Ah, he actually was sobering up! “The good of the service,” I said.
“I wasn’t making a spectacle of myself,” he protested.
“No, no,” I said. I decided to take the plunge. “Army Intelligence on Flisten is in the midst of a most difficult case. We have been told that you are the most discreet and the most reliable Supply officer in the service.”
He sat there looking at me. “Nobody ever said that before.”
“Well, it’s time the truth came out,” I said, praying that catastrophe would never occur.
He marveled for a while. “No (bleep)? Somebody said that?”
“The computers say so and they are never wrong,” I said.
He perked up. “That’s true,” he decided.
“On Flisten,” I said, “there have been thefts of the most secret and sensitive bugging devices known. A real crime. Affects the security of the State. Even the Emperor.” I looked around covertly to make sure we were unobserved.
My delivery was slightly marred by my noticing that we were being observed. A shadowy figure just inside the door of the Field Hospital Room, when I looked, faded from view.
Oh, well, just some lush, I guessed. Place was full of lushes. I got back to the project. I pushed my closed hand up toward his face. I opened it.
His eyes fixed on the Timp Snahp, Army Intelligence identoplate.
“Oh, I know you’re in Intelligence,” he said. “I can tell by your uniform.”
“I just wanted you to be sure. For what I am about to impart to you must not be related to a soul. Do you give me your word on that?”
“There’s no need to question my word,” he said a trifle huffily.
“Good. Then we understand one another. I certainly appreciate your promise of help.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. I wondered if he really was sober. He looked it, though. Still, you can never tell about Army officers.
“So!” I said in a businesslike way. “To business.” I leaned forward and spoke very softly. “These bugging devices were stolen. The very latest developments. And,” I leaned even closer, spacing each word, “we have reason to believe that the thief was hired by the bug manufacturer!” I saw this startled him. “Only they would know of the devices. We think,” and I tapped him on the lapel, “that the manufacturer stole them back on Flisten and is trying to sell them on Voltar!”
“No!”
“Yes! A very cunning way of making a double profit.”
“Well, (bleep) them!”
“Now, as you know, hypersecret bugging devices can only be sold to the authorized supply and purchasing officers of the services. And these devices were exclusively Army and could be sold only to the Army.”
“Oh, I know that.”
“So here is what we are going to do. You are going to pretend to be interested in buying . . .”
“Oh, I can’t do that. I don’t have my purchase form books.”
“You gave me your word.”
He slumped a bit. “So I did.”
“Good. You are being very patriotic. The computer was right.” That helped, so I plunged on. “You don’t have to buy anything at all. I want you to simply inspect the items as though interested in purchasing them. Then I, without them suspecting, will glance at the parts numbers of the pieces they show you and compare them to the parts numbers of those stolen. And if we are right, we will simply go away and I will call my Army Intelligence seniors, they will stage a raid and we will have the whole thing cleared up.” He seemed to hesitate. “It will look nice on your already splendid record. Even a citation.” I think they also put citations on tombstones, I added to myself.
In Supply, they don’t have much of a crack at citations. You almost never see any braid on their chests. It was the clincher.
“Now,” I continued as he sat there gloating, “I will slip out and make a call. I’ll be right back.”
I went to a booth and slid his identoplate into the slot and called the number I had already carefully located. It was that of a small specialty electronics firm that flamboyantly called itself THE EYES AND EARS OF VOLTAR COMPANY. Nobody answered. I glanced at my watch. The colonel had taken so long to sober up that we had gone past business hours. But I was prepared for that. I had the residence number of the owner. Using the colonel’s plate, I reached him.
“I’m sorry. The store is closed,” he said.
“Closed to a million-credit possible contract?” I said.
He pushed the lever that lets one inspect the caller’s identoplate. There was an intake of breath. “I’ll get my whole sales staff down there. . . .”
“No, no!” I said hastily. “The devices we are interested in are only your most secret devices. We don’t want anyone to know we are considering such a massive order of them. Do us the favor of coming alone. We must maintain secrecy!”
“Will 19:30 be all right?”
It would be dark. That would be fine. “Don’t light the place up,” I added. “There have been agents from the Calabar revolt spotted in town. But don’t be afraid. I will have an armed bodyguard with me, posing as a civilian technical expert.” That was fine, so I hung up.
I verified that the colonel had a private aircar on call.
The pantsless waitress was presenting a check to be stamped when I got back to the table and the colonel was looking through every pocket in alarm. “I’ve lost my identoplate!”
Smoothness is the essence of an Apparatus trained agent. With the colonel’s identoplate in my palm, I scraped around on the dark floor under his feet, amongst the litter of discarded cold cloths. I reached up and dropped it on the table. “You ought to be careful of that,” I said. “Never drop an identoplate!”
He took it thankfully and stamped the check. “I thought for a moment we’d have to use yours!” he said, laughing.
That would be all I’d need. I was shortly going to have two murders on my hands. No traces left in the club! No, thank you! I even gave the waitress a five-credit tip—it was the colonel’s money.
