evidently was boiled away by—”
“All right,” Dill said. “Thanks for notifying me; you did absolutely right.” Stabbing at a button he broke the connection and then asked the monitor for a direct line with Unity Police.
A placid, fleshy face appeared.
Dill said, “Have all the men guarding the Fields girl removed and a new crew, picked absolutely at random, put in at once. Have the present crew detained until they can be fully cleared.” He considered. “Do you have the information regarding Agnes Parker?”
“It came in an hour or two ago,” the police official said.
“Damn it,” Dill said. Too much time had passed. They could work a lot of harm in that time.
They?
The enemy.
“Any word on Father Fields?” he asked. “I take it for granted you haven’t managed to round him up yet.”
“Sorry, sir,” the police official said.
“Let me know what you find on the Parker woman,” Dill said. “Go over her file, naturally. I’ll leave it to you; it’s your business. It’s the Fields girl I’m concerned about. Don’t let anything happen to her. Maybe you should check right now and see if she’s all right; notify me at once, either way.” He rang off then and sat back.
Were they trying to find out who took the Fields girl? he asked himself. And where? That was no secret; she was loaded into my car in broad daylight, in front of a playground of children.
They’re getting closer, he said to himself. They got Vulcan 2 and they got that foolish, sycophantic schoolteacher whose idea of taking care of her children was to gladly sign them over to the first high official who came along. They can infiltrate our innermost buildings. They evidently know exactly what we’re doing. If they can get into the schools, where we train the youth to believe . . .
For an hour or two he sat in the kitchen of his home, warming himself and smoking cigarettes. At last he saw the black night sky begin to turn gray.
Returning to the vidscreen he called Larson. The man, disheveled by sleep, peered at him grumpily until he recognized his superior; then at once he became businesslike and polite. “Yes, sir,” he said.
“I’m going to need you for a special run of questions to Vulcan 3,” Jason Dill said. “We’re going to have to prepare them with utmost care. And there will be difficult work regarding the data-feeding.” He intended to go on, but Larson interrupted him.
“You’ll be pleased to know that we have a line on the person who sent the unsigned letter accusing Director Barris,” Larson said. “We followed up the lead about the ‘talented murdered man.’ We worked on the assumption that Arthur Pitt was meant, and we discovered that Pitt’s wife lives in North Africa—in fact, she’s in Cairo on shopping trips several times a week. There’s such a high degree of probability that she wrote the letter that we’re preparing an order to the police in that region to have her picked up. That’s Blucher’s region, and we’d better put it through his men so there won’t be any hard feelings. I just want to get a clearance from you, so I won’t have to assume the responsibility. You understand, sir. She may not have done it.”
“Pick her up,” Dill said, only half listening to the younger man’s torrent of words.
“Right, sir,” Larson said briskly. “And we’ll let you know what we can get from her. It’ll be interesting to see what her motive is for accusing Barris—assuming of course that it was she. My theory is that she may well be working for some other Director who—”
Dill broke the connection. And went wearily back to bed.
Toward the end of the week, Director William Barris received his DQ form back. Scrawled across the bottom was the notation:
“Improperly filled out. Please correct and refile.”
Furiously, Barris threw the form down on his desk and leaped to his feet. He snapped on the vidsender. “Give me Unity Control at Geneva.”
The Geneva monitor formed.
“All right,” Dill said. “Thanks for notifying me; you did absolutely right.” Stabbing at a button he broke the connection and then asked the monitor for a direct line with Unity Police.
A placid, fleshy face appeared.
Dill said, “Have all the men guarding the Fields girl removed and a new crew, picked absolutely at random, put in at once. Have the present crew detained until they can be fully cleared.” He considered. “Do you have the information regarding Agnes Parker?”
“It came in an hour or two ago,” the police official said.
“Damn it,” Dill said. Too much time had passed. They could work a lot of harm in that time.
They?
The enemy.
“Any word on Father Fields?” he asked. “I take it for granted you haven’t managed to round him up yet.”
“Sorry, sir,” the police official said.
“Let me know what you find on the Parker woman,” Dill said. “Go over her file, naturally. I’ll leave it to you; it’s your business. It’s the Fields girl I’m concerned about. Don’t let anything happen to her. Maybe you should check right now and see if she’s all right; notify me at once, either way.” He rang off then and sat back.
Were they trying to find out who took the Fields girl? he asked himself. And where? That was no secret; she was loaded into my car in broad daylight, in front of a playground of children.
They’re getting closer, he said to himself. They got Vulcan 2 and they got that foolish, sycophantic schoolteacher whose idea of taking care of her children was to gladly sign them over to the first high official who came along. They can infiltrate our innermost buildings. They evidently know exactly what we’re doing. If they can get into the schools, where we train the youth to believe . . .
For an hour or two he sat in the kitchen of his home, warming himself and smoking cigarettes. At last he saw the black night sky begin to turn gray.
Returning to the vidscreen he called Larson. The man, disheveled by sleep, peered at him grumpily until he recognized his superior; then at once he became businesslike and polite. “Yes, sir,” he said.
“I’m going to need you for a special run of questions to Vulcan 3,” Jason Dill said. “We’re going to have to prepare them with utmost care. And there will be difficult work regarding the data-feeding.” He intended to go on, but Larson interrupted him.
“You’ll be pleased to know that we have a line on the person who sent the unsigned letter accusing Director Barris,” Larson said. “We followed up the lead about the ‘talented murdered man.’ We worked on the assumption that Arthur Pitt was meant, and we discovered that Pitt’s wife lives in North Africa—in fact, she’s in Cairo on shopping trips several times a week. There’s such a high degree of probability that she wrote the letter that we’re preparing an order to the police in that region to have her picked up. That’s Blucher’s region, and we’d better put it through his men so there won’t be any hard feelings. I just want to get a clearance from you, so I won’t have to assume the responsibility. You understand, sir. She may not have done it.”
“Pick her up,” Dill said, only half listening to the younger man’s torrent of words.
“Right, sir,” Larson said briskly. “And we’ll let you know what we can get from her. It’ll be interesting to see what her motive is for accusing Barris—assuming of course that it was she. My theory is that she may well be working for some other Director who—”
Dill broke the connection. And went wearily back to bed.
Toward the end of the week, Director William Barris received his DQ form back. Scrawled across the bottom was the notation:
“Improperly filled out. Please correct and refile.”
Furiously, Barris threw the form down on his desk and leaped to his feet. He snapped on the vidsender. “Give me Unity Control at Geneva.”
The Geneva monitor formed.
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