‘No,’ Gram said, picking up his thoughts once again. ‘We’ll gun him down immediately. There’s no chance of a foul-up there. Sixteen armed men, all crack shots, will fire on him instantaneously.’
‘Instantaneously,’ Barnes said dryly, ‘after he’s managed to shoot one particular person out of a crowd of thousands. He would have to be a damn good shot.’
‘But they’ll think he was after me,’ Gram reminded him. ‘And I’ll be sitting in the front row… Irma with me.’
‘In any case, he isn’t going to be gunned down “instantaneously”,’ Barnes pointed out. ‘A second or two will have to elapse, while he makes his shot. And if he’s a little off – you’re sitting right beside her.’
‘Hm,’ Gram said, chewing his lip.
‘A slip of inches,’ Barnes said, ‘and it would be you, not Irma. I think your attempt to combine your problems with the Under Men and Cordon and your problems with Irma into one big colorful operatic smash-finale is a little too—’ He pondered. ‘There’s a Greek word for it.’
‘Terpsichore,’ Gram said.
‘No,’ Barnes said. ‘Hubris. Trying too much; going too far.’
‘I still agree with Council Chairman Gram,’ Alice Noyes said in her brisk, cold-crimson voice. ‘Admittedly, it’s daring. But it will solve so much. A man who rules, as does the Council Chairman, must be able to make such a decision, to try daring maneuvers to keep the structure functioning. In this one act—’
‘I’m resigning as Police Director,’ Barnes said.
‘Why?’ Gram asked, surprised; obviously no thoughts passing through Barnes’ mind had forewarned him of this – the decision came out of nowhere.
‘Because it will probably mean your death,’ Barnes said. ‘Because Amos Ild will program it to get you, not Irma.’
‘I have an idea,’ Alice Noyes said. ‘As Cordon is led to the center of the arena, Irma Gram will descend from her place, carrying one white rose. She will hold it out to Cordon, and at that moment he will grab a weapon from a too-lax guard and shoot her.’ She smiled thinly, her usually dim eyes glittering. ‘That ought to undermine them forever. An act of senseless viciousness like that; only a madman would kill a woman bringing him a white rose.’
‘Why white?’ Barnes asked.
‘Why what white?’ Noyes asked.
‘The rose, the goddam rose.’
‘Because it’s a symbol of innocence,’ Noyes said.
Willis Gram, still chewing on his lip, still scowling, said, ‘No, that won’t do. He’s got to seem to be trying to get me, because he would have a motive for getting me. But what motive would he have for killing Irma?’
‘To kill she, who you most love.’
Barnes laughed.
‘What’s funny?’ Gram demanded.
‘Maybe it’ll work,’ Barnes said. ‘That’s what’s so funny about it. And “To kill she, who you most love.” Can I quote you on that, Noyes? A model sentence all school children should learn; it parses so well.’
‘Academics,’ Noyes said scathingly.
Hoarsely, his face red, Gram said to Barnes, ‘I don’t care about her grammar. I don’t care about my grammar. I don’t care about anybody’s grammar. All I care about is that this is a good plan and she agrees, and you’ve resigned as of now. So you have no further vote on the matter… anyhow, if I decide to accept your resignation. I’ll have to think about it. I’ll tell you sometime; you can wait.’ His voice submerged itself into an autistic mumble at that point as he mulled over the matter under scrutiny. All at once, he glanced up at Barnes and said, ‘You’re in a strange mood. You usually go along with everything I suggest. What’s gotten into you?’
‘3XX24J,’ Barnes said.
‘What’s that?’
‘A sample Under Men apartment we’re watching. We’ve been doing a statistical analysis with the Wyoming computer as to the characteristics of those who come and go.’
‘And you just got news you don’t like.’
‘I got a very small piece of news,’ Barnes said. ‘One average citizen, who apparently heard that Cordon is going to be executed, all at once stepped across the line. Someone we had just tested, as a matter of fact. The computer didn’t like that at all. Such a swing, such amplitude in loyalty, and in such a short time… announcing Cordon’s execution may have been a mistake – a mistake which we can still redeem. The “judges” could change their minds again.’ He added sardonically, but straight-faced, ‘I have an idea of a minor alteration in your plan, Council Chairman. Have Cordon’s weapon a fake, too, along with him. He points the gun and “fires”, and then at the same moment a sharpshooter hidden nearby Irma takes the actual shot at her. That way the chances of hitting you can be reduced practically to zero.’
