolutionist looked at him. "Yes, I do," he said. "Six months from +now and we'll be heroes since by that time the Movement will have been a +success." + +The Boss snorted. "Just because you deranged the Records? Why that's but +temporary." + +"Not so temporary as you think," the technician replied. "This country has +allowed itself to get deeply enmeshed in punch-card and tape records. Oh, +it made sense enough. With the population we have, and the endless files +that result from our ultra-complicated society, it was simply a matter +finally of developing a standardized system of records for the nation as a +whole. Now, for all practical purposes, _all_ of our records these days +are kept with the Department of Records, confidential as well as public +records. Why should a university, for instance, keep literally tons of +files, with all the expense and space and time involved, when it can +merely file the same records with the governmental department and have +them safe and easily available at any time? Now, the Movement has +completely and irrevocably destroyed almost all files that deal with the +social-labels to which we object. An excellent first step, in forcing our +country back into judgment based on ability and intelligence." + +"First step!" Larry blurted. + +The two prisoners looked at him. "That's right," the quieter of the two +said. "This is just the first step." + +"Don't kid yourselves," Ben Ruthenberg snapped at them. "It's also the +last!" + +The two members of the Movement grinned at him. + + ------------------------------------- + +When the others had gone, the Boss looked at Larry Woolford. He said +sourly, "When this department was being formed, I doubt anyone had in mind +this particular type of subversion, Lawrence." + +Larry grunted. "Give me a good old-fashioned Commie, any time. Look, sir, +what are the Department of Justice boys going to do with those prisoners?" + +"Hold them on any of various charges. We've conflicted with the F.B.I. in +the past on overlapping jurisdiction, but thank heavens for them now. +Their manpower is needed." + +Larry leaned forward. "Sir, we ought to take all members of the Movement +we've already arrested, feed them a dose of Scop-Serum, and pressure them +to open up on the organization's operations." + +His superior looked at him, waiting for him to continue. + +Larry said urgently, "Those two we just had in here thought the whole +thing was a big joke. The first step, they called it. Sir, there's +something considerably bigger than this cooking. Uncle Sam might pride +himself on the personal liberties guaranteed by this country, but unless +we break this organization, and do it fast, there's going to be trouble +that will make this fouling of the records look like the minor matter +those two jokers seemed to think it." + +The Boss thought about that. He said slowly, "Lawrence, the Supreme Court +ruled against the use of Scop-Serum. Not that it is over efficient, +anyway. Largely, these so-called truth serums don't accomplish much more +than to lower resistance, slacken natural inhibitions, weaken the will." + +"Sure," Larry said. "But give a man a good dose of Scop-Serum and he'd +betray his own mother. Not because he's helpless to tell a lie, but +because under the influence of the drug he figures it just isn't important +enough to bother about. Sir, Supreme Court or not, I think those two ought +to be given Scop-Serum along with all other Movement members we've picked +up." + +The Boss was shaking his head. "Lawrence, these men are not wide-eyed +radicals picked up in a street demonstration. They're highly respected +members of our society. They're educators, scientists, engineers, +technicians. Anything done to them is going to make headlines. Those that +were actually involved in the sabotage will have criminal charges brought +against them, but they're going to get a considerable amount of publicity, +and we're going to be in no position to alienate any of their +constitutional rights." + +Larry stood up, approached his chief's desk and leaned over it urgently. +"Sir, that's fine, but we've got to move and move fast. Something's up and +we don't even know what! Take that counterfeit money. From Susan Self's +description, there's actually billions of dollars worth of it." + +"Oh, come now, Lawrence. The child exaggerated. Besides, that's a problem +for Steven Hackett and the Secret Service, we have enough on our hands as +it is. Forget about the counterfeit, Lawrence. I think I shall put you in +complete control of field work on this, to co-operate in liaison with Ben +Ruthenberg and the F.B.I. So far as we're concerned, the counterfeit angle +belongs to Secret Service, we're working on subversion, and until the +Civil Liberties Union or whoever else proves otherwise, we'll consider +this Movement an organization attempting to subvert the country by illegal +means." + +Larry Woolford made a hard decision quickly. He was shaking his head. +"Sir, I'd rather you gave the administrative end to someone else and let +me continue in the field. I've got some leads--I think. If I get bogged +down in interdepartmental red tape, and in paper work here at +headquarters, I'll never get to the heart of this and I'm laying bets that +we either crack this within days or there are going to be some awfully big +changes in this country." + +The Boss glared at him. "You mean you're refusing this assignment, +Woolford. Confound it, don't you realize it's a promotion?" + +Larry was worriedly dogged. "Sir, I'd rather stay in the field." + +"Very well," the other snapped disgustedly, "I hope you deliver some +results, Woolford, otherwise I am afraid I won't feel particularly happy +about your somewhat cavalier rejection of this opportunity." He flicked on +the phone and snapped to LaVerne Polk, "Miss Polk, locate Walter Foster +for me. He is to take over our end of this Movement matter." + +LaVerne said, "Yes, sir," and her face was gone. + +The Boss looked up, still scowling. "What are you waiting for, Woolford?" + +"Yes, sir," Larry said. It was just coming home to him now, what he'd +done. There possibly went his yearned for promotion