Mission Earth 07: Voyage of Vengeance

by L. Ron Hubbard

  "Well, kind of," said Raht. "It's got me worried."

  "For Gods' sakes, quit garbling! Give me your report!"

  "Well, I got your order, grabbed the two guards from the office and the Zanco straitjacket and a gas bomb, stopped by the air terminal for tickets and then went to Bellevue Hospital.

  "When we asked for Crobe, Reception said he must be in, because some marshals from the court had taken a patient named Wister up to see him a while ago and had left, and Crobe was undoubtedly busy in his consulting rooms.

  "We went up. We walked into Crobe's suite. A buck-toothed kid was lying on the table and he had a shock machine half connected to him. He was out cold and a syringe was sticking in a vein. Looked like he had been drugged and was being got ready for a shock but somebody interrupted it.

  "No Crobe. But the door to the inner office was partly open. We thought maybe Crobe was in there. But we never found out."

  "WHAT?"

  "Yes. All of a sudden we went out like a light. All three of us. Felt like blueflash."

  "You're dreaming! How the Hells could Voltarian blueflash get in Bellevue Hospital?"

  "Well, I don't know," Raht said. "But when we came to, the kid was gone, and I'll be blessed if Crobe wasn't lying there where the kid had been. And Crobe had the Zanco straitjacket on him."

  Horror surged into my throat as the realization struck me. If this had happened shortly after noon, Heller and Krak would have had ample time to get back to their condo where I had seen them. THEY HAD GONE FROM THAT COURT TO THE HOSPITAL! But this was not the source of the horror.

  "Raht," I said anxiously, "did you have anything in your pockets from me? That gave my name or address?"

  "I only had my own wallet and, of course, my identoplate."

  "Nothing with my name or phone number?"

  "No. Why should I? Anyway, this was all very peculiar. I thought I had better tell you because it might have been a Code break. That was a Voltarian straitjacket: had the Zanco label on it."

  Then I had another agonizing thought. "Did the New York office guards have anything in their pockets that would lead to me?"

  "Well, they had their identoplates. And Crobe's and their airline tickets through to Afyon, Turkey. But that doesn't account for the note we found on Crobe when we woke up. It said, 'Take this murderer home and see that he stays locked up.' It was written in Voltarian and in a very neat Voltarian, too. Are you sure that isn't a Code break of some sort?"

  I was running out of adrenaline to sustain my shock. Wearily, I said, "So where is Crobe?"

  "On his way to Turkey, of course. But I don't see how that bucktoothed kid got off the table, drugged like he was, and exploded a blueflash and..."

  "Raht! Stop babbling!"

  "But when we left with Crobe in a bag, the Bellevue desk wanted to know why we were taking Wister out in a straitjacket, because their record now showed he had passed the court-ordered mental examination and had been pronounced totally sane. This whole thing has been crazy."

  I interrupted him. My head ached too much to listen to him further. "You fouled up as usual! If I wanted Bellevue blown up because of a Code break, I'd blow it up myself. There's no depending on you!"

  "Blow up Bellevue?" Rate said, "Oh, please don't do that. They might remember us at the desk! I don't think..."

  He was hopeless. I broke the connection.

  I sat there sweating. Maybe Crobe had talked while Heller and Krak had him. Crobe knew why I had sent him to New York-to do in Heller.

  My palms were wringing wet. I heard something in the areaway and almost jumped out of my skin.

  Krak and Heller might turn up anywhere! At any moment!

  But it was only the girls coming home from work.

  Oh, by the Gods of space, it was a good thing I had a plan and could run. For, adding to my anxiety, they came in chattering about how nice it would be when they had all the homos reformed.

  It was all I could do to sit there and not speed out the door screaming that very instant.

  Life is often too much for one.

  Chapter 7

  I rose in an exhausted stupor the following day. It had been very difficult the night before. It had taken four bhongs of marijuana to get any performance going at all. My throat was parched. I was having trouble seeing. The threat of homo demonstrations was coming through like a nightmare.

  I drank a quart of grapefruit juice almost without stopping. I ate a package of Oreo cookies. I still felt terrible. I needed something to start me going.