‘A good thought,’ Gram said, nodding.
‘You would take such a suggestion seriously?’ Barnes asked.
‘It’s a good suggestion. It overrides the element which you brought up, as to what—’
Barnes said, ‘You must untangle your public life from your private life. You’ve got them all mixed in together.’
‘And I’ll tell you something else,’ Gram said, still red-faced and hoarse. ‘That lawyer Denfeld – I want some Cordon tracts and pamphlets planted around his apartment and then I want to see a burst where he’s caught red-handed. And we’ll stick him away in Brightforth Prison, along with Cordon. They can talk to one another.’
‘Denfeld can talk,’ Alice Noyes said. ‘And Cordon can write it all down. And the rest of the prisoners can read it.’
‘I think,’ Gram said, ‘it’s a masterstroke of my innate genius to solve my public and private problems with one act, it fits the requirements of Occam’s Razor, if you see what I mean. Do you see what I mean?’
Neither Barnes nor Noyes answered. Barnes was wondering how to withdraw his resignation – made hastily and without thought for future possibilities. And, as he thought this, he realized that, as always, Willis Gram was listening in.
‘Don’t worry,’ Gram said. ‘You don’t need to resign. But you know, I really like that touch about a sharpshooter placed near Irma and me, ready to pick her off when Cordon fires his fake gun. Yes, that appeals to me; thanks for the contribution.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Barnes said, and held down his aversion and his rapidly boiling thoughts.
‘I don’t care,’ Gram said, ‘what you think. I only care what you do. Feel as hostile as you want, it doesn’t matter, just so long as you give this project your complete and immediate attention. I want it done soon… Cordon might die on us or something. We need a name for the project. A code term. What’ll we call it?’
‘Barabbas,’ Barnes said.
‘I don’t catch the meaning, but it’s fine with me,’ Gram said. ‘All right; from now on it’s Operation Barabbas. We’ll absolutely refer to it as that in both written and oral interchanges.’
‘“Barabbas,”’ Alice Noyes echoed. ‘That was a situation in which the wrong one of two people was murdered.’
‘Oh,’ Gram said. ‘Well, it still sounds good enough to me.’ He plucked fretfully at his lower lip. ‘What was the name of the person who was innocent who they snuffed?’
‘Jesus of Nazareth,’ Barnes said.
‘Are you drawing an analogy?’ Gram demanded. ‘That Cordon is like Christ?’
‘It’s been done,’ Barnes said. ‘Anyhow, let me make another point. All Cordon’s writings have opposed force and compulsion and violence. It’s inconceivable that he’d try to kill someone.’
‘That’s the point,’ Gram said patiently. ‘The whole point. It will discredit everything he’s written. It’ll show him up as a hypocrite; it’ll undermine all his tracts and booklets. Do you see?’
‘It’ll backfire,’ Barnes said.
‘You really don’t like my solutions to things,’ Gram said, gazing at him searchingly.
‘I think,’ Barnes said, ‘that in this case – you’re being highly injudicious.’
‘What’s that mean?’ Gram asked.
‘Ill-advised.’
‘Nobody advised me, it’s my own idea.’
Director Barnes gave up at that point; he let his brooding thoughts take over and his tongue became silent.
Nobody seemed to notice.
‘So it’s on with Project Barabbas,’ Gram said heartily, and smiled a wide, happy smile.
NINE
At the sound of their special knock, Kleo Appleton opened the door of the apartment. Home in the middle of the day? she wondered. Something must have happened.
And then she saw, with him, a small girl, probably in her late teens, well-dressed, with much makeup, and a white-toothed smile, as if of recognition.
‘You must be Kleo,’ the smiling girl said. ‘I’m very glad to meet you, after what Nick has said about you.’ She and Nick entered the apartment; the girl gazed around at the furniture, the wall colors: she appraised the decor expertly, seeing everything. It had the effect of making Kleo nervous and self-conscious, whereas, she realized, it ought to be the other way around. Who is this girl? she wondered.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m Mrs. Appleton.’