in the department. +There went his chance of an upgrading in status. And Walt Foster, of all +people, in his place. + + ------------------------------------- + +At LaVerne's desk, Larry stopped off long enough to say, "Did you ever +assign that secretary to me?" + +LaVerne shook her head at him. "She's come and gone, Larry. She sat around +for a couple of days, after seeing you not even once, and then I gave her +another assignment." + +"Well, bring her back again, will you? I want her to do up briefs for me +on all the information we accumulate on the Movement. It'll be coming in +from all sides now. From the Press, from those members we've arrested, +from our F.B.I. pals, now that they're interested, and so forth." + +"I'll give you Irene Day," LaVerne said. "Where are you off to now, +Larry?" + +"Probably a wild goose chase," Larry growled. "Which reminds me. Do me a +favor, LaVerne. Call Personal Service and find out where Frank Nostrand +is. He's some kind of rocket technician at Madison Air Laboratories. I'll +be in my office." + +"Frank Nostrand," LaVerne said briskly. "Will do, Larry." + +Back in his own cubicle, Larry stood for a moment in thought. He was +increasingly aware of the uncomfortable feeling that time was running out +on them. That things were coming to a dangerous head. + +He stared down at the dozen or more books and pamphlets that his never +seen secretary had heaped up for him. Well, he certainly didn't have time +for them now. + +He sat down at the desk and dialed an inter-office number. + +The harassed looking face of Walter Foster faded in. On seeing Larry +Woolford he growled accusingly, "My pal. You've let them dump this whole +thing into my lap." + +Larry grinned at him. "Better you than me, old buddy. Besides, it's a +promotion. Pull this off and you'll be the Boss' right-hand man." + +"That's a laugh," Foster said. "It's a madhouse. This Movement gang is as +weird as they come." + +"I bleed for you," Larry said. "However, here's a tip. Frol Eivazov, of +the _Chrezvychainaya Komissiya_ is somewhere in the country." + +"Frol Eivazov!" Foster blurted. "What've the Commies got to do with this? +Is this something the Boss knows about?" + +"Haven't had time to go into it with him," Larry said. "However, it seems +that friend Frol is here to find out what the Movement is all about. +Evidently the big boys in Peking and Moscow are nervous about any changes +that might take place over here. I suggest you have him picked up, Walt." + + [Illustration.] + +Walt Foster said, "O.K. I'll put some people on it. Maybe the F.B.I. can +help." + +Larry flicked off as he saw the red priority light on his phone shining. +He pushed it and LaVerne's face faded in. + +She said, "This Franklin Nostrand you wanted to know about. He's evidently +working at the laboratories over in Newport News, Larry. He'll be on the +job until five this afternoon." + +"Fine," he said. Larry grinned at her. "When are we going to have that +date, LaVerne?" + +She made a face. "Some day when the program involves having fun instead of +parading around in the right places, driving the right model car, dressed +in exactly the right clothes, and above all associating with the right +people." + +It was his turn to grimace. "I'm beginning to think you ought to sign up +with Voss and this Movement of his. You'd be right at home with his +weirds." + +She stuck out her tongue at him, and flicked off. + +He looked at the empty screen and chuckled. He had half a mind to get a +record of their conversation, strip out just the section where she'd stuck +out her tongue, and then play it back to her. She'd be taken aback by +being confronted by her own image making faces at her. + +As he made his way to the parking lot for his car, something in their +conversation nagged at him, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He +considered the girl, all over again. She had almost all the qualities he +looked for. She was attractive, without being overly so. He disliked women +out of the ordinarily beautiful, it became too much to live up to. She was +sharp, but not objectionably so. Not to the point of giving you an +inferiority complex. + +But, Holy Smokes, she'd never do as a career man's wife. He could just see +the Boss' ultraconservative better half inviting them to dinner. It would +happen exactly once, never again. + +He obtained his car, lifted it to one of the higher levels and headed for +Newport News. It was a half-hour trip and he wasn't particularly expectant +of results. The tip Sam Sokolski had given him, wasn't much to go by. +Evidently, Frank Nostrand was a friend of the Professor's but that didn't +necessarily mean he was connected with the movement, or that he knew Voss' +whereabouts. + +He might have saved himself the trip. + +The bird had flown again. Not only was Frank Nostrand not at the Madison +Air Laboratories, but he wasn't at home either. Larry Woolford, mindful of +his departmental chief's words on the prestige these people carried, took +a full hour in acquiring a search warrant before breaking into the +Nostrand home. + +Nostrand was supposedly a bachelor, but the auto-bungalow, similar to +Larry Woolford's own, showed signs of double occupancy, and there was +little indication that the guest had been a woman. + +Disgruntled, Larry Woolford dialed the offices, asked for Walt Foster. It +took nearly ten minutes before his colleague faded in. + +"I'm up to my eyebrows, Larry. What'd you want?" + +Larry gave him Frank Nostrand's address. "This guy's disappeared, Walt." + +"So?" + +"He was a close friend of Professor Voss. I got a warrant to search his +house. It shows signs that he had a guest. Possibly it was the Professor. +Do you want to get some of the boys down here to go through the place? +Possibly there's some clue to where they took off for. The Professor's on +the run and he's no professional at this. If we can pick _him_ up, I've +got a sneaking suspicion we'll have the so-called Movement licked." + +Walt Foster slapped a hand to his face in anguish. "You knew where the +Professor was hiding, and you tried to pick him up on your own and let him +get away. Why