Mission: Earth Disaster

by Ron L. Hubbard

  "All hush-hush," said Heller. "But we got them before they could blow up the whole city."

  "The vicious (bleepards)!" exclaimed the colonel. "A (bleeped) good thing you did! Loudest explosions I ever heard in my life! Are you sure you got them all?" he added, looking around.

  "We're just mopping up," said Heller.

  There was a thunder of feet on the street behind them.

  COPS!

  Police Inspector Grafferty, blowing from his run, came into the tank's lights. "You're all under arrest!" he bellowed.

  The colonel stiffened. He stared down at Grafferty. "This is an army operation!" he roared. "How dare you interfere!"

  Grafferty's eye suddenly caught sight of Heller. "WISTER!" he shouted. "Colonel, I know this man! He's a criminal!"

  The colonel glared at him. "So now you're calling army officers criminals, are you! Get the hell out of this operation before I turn my guns loose on you!"

  Grafferty quailed. He hastily withdrew and gave an urgent signal to the cops to leave with him.

  Heller saluted. "Sir, I've got to get the prisoners to the stockade, so please excuse me if you will."

  "Of course, of course," said the colonel. "You seem to have done very well." He glanced at the orders before he handed them and the I.D. back. "I'll commend you to the secretary of war."

  "Oh, that's awfully nice of you, sir," said Heller. "But I am just doing my duty."

  "Splendid, Wister. You'll mention me as assisting? I'm Colonel Boots."

  "Of course, sir," said Heller.

  "Very good, Lieutenant. I'll get my unit back to the park. Carry on."

  Heller trotted off around the building. Things were quiet now. The mobs of captured Narcotici men were gone. The fishnets had disappeared. There was only an old Corleone soldato left picking up cartridge empties.

  Heller got to the limousine and opened the door. Faustino was lying on the floor, tied up very thoroughly. The cat had evidently followed the mobster, for Mister Calico now sat on a jump seat, ready in case a claw rake was needed.

  Babe was sitting there with her radios. She looked up with a glad smile when the door light came on.

  Before she could speak, Saggezza's voice came over. "Mia capo, all computers have been taken. All Faustino's notebooks are in our hands. No data banks or books have been damaged. I am putting men throughout the building. The whole operation is in our hands."

  Babe said, "Splendidly done, signore. We have the fat one right here, so that's the end of them complete."

  Heller said, "Did you get the New York Chief of Police?"

  And every other official of the city, including the mayor. They're over there behind those bushes blubbering for their lives."

  "Well, please have that police chief told that he must phone and have the guard taken off the Empire State Building at once."

  "Of course, Jerome. Anything you want. The whole city is ours!"

  Not yet, thought Heller privately. This could still rebound like a comet return unless I can finish it before Monday.

  Chapter 6

  Two hours later, Izzy, Bang-Bang and Twoey were celebrating their joyous deliverance from the Empire State Building by eating anything and everything Heller could stuff into them at Sardine's Restaurant.

  When there was nothing left to consume but the tablecloth, he sent them home to get rested and cleaned up with orders to meet him in the morning at the condo.

  The battle was not over. The hardest part was just ahead: Rockecenter. And in this one, Heller was very short of troops.

  From Army Intelligence Headquarters, Heller learned that Rockecenter was at his Pokantickle Estate, north of Hairytown. The place was being guarded by a regiment of hastily mobilized New York National Guard under the command of a major general, no less.

  Heller also learned that Rockecenter would leave there this Sunday afternoon and drive to Philadelphia. There he would join the Swillerberger Conference of International Financiers, which he thoroughly controlled, and Sunday night, the president of the United States would be summoned before this private body. Then, on Monday, the president would address Congress in Washington and formal war would be declared on the Republic of Maysabongo.

  Jet knew that he was now up against the powers that ruled Earth. The preparation he could do on this one was pretty thin at best, but he had better get on with it.

  He returned to the condo through a dark New York. He got on some coveralls and went to work on the old cab. Using a Voltariatt light he turned its color to olive drab, then, using a spray can and brush, he gave it white army insignia and numbers.