Nick shut the door behind the two of them. ‘She’s hiding from her boyfriend,’ he said to his wife. ‘He tried to beat her up and she got away. He can’t trace her here because he doesn’t know who I am or where I live, so she’s safe here.’
‘Coffee?’ Kleo asked.
‘“Coffee”?’ Nick repeated.
‘I’ll put on some coffee,’ Kleo said. She surveyed the girl and saw how pretty she was, despite her heavy makeup. And how little she was. The girl probably had trouble finding clothes small enough to fit her… a trouble I wish I had, Kleo reflected.
‘My name is Charlotte,’ the girl said. She had seated herself on the living room couch and was unbuckling her greaves. The wide, positive smile never left her face; she gazed up at Kleo with what seemed almost to be love. Love! For someone she had never seen before in her life.
‘I said she could stay here overnight,’ Nick said.
‘Yes,’ Kleo said. ‘The couch makes into a bed.’ She made her way to the kitchen area and poured three cups of coffee. ‘What do you take in your coffee?’ she asked the girl.
‘Look,’ Charlotte said, springing lithely up and coming toward her. ‘Don’t go to any trouble for me, honest. I don’t need anything, except a place to stay a couple of days that’s a place Denny doesn’t know about. And we lost him, we shook him off in all that traffic. So there’s really no chance of a—’ She gesticulated. ‘A scene. I promise.’
‘You still didn’t tell me what you want in your coffee.’
‘Black.’
Kleo handed her a cup.
‘This is wonderful coffee,’ Charlotte said.
Carrying two cups, Kleo went back to the living room, gave Nick his cup, seated herself on a black plastic chair. Nick and the girl, like two people in adjoining seats at a movie, sat down side by side on the couch.
‘Have you called the police?’ Kleo asked.
‘Call the police?’ Charlotte asked, with a puzzled expression. ‘No, of course not. He does this all the time; I just get out and wait – I know how long it lasts. And then I go back. The police? And have them arrest him? He’d die in jail. He has to be free; he has to go on sailing over great spaces, very fast, in that squib of his, the Purple Sea Cow we call it.’ She then sipped her coffee, earnestly.
Kleo pondered. She had mixed feelings, chaotic feelings. She’s a stranger, she thought. We don’t know her; we don’t know even if she’s telling the truth about her boyfriend. Suppose it’s something else? Suppose the police are after her? But Nick seems to like her; he seems to trust her. But if she is telling the truth, of course we ought to let her stay here. And then Kleo thought, She certainly is pretty. Maybe that’s why Nick wants her to stay here; maybe he’s got a – she searched for the word. A special interest in her. If she wasn’t so pretty, would he still want to let her in here to stay with us? But that did not sound like Nick. Unless he was unaware of his true feelings; he knew he wanted to help the girl but he didn’t actually know why.
I guess we should take the chance, Kleo decided.
‘We’d be very happy to have you stay with us,’ she said aloud, ‘for as long as you need to.’
At this, Charlotte’s face grew radiant with pleasure.
‘I’ll take your coat,’ Kleo said, as the girl wriggled out of it – Nick gallantly offering her help.
‘No, you don’t have to do that,’ Charlotte said.
Kleo said, ‘If you’re going to be staying here’ – she took the coat from Charlotte – ‘you’ll have to hang up your coat.’ She carried it to the single closet of the apartment, opened the door, reached for a hanger… and saw, in one of the coat pockets, a hastily rolled up pamphlet. ‘Cordonite writing,’ she said aloud, as she took it from the pocket. ‘You’re an Under Man.’
Charlotte ceased smiling; she looked anxious now, and it was obvious that her thoughts were moving rapidly as she hurriedly searched for an answer.
‘Then that whole story about her boyfriend,’ Kleo said, ‘it’s a lie. The tracks are after her; that’s why you want to hide her here.’ She carried the coat, and the pamphlet, back to Charlotte. ‘You can’t stay here,’ she said.
Nick said, ‘I would have told you, but—’ He gestured. ‘I knew you’d react this way. And I was right.’
‘It’s true about Denny,’ Charlotte said in a mild, steady voice. ‘It is him I’m hiding from. The tracks aren’t after me. And you just had a random check, Nick told me. This apartment won’t be coming up again for – hell, for months. Maybe years.’