didn't you discuss this with either the Boss or me? I'm in +charge of this operation! I would have had a dozen men down there. You've +fouled this up!" + +Larry stared at him. Already Walt Foster was making sounds like an enraged +superior. + +He said mildly, "Sorry, Walt. I came down here on a very meager tip. I +didn't really expect it to pan out." + +"Well, in the future, clear with either me or the Boss before running off +half cocked into something, Woolford. Yesterday, you had this whole +assignment on your own. Today, it's no longer a minor matter. Our +department has fifty people on it. The F.B.I. must have five times as many +and that's not even counting the Secret Service's interest. It's no longer +your individual baby." + +"Sorry," Larry repeated mildly. Then, "I don't imagine you've got hold of +Frol Eivazov yet?" + +The other was disgusted. "You think we're magicians? We just put out the +call for him a few hours ago. He's no amateur. If he doesn't want to be +picked up, he'll go to ground and we'll have our work cut out for us +finding him. I can't see that it's particularly important anyway." + +"Maybe you're right," Larry said. "But you never know. He might know +things we don't. See you later." + +Walt Foster stared at him for a moment as though about to say something, +but then tightened his lips and faded off. + +Larry looked at the phone screen for a moment. "Did that phony expect me +to call him _sir_," he muttered. + + ------------------------------------- + +The next two days dissolved into routine. + +Frustrated, Larry Woolford spent most of his time in his office digesting +developments, trying to find a new line of attack. + +For want of something else, he put his new secretary, a brightly efficient +girl, as style and status conscious as LaVerne Polk wasn't, to work typing +up the tapes he'd had cut on Susan Self and the various phone calls he'd +had with Hans Distelmayer and Sam Sokolski. From memory, he dictated to +her his conversation with Professor Peter Voss. + +He carefully read the typed sheets over and over again. He continually had +the feeling in this case that there were loose ends dangling around. +Several important points he should be able to put his finger upon. + +On the morning of the third day he dialed Steve Hackett and on seeing the +other's worried, pug-ugly face fade in on the phone, decided that if +nothing else the Movement was undermining the United States government by +dispensing ulcers to its employees. + +Steve growled, "What is it Woolford? I'm as busy as a whirling dervish in +a revolving door." + +"This is just the glimmer of an idea, Steve. Look, remember that +conversation with Susan, when she described her father taking her to +headquarters?" + +"So?" Steve said impatiently. + +"Remember her description of headquarters?" + +"Go on," Steve rapped. + +"What did it remind you of?" + +"What are you leading to?" + +"This is just a hunch," Larry persisted, "but the way she described the +manner in which her father took her to headquarters suggests they're in +the Greater Washington area." + +Steve was staring at him disgustedly. How obvious could you get? + +Larry hurried on. "What's the biggest business in this area, Steve?" + +"Government." + +"Right. And the way she described headquarters of the Movement, was rooms, +after rooms, after rooms into which they'd stored the money." + +"And?" + +Larry said urgently, "Steve, I think in some way the Movement has taken +over some governmental buildings, or storage warehouse. Possibly some +older buildings no longer in use. It would be a perfect hideout. Who would +expect a subversive organization to be in governmental buildings? All +they'd need would be a few officials here and there who were on their side +and--" + +Steve said wearily, "You couldn't have thought of this two days ago." + +Larry cut himself off sharply, "Eh?" + +Steve said, "We found their headquarters. One of their members cracked. +Ben Ruthenberg of the F.B.I. found he had a morals rap against him some +years ago and scared him into talking by threats of exposure. At any rate, +you're right. They had established themselves in some government buildings +going back to Spanish-American War days. We've arrested eight or ten +officials that were involved." + +"But the money?" + +"The money was gone," Steve said bitterly. "But Susan was right. There had +evidently been room after room of it, stacked to the ceiling. Literally +billions of dollars. They'd moved out hurriedly, but they left kicking +around enough loose hundreds, fifties, twenties, tens and fives to give us +an idea. Look, Woolford, I thought you'd been pulled off this case and +that Walt Foster was handling it." + +Larry said sourly, "I'm beginning to think so, too. They're evidently not +even bothering to let me know about developments like this. See you later, +Steve." + +The other's face faded off. + +Larry Woolford looked across the double desk at Irene Day. "Look," he +said, "when you're offered a promotion, take it. If you don't, someone +else will and you'll be out in the cold." + +Irene Day said brightly, "I've always know that, sir." + +He looked at her. The typical eager beaver. Sharp as a whip. Bright as a +button. "I'll bet you have," he muttered. + +"I beg your pardon, Mr. Woolford?" + +The phone lit as LaVerne said, "The Boss wants to talk to you, Larry." Her +face faded and Larry's superior was scowling at him. + +He snapped, "Did you get anything on this medical records thing, +Woolford?" + +"Medical records?" Larry said blankly. + +The Boss grunted in deprecation. "No, I suppose you haven't. I wish you +would snap into it, Woolford. I don't know what has happened to you of +late. I used to think that you were a good field man." He flicked off +abruptly. + +Larry dialed LaVerne Polk. "What in the world was the Boss just talking +about, LaVerne? About medical records?" + +LaVerne said, frowning, "Didn't you know? The Movement's been at it again. +They've fouled up the records of the State Medical Licensing bureaus, at +the same time sabotaging the remaining records of most, if not all, of the +country's medical schools. They struck