High-Opp

Chapter 10

Helmut Glass, his square face set in an angry frown, paced his office atop the Com-Burs Building. It was a sybarite’s office—soft carpets, chairs with deep cushions, a bar in the corner, dark paneling. An aroma of some wood perfume mingled in the air with the smoky residue of rare tobacco.

Across from Glass, on a coffee-brown leather couch, sat Loren Addington, director of the Bureau of Control. A fat man with puffy, sadistic eyes which he hid behind thick lenses. A red toupee, obvious in its false youthfulness, replaced his lost hair.

Beside Addington sat Rafe Newton, whose youth fitted the pale reddish cast of his hair. Someday he might have eyes like his uncle, Helmut Glass—hard and unforgiving—and a fat body like his fifth cousin, Loren Addington. Now he had the look of a hungry wolf waiting for one of his pack mates to stumble.

“It’s the biggest movement we’ve ever encountered,” said Glass. He dropped into the chair at his desk. “And we don’t have a single line into it. I can sense the size of it. Those couriers. Men have to be strongly indoctrinated to give up their lives.” He looked up into Addington’s owlish eyes. “What about the packages they carried?”

Addington fumbled in his pocket, pulled out a pill which he popped into his mouth. “They appear to have been tri-di reels, but there wasn’t enough left to reconstruct.”

“Where’d they get the incendiaries?” demanded Glass.

“I don’t know.” Addington chewed placidly on his pill.

“You don’t know.” Glass mimicked Addington’s tone. The fat man did not change expression. “Do you know anything?”

Addington swallowed the pill. “A rumor.”

“What, what is it?”

“You call Movius?”

Glass scowled. “And there’s another loose end. You haven’t found him yet.” He seemed at the breaking point of exasperation.

“There’s a rumor going around the Warrens that he’s the new boss of the Sep movement.”

“Well, trace the rumor,” said Glass.

“Haven’t had any luck.”

Glass turned to Newton. “What about you, Rafe?”

Newton’s eyes took on a glaze of familial cordiality. “I’ve been too busy working on Gerard.”

“I believe we’d better hold off on Gerard,” said Glass. “Let it ride for awhile and concentrate on the Seps. Make a few surprise raids at random. Shake down the Warrens. Haul in some people for special questioning. I don’t think we have much…”

“But I’m almost ready to move on Gerard,” said Newton. His eyes had regained some of their wolfish look.

“Oh? How close?”

“Another two weeks. We’re working on his male secretary now.”

“Too long,” said Glass. He turned back to Addington, missed the quick light of anger in Newton’s eyes. “I want this thing smashed. Don’t bother checking that rumor about Movius. Just find him and dump him in the river. And don’t take…”

A door at the end of the office opened. Cecelia Lang stood in the doorway. She wore a pair of shimmering black Top Rank coveralls cut to display her figure. “Helmut,” she said, her voice keyed to the tone she knew made Glass squirm.

“Just a few minutes,” said Glass.

“But you said you wouldn’t be long.”

Newton’s lips twitched into a smile, quickly erased.

“It’ll just be a few seconds now,” said Glass.

Cecelia waited in the doorway.

Glass turned back to the two men on the couch. “Find that man and get rid of him.” He stood up, strode toward Cecelia.

“I don’t like to be kept waiting,” said Cecelia, taking his arm.

“I know you don’t dear,” said The Coor. “I’m sorry, but it was some important business. Now let’s go to…”

They passed out of sight and hearing. Newton turned a grin on fifth cousin Loren Addington, sobered when he received no response.