Kleo stood holding out Charlotte’s coat to her.
‘If she goes,’ Nick said, ‘I go with her.’
‘I wish you would,’ Kleo said.
‘You mean that?’ Nick asked.
‘Yes, I mean it.’
Charlotte rose to her feet. ‘I’m not going to split the two of you up. It isn’t fair – I’ll go.’ She turned to Nick. ‘Thank you anyway,’ she said. She accepted her coat, put it on, moved toward the door. ‘I understand how you feel, Kleo,’ she said as she opened the door. She smiled her bright – but now frozen – smile. ‘Goodbye.’
Nick moved rapidly – he strode after her, stopped her at the door by seizing her by the shoulder.
‘No,’ Charlotte said, and with what seemed unusual force by a woman, she twisted loose. ‘So long, Nick. Anyhow we shook the Purple Sea Cow. That was fun. You’re a good driver; a lot of guys have tried to shake Denny off when he’s in his ship, but you’re the only one who’s actually managed to do it.’ She patted him on the arm and walked briskly out into the hall.
Maybe it is true about her boyfriend, Kleo thought. Maybe he did try to beat her up; maybe we ought to let her stay. Anyway. In spite of the fact… but, she thought, they didn’t tell me: not her, not Nick. Which amounts to a lie, by omission. She thought, I’ve never known Nick to do that before. Here he’s put us in all this danger and he hasn’t said – I just happened to see the pamphlet in her coat.
And, she thought, he might actually leave with her, as he says. Then he really must be involved with her, she thought. They can’t have just met: it wouldn’t be reasonable for anyone to go so far in giving help to a stranger… except that in this case the stranger is beautiful, small and helpless. And men are that way. There is a weakness in their structure which comes out in situations like this. They no longer think or act reasonably; they do what they think of as ‘chivalry’. At whatever cost to themselves, and, in this case, to their wife and child.
‘You can stay,’ she said to Charlotte, following after her into the hall, as the girl stood struggling to get her coat back on; Nick stood blankly, as if he could no longer follow – and hence participate in – the situation.
‘No,’ Charlotte said. ‘Goodbye.’ She ran, then, in full flight down the corridor, like a wild bird.
>
‘God damn you,’ Nick said to Kleo.
‘God damn you, too,’ Kleo said, ‘trying to bring her in here to get us bursted. God damn you for not telling me.’
‘I would have told you when the opportunity arose,’ he said.
‘Aren’t you going after her?’ Kleo asked. ‘You said you would.’
He stared at her, his face mobile with wrath, his eyes small and crammed with darkness. ‘You’ve sentenced her to forty years in a work camp on Luna; she’ll roam the streets with no money and no place to go, and eventually a prowl car will stop and they’ll question her.’
‘She’s a smart girl; she’ll get rid of the pamphlets,’ Kleo said.
‘They’ll still get her. For something.’
‘Then go on and make sure she’s all right. Forget us; forget Bobby and me and go see if she’s okay. Go ahead. Go!’
His jaw retracted, as if, she thought, he is going to hit me. Look what he has learned already from his new girl friend, she thought. Brutality.
However, he did not hit her. Instead, turning, he ran up the corridor after Charlotte.
‘You bastard!’ Kleo yelled after him, giving not a damn who in the building heard her. Then, returning to the apartment, she slammed and locked the door; she put the night bolt in place, so that even with his key he could not open the door again.
They walked hand-in-hand along the busy street with its many shops, through heavy sidewalk traffic, neither of them speaking.
‘I wrecked your marriage,’ Charley said after a time.
‘No you didn’t,’ Nick said. And it was true: his showing up with the girl had brought to the surface only that which was already there. We lived a life of scrabbling fear, he thought, a life of worry and pitiful terrors. Fear Bobby wouldn’t pass his test; fear of the police. And now – the Purple Sea Cow, he thought. All we have to do is worry about it strafing us. Thinking that, he laughed.
‘What’s funny?’ Charley said.
‘I was imagining Denny dive-bombing us. Like with one of those old Stukas they used back in World War Two. And everybody scattering to get out of the way, thinking war had broken out with North-West Germany.’
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