by Perry Rhodan
Rhodan and Barina met in a cafeteria while Richman was roving through the city keeping his eyes open for any interesting bits of additional information. Barina was a short, fairly stout man, of Italian extraction. "Splendidly done, sir!" he stated after having made sure that nobody could listen in to their conversation. "Not a single soul except for Richman has the faintest idea you've come here to Sacramento."
Rhodan smiled. He had taken special precautionary measures for this trip. Two outstanding make-up men had changed his face so that one would have to be a very sharp observer or have known Rhodan intimately for a long time in order to recognize him. He wore a facial mask but no beard or wig since this seemed to assure him of greater safety and comfort. Rhodan realized that this additional lack of disguise might perhaps present a tiny chance that he might be given away.
Barina had found him first of all because they had arranged to meet in this cafeteria at a certain time and secondly because Rhodan wore as previously agreed a tiny but visible scar above his left eyebrow.
"What's new?" asked Rhodan. "Nothing," answered Barina. "Unfortunately Raleigh is behaving like the most honorable businessman."
"Raleigh?"
"Yes, the owner of Farming Tools and Machines. He's selling his automated ploughs very cheap and out in the open. In the few days since he's started this sale his customers have at least tripled. And the buyers can't praise the merchandise enough!"
"Have you had a closer look from the inside?"
Barina nodded. "Of course. But I couldn't find anything. We haven't the faintest idea where Raleigh keeps his construction plans and designs. Provided he..." Barina hesitated.
"Provided he...?" Rhodan urged him to continue.
"...has any construction designs somewhere in the factory. Richman found out that Raleigh—or rather his firm—received large shipments a couple of days before the sale began."
"Where did these shipments originate from?"
"From Salt Lake City."
"Did you follow up the lead?"
"Not yet, there was no time."
Rhodan reflected. From the start it had been a mystery—provided there was even any connection between the robot-guided ploughs and the thefts in Terrania—how a simple machine factory, which undoubtedly was not equipped to handle such jobs, could have placed finished products on the market within such a short time.
"Have you ever met Raleigh in person?" asked Rhodan.
"No. But I have on several occasions seen him from fairly close. Makes a pleasant impression at first sight."
"And how about the second time around?"
Barina made a face. "Oh, no. He's the smooth type: friendly to your face but sly and devious behind your back."
Rhodan's plan had all been worked out. "You'll call on him this afternoon and pretend to be a potential buyer," he suggested to Barina. "We'll figure out something that will permit us to find out as much as possible of his way of negotiating and his reactions in general.
"I'll take over for the second half as soon as you've obtained that information."
"That's fine with me," replied Barina. "But how about Richman?"
"He can try in the meantime to track down who the supplier in Salt Lake City is."
At about the same time the following happened in New York to a very innocuous-looking man whose slightly deformed back gave him a somewhat pitiful appearance:
He was having lunch at a cafeteria. He had carried his tray with a T-bone steak, string beans and French fries to a vacant table and sat down to enjoy his meal. About five minutes later, as he had decided with displeasure that the steak was not as tender as he had hoped it would be, a young man joined him at his table. The young man was tall, handsome and healthy-looking.
"Had bad luck around the corner?" inquired the older man of the new arrival. 'Around the corner' meant the stock exchange on Wall Street around the corner from the cafeteria.
The young man glanced up from his plate and studied the older man for a moment. Then with a sullen look he replied rudely: "That's none of your business."
But the older man was not so easily put off. He said gently: "I have a flair for such things. Maybe I could help you."
"You?" came the answer in one word which contained all the contempt the young man could put into it.
But the insult didn't seem to deter the older man. He simply nodded and said with a firm voice: "Yes, me!"
And that was no exaggeration; for the man with the hunchback, the timid, insignificant exterior and the thin crown of faded, blondish-grey hair was Homer G. Adams—officially head of the General Cosmic Company, the largest industrial concern on Earth, and also the Minister for Industry and Finances of the New Power.
