“Are you one, too?” asked Mac. “That’s right, you’d have to be.”
The prosecutor shook his head sadly. “It’s our blessing and our curse. The good fortune of our state and the misfortune of its rulers. Massaraksh, I’m awfully glad you’re alive and well, Mac. I must tell you that your trial was one of the few in my career that left me with a most unhappy feeling. No, no, don’t try to dismiss it: according to the letter of the law you were guilty. From that point of view everything was proper. You attacked a tower and evidently killed a legionnaire. For such an action, as you well know, one doesn’t deserve a pat on the head. But I must confess that my hand trembled when I signed your sentence. Please don’t be offended, but I felt as if I were sentencing a child. When it comes down to brass tacks, it must be said that the escapade was of our rather than your making, and the entire responsibility—”
“I’m not offended. What you say isn’t far from the truth: the tower escapade was childish. Thank God you didn’t have us shot.”
“It was all I could do for you. I remember how upset I was when I learned of your death.” He laughed and gave Mac’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Awfully glad that everything turned out all right. Delighted to meet you.” He glanced at his watch. “By the way, Mac, why are you here? No, no. I’m not going to arrest you. That’s not my job; let the military authorities worry about you. But what are you doing in this institute? Are you really a chemist? And this, too.” He pointed to the service stripe on his sleeve.
“You might say I’m a little bit of everything. Part chemist, part physicist—”
“And part underground conspirator.” The prosecutor laughed good-naturedly.
“A very small part of me,” said Mac firmly.
“Part conjurer,” said the prosecutor.
Mac looked at him attentively.
“Part dreamer,” continued the prosecutor, “part adventurer.”
“That’s no longer a profession,” replied Mac. “It is, if I may say so, simply a trait possessed by any decent scientist.”
“And decent politician.”
“A rare combination of words,” quipped Mac.
For a moment the prosecutor looked at him quizzically, then laughed again.
“Yes,” he said, “political activity has its unique character. Never lower yourself to politics, Mac. Stay with your chemistry.” He looked at his watch unhappily: “Oh, damn it. I’m terribly pressed for time. I would have liked to stay and chat with you. I looked at your dossier. You’re a very interesting individual. Well, I suppose you’re terribly busy, too.”
“Yes,” replied his clever Mac. “Although not as busy, naturally, as the state prosecutor.”
“Come now, Mac, your chief assures me that you work day and night. Now, take me, for example... I can’t say that about myself. The state prosecutor does have some free evenings. You’ll be surprised to know that I have lots of questions for you. I must confess that I wanted to talk with you, even then, after the trial. But I had so many cases, an endless stream of cases.”
“I’m at your service,” said Mac. “Especially since I have a lot of questions for you.”
“Now, now, Mac!” the prosecutor thought to himself. “Don’t be so open about it. We’re not alone.” He said aloud, calmly: “Fine! I’ll do my best. Now I must ask you to excuse me. I must run.”
He shook Mac’s enormous hand. Ah, yes, he had finally hooked his Mac. He was all his now. “He fell right into my hands. He’s anxious to meet with me, and now I’ll set the trap.” The prosecutor paused in the doorway, snapped his fingers, and said as he turned around: “Oh, Mac, what are you doing this evening? I just realized that I’m free tonight.”
“This evening? Well, tonight I have—”
“Then come together!” exclaimed the prosecutor. “That’s even better. You’ll meet my wife and we’ll have a fine evening. Is eight o’clock all right? I’ll send a car for you. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
The prosecutor was jubilant. He made the rounds of the chemistry sector’s remaining laboratories, smiling, clapping shoulders, and shaking hands. “He agreed!” be thought as he signed the re-port in Hed’s office. “He agreed, massaraksh, agreed!” he chortled to himself triumphantly on the way home.
He gave instructions to his chauffeur and ordered his assistant to inform the department that the prosecutor was occupied. “Don’t admit anyone, disconnect the phone. Go to the devil, get out of my sight, but stay within easy reach.” He summoned his wife, kissed her on the neck, remembering in passing that they hadn’t seen each other in about ten days. He asked her to arrange a supper—a light, tasty meal for four—to be a good hostess, and to be prepared to meet a most interesting person. Be sure, he added, to have plenty of wine. An assortment of the very best.
He shut himself up in his study, laid out the case in the green folder, and reviewed it again, from the very beginning. Only once was he disturbed, when a messenger from the War Department delivered the latest bulletin from the front. The front had collapsed. Someone had drawn the Khontis’ attention to the yellow vehicles, and last night they had destroyed ninety-five percent of the emitter-equipped tanks with nuclear weapons. No news had been received yet about the fate of the army. It was the end. The end of the war. The end of General Shekagu and General Odu. The end of Ochkarik, Chainik, Tucha, and other rather minor figures. Very possibly the end of the Count. And it certainly would mean the end of Smart, too, if Smart weren’t so clever.
He dissolved the report in a glass of water and paced around his study. He felt a tremendous sense of relief: now, at least, he knew precisely when he would be summoned upstairs. “First they will finish off Baron, and it will take at least twenty-four hours to choose between Puppet and Zub. Then they will have to deal with Ochkarik and Tucha. That will take another twenty-four hours. While they’re at it, they’ll knock off Chainik. It will take them at least two days to knock off General Shekagu. And that will be it.”
He didn’t leave his study until his guest had arrived.
The guest made a most pleasant impression. He was splendid. So splendid that the prosecutor’s wife, a cold high-society matron, shed twenty years and behaved in an incredibly feminine manner from the moment she laid eyes on Mac... as if she knew the role Mac would play in her future.
“Why are you alone?” She was surprised. “My husband ordered supper for four.”
“Yes, I did,” said the prosecutor. “I thought you would becoming with your girlfriend. I remember that girl. Because of you she almost got into a lot of trouble.”
“She did,” said Mac calmly. “But, with your permission, we’ll discuss that later.”
They dined for a long time; they laughed a lot, drank a little. The prosecutor repeated the latest gossip; his wife told some very risquй jokes; and Mac described his flight on the bomber. As he roared with laughter, the prosecutor thought to himself with horror what would have happened to him if even one rocket had hit its mark.
When supper was over, the prosecutor’s wife excused herself. The prosecutor took Mac by the arm and led him into his study for a wine that no more than three dozen people in the country had had the chance to savor.
They settled down in comfortable chairs on either side of a coffee table in the study’s coziest corner, sipped the precious wine, and looked at each other. Mac wore a very serious expression. He obviously knew what was coming, so the prosecutor abruptly rejected his original plan for their discussion, a clever plan built on innuendoes and the gradual recognition of each other’s goals. Rada’s fate, Strannik’s intrigues, the Creators’ machinations—all these issues had lost their significance. He recognized with an amazing clarity that reduced him to despair that all his skill in conducting such conversations was superfluous with this man. Mac would either agree to his proposals or reject them outright. It was extremely simple, as simple as the question of the prosecutor’s fate; he would either live or be crushed in a few days. His fingers trembled; he set the wineglass on the table quickly and went straight to the point.