Status Quo Part 10

Larry Woolford decided he'd better hang on for at least a few more words.

"You don't seem to think, yourself, that a subversive organization is undesirable in this country."

The Professor's voice was reasonable. "Isn't that according to what it means to subvert?"

"You know what I mean," Woolford said in irritation. "I don't usually think of revolutionists, even when they call themselves simply members of a _movement_, as exactly idealists."

"Then you're wrong," the Professor said definitely, pouring himself another cup of coffee. "History bears out that almost invariably revolutionists are men of idealism. The fact that they might be either right or wrong in their revolutionary program is beside the point."

Larry Woolford began to say, "Are you sure that you aren't interested in this _move-_"

But it was then that the knockout drops. .h.i.t him.

He came out of the fog feeling nausea and with his head splitting. He groaned and opened one eye experimentally.

Steve Hackett, far away, said, "He's snapping out of it."

Larry groaned again, opened the other eye and attempted to focus.

"What happened?" he muttered.

"Now that's an original question," Steve said.

Larry Woolford struggled up into a sitting position. He'd been stretched out on a couch in the Professor's combined living room and study.

Steve Hackett, his hands on his hips, was looking down at him sarcastically. There were two or three others, one of whom Larry vaguely remembered as being a Secret Service colleague of Steve's, going about and in and out of the room.

Larry said, his fingers pressing into his forehead, "My head's killing me.

d.a.m.n it, what's going on?"

Steve said sarcastically, "You've been slipped a mickey, my cloak and dagger friend, and the bird has flown."

"You mean the Professor? He's a bird all right."

"Humor we get, yet," Hackett said, his ugly face scowling. "Listen, I thought you people had pulled out of this case."

Larry sat up and swung his two feet around to the floor. "So did I," he moaned, "but there were two or three things that bothered me and I thought I'd tidy them up before leaving."

"You tidied them up all right," Steve grumbled. "This Professor Voss was practically the only lead I've been able to discover. An old friend of Self's. And you allowed him to get away before we even got here."

One of Hackett's men came up and said, "Not a sign of him, Steve. He evidently burned a few papers, packed a suitcase, and took off. His things look suspiciously as though he was ready to go into hiding at a moment's notice."

Steve growled to him, "Give the place the works. He's probably left some clues around that'll give us a line."

The other went off and Steve Hackett sat down in one of the leather chairs and glowered at Larry Woolford. "Listen," he said, "what did you people want with Susan Self?"

Larry shook his head for clarity and looked at him. "Susan? What are you talking about? You don't have any aspirin, do you?"

"No. What'd you mean, what am I talking about? You called Betsy Hughes and then sent a couple of men over to pick the Self kid up."

"Who's Betsy Hughes?"

Steve shook his head. "I don't know what kind of knockout drops the old boy gave you, but they sure worked. Betsy's the operative we had minding Susan Self over in the Greater Was.h.i.+ngton Hilton. About an hour ago you got her on the phone, said your department wanted to question Susan, and that you were sending two men over to pick her up. The two men turned up with an order from you, and took the girl."

Larry stared at him. Finally he said, "What time is it?"

"About two o'clock."

Larry said, "I came into this house in the morning, talked to the Professor for about half an hour and then was silly enough to let him give me some loaded coffee. He was such a weird old buzzard that it never occurred to me he might be dangerous. At any rate, I've been unconscious for several hours. I _couldn't've_ called this Betsy Hughes operative of yours."

It was Steve Hackett's turn to stare.

"You mean your department doesn't have Susan Self?"

"Not so far as I know. The Boss told me yesterday that we were pulling out, that it was all in your hands. What would we want with Susan?"

"Oh, great," Steve snarled. "There goes our last contact. Ernest Self, Professor Voss, and now Susan Self; they've all disappeared."

"Look," Larry said unhappily, "let's get me some aspirin and then let's go and see my chief. I have a sneaking suspicion our department is back on this case."

Steve snorted sarcastically. "If you can foul things up this well when you're off the case, G.o.d only knows what you'll accomplish using your facilities on an all-out basis."

The Boss said slowly, "Whoever we are working against evidently isn't short of resources. Abducting that young lady was no simple matter." The career diplomat worked his lips in and out, in all but a pout.

Larry Woolford, who'd taken time out to go home, shower, change clothes and medicate himself out of his dope induced hangover, sat across the desk from him, flanked by Steve Hackett.

The Boss said sourly, "It would seem that I was in error. That our young Susan Self was not spouting fantasy. There evidently actually is an underground movement interested in changing our inst.i.tutions." He stirred in his chair and his scowl went deeper. "And evidently working on a basis never conceived of by subversive organizations of the past. The fact that they have successfully remained secret even to this department is the prime indication that they are attempting to make their revolutionary changes in a unique manner."

Larry said, "The trouble is, we don't even know what it is they want."

"However," his superior said slowly, "we are beginning to get inklings."

Steve Hackett said, "What inklings, sir? This sort of thing might be routine for you people, but my field is counterfeit. I, frankly, don't know what it's all about."

The Boss looked at him. "We have a clue or two, Mr. Hackett. For one thing, we know that this Movement of ours has no affiliations with the Soviet Complex, nor, so far as we know, any foreign element whatsoever. If we take Miss Self's word, it is strictly an American phenomenon. From what little we know of Ernest Self and Peter Voss they might be in revolt against some of our current inst.i.tutions but there is no reason to believe them, ah, _un-American_ in the usually accepted sense of the word."

The two younger men looked at him as though he was joking.

He shook his heavy head negatively. "Actually, what do we have on this so-called Movement thus far? Aside from treating Lawrence, here, to some knockout drops-and let us remember that Lawrence was present in the Professor's home without a warrant-all we have is the suspicion that they have manufactured a quant.i.ty of counterfeit."

"A _quant.i.ty_ is right," Steve Hackett blurted. "If we're to accept what that Self kid told us, they have a few billion dollars worth of perfect bills on hand."

"A strange amount for counterfeiters to produce," The Boss said uncomfortably. "That is what puzzles me. Any revolutionary movement needs funds. Remember Stalin as a young man? He used to be in charge of the Bolshevik gang which robbed banks to raise funds for their underground newspapers. But a billion dollars? What in the world can they expect to need that amount for?"

Larry said, "Sir, you keep talking as though these characters were a bunch of idealistic do-gooders bleeding for the sake of the country. Actually, from what we know, they're nothing but a bunch of revolutionists."