  By the simple action of staring through the bandages at my viewers, I got it. Raw terror!

  Crobe's had gone blank, for he was way out of range. But Krak's and Heller's were very live.

  They were sitting at breakfast amidst the greenery of the roof terrace, the April sun sparkling on the snowy linen and tableware.

  Heller was neatly dressed in a three-piece gray flannel suit, impeccably groomed, obviously ready for the day. The Countess Krak was in a flowy sort of morning gown. The whiteness of it hurt my eyes. She was delicately eating orange ice from a crystal and silver cup, but her attention was on the papers.

  She looked up and, in a somewhat explosive voice, said, "Well, I never! Not one single line about the dismissal of the criminal charges or the suits. Not a word about the double's confession. Just some idiocy about a nationwide cat hunt."

  Heller looked sideways. The cat was on the terrace lapping cream. "Mister Calico," said Heller, "you better lie low. They're on your tail at last."

  "Jettero," said the Countess, "you are not taking this seriously."

  "How can you take newspapers seriously?" said Heller.

  "I do take it seriously. This is black propaganda by deletion. They haven't said a thing to cancel the impressions they created earlier. They're character assassins, that's what they are. And there's no remedy in these fake courts. When I think what they have said about you, my blood seethes! And now that we've handled it all, they don't recant. Jettero, this is a very managed press."

  "It's just the way they are," said Heller. "I'm too busy to get involved in a 'Clean News for Clean People' campaign."

  "Well, it's a good thing I'm on it," said the Countess Krak. "There's the doorbell."

  "What are you up to?"

  "I sent Bang-Bang out on what he calls a 'clandestine reconnaissance.'"

  "And top of the morning to you both," said Bang-Bang. He had come out on the terrace. He was carrying a burden of books. "Every dictionary I could locate in the stores."

  The Countess Krak grabbed them.

  The butler got a chair for him, a waiter handed him coffee and Bang-Bang sat and watched the Countess tearing through the dictionaries.

  "F.F.A." said the Countess Krak. "Future Farmers of America. F.F.V. First Families of Virginia."

  Heller said, "I shouldn't think the First Families of Virginia were paying anyone to become a notorious outlaw."

  Bang-Bang said, "You never know, Jet. My people were some of the first Sicilians in New York, and look at me!"

  The Countess put the last dictionary aside. "Oh, dear. It isn't in any of them. What could F.F.B.O. stand for?"

  "Wait a minute," said Heller. "I just remembered something. Last fall I was summoned down to the docks by Babe Corleone."

  "Who is that?" said the Countess.

  "Babe Corleone is the head of the Corleone mob."

  "Oh, Jettero," said the Countess Krak. "Another woman! I've got to get you off this planet before they eat you alive. Women are dangerous, Jettero. I know you don't believe me, but after all you have been through lately, I should think..."

  "All thrusts reverse!" said Heller. "Listen! Babe Corleone is really a great lady. She runs a whole mob single-handed. She controls the unions and all steamship lines. She's the only threat Faustino Narcotici has."

  "Oh, dear," said the Countess Krak.

  "No, no," said Heller. "She's Earth middle-aged. She was like a mother to me. And I've been very sad that she though
t I had turned traditore. She thought of me as a son. But that's neither here nor there. What I just remembered was something I saw on a screen.

  "She was selecting executive personnel for the Punard line she had just taken over and this fellow stepped up. I recall it now. His name was J. P. Flagrant and the screen said that he was a former employee of F.F.B.O."

  "Oh!" said the Countess Krak. "Then if I called the Punard line..."

  "No, no," said Heller. "They didn't hire him. That's why all this stuck in my memory. She said he was a traditore and had him thrown in the river. She didn't employ him."

  "Then he's out of a job," said Bang-Bang. "When Babe fires them, they stay fired."

  "J. P. Flagrant," said the Countess. "Bang-Bang, how do you find somebody who is out of a job in New York?"

  "New York Employment Office," said Bang-Bang promptly. "They have to be registered there or they can't go on welfare. I'll call."

  "I think we're on to something," said the Countess Krak.

  And, I thought, I could feel my time running out. Sort of like a river of blood spilling from a pumping artery.