simultaneously, throughout the +country." + +He looked at her, expressionlessly. + +LaVerne said, "We've caught several hundred of those responsible. It's the +same thing. Attack of the social-label. From now on, if a man tells you +he's an Ear, Eye and Throat specialist, you'd better do some investigation +before letting him amputate your tongue. You'd better use your judgment +before letting _any_ doctor you don't really know about, work on you. It's +a madhouse, Larry." + + ------------------------------------- + +Larry Woolford, for long moments after LaVerne had broken the connection, +stared unseeingly at his secretary across from him until she stirred. + +He brought his eyes back to the present. "Another preliminary move, not +the important thing, yet. Not the big explosion they're figuring on. Where +have they taken that money, and why?" + +Irene Day blinked at him. "I don't know, I'm sure, sir." + +Larry said, "Get me Mr. Foster on the phone, Irene." + +When Walt Foster's unhappy face faded in, Larry said, "Walt did you get +Frol Eivazov?" + +"Eivazov?" the other said impatiently. "No. We haven't spent much effort +on it. I think this hunch of yours is like the other ones you've been +having lately, Woolford. Frol Eivazov was last reported by our operatives +as being in North Korea." + +"It wasn't a hunch," Larry said tightly. "He's in this country on an +assignment dealing with the Movement." + +"Well, that's your opinion," Foster said snappishly. "I'm busy, Woolford. +See here, at present you're under my orders on this job. In the way of +something to do, instead of sitting around in that office, why don't you +follow up this Eivazov thing yourself?" He considered it a moment. "That's +an order, Woolford. Even if you don't locate him, it'll keep you out of +our hair." + +After the other was gone, Larry Woolford leaned back in his chair, his +face flushed as though the other had slapped it. In a way, he had. + +Larry said slowly, "Miss Day, dial me Hans Distelmayer. His offices are +over in the Belmont Building." + +As always, the screen remained blank as the German spy master spoke. + +Larry said, "Hans, I want to talk to Frol Eivazov." + +"Ah?" + +"I want to know where I can find him." + +The German's voice was humorously gruff. "My friend, my friend." + +Larry said impatiently, "I'm not interested in arresting him at this time. +I want to talk to him." + +The other said heavily. "This goes beyond favors, my friend. On the face +of it, I am not in business for my health. And what you ask is dangerous +from my viewpoint. You realize that upon occasion my organization does +small tasks for the Soviets...." + +"Ha!" Larry said bitterly. + +"... And," the German continued, unruffled, "it is hardly to my interest +to gain the reputation of betraying my sometimes employers. Were you on an +assignment in, say, Bulgaria or Hungary, would you expect me to betray you +to the _Chrezvychainaya Komissiya_?" + +"Not unless somebody paid you enough to make it worth while," Larry said +dryly. + +"Exactly," the espionage chief said. + +"Look," Larry said. "Send your bill to this department, Hans. I've been +given carte blanche on this matter and I want to talk to Frol. Now, where +is he?" + +The German chuckled heavily. "At the Soviet Embassy." + +"What! You mean they've got the gall to house their top spy right in--" + +Distelmayer interrupted him. "Friend Eivazov is currently accredited as a +military attache and quite correctly. He holds the rank of colonel, you +know. He entered this country quite legally, the only precaution taken was +to use his second name, Kliment, instead of Frol, on his papers. +Evidently, your people passed him by without a second look. Ah, I +understand he went to the trouble of making some minor changes in his +facial appearance." + +"We'll expect your bill, Distelmayer," Larry said. "Good-by." + +He got up and reached for his hat, saying to Irene Day, "I don't know how +long I'll be gone." He added, wryly, "If either Foster or the Boss try to +get in touch with me, tell them I'm carrying out orders." + +He drove over to the Soviet Embassy, parked his car directly before the +building. + + ------------------------------------- + +The American plainclothesmen stationed near the entrance, gave him only a +quick onceover as he passed. Inside the gates, the impassive Russian +guards didn't bother to flicker an eyelid. + +At the reception desk in the immense entrada, he identified himself. "I'd +like to see Colonel Frol Eivazov." + +"I am afraid--" the clerk began stiffly. + +"I suppose you have him on the records as Kliment Eivazov." + +The clerk had evidently touched a concealed button. A door opened and a +junior embassy official approached them. + +Larry restated his desire. The other began to open his mouth in denial, +then shrugged. "Just a moment," he said. + +He was gone a full twenty minutes. When he returned, he said briefly, +"This way, please." + +Frol Eivazov was in an inner office, in full uniform. He came to his feet +when Larry Woolford entered and said to the clerk, "That will be all, +Vova." He was a tall man, as Slavs go, but heavy of build and heavy of +face. + +He shook hands with Larry. "It's been a long time," he said in perfect +English. "That conference in Warsaw, wasn't it? Have a chair, Mr. +Woolford." + +Larry took the offered chair and said, "How in the world did you expect to +get by with this nonsense? We'll have you declared _persona non grata_ in +a matter of hours." + +"It's not important," Eivazov shrugged. "I have found what I came to find. +I was about to return to report any way." + +"We won't do anything to hinder you, colonel," Larry said dryly. + +Eivazov snapped his fingers. "It's all amusing," he said. "In our country +we would quickly deal with this Movement nonsense. You Americans with your +pseudo-democracy, your labels without reality, your--" + +Larry said wearily, "Please, Frol, I promise not to convert you if you +promise not to convert me. Needless to say, my department isn't happy +about your presence in this country. You'll be watched from now on. We've +been busy with other matters...." + +Here the