While he was waiting for the call to be completed he reviewed once more a letter that had been on the top of his desk for two days; he knew perfectly well what it said, but he wanted to have it fresh in his mind before he went any further. When the phone tingled he spoke on the line for only a short time, made a commitment, and then hung up. Five minutes later the man he had sent for appeared in the doorway of his office.
Virgil Tibbs was appropriately dressed in a subdued dark suit which he frequently wore for his court appearances. His somewhat slender build suggested a quiet manner, but the parallel impression, that he was not physically very durable, was an illusion. As he came into the office a more discerning observer might have noted a suggestion of body discipline and with it a subtle air of self-possession. It was not at all evident and most people missed it entirely. Bob McGowan knew as well as anyone else that Virgil Tibbs had grown up under near-poverty conditions in the Deep South, and for a Negro boy to rise from that beginning to become the man who stood before him now had taken much more than ordinary effort and determination.
"Sit down," Bob invited.
There was no point in going through any empty preliminaries. "Virgil, I've heard from some gentlemen who would like very much to meet you, later on this afternoon if you can make it. They didn't go into too much detail with me, but I'm sure that they'll fill you in."
" 'Some gentlemen' is a little vague," Tibbs said.
Bob hadn't reaUy expected to get away with that "I can give you a little more," he continued. "They're Feds and undoubtedly they want some sort of cooperation."
"If so, how far shall I commit myself?"
McGowan waved a hand casually. "I'll leave that entirely up to you; do whatever your best judgment dictates."
Tibbs contemplated him quietly for a moment. "Chief McGowan, are you sure that you don't want to give me any further instructions?"
"I wish that I could, in a way, but you'll have to take it as it is. Whatever you decide to do, I'll back you up-you can count on that."
"I'd just like some assurance that I'm not being sold down the river," Virgil said.
"Absolutely not; I wouldn't consider any such idea if there was any way to avoid it. You shouldn't have to ask that. They want to take a look at you-that's the extent of it right now."
Tibbs got to his feet. "I hope it makes them happy. When and where?"
"They're sending a car for you at three. All right with you?"
"I'll tell you when I get back," Virgil said.
He returned to his own office not overly anxious to keep the appointment that had been made for him. He had problems enough on hand, including two or three cases he was very much concerned with getting cleaned up. Business was good, unfortunately, and every man on the force was carrying a full load. The wave of terror bombings that was sweeping the country with its violence, the intransigency of the militants, the wanton murders of police officers, and the sustained international tensions in the Middle and Far East had aU combined to create an atmosphere of frustration and discontent. Jobs for some time had been few and hard to find, a factor that had added even more to the sum total of irritation, actual distress, and sometimes desperation. Now the Feds wanted something and while he was sympathetic with their problems, he had plenty in stock of his own.
When the car arrived, precisely on schedule, it was a current-model Chevrolet shiny with newness. The driver was quite formal in the way he got out and held open the rear door for his passenger; it suggested that he might have been in the military and accustomed to driving the brass in the regulation manner. It also made clear that conversation was discouraged. Accepting that fact, Virgil settled down in the back seat and allowed himself to be driven away.
As the car headed north the few road noises that filtered through the closed windows and the subdued sound of the air conditioning blower were the only things that underlay the essential quiet. There being nothing else productive to do, Tibbs studied the sharply rising brown hiUs, baked by the strong sunlight day after day and denied water during almost all of the hot summer months. The blanket of smog that so often plagued Pasadena was heavy in the air. Behind the strongly built foothills the mountains were more massive
than they appeared; the discoloration in the atmosphere made them seem almost misty even at relatively close range.
Not long after the car reached the end of the city streets it began to climb. The heat outside became more visibly evident; on either side of the road dried-out vegetation struggled to survive in the arid soil. The engine labored, pinging as it attacked the steeper grades, as though it too was suffering from the pollution in the air.
In the area toward which the driver was heading there was a number of small plants and laboratories, most of them concerned with highly advanced technology related to national defense. Almost aU of them had fairly elaborate plant-protection systems which were tied in with the police network. From time to time unpublicized attempts had been made to break into these facilities; when that had happened the subsequent investigations had always been very thorough and entirely confidential. Satisfied now that he knew the general nature of his errand, Virgil allowed himself to relax and derive what enjoyment he could from the ride.
Several minutes later the car turned up a private road, and after another quarter of a mile, stopped before a set of guarded chain-link gates which gave access to what appeared to be a moderately small facility. The driver displayed a badge, the rear door was opened, and Tibbs was politely asked for his ID. He produced his police credentials and noted that they were examined rather than simply glanced at. The gates were then opened and the car was permitted to pass through.
The building itself gave very little external evidence of its purpose. It was a single-story structure built in a U shape with a small unscarred loading dock at one end and a Spanish-style tile roof unbroken except for a series of vent pipes and some restrained bits of ornamentation. Otherwise it was featureless; the only visible sign was a small one with the word Reception and a directing arrow. The driver took Tibbs up to the front door and then spoke for the first time. "They'll take care of you inside," he said, and turned away.
The small, plainly furnished lobby was devoid of any of the product illustrations or civic award plaques usual in such settings. There was a switchboard operator seated behind a glass panel who barely glanced up when the door was opened; she was quite aware that there was someone in the lobby waiting to receive the visitor. A man rose to his feet as Virgil came in and moved a step or two forward. "Mr. Tibbs? My name is Duffy. Please come in; Mr. Washburn is expecting you."
He led the way by opening a substantial door that was equipped with an electric lock and then turned right down a short corridor. At the end another door gave access to the executive suite. The light green plasterboard walls were supplanted by dark wood paneling and the vinyl floor tiles were replaced by heavy, foot-inviting carpeting. Tibbs had been anticipating that his visit would be primarily with the head of plant security; the front office environment required him to make some rapid revisions. Before he could reach any acceptable conclusions he found himself with his guide in the secretarial area. One of the three young women seated there rose immediately, tapped lightly on the door to the comer office, and then held it open for them to go through.
The first thing that Virgil noted was the furniture, quiet in design but of obviously superior quality. On the large walnut desk that dominated the room there were a few carefully chosen appointments; on a wide windowsiU behind it, a framed photograph of an unusually attractive woman with three children gathered about her. The paneled walls were decorated with original oil paintings of mountain scenery.