"I know a few of those tricks," continued Adams, toying with a matchbox, "they use to separate hot-headed greenhorns from their money. And that's why I also know some tricks to help those poor guys get their money back again."
The young man, a bit embarrassed, picked over his food on his plate. "Have you ever heard of the deal with Allied Airlines?" he asked.
"Good grief—did you buy any Allied Airline shares?
The young man nodded and said bitterly: "Yes, four days ago."
"And how much did you lose?" Adams wanted to know.
"Everything!"
"How much is everything?"
"A bit over $12,000."
"That's quite a lot of money for a young fellow. what's your name, if I may ask?"
"Elmer Bradley. I'm an industrial draughtsman. I inherited that money not long ago from an old aunt of mine."
He stared at Adams as if he expected the little hunchback to introduce himself in turn now.
"My name is Adams," obliged Adams.
There were countless people by the name of Adams in the USA. There was no reason to assume that anybody would automatically connect him with the General Cosmic Company.
"And what tips could you give me, Mr. Adams?" asked Bradley.
"No tips, young man, but I'm willing to lend you the same sum you've just lost on the stock exchange. I'd like you to have another go at it."
He'll probably think I'm a bragging old fool, thought Adams with amusement.
Bradley asked: "Right now?"
Adams shook his head. "Come to my office when it's convenient for you. I'll let you have the money and at the same time can study the stock market a bit so that you'll know where and what you should buy." He took a paper napkin lying on the table and wrote a few lines. Then he pushed the napkin over to Bradley.
"General Cosmic?" Bradley asked surprised. "Are you perhaps...?"
Adams waved him off with a smile. "Oh, no. There are at least ten Adams in our firm and not a single one is related to the boss. Will you come?"
Bradley grinned. "You bet your life!"
• • •
Barina made a sullen face. "Nothing," he said. "They have no plough shares capable of driving up a 30% grade hillside slope. They all but laughed in my face when I inquired about such an automatic model."
"That was the idea," Rhodan laughed in turn. "Did you speak with Raleigh?"
"Yes, for almost 20 minutes."
"And?"
Barina shrugged his shoulders. "I would say your idea didn't seem to work out."
Rhodan apparently did not mind. "In any case I've something else up my sleeve."
"I'm sure you'll need it," stated Barina bluntly.
That evening around seven o'clock Rhodan phoned the Farming Tools and Machines. Raleigh was not particularly pleased about this late call.
"I realize that I'm imposing on your time," said Rhodan, "but I absolutely must have a talk with you at once!"
"Anybody can say that!" protested Raleigh. "Who are you?"
"Somebody who can cause you a lot of trouble unless you'll come to terms with me," answered Rhodan ominously. He was surprised that Raleigh hadn't hung up on him long since. Could a bad conscience have held him back from doing so?
"Nobody can cause me any difficultie
s!" claimed Raleigh.
"All the more reason to listen to me, if you really believe that!" countered Rhodan.
There was a slight pause, then Raleigh said: "Alright, come and see me, if you insist!"
"What's the address?" asked Rhodan.
"2035 Parkway Drive—to my home."
Rhodan made careful preparations for this interview. He was certain that Raleigh would not be able to recognize him because of his facial disguise. In addition he was equipped with a handy pulseray gun and a psychray weapon. These were all the arms he could carry on him. He had even had to dispense with the Arkonide transporter suit which would have protected him from all kinds of weapons, since the strange-looking suit would have given him away right away.
He hoped that it would not be necessary for him to use the psychray. Raleigh most likely was nothing but a relatively unimportant link in the chain of conspiracy against the New Power. It would be advantageous for his investigation if the unknown foe remained in the dark as long as possible whether the counter-attack had already begun or not.
He drove out to Parkway Drive in a car he had rented for the duration of his stay in Sacramento. Raleigh lived in a ridiculously old-fashioned, large but undoubtedly very expensive house. A private road led from the street up to his own driveway.