  While he worked, the radio battered him with war hysteria, not the least of which was news that Maysabongo saboteurs had attempted to blow up the New York City Hall but had been foiled by an army tank unit under Colonel Boots. Motorists were also being warned to keep off major highways and leave them clear for the army: a safe enough order since there wasn't any gas. People were also being requested to stay alert for Maysabongo partisans who might be planning to blow up railroads, airfields and convoys, and to report such information to the army.

  Much martial music was also on the airways. The country was obviously girding up its loins for battle. Heller knew that, with a lot of luck, he might be able to prevent it. Nobody else seemed to be trying.

  About 8:00 A.M., he dressed in a clean uniform. Then he loaded a khaki-colored shoulder bag with the tools of the trade of a Voltar Fleet combat engineer—mainly bombs.

  Bang-Bang Rimbombo showed up. He was dressed in his ROTC uniform and Heller made him remove the shoulder patch so he would look like an army driver.

  Izzy Epstein arrived, hollow-eyed and worried.

  Delbert John Rockecenter II got there, upset because he couldn't have the time to go out and see to his surviving pigs in New Jersey.

  They set off, looking very official, for Pokantickle Hills, twenty-three miles or more to the north. There were no cars on the road. All the traffic lights were off. The old cab, now running not on gas but on a carburetor that converted asphalt into oxygen and hydrogen, had lots of speed and pep. Bang-Bang, having no cars to run into, had them at the gates of the estate by nine.

  A vast array of New York National Guard met their eyes. It was camped and parked all over the lawns and soldiers were drilling and marching around everywhere.

  The gate was a formidable barricade. A whole squad with, pointed and cocked rifles blocked the way, combat ready. ,

  An officer, web-cross-belted and helmeted, stepped up to the car. The National Guard was determined to confront the Regular Army with a snarl.

  "Get out and get your hands up!" said the officer.

  "No, no," said Heller. "This is a family matter." He turned around to Twoey. "Give me your driver's license." Twoey handed it over. "We're here to get his father's permission for him to join the army."

  "Delbert John Rockecenter, Second!" said the officer, looking at the license and then at Twoey. "Jesus Christ, I'm sorry!" He hastily grabbed a pad from his belt and scribbled a pass with the word FAMILY in block letters and slid it under the windshield wiper. "Open the gates, men, we got orders not to interrupt the household." He saluted Heller.

  They drove on up the winding drive past tents, troop carriers, motorcycles, field pieces and two tanks.

  "I am not going to join the army!" said Twoey with determination. "They shoot pigs!"

  "You shut up," said Heller. "Let me do the talking."

  "All right, brother," said Twoey, "but don't you go getting me in any army!"

  They drew up before the front entrance to the house. Everything was oversize. So were the two National Guardsmen who stood on either side of the door.

  Heller handed his shoulder satchel to Bang-Bang. "You just sit tight out here."

  Izzy and Twoey and Heller got out and walked up the steps. An officer appeared. He glanced at the pass under the windshield wiper: the word FAMILY could be read fifteen feet away. He said, "Sorry, but orders are that everyone be sear
ched." He frisked them for weapons and found none. He looked into the briefcase Izzy was carrying, saw nothing but papers and gave it back. He saluted and had an enlisted man open the door.

  The three walked into an enormous living room heavily furnished with outdated, enormous furniture. Huge, enlarged photographs of severe-looking Rockecenters glared down at them.

  Voices were coming through a closed door of another room. Heller walked up to it, opened it, shepherded the other two in and closed it behind them.

  It was a study, huge, out-of-date. French doors opened out of it on to a side drive.

  Delbert John Rockecenter was standing like an angry vulture back of the desk.

  Bury, his attorney from the firm of Swindle and Crouch, was standing unhappily against the far wall, his prune face aggrieved.

  "And that's very plain to me!" Rockecenter was saying. "You did NOT do your job! I ought to turn you over to Miss Agnes and get her to electric-shock some sense into you! If you had taken any precautions at all, I would not have to be making a long, tiresome drive to Philadelphia just to see that nincompoop of a president! I am sick of doing your work! I should terminate both you and your firm! And I mean terminate! You're all against me anyway!"

