“What kind of promises?” The answer had surprised him; he’d figured she was the kind to work for revenge.
“Two ranks up and all that goes with it.”
He looked at the SIX above her lapel number. “When were you going to collect?”
She looked upward, her face going hard. “When Gerard was low-opped.”
“He’s not going to be,” said Movius.
“Oh?”
“Never accept promises as payment,” said Movius. “Take what you can get in your hands.” He turned. “Come along.”
Back in Gerard’s office, Movius waved her to a chair. Gerard was standing by an open window, looking down. He closed the window, turned. Just before he closed the window, Movius had heard the faint sound of sirens. With a sick feeling, he had the sudden sure knowledge of what could be seen far down on the paving beneath the window. Three men. He shivered.
“What now?” asked Gerard. Again he gave no sign he had ever seen Tyle Cotton before.
Movius went around the desk, pulled the green pad from a drawer. This was the one, DISTRICT HOUSING—SPECIAL ORDER stamped in the corner. He filled out a fourth rank housing order for Tyle Cotton, forged Gerard’s name to it, tore the order off the pad. He held it toward the woman, but did not release it.
“What the price?” she asked, eyeing the order.
“A list of names.”
She glanced toward the window. She knew what was down in the parking area, too.
Gerard found a white notepad and stylus, pushed them across the desk, not looking at her.
What’s he thinking? Movius wondered.
Tyle Cotton hitched her chair forward, began writing. Movius put the housing order beside the notepad. It was a long list. She finished, took up the housing order.
“You can go now,” said Movius. “Report back in the morning.” He watched until the door closed behind her.
“Do you trust her?” asked Gerard. He picked up the list, began reading the names silently, his lips moving.
“You trusted her,” said Movius.
Gerard’s bald head snapped up. “News travels.”
“So it does.” Movius looked at the list. “There isn’t any need to trust her.”
Gerard tapped the list with a fingernail. “Do you think this is accurate?”
“It doesn’t have to be. I wanted her handwriting.”
“Why?” Gerard scratched at his chin with a corner of the paper. “I could have given you that.”
Movius thrust his hands into his pockets. “We have two alternatives. Either she’ll go directly to Addington, tell him she’s given us a false list, or she’ll collect on that apartment, this being a true list of Newton’s friends or a list of her enemies.”
“Then what?”
“Let’s have the list,” said Movius. “I’m going to check it. Then I’m going to post it or one in a duplicate of that handwriting on the door of CR-14.”
“Post it on…”
“Just post it. No threat, nothing but the names.”
“And then?”
“Wait for the missing faces. When they’re out three days we turn them in for evading work order.”
“Addington will give them asylum.”
“Certainly he will. But then we’ll be able to pop off these low-opps legally and with a clear conscious.”
Gerard pulled out his chair, sat down. There was perspiration on his bald head. “I think you frighten me, Movius. You work too fast.”
Movius frowned. “Frighten you? I’m doing this for you to keep you from being frightened.”
The way Gerard’s bald head nodded, Movius could read his thoughts: “Daniel Movius—high loyalty index… Daniel Movius—high loyalty index.” Gerard’s expression was gloating.
Movius suddenly thought of three men falling seventy-one stories to the paving and, with a sick feeling, realized he had put the thought in Gerard’s head. Dream on, Gerard, he thought. The new Daniel Movius is loyal only to Daniel Movius.
Chapter 18
Movius was tired when he reached the apartment, his nerves frayed out by the day. He nodded to the door guards, went up in the elevator. The apartment was empty. Movius sensed it the minute he closed the door. Damn it! Grace wasn’t supposed to go out! A note was pinned to the bedroom door. “Dan: I’ve gone with Navvy to see friends.” No signature.
Friends? Sep business? He could think of nothing she was supposed to do. The organization was running smoothly, the way a good organization should. It hardly required his attention anymore.
The door chimes rang. Movius went to the door, hesitated, palmed the little gun before opening the door wide. It was Janus Peterson, the fat Bu-Trans driver Movius had appointed one of his chief lieutenants. Peterson ducked inside, waited for the door to be closed.
“Can we talk here?” Peterson’s husky voice rumbled in the effort to keep it low.
“You are now conversant with a privilege of Upper Rank,” said Movius. “A master scrambler on the building. It prevents any kind of tapping.”
Peterson’s eyes blinked. “A courier came in from Madrid today.”
Something occurred to Movius. “How’d you get in here? Nobody’s allowed in this building without a permit and the place is crawling with guards.”
Peterson grinned, pulled out a thin leather folder. “What kind of a permit do you need?” He pulled out a building maintenance permit signed with Warren Gerard’s unmistakable scrawl. “Traced the signature from a regular Bu-Trans order.”
“Anybody could do that,” said Movius.
“Anybody with enough brass,” said Peterson.
“Well, come in and sit down.” Movius waited for Peterson to crowd his barrel-shape into a chair, then perched on the arm of a chair opposite. “What’s the word?”
“People are all ready to revolt. Capetown was set to go it on their own. Now they say they’ll wait for the word from here. They like the idea of all moving at once.”
“How many are ready?”
“Maybe one hundred cities—the big ones. More coming in every day.”
“How’re we coming on the new headquarters?”
“Furniture goes in today,” said Peterson. “It’ll be ready by tomorrow night.”
Movius nodded. “All right. Here’s a message for you to take to Phil Henry: get the parts for the beam trap into a shipment to Bu-Psych by tomorrow morning. Have the men start assembling it tomorrow night. Got that?”
Peterson nodded. “I’m still not sure what that thing will do.”
“It’ll cause the biggest furor this government has ever seen,” said Movius. “The Coor is like Montcalm ignoring the Cliffs of Abraham.”
“What’s that?”
“That’s out of a history book,” said Movius. “A general once lost an ancient city called Quebec because he thought there was one way the enemy could not reach him and failed to guard that way.”
“Oh.”
“The Coor and all of his advisors believe it’s impossible to trap a communications beam without jamming it so that the effort would be noticeable. Phil Henry and I figured out a way to do it way back when we were in Comp Section together. Only we didn’t think there was any use for the idea and dropped it.”
“I’ll see that Phil gets the word today,” said Janus. “Soon’s I can.”
Movius got to his feet. “How many new recruits?”
Peterson wiped perspiration from his face with a soiled handkerchief. “Over two hundred today. That makes it sixty thousand in this city alone.”
“That’s a lot of people to trust.”
Peterson shook his head. “It isn’t hard to trust angry people. And it’s not hard to find out who’s angry and why. The Madrid courier said all of the people he talked to like the way you’re operating. They listened close to your recordings. He said they like the way you’re putting it over on the High-Opps.”