Rhodan arrived at 20 minutes before nine. It was a dark night; the only light came from the distant twinkling stars in the sky. Rhodan looked around trying in vain to spot Barina who was supposed to be hidden somewhere close and waiting for him. Rhodan rang the doorbell. He waited for someone to answer the door. According to Barina's description it must be Raleigh himself who let him in.
"My name is Wilder," Rhodan introduced himself. "I appreciate that you're still seeing me tonight." He stretched out his hand in greeting but Raleigh overlooked it pointedly.
Rhodan was led into a small room which seemed to be Raleigh's study. Raleigh pointed to a chair
without saying a word. Rhodan sat down. "Well?" asked Raleigh.
Rhodan leaned back comfortably in his chair and crossed his legs. "You have stolen my invention," he said casually and with a voice lacking any emphasis.
Raleigh, who had taken a seat behind his writing desk, sat bolt upright at Rhodan's words. He leaned halfway across the top of his writing desk, looking very frightened. "Your invention...?" he gasped. "Say that again!"
Rhodan smiled accommodatingly and repeated: "You have stolen my invention."
Raleigh sank back in his chair. "Which invention?" He had calmed down very rapidly. Too fast, thought Rhodan.
"Don't pretend you don't know," answered Rhodan. "For the last 15 years you've been producing harrows, ploughs and some small agricultural machinery—the kind of thing that has been known to man for the last several thousand years. But just a few days ago you brought out for the first time since you founded your firm something radically new—and this is what you've stolen from me!"
Raleigh did not blink an eye. "Can you prove that?" he encountered.
"Of course. Would you like me to do that in court?"
"I even insist on it," Raleigh answered with a firm voice.
This was when Rhodan realized that his bluff would not work. Raleigh knew only too well where the robot guidance system of his ploughs had come from. He didn't fall for Rhodan's trick.
"You'll be sorry," Rhodan tried once more.
Raleigh stood up. "I won't be sorry," he said stiffly, "but you will!"
Rhodan also rose from his chair. With an inconspicuous move he pulled the small psychray from his pocket and pointed it at Raleigh. Raleigh noticed it at once and sneered at Rhodan with an ugly grin. He was not afraid.
"You'll tell me now who your backers are!" commanded Rhodan. And with these words he depressed the lever of the cerebral weapon and waited for his command to be transported into hypnotic impulses which would force Raleigh to speak. But Raleigh was still grinning sardonically.
Rhodan realized that things were not proceeding according to the way he had planned them. why did it take so long for Raleigh to fall under the hypno-ray's spell? Or...
"I thought so," stated Raleigh cynically. "What is that thing you're holding in your hand? A hypnotizer?" He laughed mockingly. "This time you got the wrong person, you... you... Rhodan-follower, trying to overthrow the whole world!"
Rhodan felt the blind hatred coming from this man who apparently had not recognized him but who nevertheless had some idea from which camp his late night visitor had come. But before he could decide what new tactics to pursue both doors leading into Raleigh's study opened wide. Two men stood in the darkened doorway, two on each side, pointing automatic pistols straight at Rhodan. There was no doubt at all what their intentions were.
"Seize him!" hissed Raleigh.
Rhodan didn't give up yet. He knew there was not enough time to reach for his pulseray gun. But he still couldn't believe that not only should Raleigh be impervious to the psychray but that also his men should not respond to its hypnotic suggestion.
Rhodan turned a bit sideways until the effective cone of the hypnotic raybeamer would play on one of the two doors. He ordered: "Leave me alone! Put your guns down!"
The men did nothing of the sort. They marched side by side into the room and Rhodan heard the steps of the other two men likewise approaching from the other door.
