“I know, Mac, that you are a member of the underground, a member of its staff, and an enemy of the existing order. And that you are an escaped convict who murdered the crew of a special operations tank. Now, about myself. I am the state prosecutor, a trusted government official with access to the highest state secrets, and also an enemy of the existing order. Here is my proposaclass="underline" I am preparing a coup. You are to overthrow the Creators. When I say ‘you,’ I mean you and only you: this does not concern your organization. You must understand that any interference by the underground will lead to total disaster. The conspiracy I am proposing to you is based on my knowledge of the highest state secret. I shall tell you this secret. Only you and I must know it. If a third party should learn it, we will be exterminated very quickly. Keep in mind that the underground and its staff are teeming with provocateurs. So don’t consider trusting anyone, not even your closest friends.”
Without savoring its contents, he drained the glass of wine. Then, leaning toward Mac, he continued.
“I know where the Center is. You are the only man capable of seizing control of it. I am now proposing a plan I’ve worked out for the Center’s capture and subsequent measures. You will exe-cute this plan and become Chief of State. I shall remain with you as your political and economic adviser, since you are completely unschooled in such matters. I am familiar with the general features of your objectives. I am not opposed to them. I support them simply because nothing can be worse than what we have now. That’s it. I’m finished. Now it’s your turn.”
Mac said nothing. He twirled the wineglass in his fingers and remained silent. The prosecutor waited: he felt a peculiar sense of detachment from his body, as if he were not in it, but suspended somewhere in space; as if he were looking down upon this softly illuminated cozy corner, upon the silent Mac, and upon something stiff, unseeing, and lifeless propped in a chair beside Mac.
Finally Mac broke the silence.
“When I capture the Center, what are my chances of survival?”
“Fifty-fifty. Maybe better. I don’t know.”
Mac paused again for a long time.
“It’s a deal,” he said finally. “Where is the Center?”
19.
Toward noon the phone rang. Maxim picked up the receiver. It was the prosecutor.
“I would like to speak with Mr. Sim.”
“Speaking,” replied Maxim. “Hello.” He sensed instantly that something had happened.
“He’s back. Can you begin at once?”
“Yes,” replied Mac in a low voice. “But you promised me something....”
“I didn’t have time.” There was a note of panic in his voice. “And there isn’t time now. Begin at once. We can’t delay another minute! Mac, do you hear me?”
“Yes. Fine. Is that all?”
“He’s on his way to the institute now. He’ll be there in thirty or forty minutes.”
“I understand. Anything else?”
“That’s all. Get going, Mac. Good luck!”
Maxim hung up the receiver and sat there for several seconds, pondering his next move. “Massaraksh, what a mess. But I still have time to think.” He grabbed the receiver again. “Professor Allu Zef, please.”
“Speaking!”
“This is Mac.”
“Massaraksh, I asked you not to disturb me today.”
“Keep quiet and listen. Go down to the lobby immediately and wait for me.”
“Massaraksh, I’m busy!”
Maxim ground his teeth and cast a glance at his assistant. He was diligently computing on the calculator.
“Zef, get down to the lobby right now! Do you understand? Now!” He hung up and dialed Vepr’s number. He was in luck: Vepr was home. “This is Mac. Go outside and wait for me. It’s urgent!”
“Fine,” said Vepr. “I’m on my way.”
Maxim hung up, thrust his hand into a desk drawer, and pulled out the first folder he could lay his hands on. While he leafed through it mechanically, he feverishly reviewed in his mind the preparations he had made. “The car is in the garage. The bomb is in the trunk. And we have a full gas tank. No weapons. The hell with it, we don’t need them. The documents are in my pocket, and Vepr is waiting. It’s a good thing I thought about taking Vepr. True, he might refuse to go along with this. No, I doubt that he will; I wouldn’t. Well, that seems to be about everything.” He gave instructions to his assistant. “If anyone calls, tell them I’m at the Construction Department. I’ll return in an hour or two. See you later.”
He tucked the folder under his arm, left the laboratory, and ran down the stairs. Zef was already pacing the lobby. When he spotted Maxim, he halted, placed his hands behind his back, and scowled.
“What the hell’s going on? Massaraksh!”
Maxim grabbed him by the arm and pulled him toward the exit.
“What the hell is going on here?” muttered Zef. “Where are we going? Why?”
Maxim shoved him out the door, pulled him along the asphalt path and around the corner toward the garage. The area was deserted except for a lawn mower chugging in the distance.
“Where the hell are you taking me?” shouted Zef.
“Shut up and listen! Get all our people together at once. All of them. Whoever you can lay your hands on. To hell with their questions! Listen! Whoever you can get. And with weapons. There’s a pavilion opposite the gate. You know where it is? Dig in and wait. In about thirty minutes. Are you listening to me, Zef?”
“Well?” said Zef impatiently.
“In about thirty minutes Strannik will arrive at the gate.”
“He’s back?”
“Don’t interrupt me. Strannik will probably arrive at the gate in about thirty minutes. If he doesn’t—fine. Just sit tight and waitfor me. If he does come—shoot him.”
“Have you gone out of your mind?” asked Zef. Maxim kept walking, and Zef ran after him, cursing. “We’ll all be killed, massaraksh! There are guards! Police spies all over the place!”
“Do your best. Strannik must be shot.”
They walked up to the garage. Maxim leaned his weight against the bolt and rolled open the door.
“This is insane,” said Zef. “Why Strannik? He’s not that bad a guy; everyone likes him.”
“Suit yourself!” said Maxim coldly. He opened the trunk, felt the fuse and timing device through the oiled paper, and slammed it shut again. “I can’t tell you anything right now. But we have a chance. Our only chance.” He sat behind the wheel and inserted the ignition key. “And keep this in mind: if you don’t finish him off, he’ll finish you off. You don’t have time. Get going, Zef!”
He turned on the engine and backed out of the garage slowly.
Zef stood in the doorway. It was the first time Mac had ever seen Zef like this—frightened, stunned, bewildered.
The car rolled toward the gate. A stony-faced legionnaire recorded the license number unhurriedly, opened the trunk, looked in, closed it, returned to Maxim.
“What do you have in the trunk?”
“A refractometer,” said Maxim, extending his pass and a permit to transfer equipment.
“Refractometer RL-seven, inventory number...,” muttered, the legionnaire. “I’ll write it down in a minute.”
He poked around in his pocket for a pad.
“Hurry, please. I’m in a rush,” said Maxim.
“Who signed this permit?”
“I don’t know. Probably Hed.”
“You don’t know? If I could make out his signature, everything would be OK.”
Finally he opened the gate and Maxim drove onto the road. “If this doesn’t work out,” he thought, “and I manage to survive, I’ll have to escape. Damn Strannik, he sensed that something was up and returned. Suppose we’re successful—then what? Nothing is ready, we don’t have a plan of the palace. Smart didn’t have time to get it, and he didn’t get those photos of the Creators either. Our people aren’t prepared; we don’t have a plan. Damn Strannik! If it weren’t for him. I’d still have three days left to work out a plan. And then there’s the army and the staff, too, to worry about. Massaraksh! They’re going to get moving fast. We’ll have to take care of them. Well, that’s Vepr’s job. He’ll be glad to do it. He knows how to handle it.”