  Bang-Bang came back. Cheerily, he said, "Hey, what do you know? They had him. J. P. Flagrant, former executive of F.F.B.O. But that isn't what's amazing. They found him a job. They were awful proud of it, as it almost never happens. They placed him as a garbage man in Yonkers! There's lots of garbage up there."

  "Well, call Yonkers!" said the Countess Krak.

  "Oh, I did," said Bang-Bang. "They got him all right. He's driving Garbage Truck 2183 and it's out on rounds."

  "I'll have the Rolls run out," said Heller.

  "No, not the Rolls," said the Countess Krak. "You have no idea how many guns there were around those women. This is a shooting war we're in. We need something bulletproof. Much as I despise it, I think we should take the old cab."

  "That's better," said Bang-Bang. "I can't imagine calling on a garbage truck in a chauffeured limousine. It just don't seem fitting."

  Yonkers! I grabbed a map. It was at least fourteen miles through traffic from where they were.

  J. P. Flagrant, when they found him, would spill his guts. He would put them straight on to Madison and Madison would connect with me.

  For them, fourteen miles there. Fifteen or twenty miles back to Madison's area. How much time would they consume?

  I had had it!

  If I hurried and luck was with me, I could escape.

  The PLAN must go into effect at once.

  I had an awful lot to get done FAST!

  My time had run out forever in New York.

  PART FIFTY-FIVE

  Chapter 1

  I wasted precious seconds trying to reach J. Walter Madison at his 42 Mess Street office. They hedged in telling me where he was but I knew already. He would be at his mother's house.

  His mother answered the phone, "Is this the Mafia?" "No, no," I said. "This is Madison's boss, Smith." "Oh, Mr. Smith," she said. "I'm so worried about Walter. He's been despondent the last day or two. He keeps saying he may let Mr. Bury down again. Walter's an awfully sensitive boy, you know-has been so since he was a child. Terrified of hurting people's feelings. And so conscientious. He says he'd give his right arm to succeed for Mr. Bury. He must be absolutely killing himself with work, for just this morning he was saying he would be no good to Mr. Bury dead. I've been trying and trying to persuade Walter that he should take a nice vacation. I do hope you can see your way clear to suggesting it." She evidently turned her head away from the phone and called in a melodious voice, "Walter dear, it's that nice Mr. Smith on the phone." Then, more quietly, "No, it's not the Mafia. It's Mr. Smith....Yes. I recognized his voice."

  Madison's voice was cautious. "Hello?"

  "Oh, thank Gods, I reached you in time!" I said. "I have a fink in the Narcotici mob. The word is out. Razza recognized your voice. But he's a clever snake. He did not want to offend Rockecenter, so he hired the Corleone mob to hunt you down and knock you off."

  "Walter," came his mother's voice in the background, "sit down in this chair. You look like you've seen a ghost. Is it bad news?"

  Hoarsely to me, Madison said, "What do you think I should do?"

  "Look," I said. "I am your friend. Usually when somebody gets on a spot like you're on, we just write them off. But I'll stand by you. I have a place to hide you nobody will suspect. Now listen carefully. There are snipers everywhere. I don't want you to be seen on the street. Be on the roof of your apartment building. I'll pick you off with a helicopter."

  "Oh, thank God you warned me," he said. "I'll be there."

  I hung up. My luck was holding. And in the emergency of the moment my accustomed brilliance had asserted itself. In the flash, I had added the touch about the Corleone mob, remembering that that old hack had "Corleone Cab Company" on its door. But there was no time to gloat.

  I glanced at the viewers. Bang-Bang's voice.

  "We'll make better time if you go up the Hudson River Parkway, get off at Broadway just south of 254th Street and then turn off Broadway into Nepperhan Avenue in Yonkers. They said he'd be on that or Ashburton or Lake Avenue, somewhere in that district."

  I looked at it closely. The old cab seemed to be roaring since its rebuild. (Bleep) it all, Heller was driving! And he drove like the wind! I must hurry.

  I picked up the two-way-response radio and buzzed it. Raht answered at once.

  "Get over to the 34th Street East Heliport on the East River," I said. "Rent a helicopter and make sure it has a ladder. We're going to do a roof pickup."

