“I thought so at first too,” Taneh answered. “But Cartee knows he’s not dealing with children. We’d never let that really stop us.”
“Do you think it possible that he might have learned anything else about what we have in mind?” Miller asked.
“You mean about our taking over the government?” Taneh asked. “He may have. Though there are only eight others—none of whom would talk—besides yourself and I, who know about it. The rest of the Brothers still believe they’re fighting only to overthrow a hated dictatorship.”
“You’re convinced that Cartee actually intends to set up a democratic government, if he gets the chance, aren’t you?”
“Certainly,” Taneh exclaimed impatiently. “The information we’ve obtained leaves little room for doubt. And if we let things slide, where will we be? We’d be fortunate if we landed minor jobs in the government under a setup like that. On the other hand, if we can kill Cartee now, the resulting period of unsettlement and disorganization will be an ideal time for us to take over. And once we’re in control they’ll never get us out.”
“I wonder why Cartee hasn’t tried to kill you,” Miller said. “You’re the heart of the resistance, the one man with a firm grasp of essential details, and the tie that binds the rest of us together. Cartee should know that by now, and that we’d be helpless without you.”
“You don’t suppose that he wouldn’t try if he could reach me, do you?” Taneh asked. “I haven’t been out of this building for over three months. And I’ve taken every precaution to keep the place heavily guarded. The situation right now boils down to this: Will Cartee be able to kill me before we find and kill him? Who will be the first to succeed? That’s the crux of the whole situation.”
“Perhaps Srock’s mission is to kill you?”
“I thought of that. But my best defense is that neither Srock nor Cartee know that I am the actual head of the Brotherhood; therefore neither of them knows whom he must kill. In fact, only the eight I mentioned and you, know that.”
Miller scowled and snapped his fingers. “We’ve forgotten something,” he said; “We should have had Srock followed.”
Taneh smiled, mirthlessly. “I made arrangements in advance for a couple men to follow him when he left the building,” he said.
On the way down the stairs of the Brotherhood building Srock made his own plans. Taneh had told him to find Jessica; he would.
He did not return to his room. Cartee’s men might have the place watched, or its wires tapped. Neither, he decided, could he be certain that any of the places he usually visited would be safe. He stopped at a side street recreation-place that he had never been in before and made his way to a private communication booth in the rear.
Dropping a half-piece into the pay slot he adjusted the speaking tube to his height and made himself comfortable against the padded seat. This might take some time.
“Information Central,” he spoke into the tube.
“Do you have a record of a Jessica Manthe?” he asked the mechanical that answered.
There was a subdued whir and a short pause. “None listed,” the metallic voice responded.
He had expected as much. Now for a chore that might be hopeless, but he could think of no better means of securing the information he needed. “I wish to learn the identity of a girl living in the city,” he said. “I will describe her.”
“Proceed.”
“Dark brown hair and eyes,” Srock began. “Olive complexion, and…” What else did she have?
“There are 753,646 females in that descriptive category,” the voice said, after a slightly longer pause.
“Age somewhere between twenty and twenty-five,” Srock supplied, reaching hopefully.
“That narrows the number to 200,563.”
“Height between five-two and five-five.”
“86,441.”
“Weight one hundred fifteen—give or take ten pounds.”
“21,401.”
Srock slumped dejectedly. How else could he describe her? “Very beautiful,” he said.
“Beauty is too subjective a term to be useful.”
He was stumped. Then—a hunch. “First name, Jessica,” he said.
“There are thirty-seven females named Jessica within your descriptive range.”
Thirty-seven. If he were lucky he would find her now. “Please put their images on the screen.”
Twelve pictures later Jessica’s image smiled back at him. He had found her!
“Give me her background,” Srock said.
“Name Jessica Daenis. Daughter of Commerce Minister, Lork Daenis. Unwed. Bom…”
Enough. He had what he wanted. Switching off the call instrument he left the booth.
IV
Srock changed from his Brotherhood brown to the raiment of a civilian, and spent the afternoon in the Heights, a neighborhood bordering the government grounds. He visited the drinking places and talked with barmen and loungers. By evening he had the information he wanted.
Havilland’s smaller sun had followed its companion below the horizon when he drifted into a patch of deep shadow which he had carefully noted earlier. Now he drew tight a leather girdle which he wore about his middle. The action might be rough during the next quarter-hour and he needed the protection the girdle would give his vital organs. He pulled on a pair of metal-knuckled gloves, and was ready for action.
The timing had to be perfect, he reflected, as he stood quietly observing the various guardsmen patrolling the area.
At exactly eighteen-two he slipped across the street and into a clump of shrubbery near the Commerce Minister’s house. A minute later a slow-pacing guardsman approached and Srock’s muscles tightened in preparation. The guardsman walked to the bushes, turned, and started back. Srock leaped, swinging his right arm in the same motion. The guardsman spun on his heel and fell stiffly backward.
Srock removed the insignia and official cap from the fallen man and put them on. He dragged the limp body into the bushes and took the guardsman’s place on patrol. So far so good. With luck he’d pass in the darkness.
