Retief - Retief of the CDT Part 16

Grossblunder blinked, then allowed a smile to quirk a corner of his mouth. "No need to hint, Magnan. I haven't forgotten your magnificent performance in the completion of the project six days ahead of schedule. The grand opening tomorrow is the one bright spot on my Effectiveness Report-on my horizon, that is to say. I wouldn't be surprised if there were a citation in store for the officer responsible." He winked, then frowned. "But don't allow the prospect to drive the matter of the missing paperclips into eclipse! I want action!"

"P-paperclips, sir?"

"A veritable torrent of them, dropped from Emba.s.sy records as expendable items! Outrageous! But no need to say more, my boy; you're as aware as I of the seriousness of the situation." Grossblunder gripped his junior's thin shoulder. "Remember, Magnan-I'm counting on you!" He turned and clambered into his seat; with a rising flutter of rotors, the light machine lifted into the overcast and was gone. Magnan turned shakily to Retief.

"I... I thought... I thought he knew..."

"I know," Retief commiserated. "Still, you can always pick an opportune time to tell him later. While he's pinning the medal on, perhaps."

"How can you jest at such a moment? Do you realize that I have to solve not one, but two crimes, before the Amba.s.sador and the Minister finish a bottle of port?"

"That's a thought; maybe you can get a quant.i.ty discount. Still, we'd better get started before they run the ante up any higher."

3.

Back in his office, Magnan found awaiting him a letter bearing the Great Seal of the Groacian Autonomy.

"It's an Aide Memoire from that wretch, Amba.s.sador s.h.i.+nth," he told Retief. "Announcing he's moving the date for the unveiling of his Cultural Aid project up to midnight tonight!" He groaned, tossed the note aside. "This is the final blow, Retief! And I, without so much as a kiosk to offer in reb.u.t.tal!"

"I understood the Groaci were behind schedule," Retief said.

"They are! This entire affair is impossible, Retief! No one could have stolen a complete building overnight-and if they had, where would they hide it? And even if they found a place to hide it-and we were able to turn it up-how in the world would we get it back in position in time for a ceremony scheduled less than twenty hours local from this moment?"

"That covers the questions," Retief said. "We may have a little more trouble with the answers."

"The building was there last night; I stopped to admire the cla.s.sical neon meander adorning the architrave on my way home. A splendid effect; s.h.i.+nth would have been green with envy-or whatever color Groaci diplomats turn when confronted with an aesthetic coup of such proportions."

"He may be quietly turning puce with satisfaction at this moment," Retief suggested. "Rather neat timing: his project ready to go, and ours missing."

"How will I ever face s.h.i.+nth?" Magnan was muttering. "Only last night I a.s.sayed a number of sly jests at his expense. I thought at the time he took it rather blandly-" Magnan broke off to stare at Retief. "Great heavens!" he gasped. "Are you hinting those sneaky little five-eyed Meyer-come-latelies could have so far abused diplomatic practice as to be behind this outrage?"

"The thought had crossed my mind," Retief admitted. "Offhand, I can't think of anyone else who might have a yen for a Bolshoi-type ballet theater."

Magnan leaped up, yanking the pale-mauve lapels of his early midafternoon hemi-demi-semi-informal cutaway into place. "Of course!" he cried. "Call out the Marine Guard, Retief! I'll march right up to that underhanded little weasel and demand the return of the purloined edifice on the spot!"

"Better be careful what spot you're on," Retief cautioned. "A Bolshoi-type ballet theater occupies a full block, remember."

"An ill-timed j.a.pe, Retief," Magnan snapped. "Well, what are you waiting for?" He paused, frowning. "Am I to deduce from your apparent lack of enthusiasm that you see some flaw in the scheme?"

"Just a small one," Retief said. "His Groacian Excellency has probably covered his tracks quite carefully. He'll laugh in your face-unless you can show some proof."

"Not even s.h.i.+nth would have the cheek to deny the facts if I catch him red-handed!" Magnan paused, looking troubled. "Of course, I haven't actually found any evidence yet..." He nipped at a hangnail and cast a sidelong glance at Retief.