Russian laughed. + +"... Or we'd already have flushed you." He allowed his voice to go +curious. "We've wondered about your interest in this phase of our internal +affairs." + +The Russian agent let his facade slip over farther, his heavy lips +sneering. "We are interested in all phases of your antiquated +socio-economic system, Mr. Woolford. In the present peaceful economic +competition between East and West, we would simply _loathe_ to see +anything happen to your present culture." He hesitated deliberately. "If +you can call it a culture." + +Larry said, unprovoked, "If I understand you correctly, you are not in +favor of the changes the Movement advocates." + +The Russian shrugged hugely. "I doubt if they are possible of achievement. +The organization is a sloppy one. Revolutionary? Nonsense," he scoffed. +"They have no plans to change the government. No plans for overthrowing +the regime. Ultimately, what this country needs is true Communism. This +so-called Movement doesn't have that as its eventual goal. It is +laughable." + +Larry said, interestedly, "Then perhaps you'll tell me what little you've +found out about the group." + +"Why not?" The Russian pursed his lips. "They are composed of impractical +idealists. Scientists, intellectuals, a few admitted scholars and even a +few potential leaders. Their sabotage of your Department of Records was an +amusing farce, but, frankly, I have been unable to discover the purpose of +their interest in rockets. For a time I contemplated the possibility that +they had a scheme to develop a nuclear bomb, and to explode it over +Greater Washington in the belief that in the resulting confusion they +might seize power. But, on the face of it their membership is incapable of +such an effort." + +"Their interest in rockets?" Larry said softly. + +"Yes, as you've undoubtedly discovered, half the rocket technicians of +your country seem to have joined with them. We got the tip through"--the +Russian cleared his throat--"several of our converts who happen to be +connected with your space efforts groups." + +"Is that so?" Larry said. "I wondered what you thought about their +interest in money." + +It was the other's turn to look blank. "Money?" he said. + +"That's right. Large quantities of money." + +The Russian said, frowning, "I suppose most citizens in your capitalist +countries are interested largely in money. One of your basic failings." + + ------------------------------------- + +Driving back to the office, Larry Woolford let it pile up on him. + +Ernest Self had been a specialist in solid fuel for rockets. When Larry +had questioned Professor Voss that worthy had particularly stressed his +indignation at how Professor Goddard, the rocket pioneer, had been treated +by his contemporaries. Franklin Nostrand had been employed as a technician +on rocket research at Madison Air Laboratories. It was too darn much for +coincidence. + +And now something else that had been nagging away at the back of his mind +suddenly came clear. + +Susan Self had said that she and her father had seen the precision dancers +at the New Roxy Theater in New York and later the Professor had said they +were going to spend the money on chorus girls. Susan had got it wrong. The +Rockettes--the precision chorus girls. The Professor had said they were +going to spend the money on _rockets_, and Susan had misunderstood. + +But billions of dollars expended on rockets? How? But, above all, to what +end? + +If he'd only been able to hold onto Susan, or her father; or to Voss or +Nostrand, for that matter. Someone to work on. But each had slipped +through his fingers. + +Which brought something else up from his subconscious. Something which had +been tugging at him. + +At the office, Irene Day was packing her things as he entered. Packing as +though she was leaving for good. + +"What goes on?" Larry growled. "I'm going to be needing you. Things are +coming to a head." + +She said, a bit snippishly, Larry thought, "Miss Polk, in the Boss' +office, said for you to see her as soon as you came in, Mr. Woolford." + +"Oh?" + +He made his way to LaVerne's office, his attention actually on the ideas +churning in his mind. + +She looked up when he entered. + +Larry said, "The Boss wanted to see me?" + +LaVerne ducked her head, as though embarrassed. "Not exactly, Larry." + +He gestured with his thumb in the direction of his own cubicle office. +"Irene just said you wanted me." + +LaVerne looked up into his face. "The Boss and Mr. Foster, too, are +boiling about your authorizing that Distelmayer man to bill this +department for information he gave you. The Boss hit the roof. Something +about the Senate Appropriations Committee getting down on him if it came +out that we bought information from professional espionage agents." + +Larry said, "It was information we needed, and Foster gave me the go ahead +on locating Frol Eivazov. Maybe I'd better see the Boss." + +LaVerne said, "I don't think he wants to see you, Larry. They're up to +their ears in this Movement thing. It's in the papers _now_ and nobody +knows what to do next. The President is going to make a speech on TriD, +and the Boss has to supply the information. His orders are for you to +resume your vacation. To take a month off and then see him when you get +back." + +Larry sank down into a chair. "I see," he said, "And at that time he'll +probably transfer me to janitor service." + +"Larry," LaVerne said, almost impatiently, "why in the world didn't you +take that job Walt Foster has now when the Boss offered it to you?" + +"Because I'm stupid, I suppose," Larry said bitterly. "I thought I could +do more working alone than at an administrative post tangled in red tape +and bureaucratic routine." + +She said, "Sorry, Larry." She sounded as though she meant it. + +Larry stood up. "Well, tonight I'm going to hang one on, and tomorrow it's +back to Florida." He said in a rush, "Look LaVerne, how about that date +we've been talking about for six months or more?" + +She looked up at him. "I can't stand vodka martinis." + +"Neither can I," he said glumly. + +"And I don't get a kick out of prancing around, a stuffed shirt among +fellow stuffed shirts, at some goings-on that supposedly improves my +culture status." + +Larry said "At the house I have every known brand of drinkable, and a +stack of ... what did you call it? ... corny music. We can mix our own +drinks and dance all by ourselves." + +She tucked her head to one side and looked at him suspiciously. "Are your +intentions honorable?" + +"We can even discuss that later," he said sourly. + +She laughed. "It's a date, Larry." + + ------------------------------------- + +He picked her up after work, and they drove to his Brandywine +auto-bungalow, largely quiet the whole way. + +At one point she touched his hand with hers and said, "It'll work out, +Larry." + +"Yeah," he said sourly. "I've put ten years into ingratiating myself with +the Boss. Now, overnight, he's got a new boy. I suppose there's some moral +involved." + +When they pulled up before his auto-bungalow, LaVerne whistled +appreciatively. "Quite a neighborhood you're in." + +He grunted. "A good address. What our friend Professor Voss would call one +more status symbol, one more social-label. For it I pay about fifty per +cent more rent than my budget can afford." + +He ushered her inside and took her jacket. "Look," he said, indicating his +living room with a sweep of hand. "See that volume of Klee reproductions +there next to my reading chair? That proves I'm not a weird. Indicates my +culture status. Actually, my appreciation of modern art doesn't go any +further than the Impressionists. But don't tell anybody. See those books +up on my shelves. Same thing. You'll find everything there that _ought_ to +be on the shelves of any ambitious young career man." + +She looked at him from the side of her eyes. "You're really soured, +Larry." + +"Come along," he said. "I want to show you something." + +He took her down the tiny elevator to his den. + +"How hypocritical can you get?" he asked her. "This is where I really +live. But I seldom bring anyone here. Wouldn't want to get a reputation as +a weird. Sit down, LaVerne, I'll make a drink. How about a Sidecar?" + +She sank onto the couch, kicked her shoes off and slipped her feet under +her. "I'd love one," she said. + +His back to her, he brought brandy and cointreau from his liquor cabinet, +lemon and ice from the tiny refrigerator. + +"What?" LaVerne said mockingly. "No auto-bar?" + +"Upstairs with the rest of the status symbols," Larry grunted. + +He put her drink before her and turned and went to the record player. + +"In the way of corny music, how do you like that old-timer, Nat Cole?" + +"King Cole? Love him," LaVerne said. + +The strains of "For All We Know" penetrated the room. + +Larry sat down across from her, finished half his drink in one swallow. + +"I'm beginning to wonder whether or not this Movement doesn't have +something," he said. + +She didn't answer that. They sat in silence for a while, appreciating the +drink. Nat Cole was singing "The Very Thought of You" now. Larry got up +and made two more cocktails. This time he sat next to her. He leaned his +head back on the couch and closed his eyes. + +Finally he said softly, "When Steve Hackett and I were questioning Susan, +there was only one other person who knew that we'd picked her up. There +was only one person other than Steve and me who could have warned Ernest +Self to make a getaway. Later on, there was only one person who could have +warned Frank Nostrand so that he and the Professor could find a new +hideout." + +She said sleepily, "How long have you known about that, darling?" + +"A while," Larry said, his own voice quiet. "I figured it out when I also +decided how Susan Self was spirited out of the Greater Washington Hilton, +before we had the time to question her further. Somebody who had access to +tapes made of me while I was making phone calls cut out a section and +dubbed in a voice so that Betsy Hughes, the Secret Service matron who was +watching Susan, was fooled into believing it was I ordering the girl to be +turned over to the two Movement members who came to get her." + +LaVerne stirred comfortably and let her head sink onto his shoulder. +"You're so warm and ... comfortable," she said. + +Larry said softly, "What does the Movement expect to do with all that +counterfeit money, LaVerne?" + +She stirred against his shoulder, as though bothered by the need to talk. +"Give it all away," she said. "Distribute it all over the country and +destroy the nation's social currency." + +It took him a long moment to assimilate that. + +"What have the rockets to do with it?" + +She stirred once again, as though wishing he'd be silent. "That's how it +will be distributed. About twenty rockets, strategically placed, each with +a _warhead_ of a couple of tons of money. Fired to an altitude of a couple +of hundred miles and then the money is spewed out. In falling, it will be +distributed over cities and countryside, everywhere. Billions upon +billions of dollars worth." + +Larry said, so softly as hardly to be heard, "What will that accomplish?" + +"Money is the greatest social-label of them all. The Professor believes +that through this step the Movement will have accomplished its purpose. +That people will be forced to utilize their judgment, rather than depend +upon social-labels." + +Larry didn't follow that, but he had no time to go further now. He said, +still evenly soft, "And when is the Movement going to do this?" + +La Verne moved comfortably. "The trucks go out to distribute the money +tonight. The rockets are waiting. The firing will take place in a few +days." + +"And where is the Professor now?" + +"Where the money and the trucks are hidden, darling. What difference does +it make?" LaVerne said sleepily. + +"And where is that?" + +"At the Greater Washington Trucking Corporation. It's owned by one of the +Movement's members." + +He said. "There's a password. What is it?" + +"Judgment." + +Larry Woolford bounced to his feet. He looked down at her, then over at +the phone. In three quick steps he was over to it. He grasped its wires +and yanked them from the wall, silencing it. He slipped into the tiny +elevator, locking the door to the den behind