For a tiny fraction of a second Rhodan's analytical mind seemed paralyzed by the thought that his always and unfailing effective hypno-ray gun should now not be worth any more than the metal it was made of. But as fast as lightning he overcame this terrible shock and knew that he must use delaying tactics. His foremost task now was to gain time so that Captain Barina would have a chance to intervene in this desperate situation.
"Stop!" shouted Rhodan to the men. "Another step and I'll reduce you to a little heap of ashes!"
He raised the psychray another inch and ostentatiously placed his finger on the trigger. The men stopped and Rhodan recognized where his chances lay. He must go on talking!
"You're thinking you only need to push down the triggers of your pistols to finish me off, aren't you? Don't forget even if you should hit me I'd be alive long enough to take all of you with me!"
It was just foolish talk, calculated to win time. And it seemed to work, for one of the four guards hesitated and looked questioningly at Raleigh.
Raleigh didn't know what to think of it. But still he shouted to his men: "He's only bluffing, that thing is a hypno-weapon, he can't shoot with it."
But his lack of reassurance communicated itself to his men. They didn't move forward. They stood there and stared at Rhodan.
"Well?" growled Rhodan. "Do you want a taste of it? I promise you the end will he swift and painless!"
One of the four men suddenly threw his head back and yelled: "He's only bluffing! Don't listen to him!"
Rhodan could see how his finger curled around the trigger and he thought with regret that Barina would he too late if he ever came.
"A marvelous tip, Mr. Adams!" Bradley shouted with joy. "Hanson & Sons has gone up 12 points since yesterday!"
Adams was not overtly impressed by Bradley's jubilant outburst. With a slightly mocking smile he replied: "Just he patient! They'll keep going up. I estimate another 30 points at least."
Bradley sat down opposite Adams. In the past three days he had visited the old man twice a day. Adams received him in a small office which in no way revealed anything about who he was in reality. He had asked himself repeatedly what would cause him to have taken such a fancy to this young man. But he could not find any satisfactory explanation. He simply liked Elmer Bradley.
He was fond of him to the extent that he had lent him $30,000 on the very first day of their acquaintance. This money should enable the young man to make good his loss at the stock market. Bradley had proved to he worthy of the trust Adams had placed in him. He had shown Adams the shares he had bought with the money. Adams himself had also given him the tip about the Hanson & Sons stock and it
had turned out to he a very valuable one. Hanson & Sons shares had gone up 21 points—a nice profit for Bradley.
"I have something for you!" said Bradley suddenly and made a face as if he was about to give a kid some candy.
Adams raised his eyebrows. "So? Let's see!"
Bradley pulled a paper from his breastpocket. The paper was folded several times and looked like a newspaper. But it turned out to be a private stock report.
Adams read it carefully and the longer he studied it the more excited he grew. "I've never heard such rot!" he exclaimed. "That man must he a fool!"
Bradley looked confused. "I thought it would interest you," he said, "but to he quite frank I don't understand too much about it. Would you explain it to me, please?"
Adams nodded his head obligingly and began: "Somebody—a Peruvian—it says here has found a gold mine with a very high yield. They estimate that the total yield will amount eventually to over 10 million tons of gold. These are official expert estimates. The Peruvian has purchased the land and now intends to found a joint stock company for the exploitation of his gold mine. His own contribution will consist of the land and the gold mine which will amount to about 30% of the original capital and he is seeking partners who can buy into the company for the rest of the stock."
Adams' eyes, usually lacking expression, had begun to sparkle. He didn't care whether Bradley could follow his explanations or not. He rose from his chair behind the writing desk and made his exit through the door as fast as his limping gait would permit. Bradley waited in Adams' office. After more than an hour had passed he finally began to believe that he wouldn't see the old man again that day. He left the office.
Meanwhile, however, Adams developed an activity resembling an erupting volcano. He had gone to his actual office from where he issued orders to the banks of General Cosmic to put at his disposal the money needed for the purchase of the Peruvian stock. This amounted to roughly one and a half billion dollars and would bring a profit of nearly six billion according to his preliminary calculations.