  Bury had caught sight of Heller. He was staring. He went white. "WISTER!"

  Rockecenter would have gone on talking but it began to be borne in upon him that he had lost his listener. He glanced with annoyance at the group which had entered. "Tell the general," he said to Heller, "that I am not leaving yet." He turned back to Bury. "I am not through telling you what I think of you! And I will remind you, Bury, that what I think is important! LISTEN TO ME!"

  Bury was making little stabbing points at Heller, "Sir, that's your ... sir, that's the fuel man.... Sir, oh, my God!"

  "Fuel man? Fuel man?" said Rockecenter. "What are you gibbering about now?"

  "Perhaps I had better explain," said Heller. "We have come to make you a fair offer that can settle all this oil trouble, Mr. Rockecenter."

  "Who is this?" Rockecenter asked Bury. "What's he talking about?"

  "Sir, that one in uniform is Jerome Terrance

  "And this," said Heller, "is Mr. Israel Epstein. He controls the companies that own the microwave-power setup, Chryster Motors, gasless carburetors, gasless cars—and he controls, as well, all the U.S. oil reserves now possessed by Maysabongo."

  Rockecenter sat down very suddenly. He stared at Izzy. Then he said, "The Jew. You're that (bleeped) Jew!"

  Heller said, "I think you two can make a deal that will make everybody happy."

  Rockecenter was still staring at Izzy. Then his eyes went slitted and a look of cunning came over his face. "Do I understand that you own the patents of that carburetor and those cars and that microwave-power setup?"

  "Companies that I can control do," said Izzy. "They're right here." He opened his case and took them out, advanced and put them on the huge desk.

  Bury instantly shifted over behind Rockecenter and inspected them. He whispered something to the effect that they were valid.

  "You mean," said Rockecenter to Izzy, "that you are willing to turn these over to me in exchange for peace?"

  "Not exactly," said Izzy. "Turn them over to you, yes, but there is something we must have in return."

  "Oh," said Rockecenter, seemingly disappointed. Then he glanced sideways at Bury and looked again at Izzy. He smiled a slight, strange smile. "So what do you want in return, Jew?"

  Izzy said, "We have certain options we will exercise tomorrow that will put us in possession of billions and also the shares of every oil company. You may have 49 percent of the money and 49 percent of the shares."

  "That's giving me even more," said Rockecenter. "So there's something crooked afoot here."

  Izzy said, "Mr. Rockecenter, you once had a wife. You also had two sons."

  Rockecenter looked like he had been shot.

  "According to earlier family wills," continued Izzy, "a son of yours would receive a ten-billion-dollar trust fund. You are trustee of that fund. What we want you to do is recognize Delbert John Rockecenter II as your son."

  "I am withdrawing any rights I may seem to have," said Heller.

  "This allegation is preposterous!" blustered Rockecenter.

  "The documents are right here," said Izzy and drew out copies and passed them over.

  Rockecenter stared at them, stricken. The Wall Street lawyer scanned them. Bury whispered something in his ear. Heller only caught a phrase that Miss Agnes had botched it.

  "We want," said Izzy, "that acknowledgment. We also want you to pass over that trusteeship, for your son here is now the required age. We also want you to make a will leaving him your entire estate, appointing me executor."

  "And if I do this thing?"

  "The oil companies can have these patents, the U.S. will have its oil. The refineries will get back in operation...."

  "They can't!" said Rockecenter. "The protest marchers claim they're radioactive! They won't let them open!"

  "I will promise to see that they are decontaminated and gotten' back into operation," said Heller.

  "It's all propaganda anyway!" said Rockecenter. "So what's a little radiation in people's tanks? Riffraff anyway!"

  "I can also call the marchers off," said Heller.

  Rockecenter sat back. "You're pretty smart, Jew. If I only have 49 percent of the oil companies, you will control their boards and policies. I'll have to resign from everything!"

  "That's a little more drastic than was intended," said Izzy. "But let me point out that you would be the wealthiest man in the world."

  "And if I say no?" said Rockecenter.