"A ballet theater isn't the easiest thing in the world to hide," Retief said. "Suppose we try to turn it up first; then we can start on the problem of how to get it back."

"Good notion, Retief. Just what I was about to suggest." Magnan looked at the watch on his thumb. "Why don't you just pop round and have a look here and there, while I whip my paperwork into shape; then after dinner we can get together and agree on a story-formulate a report, that is, indicating we've done everything possible."

Leaving the Counselor's office, Retief went along to the Commercial Section. A chinless clerk looked up from among baled newspaper clippings. "Hi, there, Mr. Retief. I see you made it. Welcome to Squale."

"Thanks, Freddy; I'd like to see a listing of all cargoes imported by the Groaci Emba.s.sy during the last twelve months."

The clerk poked the keys of the data bank, frowned at the list it disgorged.

"Flimsy construction they must have in mind," he said as he handed it over. "Cardboard and pick-up sticks. Typical."

"Anything else?" Retief persisted.

"I'll check equipment imports." The clerk tapped out another code, eliciting a brief clatter and a second slip of paper.

"Heavy-duty lift units," he said. "Funny. They don't need heavy-duty units to handle plywood and two-by's..."

"Four of them," Retief noted. "With wide-aperture fields and gang interlocks."

"Wow! With that, you could pick up the Squalid-Hilton."

"You could, indeed," Retief agreed. "Thanks, Freddy."

Outside, it was dusk; the car was waiting at the curb. Retief directed Chauncey to drive back along the wet, tree-fern-shaded avenues to the vacant edge-of-town site so recently occupied by the stolen building. Stepping out into the steady, warm rain, he entered the tent, circled the yawning excavation, studying the soft ground by the beam of a handlight.

"Look are you whatting for?" Chauncey inquired, ambling along behind him on feet that resembled dishpan-sized wads of wet magenta yarn. "Ardon my pasking, but I taught you Therries lidn't dike feeting your get wet."

"Just getting the lie of the land, Chauncey," Retief said. "It appears that whoever pinched the theater lifted it out of here with grav units-probably intact, since there doesn't seem to be any evidence of disa.s.sembly."

"I goant dett you, chief," Chauncey said. "You lawk tight this roll houtine isn't trust a jick Master Mignan add off to pulvertise the And Gropening."

"Perish the thought, Chauncey; it's just my way of heightening the suspense." Retief stooped, picked up a pinkish dope-stick b.u.t.t, sniffed at it. It gave off the sharp odor of ether characteristic of Groaci manufacture.

"We Squalians are no runch of b.o.o.bs, you understand," Chauncey went on. "We've treen a few sicks in our time. If you howns want to clam it up, that's Jake; jut bust betwoon the tea of us-how the heck dood he dee it?"

"I'm afraid that's a diplomatic secret," Retief said. "Let's go take a look at the Groaci answer to our cultural challenge."

"Mot nuch to owe seever there," the local said disparagingly as they squelched back to the car, idling on its air cus.h.i.+on above a wide puddle. "Guthing knowing on; and if were thuzz, you souldn't key it; they got this buy ford hence aplound the race, and a tunch of barps everying coverthing up."

"The Groaci are a secretive group," Retief said. "But maybe we can get a peek anyway."

"I bon't know, doss; there's a gunch of bards around there, too-with yuns, get. They don't clett lobody net goase."

Steering through the rain-sleek streets under the celery-like trees, Chauncey hummed a sprightly little tune, sounding first like a musical comb, then a rubber-stringed harp, ending with a blatter like a bursting bagpipe.

"Bot nad, hey?" he solicited a compliment, "all but the cast lord; it was subeezed to poe a tourish of flumpets, but my slinger fipped."

"Very impressive," Retief said. "How are you on woodwinds?"

"So-so," Chauncey said. "I'm stretter on bings. Vile this getolin effect." He extruded an arm, quickly arranged four thin filaments along it, and drew a hastily improvised member across the latter, eliciting a shrill bleat.

"Gutty pred, hey? I can't tay any plunes yet, but I lactice a prot; I'll pet it down gat in toe nime."