We had not too much time and I had to hustle him along. We got outside and his aircar drove up! He had a driver! I had not counted on a driver. This one looked so tough he must have to shave with a blastgun. Complications! I had thought that a private aircar would mean no driver. But that’s the way the Army must do things. Wasting personnel all over the place. Lombar’s plans for the riffraff would cure this overpopulation!
As we flew off, the colonel said, “Won’t they suspect you are after them if you go in in that uniform?”
It was the very hint I was looking for. I had been seen walking out of that club in the gaudy uniform of Army Intelligence and could be remembered in case of an investigation.
“I have predicted that. With your permission.” And I moved further back in the spacious rear of the aircar. “Turn out the interior lights, please. We have certain professionalisms in Army Intelligence.”
In the dark, I scrambled around, got out of the Army Intelligence custard and into the common civilian one-piece and its haberdashery and shoes. I checked to make sure all my weapons were in place in the civilian attire. I took out some scientist-looking spectacles and put them on. I signified they could turn the interior lights on again.
“My, what a change!” said the colonel admiringly. The (bleeped) fool. My makeup hadn’t been changed, only the funny glasses added.
“Now, they may be desperate,” I said. “Is your driver armed?”
Boy, this was way out of the sphere of activity of Supply! Exciting! The driver patted his holster. I insisted that I check that it was operational. When I got the gun in my hands, I opened it, verified its charge and, as I closed it, covertly bent the firing electrode over so it wouldn’t connect. “All fine,” I said, handing it back.
It was quite a flight to Commercial City and I was afraid we would be late. I spotted the darkened, small factory and store for them and the driver flew down and parked in back.
PART TEN
Chapter 5
The owner, all by himself, bless him, opened the back door and let us in. A wiry, elderly man, he stood there rubbing his hands together so hard I thought the skin would come off.
This area was a storeroom, display room and a counter. There is not much mass to bugging devices.
“Colonel,” he said. “I am Spurk, the owner of the Eyes and Ears of Voltar. I am delighted to be able to serve you. However, as you know, our truly secret devices can only be marketed to the Army. . . .”
The colonel showed his identoplate.
I gave him the briefest peek of the Professor Gyrant Slahb identoplate.
So that was fine! I told him we were really interested in the latest subcranial devices.
Spurk ignored all the stuff on the shelves. That was just common bugging stuff for wives on the trail of their husbands and Domestic Police checking on their superiors. He carefully worked the combinations of plates that opened a big vault door and began to bring out the real goodies.
“It is very fortunate that we have just developed some superlative items,” he said. “They passed the laboratory and test stages with wonderful marks. And frankly, you are here anticipating their actual offer to the Army.”
Oh, was my luck holding! I had gotten, months before, a rumor of this and it was true!
Spurk had a box on the counter. It was the kind you put diamonds in, all soft lined. He took a pair of tweezers from another desk. He opened the box and, like somebody handling a precious stone, removed the device. You could barely see it!
“This is the newest. Older ones had to be inserted in contact with the actual optical nerve. This one operates by induction. It can be within two inches of the optical nerve, so long as it is bone-immersed, and it will work clearly and splendidly.”
“I don’t quite understand it,” said the colonel, playing his part.
I picked up a glass and made like I was looking for numbers on the thing Spurk held. I covertly winked at the colonel, with a slight nod. Numbers? The thing itself was smaller than the tiniest numbers.
“It is a respondo-mitter,” said Spurk. “It is activated by a totally new and undetectable wave from an external source. This device here,” and he tapped a box he had not opened, “sends a continuous wave to the respondo-mitter. In turn, the respondo-mitter, secretly introduced into the patient’s temple or brow bones, to use layman’s language, then picks up and amplifies the internal current of the optical nerve and transmits it to the receiver.” And he tapped the box.
He got busy opening another box. It was a screen like a Homeview, but much tinier. “The result is that whatever the subject is looking at appears on this screen.”
“Three-dimensional?” I said.
“Oh, no, I’m sorry. It has not advanced that far. But the picture is absolutely brilliant!”
“Range?” I said.
“The activator-receiver can be within two hundred miles of the subject.”
Ow! How do you run somebody in the United States when you are in Turkey? Too many miles! “Too short a distance,” I said.
“Ah, then you would need the 831 Relayer,” he said. And he tapped another box. “It boosts it to ten thousand miles. The respondo-mitter signal is picked up by the receiver and it in turn, when connected to the 831 Relayer, resends the signal.”
He had me breathing again. I had thought all this was for nothing.
For the colonel’s benefit I pretended to inspect the parts numbers of the receiver, relayer and the viewscreen. Then I said, “But this doesn’t take care of sound.”
“Ah,” said Spurk, proudly. He opened another box. He took the tweezers and held up a tiny object not unlike the first. “This is the simple one. Sound operates on bone resonance. This audio-respondo-mitter can be placed a millimeter or two from the optical one. The same receiver, relayer and screen have audio channels. Our scientists have thought of everything.”
Except what an Apparatus officer is liable to do, I thought.
“So,” I said, “these two devices, inserted in the vicinity of the temple or eye, will carry everything the subject sees and hears to a point within two hundred miles which then can be relayed to a point ten thousand miles. The wave is new?”