him. + +As the door slid closed, her voice wailed, still sleepily husky, "Larry, +darling, where are you--" + +He ran down the walk of the house, vaulted into the car and snapped on its +key. He slammed down the lift lever, kicked the thrust pedal and was +thrown back against the seat by the acceleration. + +Even while he was climbing, he flicked on the radio-phone, called Personal +Service for the location of the Greater Washington Trucking Corporation. + +Fifteen minutes later, he parked a block away from his destination, noting +with satisfaction that it was still an hour or more to go until dark. His +intuition, working doubletime now, told him that they'd probably wait +until nightfall to start their money-laden trucks to rolling. + +He hesitated momentarily before turning on the phone and dialing the Boss' +home address. + +When the other's face faded in, it failed to display pleasure when the +caller's identity was established. His superior growled, "Confound it, +Woolford, you know my privacy is to be respected. This phone is to be used +only in extreme emergency." + +"Yes, sir," Larry said briskly. "It's the Movement--" + +The other's face darkened still further. "You're not on that assignment +any longer, Woolford. Walter Foster has taken over and I'm sympathetic to +his complaints that you've proven more a hindrance than anything else." + +Larry ignored his words, "Sir, I've tracked them down. Professor Voss is +at the Greater Washington Trucking Corporation garages here in the +Alexandria section of town. Any moment now, they're going to start +distribution of all that counterfeit money on some scatterbrain plan to +disrupt the country's exchange system." + +Suddenly alert, the department chief snapped, "Where are you, Woolford?" + +"Outside the garages, sir. But I'm going in now." + +"You stay where you are," the other snapped. "I'll have every department +man and every Secret Service man in town over there within twenty minutes. +You hang on. Those people are lunatics, and probably desperate." + +Inwardly, Larry Woolford grinned. He wasn't going to lose this opportunity +to finish up the job with him on top. He said flatly, "Sir, we can't +chance it. They might escape. I'm going in!" He flicked off the set, +dialed again and raised Sam Sokolski. + +"Sam," he said, his voice clipped. "I've cornered the Movement's leader +and am going in for the finish. Maybe some of you journalist boys better +get on over here." He gave the other the address and flicked off before +there were any questions. + + ------------------------------------- + +From the dash compartment he brought a heavy automatic, and checked the +clip. He put it in his hip pocket and left the car and walked toward the +garages. Time was running out now. + +He strode into the only open door, without shift of pace. Two men were +posted nearby, neither of them truckmen by appearance. They looked at him +in surprise. + +Larry clipped out, "The password is _Judgment_. I've got to see Professor +Voss immediately." + +One of them frowned questioningly, but the other was taken up with the +urgency in Woolford's voice. He nodded with his head. "He's over there in +the office." + +Now ignoring them completely, Larry strode past the long rows of sealed +delivery vans toward the office. + +He pushed the door open, entered and closed it behind him. + +Professor Peter Voss was seated at a paper-littered desk. There was a cot +with an army blanket in a corner of the room, some soiled clothing and two +or three dirty dishes on a tray. The room was being lived in, obviously. + +At the agent's entry, the little man looked up and blinked in distress +through his heavy lenses. + +Larry snapped, "You're under arrest, Voss." + +The professor was obviously dismayed, but he said in as vigorous a voice +as he could muster, "Nonsense! On what charge?" + +"Counterfeiting, among many. Your whole scheme has fallen apart, Voss. You +and your Movement, so-called, are finished." + +The professor's eyes darted, left, right. To Larry Woolford's surprise, +the Movement's leader was alone in here. Undoubtedly, he was awaiting +others, drivers of the trucks, technicians involved in the rockets, other +subordinates. But right now he was alone. + +If Woolford correctly diagnosed the situation, Voss was playing for time, +waiting for the others. Good enough, so was Larry Woolford. Had the +Professor only known it, a shout would have brought at least two followers +and the government agent would have had his work cut out for him. + +Woodford played along. "Just what is this fantastic scheme of yours for +raining down money over half the country, Voss? The very insanity of it +proves your whole outfit is composed of a bunch of nonconformist weirds." + +The Professor was indignant--and stalling for time. He said, +"Nonconformists is correct! He who conforms in an incompetent society is +an incompetent himself." + +Larry stood, his legs apart and hands on hips. He shook his head in +simulated pity at the angry little man. "What's all this about raining +money down over the country?" + +"Don't you see?" the other said. "The perfect method for disrupting our +present system of social-labels. With billions of dollars, perfect +counterfeit, strewing the streets, the fields, the trees, available for +anyone to pick up, all social currency becomes worthless. Utterly +unusable. And it's no use to attempt to print more with another design, +because we can duplicate it as well. Our experts are the world's best, +we're not a group of sulking criminals but capable, trained, dedicated +men. + +"Very well! We will have made it absolutely impossible to have any form of +mass-produced social currency." + +Larry stared at him. "It would completely foul the whole business system! +You'd have chaos!" + +"At first. Private individuals, once the value of money was seen to be +zero, would have lost the amount of cash they had on hand. But banks and +such institutions would lose little. They have accurate records that show +the actual values they held at the time our money rains down." + +Larry was bewildered. "But what are you getting at? What do you expect to +accomplish?" + +The Professor, on his favorite subject, said triumphantly, "The only form +of currency that can be used under these conditions is the _personal_ +check. It's not mass produced, and mass-production can't duplicate it. +It's immune to the attack. Business has to go on, or people will starve--so +personal checks will have to replace paper money. Credit cards and +traveler's checks won't do--we can counterfeit them, too, and will, if +necessary. Realize of course that hard money will still be valid, but it +can't be utilized practically for any but small transactions. Try taking +enough silver dollars to buy a refrigerator down to the store with you." + +"But what's the purpose?" Larry demanded, flabbergasted. + +"Isn't it obvious? Our whole Movement is devoted to the destruction of +social-label judgments. It's all very well to say: _You should not judge +your fellow men_ but when it comes to accepting another man's personal +check, friend, you damn well have to! The bum check artist might have a +field day to begin with--but only to begin with." + +Larry shook his head in exasperation. "You people are a bunch of +anarchists," he accused. + +"No," the Professor denied. "Absolutely not. We are the antithesis of the +anarchist. The anarchist says, 'No man is capable of judging another.' We +say, 'Each man must judge his fellow, must demand proper evaluation of +him.' To judge a man by his clothes, the amount of money he owns, the car +he drives, the neighborhood in which he lives, or the society he keeps, is +out of the question in a vital culture." + +Larry said sourly, "Well, whether or not you're right, Voss, you've lost. +This place is surrounded. My men will be breaking in shortly." + +Voss laughed at him. "Nonsense. All you've done is prevent us from +accomplishing this portion of our program. What will you do after my +arrest? You'll bring me to trial. Do you remember the Scopes' Monkey Trial +back in the 1920s which became a world appreciated farce and made +Tennessee a laughingstock? Well, just wait until you get _me_ into court +backed by my organization's resources. We'll bring home to every thinking +person, not only in this country, but in the world, the fantastic +qualities of our existing culture. Why, +Mr.-Secret-Agent-of-Anti-Subversive-Activity you aren't doing me an injury +by giving me the opportunity to have my day in court. You're doing me a +favor. Newspapers, radios, TriD will give me the chance to expound my +program in the home of every thinking person in the world." + +There was a fiery dedication in the little man's eyes. "This will be my +victory, not my defeat!" + +There were sounds now, coming from the other rooms--the garages. Some +shouts and scuffling. Faintly, Larry Woolford could hear Steve Hackett's +voice. + +He was staring at the Professor, his eyes narrower. + +The Professor was on his feet. He said in defiant triumph, "You think that +you'll win prestige and honor as a result of tracking the Movement down, +don't you, Mr. Woolford? Well, let me tell you, you won't! In six months +from now, Mr. Woolford, you'll be a laughingstock." + +That did it. + +Larry said, "You're under arrest. Turn around with your back to me." + +The Professor snorted his contempt, turned his back and held up his hands, +obviously expecting to be searched. + +In a fluid motion, Larry Woolford drew his gun and fired twice. The other +with no more than a grunt of surprise and pain, stumbled forward to his +knees and then to the floor, his arms and legs akimbo. + +The door broke open and Steve Hackett, gun in hand, burst in. + +"Woolford!" he barked. "What's up?" + +Larry indicated the body on the floor. "There you are, Steve," he said. +"The head of the counterfeit ring. He was trying to escape. I had to shoot +him." + +Behind Steve Hackett crowded Ben Ruthenberg of the F.B.I. and behind him +half a dozen others of various departments. + +The Boss came pushing his way through. + +He glared down at the Professor's body, then up at Larry Woolford. + +"Good work, Lawrence," he said. "How did you bring it off?" + +Larry replaced the gun in his holster and shrugged modestly. "The Polk +girl gave me the final tip-off, sir. I gave her some Scop-Serum in a drink +and she talked. Evidently, she was a member of the Movement." + +The Boss was nodding wisely. "I've had my eye on her, Lawrence. An obvious +weird. But we will have to suppress that Scop-Serum angle." He slapped his +favorite field man on the arm jovially. "Well, boy, this means promotion, +of course." + +Larry grinned. "Thanks, sir. All in a day's work. I don't think we'll have +much trouble with the remnants of this Movement thing. The pitch is to +treat them as counterfeiters, not subversives. Try them for that. Their +silly explanations of what they were going to do with the money will never +be taken seriously." He looked down at the small corpse. "Particularly now +that their kingpin is gone." + +A new wave of agents, F.B.I. men and prisoners washed into the room and +Steve Hackett and Larry were for a moment pushed back into a corner by +themselves. + +Steve looked at him strangely and said, "There's one thing I'd like to +know: Did you really have to shoot him, Woolford?" + +Larry brushed it off. "What's the difference? He was as weird as they +come, wasn't he?" + +THE END + + + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STATUS QUO*** + + + +CREDITS + + +October 26, 2009 + + Project Gutenberg TEI edition 1 + Produced by Greg Weeks, David King, and the Online Distributed + Proofreading Team at <http://www.pgdp.net/>. + + + +A WORD FROM PROJECT GUTENBERG + + +This file should be named 30339.txt or 30339.zip. + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + + + http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/0/3/3/30339/ + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one -- the old editions will be +renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one +owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and +you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission +and without paying copyright royalties. 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