"Well, it seems there are these unhappy little S ou could pick up for a song."
"Yeah?"
"You could buy them all up and weld them into a superbank all your own."
Randal Rumpp perked up. "I could be my own bank. Make loans to myself. Interest-free loans. Duck payments when it suits me."
"Yes. And you could call them all BankRumpps. Because that's what you are, dahling." Tinkling laughter broke through the earpiece.
"Igoria," Randal Rumpp hissed, "you were only a trophy wife. You hear me? Just a trophy wife. I should have had you stuffed and mounted after the honeymoon!"
"Ta-ta, dahling. Give my best to Leona."
Rumpp hung up angrily. Down the hall, the pounding went on and on.
He stood up. Outside the window, a few blocks away, the ornate mass of masonry that was the Rumpp Regis looked the same as it always did. On the other hand the silvery skyscraper across the street, only a day before a single floor shorter than the Rumpp Tower, was now at least a head taller.
For the man who prided himself on being the biggest, boldest, and best at everything he did, it was a crushing blow to the outsized ego of Randal T. Rumpp.
"I'm ruined! I'm not only ruined, I'm sunk! Literally sunk!"
Rair Brashnikov listened to the American with the dead eyes. The American was not interested in seeing his Georgian face. This was unfortunate. It represented an opportunity for escape lost. For in order to remove the velcroseals of his helmet, they would have to release his hands. Long enough to reengage the vibration suit.
"Listen, you know how to stop the Rumpp Tower from sinking?" the American asked.
"I am not sure," Brashnikov said carefully, thinking perhaps a new opportunity was presenting itself.
"Then we have no further use for you," snapped the Oriental.
Brashnikov brightened. "Sinking? Of course I can help. But I must speak with Randal Rumpp first."
"Got a number for him?"
Brashnikov indicated the phone with an eager nod of his head. "Yes. Give me phone. I will happily make call."
"No chance. Call it out."
Rair Brashnikov's cabled shoulders deflated. "It is 555-9460," he murmured.
The Caucasian dialed and listened a moment. He put the earpiece to the side of Rair's featureless head, not quite getting the spot where his ears were, but it was close enough for the ringing of the other line to come through.
Randal Rumpp's querulous, dispirited voice answered.
"Who is it?"
"Ho ho ho," said Rair Brashnikov hollowly.
"You! What happened? The TV says the Rumpp Regis is back to normal, and my Tower is sinking into the ground. How do I stop it?"
"How am I to know? I am thief, not rocket scientist."
"Do better than that!" warned the Caucasion named Remo.
"Who is that?" Rumpp wanted to know.
"New friend," Brashnikov explained.
"So what do I do?" Rumpp pressed.
"Try calling Moscow. I give you number."
Rumpp grabbed a pad and paper. "Shoot."
The long-distance operator was very helpful. She got through to Moscow in under an hour. Normally it took two, she explained. On a good day.
The voice that picked up on the other end at first denied any knowledge of the vibration suit.
Then Randal Rumpp said, "I'm Randal T. Rumpp, and I see a lot of investment opportunities in your country."
"Ah. Vibration suit. Why did you not say so? I will put you through to Vibration Suit ministry. We are only KGB liquidation unit."
"You're killers?"
"It is not that kind of liquidation we are doing."
"Oh."
The line clicked and hissed and hummed, and Randal Rumpp watched the ever-changing TV screen to keep from being bored.
Finally a low female voice said, "Shchit. "
Rumpp said, "I guess some words are universal."
"Who is speaking, please?"
"Randal Rumpp, famous billionaire."
"The one whose building, it is sinking?"
"The very same. And it's all the fault of your crummy vibration suit. It got into my Tower electrical system and screwed it up somehow."
"Vibration suit?"
"Don't be coy. Your guy was just captured."
"Which guy?"
"I don't know. I didn't catch his name. But I do know who I'm gonna sue if I don't get some satisfaction."
"USSR did not invent suit," the woman said crisply. "You should take this up with manufacturer."
"Who's that?"
"Nishitsu Corporation. Osaka."
"The Japs? How did you guys get hold of the technology?"
"KGB steal it."
"Oh," said Randal Rumpp, hanging up.
The long-distance operator put him through to the Osaka research and development plant of the Nishitsu Corporation in Japan.
Rumpp identified himself, and asked to speak with the department that designed the suit.
At first, the thick voice at Nishitsu denied any knowledge of the invention.
Then Randal Rumpp said, "The Russians say they stole it from you."
The man at the other end said, "Ah," and asked a simple question. "You possess device now?"
"Could be," Rumpp said cagily. "And I might be willing to do a trade."
"Prease continue."
"First, I want my skyscraper to stop sinking."
"How does bakemono suit have anything to do with that?"
"Bakemono?"
"Means gobrin."
"Spell it for me."
"G-o-b-l-i-n. "
"Good name for it," said Randal Rumpp, going on to explain how it had all started with a funny Russian voice in his telephone system, and what had squirted out when his secretary picked up a certain receiver.
The voice at the other end said "Ah" again, and in the background a number of people could be heard conversing in rapid, unintelligible Japanese.
Finally a different voice came on. It said, "It appear person wearing gobrin suit was captured by your buirding terephone system, much rike virus in broodstream of a riving person."
"Makes sense," said Randal Rumpp, wondering how a people who couldn't pronounce their L's could be so successful in international business.
"The properties of suit were transferred to buirding."
"That much I figured out by myself," Rumpp said dryly.
"Now person has reft, but your Tower is sinking?"
"You got the picture."
"Perhaps probrem remain in terephone wires," the Nishitsu representative suggested.
"Could be. So what do I do?"
"Ask terephone company to shut off power."
"And if it doesn't work?"
"Carr back."
"Count on it, Chuck."
The AT representative listened to Randal Rumpp's odd request.
"We will be only too happy to comply," the rep said smoothly.
"Great. Do it now."
"However, there is the matter of an unpaid bill due four months ago." Rumpp heard a clicking of a keyboard. "The current outstanding balance is $63,876.14."
"What is this crap! You've been threatening to shut off my lines for weeks over that bill!"
"I imagine so."
"'Well, I'm still in arrears. So shut me off, Chuck!"
"Not without payment."
"You can't do this! It's un-American!"
"Continued service is entirely an AT ," the infuriatingly unruffled voice said. "In this case, we elect to continue to serve your telephonic needs."
"I demand to be disconnected! Right now!"
The line went click, and Randal Rumpp found himself listening to a dial tone.
He hung up the telephone, with no life left in his eyes.
"I'm dead," he said dully. "I'm sinking into the earth and I'm dead."
A thought occurred to him.
"Where the heck am I going, anyway?"
Rumpp went to a hand-carved globe and spun it. He picked out the longitude and latitude of Manhattan, spun the globe, and found their counterparts on the other side. It was in a mountainous border region of what was once the Soviet Union.