  "Wait a minute, Officer Gris," said Raht. "I don't have money for that. You better come into the office and give us a formal on-lines requisition and stamp. It would come under the unusual-expense regulation, number..."

  For a moment my plans suffered a threatened shift. It would be much cheaper just to take a rifle and when Madison appeared on the roof, shoot him. But no, he was far too valuable a man just to sacrifice because one had to follow the Apparatus textbook. Madison had the whole procedure of PR under his belt. He was well trained. He could wreck anyone's life at will. I made the crucial decision, no matter how painful it was.

  "I'll pay for it myself," I said. "Get right over there and rent it and stand by. I will join you."

  "You sure you're not going to bomb something?" said Raht.

  "Swallow that impudence and do as you're told or I'll bomb you!" I snarled. What riffraff I had to deal with!

  I clicked off.

  The next part of my plan was to write a note to the girls. I glanced nervously at the viewer. I dug up pen and paper and an envelope. I wrote:

  Dear Mrss. Beys,

  I realize I cannot live up to your high opinion of me. I am going to commit suicide for the benefit of our children.

  Good-bye cruel world.

  Your husbands

  I put it in an envelope, wrote Farewell on the face of it and propped it under a statue of Aphrodite in the front room so it looked like a human sacrifice.

  I glanced at the viewer. They were in Yonkers already! Oh, I must hurry!

  I began to pack, stuffing everything I had into cardboard grocery cartons, wishing I had remembered to buy some suitcases. This was taking time and I did not have enough string. Somehow I must make time because, before I went to that skyport, I had to grab Teenie. I thought she would be at the school and I left a gas bomb out. I cursed having accumulated all this gear.

  I was lifting a viewer so it would sit face up in a carton and I could watch it simply by lifting the box flap, when suddenly a voice was heard. "Well, hurray, hurray for me!" I thought it was coming from the viewer. It confused me. What was THAT voice doing in Heller's speeding cab?

  "Look what I got!"

  I whirled and peered through the bandages. It was Teenie! Oh, my luck was in! She'd walked right into the net.

  She was standing there in her flat oxfords and a plaid skirt, her ponytail thrusting out of the back of her head. "I just graduated," she said with her too-big
smile. "And they gave me presents! Look! A genuine Hong Kong dildo. A whole dozen lace condoms. A package of joss sticks for luck. And behold!"

  She was unrolling a diploma. It said she was a Certified Professional and that she had graduated Magna Come Loud.

  "At last," she crowed, "I have completed my education!"

  I didn't say anything. She started looking around at all the boxes. "Hey, are you blowing or something?"

  I was caught in the middle of indecision. I had intended to just hit her with a gas bomb, dump her in a sack and put her with the other baggage. On the other hand, maybe I could talk her into carrying some of this heavy stuff.

  "Teenie," I said, "I have always been fond of you."

  "Oh, yeah?"

  Teen-agers are hard to understand. Maybe I should be coy. "Teenie, how would you like to go for a ride?"

  "A ride?" she said. "You mean like the old movies? Gangster style?"

  I decided to be jocular. "Yeah, kid, you get the idea."

  "Wait a minute," said Teenie. "Is this on the level? You're packing. Are you trying to get me to run away with you?"

  Well, well. Maybe I had made an appeal. "That's right," I said.

  "Oho!" she said. "I see it all now! That solves the mystery. You got me educated so you could get a good price selling me into white slavery!"

  I gaped.

  "Tell you what I'll do," said Teenie. "If you'll split fifty-fifty any price you get for me, I'll go with you."

  I gaped wider.

  "All right," she said. "Fair is fair and a bargain is a bargain." She put out her hand. She evidently wanted to shake hands for some reason. I shook hands with her.

  My plans for Teenie had been a bit nebulous. They consisted solely of capturing her and holding her prisoner so that if at any time the court accused me of murdering her, as per the injunction, I could produce her and say, "See, she's still alive." That way she would not be around to lie about me or get me in trouble. It was an elementary and effective solution and part of my general plan. But I had not looked for this much cooperation.

  "There's one condition to it," she said. "And that is that you let me go home and pack."