Ten minutes later a long official car, spitting blue smoke, drew up to the front of the Commerce Minister’s residence. A girl came out and walked toward the waiting vehicle.
The driver went around the car to open the door on the far side and Srock knew the time had come to make his move. From here in caution must be an abandoned thing.
Sprinting to the car he crouched low against its rear fender.
The driver rounded the back, saw Srock, and halted. “What are you doing…
Srock’s fist stopped the words. He stepped aside to avoid the falling, sprawled body, and sprang into the car, guiding it with one hand as he stepped on the accelerator.
The girl on the seat turned wildly toward him. Srock threw a flashing glance her way and had a glimpse of eyes so wide that white showed clear around the iris. “Who…she began.
With his free hand Srock shoved his short gun against her ribs. Shoved hard enough to hurt. “Shut up,” he said.
The girl subsided immediately, shrinking back into the comer of her seat. Srock drove a few blocks father before he heard a subdued sob. For the first time he had misgivings. Until that moment he had had no doubt but that right was on his side, and he would move heaven and earth to do what he must. But for a moment now that certainty was gone. With surprise he realized that his emotions were swaying his logic. Anger acted as a defense mechanism. “What did you expect?” he growled. “When you run with a pack of yellow dogs you’re bound to find yourself treated like one.”
She made no answer. But a few miles later she said, “Ted? I’d like to talk. Will you give me just five minutes?” Srock was glad of the opportunity to do her the small service. For the past couple minutes he had been seeing a picture of himself, and the picture was not a pleasant one. Swinging into a side street he switched off the mobile’s motor. “Five minutes. No more,” he said.
“You’re an intelligent man,”
Jessica began urgently. “Tell me, why do you persist in blinding yourself to the fact that your mind has been changed, merely because you don’t feel that it has? Can’t you see that’s only proof that the job was well done?”
“For the sake of argument, let’s say that you’re telling the truth,” Srock conceded her point. “That doesn’t change the position of the opposing factions here. On the one side is a rotten dictatorship, fighting to hold on to its power. On the other is a large group of men determined to overthrow oppression. If my mind has been altered, in such a way that I want to help those men—those morally right men—then I’m thankful for the enlightenment.”
“You’re so certain that the Brothers are on the side of God,” Jessica exclaimed. “I swear that they’re not. What certainty have you that the rank and file Brothers are not being used as dupes—by their own leaders?”
The question stopped Srock’s next argument. “Do you have proof that they are?”
“Yes. I have been very close to Cartee, and I know that he is sincere in his announced intention to set up a democratic government. The fact is, the Brothers were asked to work with him, to that end, and they refused. What do you think of that?”
“I don’t believe it.”
“No, you wouldn’t. But what do you know of the workings of your leaders? You don’t even know who they are. I tell you this, and you have my word it’s the truth. Your top leaders don’t want democratic government. They wish to kill Cartee, but only so they can seize the reins of power themselves.”
“There’s still a small thing missing in your arguments,” Srock said. “You haven’t given me one good reason why I should trust you.”
“Here’s one,” she said. “You love me.”
Strangely Srock could not deny it. For days now that love had tangled his reason with thoughts of her body, of the softness of her breath against his cheek, and the sweetness of her lips: It went with him wherever he went, until he wanted to shout, ’To hell with reason,” and take her in his arms and love her. And now he felt himself surrendering, felt his hard purpose fade into remoteness. “And you?” he asked, “do you love me?” She moved nearer to him and sat so close that he could see his reflection in her eyes. “I’ve loved you for years,” she said quietly.
“For years? But…” Then he realigned his identity—presumed or real—in his mind. “You mean you loved me before I knew myself as Srock?”
For answer she kissed him—long and sweetly. Oddly, Srock’s arms remained rigid at his sides. This action, meant to be her proof, gave him a new weapon with which to fight to retain a cold logic.
“You kissed me like that before—and slept with me,” he said, and watched his words strike like blows. “Remember?”
She straightened and drew away from him. “You’re stupid,” she said, her voice coming at him hard and brittle. “Your memory of that was deliberately planted to tie you to me, Because I was to be your contact with our side. It never really happened.”
Though he suspected that it was because he wanted it, Srock found himself believing her. He reached across to take her to him.
She pushed his hands down. “Don’t touch me,” she said. “Unless you believe me. If you don’t, take me to your torturers and let them kill me.”
Srock sat for a long minute, lost in his doubts. “I’ve never been a compromising man,” he said slowly, “but now, God help me, I don’t know what’s right. I can’t fight the Brothers—and yet I can’t let them hurt you.” Another long minute passed before he set himself again behind the steering wheel. “I’m going to drive out of the city,” he said. “As far as our fuel will take us. When it’s gone we’ll walk. You and I will be out of all this. We won’t even be spectators.”
Simultaneously with his last words the doors on both sides of the mobile were jerked open. Srock swung around, and found himself facing three Brothers. All were armed.
Two Brothers walked ahead, two at their sides, and four behind. They were taking no chances, Srock noted. He took Jessica’s hand in his. “I’m sorry,” he said. “If I had it to do over again, I’d trust you.”