“Undetectable! Nonobstructable. No known meters will register it. Actually, it is a very long wave acting as a carrier and conduit for a side band.”
“Emotions?” I said.
“Oh, I am sorry. The scientists didn’t think of that. I will make a note. Emotions. Good idea. Just sight and sound, I am afraid.”
“How about hypno-pulsars,” I said. “You know, when you strike a button, the subject goes into a trance.”
“Oh, I am sorry. We make those but we are all out of stock. Not one in the place.”
(Bleep). “How about electric jolts to get the subject under control?”
“Oh, those. We did have some. We made up an order for the Apparatus but there is not one left here.”
(Bleep), (Bleep)!
But I winked at the colonel covertly. “How many of these cranial devices here do you have? How many complete sets?”
“Just two,” he said. “They are not production line yet. But we can make them up.”
“Let’s see the two sets, with all parts and spares and power packs,” I said.
He started to lay them out. “Power packs are no problem. It’s a two-year, nonfail, all-weather. We had the Army in mind. A spy in enemy territory does not have to report, you see. His superiors just pick up everything he sees and hears. It is reporting by other means that gets spies caught. One can practically be on the other side of a planet and obtain everything wanted from a spy.”
I was pretending to look at the numbers on the items. Really I was looking to make very sure that everything was here.
He had two sets of boxes stacked up. They were not very massive. I inspected carefully to make certain. “You sure this is all?”
“Absolutely. Spares, power packs, everything. Here’s even the installation instructions. It is, I’m afraid, in technical language as it’s intended for a professional cellologist, but I am sure the Army has lots of those.” He laughed.
That was the last laugh he had this life.
I stepped back, drew my bladegun and shot him in the throat.
The colonel, startled with the fly of blood, was not the steady old campaigner I had thought he would be. I would have supposed he could add it up. I had found a parts duplicate, I was executing the offender. He didn’t add it up. He grabbed for his gun! He was turning toward me!
What can you expect of Supply?
“What the Hells are you doing?” he roared at me.
But my concern was not to have a blastgun going off near that sensitive equipment. The resulting magnetic shock waves might disarrange it or something!
The colonel did not get his gun further than pointing at my shoes.
I shot him in the throat! He staggered back. He dropped the gun as he clutched at his throat.
My plans had gone awry. I had thought the colonel would understand. I was a bit off-balance.
Boots were hammering in through the back door!
I had forgotten the driver!
He stopped twenty feet from me. He saw his colonel writhing and dying on the floor in a spatter of blood.
The driver drew his gun. He pointed and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. And then he did something silly. He dropped the gun and grabbed a bayonet out of his boot and started a lunge for me.
I fired and missed! (Bleep) the inaccuracy of a bladegun! It only contained one more blade!
The bayonet was up and coming down. I fired! I rolled to the side.
The driver drove the bayonet two inches into the floor. He fell on it, dead.
Ow, what a slaughterhouse! Blood all over the place! But I reached for the boxes.
“Stiffen, Gris!”
It came from the door to the next room! A blastgun pointing.
PART TEN
Chapter 6
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My own gun was empty. And that blastgun over there was very steady.
I was caught!
With the act witnessed and the bodies in full view!
A sinister, dark figure edged into the room.
“I told you, you made mistakes, Gris.”
It was Raza Torr! Provocation Section Chief!
He lifted an object he was holding in his left hand. “I’ve got full pictures of the entire action here, Gris. Throw down that gun.”
No point in not doing so. It was empty.
“You’re so inept, Gris.”
“Call in your men,” I said.
“Oh, there are no men. I can handle you. In this camera I have just put everything you just did. It also holds your meeting with the woman outside the hypnotist’s office—and that, by the way, was pretty clever, she’s been executed by now. I also have your approach to that cellologist in Slum City and I have no doubt he’ll be dead shortly. I have your meeting with this dumb (bleepard) of a colonel in the Dirt Club. And I have this very messy mess you just made, totally complete.”
Talking isn’t shooting. Keep him talking. “Then you were the one that blew up my airbus in the Blike Mountains!”
“And got back that counterfeit money before you, you dumb idiot, could spread it all around and start an investigation that would lead back to us. You don’t mess up by halves, Gris.”
“You tried to kill me out there,” I said offendedly. “What a thing for a brother Apparatus officer to do!”
“I didn’t know that you had a magic mail setup to send those pictures of me to the Commander of the Death Battalion. That’s all you owe your life to right this minute. I WANT THOSE ORIGINALS AND ALL COPIES!”
I shrugged. “I don’t have them on me. They’re at my office. Let me get this straight. If I turn those over to you, you will turn over that camera and its originals to me. Right?”
“You have it exactly! My Gods, I’m worn out worrying about it. Supposing somebody else killed you? And you’re prime meat, Gris. So get moving. We’ll go to your office.”
“How’d you trail me? You’re not that good.”
“That reminds me you better take the bugs out of those clothes you’re wearing. I put them in when you got them. You’re inept, Gris.”