by Fritz Leiber
room.
Larry sat down across from her, finished half his drink in one swallow.
"I'm beginning to wonder whether or not this Movement doesn't havesomething," he said.
She didn't answer that. They sat in silence for a while, appreciating thedrink. Nat Cole was singing "The Very Thought of You" now. Larry got upand made two more cocktails. This time he sat next to her. He leaned hishead back on the couch and closed his eyes.
Finally he said softly, "When Steve Hackett and I were questioning Susan,there was only one other person who knew that we'd picked her up. Therewas only one person other than Steve and me who could have warned ErnestSelf to make a getaway. Later on, there was only one person who could havewarned Frank Nostrand so that he and the Professor could find a newhideout."
She said sleepily, "How long have you known about that, darling?"
"A while," Larry said, his own voice quiet. "I figured it out when I alsodecided how Susan Self was spirited out of the Greater Washington Hilton,before we had the time to question her further. Somebody who had access totapes made of me while I was making phone calls cut out a section anddubbed in a voice so that Betsy Hughes, the Secret Service matron who waswatching Susan, was fooled into believing it was I ordering the girl to beturned over to the two Movement members who came to get her."
LaVerne stirred comfortably and let her head sink onto his shoulder."You're so warm and ... comfortable," she said.
Larry said softly, "What does the Movement expect to do with all thatcounterfeit money, LaVerne?"
She stirred against his shoulder, as though bothered by the need to talk."Give it all away," she said. "Distribute it all over the country anddestroy the nation's social currency."
It took him a long moment to assimilate that.
"What have the rockets to do with it?"
She stirred once again, as though wishing he'd be silent. "That's how itwill be distributed. About twenty rockets, strategically placed, each witha _warhead_ of a couple of tons of money. Fired to an altitude of a coupleof hundred miles and then the money is spewed out. In falling, it will bedistributed over cities and countryside, everywhere. Billions uponbillions of dollars worth."
Larry said, so softly as hardly to be heard, "What will that accomplish?"
"Money is the greatest social-label of them all. The Professor believesthat through this step the Movement will have accomplished its purpose.That people will be forced to utilize their judgment, rather than dependupon social-labels."
Larry didn't follow that, but he had no time to go further now. He said,still evenly soft, "And when is the Movement going to do this?"
La Verne moved comfortably. "The trucks go out to distribute the moneytonight. The rockets are waiting. The firing will take place in a fewdays."
"And where is the Professor now?"
"Where the money and the trucks are hidden, darling. What difference doesit make?" LaVerne said sleepily.
"And where is that?"
"At the Greater Washington Trucking Corporation. It's owned by one of theMovement's members."
He said. "There's a password. What is it?"
"Judgment."
Larry Woolford bounced to his feet. He looked down at her, then over atthe phone. In three quick steps he was over to it. He grasped its wiresand yanked them from the wall, silencing it. He slipped into the tinyelevator, locking the door to the den behind him.
As the door slid closed, her voice wailed, still sleepily husky, "Larry,darling, where are you--"
He ran down the walk of the house, vaulted into the car and snapped on itskey. He slammed down the lift lever, kicked the thrust pedal and wasthrown back against the seat by the acceleration.
Even while he was climbing, he flicked on the radio-phone, called PersonalService for the location of the Greater Washington Trucking Corporation.
Fifteen minutes later, he parked a block away from his destination, notingwith satisfaction that it was still an hour or more to go until dark. Hisintuition, working doubletime now, told him that they'd probably waituntil nightfall to start their money-laden trucks to rolling.
He hesitated momentarily before turning on the phone and dialing the Boss'home address.
When the other's face faded in, it failed to display pleasure when thecaller's identity was established. His superior growled, "Confound it,Woolford, you know my privacy is to be respected. This phone is to be usedonly in extreme emergency."
"Yes, sir," Larry said briskly. "It's the Movement--"
The other's face darkened still further. "You're not on that assignmentany longer, Woolford. Walter Foster has taken over and I'm sympathetic tohis complaints that you've proven more a hindrance than anything else."
Larry ignored his words, "Sir, I've tracked them down. Professor Voss isat the Greater Washington Trucking Corporation garages here in theAlexandria section of town. Any moment now, they're going to startdistribution of all that counterfeit money on some scatterbrain plan todisrupt the country's exchange system."
Suddenly alert, the department chief snapped, "Where are you, Woolford?"
"Outside the garages, sir. But I'm going in now."
"You stay where you are," the other snapped. "I'll have every departmentman and every Secret Service man in town over there within twenty minutes.You hang on. Those people are lunatics, and probably desperate."
Inwardly, Larry Woolford grinned. He wasn't going to lose this opportunityto finish up the job with him on top. He said flatly, "Sir, we can'tchance it. They might escape. I'm going in!" He flicked off the set,dialed again and raised Sam Sokolski.
"Sam," he said, his voice clipped. "I've cornered the Movement's leaderand am going in for the finish. Maybe some of you journalist boys betterget on over here." He gave the other the address and flicked off beforethere were any questions.
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From the dash compartment he brought a heavy automatic, and checked theclip. He put it in his hip pocket and left the car and walked toward thegarages. Time was running out now.
He strode into the only open door, without shift of pace. Two men wereposted nearby, neither of them truckmen by appearance. They looked at himin surprise.
Larry clipped out, "The password is _Judgment_. I've got to see ProfessorVoss immediately."
One of them frowned questioningly, but the other was taken up with theurgency in Woolford's voice. He nodded with his head. "He's over there inthe office."
Now ignoring them completely, Larry strode past the long rows of sealeddelivery vans toward the office.
He pushed the door open, entered and closed it behind him.
Professor Peter Voss was seated at a paper-littered desk. There was a cotwith an army blanket in a corner of the room, some soiled clothing and twoor three dirty dishes on a tray. The room was being lived in, obviously.
At the agent's entry, the little man looked up and blinked in distressthrough his heavy lenses.
Larry snapped, "You're under arrest, Voss."
The professor was obviously dismayed, but he said in as vigorous a voiceas he could muster, "Nonsense! On what charge?"
"Counterfeiting, among many. Your whole scheme has fallen apart, Voss. Youand your Movement, so-called, are finished."
The professor's eyes darted, left, right. To Larry Woolford's surprise,the Movement's leader was alone in here. Undoubtedly, he was awaitingothers, drivers of the trucks, technicians involved in the rockets, othersubordinates. But right now he was alone.
If Woolford correctly diagnosed the situation, Voss was playing for time,waiting for the others. Good enough, so was Larry Woolford. Had theProfessor only known it, a shout would have brought at least two followersand the government agent would have had his work cut out for him.
Woodford played along. "Just what is this fantastic scheme of yours forraining down money over half the country, Voss? The very insanity of itproves your whole outfit is composed of a bunch of nonconformist weirds."
The P
rofessor was indignant--and stalling for time. He said,"Nonconformists is correct! He who conforms in an incompetent society isan incompetent himself."
Larry stood, his legs apart and hands on hips. He shook his head insimulated pity at the angry little man. "What's all this about rainingmoney down over the country?"
"Don't you see?" the other said. "The perfect method for disrupting ourpresent system of social-labels. With billions of dollars, perfectcounterfeit, strewing the streets, the fields, the trees, available foranyone to pick up, all social currency becomes worthless. Utterlyunusable. And it's no use to attempt to print