The Stainless Steel Rat for President

Chapter 23

I closed the ron bottle and put it away; this was the time for a clear head. However I did open a bottle of wine to wash down a fried bean and sausage sandwich since beans are a well known brain food. I think. Angelina went to pick up James while I stared at the telephone. And tried to produce intelligent thoughts about the night's events. By the time they had returned I had reached some highly logical and most unattractive conclusions.

"There were no phone calls," I said as they came through the door.

"If that's food I'll have some," James said, pouring himself a small glass of wine. I was happy that the twins took after their mother in their alcoholic interest, not after their boozer of a father.

"I've made some plans," I announced. "They will guarantee Bolivar's return." Angelina nodded agreement.

"Good. We break into the central jail, shoot down everyone we meet, then release him."

"No. That's what they are expecting us to do. Someone on the enemy team is out-thinking us. We walked into a trap tonight because we were careless. We have been one jump ahead of them so far—and we thought that it would continue to go on like that. But the honeymoon is over. We now have to out-think their out-thinker and do the unexpected."

"Which is what?" Angelina asked.

"Hit them where they don't expect us. Take a prisoner whom we know they will have to trade for Bolivar."

"Who?"

"Zapilote himself. No one else will do."James was so surprised that he actually stopped eating. Which meant he was very surprised indeed. Angelina had far more control.

"You wouldn't care to explain the tortuous logic that led to that conclusion?" she said.

"I'll be happy to. Somebody on their side has brains. It might very well be Colonel Oliveira. After all he was the one waiting in the car when we returned. Until we find out anything different we must assume that he is our enemy number one. He has been keeping careful track of our operation and has managed to put himself in our shoes. He knows that we must publicize our campaign if we are ever going to get the votes. Nothing of our first meeting with the press was reported, so logically we must then take steps to see that the future will be different. He had no idea of what we would do—but he guessed very accurately where we would strike. Broadcast Center. Then he laid a trap that worked—because he succeeded in capturing Bolivar. If he has been right so far he will still be right in assuming that an attempt will be made to free the prisoner. Therefore we can be sure that Bolivar will not be in the local prison. And we can also be sure that the building will be one big trap. We shall stay away from it. And change all the rules of the game. With Zapilote as a hostage Bolivar will have to be released and the score will be nil nil."

"All right so far," Angelina said. "But have you given any thought about ways and means of getting our hands on Zapilote?"

"I have. I am going to get a few hours sleep so I will be fresh for the morning. I will then make certain preparations before I pop over to the capital and look in on the General-President."

"You're insane," Angelina said calmly. "I won't let you do it." She shifted position and a gun suddenly appeared in her hand aimed at me. "That blow on the nose must have addled your brains as well. Go get some sleep while James and I work out another plan that won't be quite as suicidal."

"You would shoot me to save my life? While not denigrating the process in any way, I am forced to admit that the operation of the female mind continues to baffle me. Now put the gun away and relax. It is not suicide I am planning but a well thought-out operation that will extricate both Bolivar and myself from their clutches. Some details are still vague, but I'm sure that they will be clearer after a night's rest."

They were. I woke up at dawn with a flow chart of the operation firmly printed on my frontal lobes. It could not fail!

My good humor continued through my shower and breakfast and the flight to Primoroso and right up to the moment when I was strolling across Freedom Square. It only left me when I entered the grim gates of the Presidio and was stopped by the guard. It was far too late to back out now so I bashed on, good humor or no.

"Where's your pass?" he growled.

"Pass? I need no pass, you microcephalic moron, I am here to see the General-President at the specific request of Colonel Oliveira."

"I am sorry. The Colonel left no orders when he came in…"

"Oliveira is here now? Better and better. Get him on the phone. And quickly—if you value your life and sanity."

He was shaking as he punched a number into the phone. The plate lit up and I could see Olivelra's sadistic face on the screen. Before the guard could speak I pushed him aside and leaned close.

"Oliveira," I snarled. "I'm at the front entrance. Aren't you interested in seeing me?"

He did a beautiful take; I should have brought a camera. He had undoubtedly expected a number of possible reactions to the events of the previous evening—but this one was certainly not included. He finally got his eyes back in his head and the blood back into his skin and screeched into the phone.

"Hold that man…" I broke the connection and sat down in the guard's chair.

"See how delighted he was?" I took out a cigar and lit it and had barely puffed out the first cloud of smoke before Oliveira came plunging down the stairs with a squad of soldiers at his heels.

"You took one of my men last night," I said, blowing smoke into his face. "I've come to order his release."

As can be easily imagined he did not take kindly at all to this treatment. I made no resistance when the soldiers seized me and hustled me deep into the bowels of the building. Oliveira personally supervised the security procedures, watching closely as I was stripped, searched, X-rayed, body-scanned and purged. He knew that there had to be method in my madness of surrendering to him—but he could not figure out what it was. Then he had the entire security procedure done a second time just in case. Of course they found nothing.