Her small hand was cold. She did not answer. Their guards remained with them as they walked up two flights to the top floor of the building. Srock knew they were being taken to Taneh’s office. Evidently Taneh ranked as one of the highest in the Brotherhood, or they wouldn’t be taking them to him.
Once inside they found Taneh seated at his desk. “Welcome back,” he said, with the same cold courtesy of manner. He placed his hands together in their familiar gesture. “Should our first step be to torture you, Mr. Srock, in the hope that she will talk? Or should I begin with her?”
Srock said nothing, but his mind worked swiftly. Either he acted now, he knew, or he faced the certainty of death for them both. The odds against him were great, but one factor was in his favor. They were dealing with a thoroughly desperate man, and desperation itself is often a powerful ally.
“I believe the latter would be preferable,” Taneh went on, disdaining to wait for Srock’s answer. “Her flesh and spirit are much the softer; if she does not speak, I suspect that you will want to save her from the torture.”
All the way up the stairs and into the office Srock had worked to form, the hard fabric of his desperation into a plan of action. And now was the moment. “I’ll talk,” he said, and took a step forward.
As he had hoped, the unexpected response caught the Brothers off guard for the split second he needed. Abruptly he wheeled, caught the arm of the guard nearest him and bent it behind his back. With his free hand he drew the guard’s gun and pointed it at Taneh.
All the movements were accomplished in one swift action and for that brief instant Srock dominated the situation. He spoke fast to hold that advantage. “If any of you move—even the slightest—I will shoot Taneh,” he said.
Taneh was the first to recover his poise. “I would advise you to surrender.” He spoke almost conversationally. “You realize, of course, that you have no slightest chance of getting out of this building alive.”
“If we don’t,” Srock replied starkly, “you will never live to know it. Jessica,” he called without turning his head, “remove their guns. And you Brothers keep in mind that Taneh’s life depends on your remaining motionless.” Quickly Jessica went among the Brothers, removing their weapons. “Shall 1 take his?” she asked, indicating Taneh with a motion of her head.
“No. We don’t want to arouse suspicion when we get outside.”
Srock raised his voice and addressed the others. “We’re taking your weapons with us. If I hear any of you leave this room I’ll shoot Taneh without a second thought.” Taneh licked his dry lips. “What if I refuse to go with you?” he asked. He studied Srock. His expression made a slight change as he read his answer. He shrugged. His will to resistance was gone. “You men do as he told you,” he said, and came out from behind the desk. Not a guardsman moved as they went across the room and out the door.
Srock deposited the extra guns in a waste chute in the hall.
One flight down Taneh spoke again. “You’re clever enough to keep your weapon out of sight,” he said. “But you weren’t clever not to take mine. What if I reach for it? I may be faster than you.”
Srock knew that Taneh was trying to distract him from the job at hand, in the hope that his men would somehow be able to intercept them. He gave it back in kind. “If you think this is a good day to die, old man, you might try it,” he suggested.
Taneh’s lips thinned into the semblance of a smile. “Touche,” he said.
They went down until they reached the garage in the basement. Once there Taneh realized that his hope of outside help was gone. It was then he played his last card, and Srock was to remember him after as a brave man.
Taneh stopped and leaned against a pillar. “If I let you take me to Cartee, than we are whipped,” he said, with the undercurrent of fatalism that was so much a part of his nature. “So it’s better that I make my stand here. I
refuse to go any farther.”
Srock was in no mood to quibble. His nerves were operating on a thin edge. He drew his gun and started toward the stubborn man. “You’ll come if I have to knock you down and drag you,” he said.
“Wait!” Taneh barked the word as he held up his hand. “Whether you’re the original Srock, or an imposter,” he said, “I’m certain that you are imbued with the convictions and philosophy of the Brotherhood, and that you cannot willfully harm another Brother. I am going to gamble that I am right—and that you will not stand against me. I intend to draw my gun now, and put a bullet through your shoulder. You see, I want you alive; I command you to make no resistance.”
He reached—abruptly—toward his shoulder holster and the bullet from Srock’s gun painted a livid red mark on the bridge of his nose.
Taneh swayed for a moment, his face showing the shocked realization that his life had been smashed from his body. Then he fell without a sound. There was no blood.
“Get into the car behind you,” Srock commanded Jessica. “Sit in the middle. I’ll place his body beside you; you’ll have to hold it upright.”
“I can’t do it,” Jessica whimpered, her face white and bloodless with the shock of the past few minutes’ violence. “I can’t do it!”
Srock took her by the shoulders and shook her roughly. “You’ll have to do it,” he said. “They won’t stop us if he’s along. I’m going to prop him up in the seat and open his eyes; we’ll drive fast and we should get by.”
Jessica shuddered but did as she was told.
They were nearing the administration grounds before Jessica overcame some of her horror at having to hold the dead man erect. A faint color returned to her cheeks. She turned to Srock. “I know it was rough on you,” she said. “But you did what was right. You won’t be sorry.”
“Damn you!” Srock cursed her and stopped the car. He had had time for reflection while they drove and at last he realized fully what he had done. He had not only betrayed the Brotherhood, but his killing of Taneh might be the direct cause of their defeat.
Rare Science Fiction Page 10