  "Why then," said Heller, "I'm afraid Mr. Bury here will be defending you in court on a charge of conspiracy to murder your wife and son. I'm sorry to put it so bluntly. And all the rest of this ' will also go to court and you'll lose anyway."

  "That's blackmail!" said Rockecenter.

  "That's murder," said Heller coolly. "And when you add it up with millions of other murders in the name of war, millions of babies dead from your abortion programs and hundreds of millions of lives ruined with inflation just so you can make a quick buck with oil, I wonder that they haven't hanged you a hundred million times over. I'd be glad to hold the rope myself!"

  "No, no," said Izzy hastily. "This is a business conference."

  "Well, this bird has caused me a lot of trouble," said Heller. "What he calls business is just banditry on a planetary scale. He's just a pirate and I don't like looking at him or talking to him. I disagree completely with the generosity of your offer, Mr. Epstein."

  "Mr. Wister," said Izzy, "please stand over to the side, there, and let me continue these negotiations. Mr. Rockecenter can recognize a profit when he sees it."

  A scowl drew in the prune wrinkles of Bury's face. He knew he was looking at the good-guy-bad-guy conference approach. He bent toward Rockecenter to whisper some advice but he didn't get a chance to utter it.

  Rockecenter whispered at him and then looked at Izzy with a sly expression.

  "Jew," said Rockecenter, "I'm afraid we'd have to call in attorneys to draw up such a deal. We – "

  "No, you wouldn't," said Izzy, opening his case. "You have Mr. Bury here and our attorney Bleedum was up half the night typing all this out."

  One by one, Izzy laid the assignments of patents to the oil companies on Rockecenter's desk. Then he laid out the transfer of Maysabongo oil. Then he drew out the assignment of 49 percent of the sell-option profits and followed it with an assignment of 49 percent of the oil-company shares. Then he laid out the document assigning the trust. Then he laid out a will.

  Rockecenter and Bury read them.

  Rockecenter said suddenly, "All right. I will sign them. Mr. Bury is a notary. We will execute everything right now."

  "And call off the war?" said Heller.

  "Of course," said Rockecenter. "You can even have my sacred word on that. When we're through, I'll just ring the president and
that will be that."

  Chapter 7

  Rockecenter drew the pack of assignments and contracts to him. Smiling slightly, he rapidly began to sign on every signature place. He finished straight on through to the will and scrawled his name on it with a flourish.

  "Now, Jew," he said, pointing to Izzy, "it's your turn."

  Izzy grabbed the pack, bent over, adjusted his spectacles and began to sign.

  "Now you," said Rockecenter to Twoey when Izzy was done. "There's a document here relating to the trust that requires your signature."

  Twoey shuffled forward and scrawled his name.

  Rockecenter looked at Heller, then at Bury. "Doesn't he need to sign a quitclaim?"

  Bury nodded and went to his attach case and got out a blank form. He brought it over to the desk.

  "Now," said Rockecenter, "Bury, as a notary, will need your I.D. to verify your signatures, so lay your wallets out right here." He tapped the middle of the desk.

  All three put their wallets there.

  Bury looked at them and the signatures. He got busy with notarial stamps and worked down through the pile. Rockecenter whispered something to him.

  The Wall Street lawyer got to the last sheet. It was Heller's quitclaim. "You've signed this Jerome Terrance Wister." He finished notarizing it. "But I am going to have to have one signed Delbert John Rockecenter, Junior, from you also. I'll get another blank."

  He walked around Heller and went to the wall where his attache case lay. He reached in and handed Heller the second quitclaim.

  Heller bent over to fill it in and sign it.

  He had his eye on the top of a solid silver inkwell.

  In distortion, he saw Bury draw! : Behind his back, the gun came out like a striking snakel

  Heller whirled. His hand shot up!

  He caught Bury's wrist, forcing it toward the ceiling! THE GUN WENT OFF!

  Heller bent the arm into a smashing blow!

  He made the clenched gun strike Bury's head!

  The scalp parted to the bone!

  "HOLD IT!" came a shout.

  Heller whirled.

  The library doors had slammed open.

  THERE CROUCHED AN INFANTRYMAN WITH A BAZOOKA!