When it was all finished I was given thin slippers and a paper prison suit, then chained heavily at my ankles and wrists. Only after this had been done did he have me dragged to the interrogation room and thrown into a hard chair. He stood over me, slapping a weighted club against the palm of his hand.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I am General James diGriz of the Paramilitary Organization of Political Investigation. You may call me sir."

He struck me sharply across the shin with the club. It should have hurt a good deal. I didn't even notice it. One thing that the examination hadn't shown was that I had been filled to the gills with neocain, a very potent pain-killer. I might not feel very good when it wore off, but for the present nothing could get through.

"No lies and no more of your not so funny jokes. Who are you. The truth this time."

"I've already told you. My name and organization. We of POOPI make it our life's work to right wrongs, to aid in the political growth of backward planets, to help honest politicians like Harapo. To supervize the downfall of criminals like Zapilote." He struck me again and again and I just sat there and watched him. "Does it give you pleasure to do that?" I finally asked. "If so you must be a very sick man." He raised the club higher—then threw it away. What good is it to be a bully and a sadist if your victim doesn't even notice it? I nodded approval.

"Now that you have stopped we can converse like adults. My organization is giving aid to Harapo, as I told you. Last night you succeeded in capturing one of my operatives. That will not do. I want him released at once."

"Never! We have him and now we have you and you are both as good as dead…"

"More threats? You really are a stupid man." I stood up, very slowly, since it took a great deal of effort because of the heavy chains. "I shall just have to go over your head. I will see Zapilote now."

"I'll kill you!" he frothed, grabbing up the club again and raising it over his head.

"If you do, Zapilote will have you shot on the spot. My organization will continue to work without me and he will lose the election. Because of your stupidity. Is that what you want?" He stood there, club raised, trembling, lusting to beat my brains out, but knowing that if he did that he might very well be dead as well. In the end he had to lower it. I nodded approval.

"That's better. We will now go to see the General-President so I can tell him of a compromise plan that I am sure will please him."

"What is it?"

"You will discover that if he permits your presence during our discussion. Call him."

Oliveira was neatly impaled on the horns of a dilemma, and I enjoyed watching him twitch there. He wanted to kill me, or at least to maim me-but he didn't dare. What I had said about Zapilote was true. In the end he realized that and stamped out of the room. I dropped back into the chair and looked gloomily at the bruises that were beginning to appear on my body and tried not to think what I was going to feel like when the neocain wore off. There was a suspicious soft spot on the side of my chest where a rib or two was broken. It was then that I decided that something really loathsome had to happen to Colonel Oliveira before this affair was through. While I was brooding over his fate he returned with a squad of soldiers.

I was hauled to my feet. The soldiers formed a solid wall around me as we marched off down the hall, up a stairway, very tiring, and through a number of anterooms to face a pair of large gilt doors. It had armed guards, weapons ready, stationed on each side. We were getting close to the holy of holies. The doors swung wide, my personal bodyguards pushed me forward, staying so close that I had to peek over their shoulders to assure myself that we were indeed in the Presence. The General-President squatted in a chair like a loathsome toad, his bandy arms resting on an immense desk.

"Tell me about this person," Zapilote said. Still as frogmouthed and ugly as the first time I had met him. If he recognized me as a beardless Harapo he wasn't letting on.

"He gave his name as General James diGriz," Oliveira said. "And claims to represent an organization named POOPI…"

"I'll have you shot if you are trying to make bad jokes!"

"No, please, it is true your excellency!" I enjoyed watching the colonel sweat and tremble. "There must be some truth in what he says. This Paramilitary Organization of Political Investigation that he talks about could exist. Without a doubt he in an offplanet agent. He came here first some months ago disguised as a tourist, to make contact with a traitor organization in Puerto Azul. I had him deported before he could cause any more trouble. He has since returned here illegally and is very high up in the Harapo organization that is causing us… some little problems…"

"I will kill Harapo. Hang him. With his own intestines!"

"Yes, all of the traitors, every one of them, lots of intestines!" Oliveira slavered. "Guts galore…"

"Close your mouth, Oliveira, or you'll be first." There was a crackling sound as Oliveira slammed his mouth shut. I think he broke a tooth. Zapilote was glaring at me now, his beady red eyes trying to burn holds through me. "So you work for Harapo. You cause me all kinds of troubles. Now, before I kill you, tell me why you came here."

"To make an agreement with you…"

"I do not deal with traitors. Take him out and shoot him."

The soldiers closed in, seizing me. It wasn't going quite as I had planned. "Wait!" I shouted. "Listen to me first. Would I have come here, alone and unarmed without a reason? That would be suicide. I came here in order to tell you…" What? I hadn't the slightest idea. But he was listening. What I had to tell him had to be important. What would interest him? What does a paranoid dictator care about? Paranoia! "I have come to tell you that there is a traitor very close to you. Plotting against you."

"Who?" I had his attention now. He was on his feet, leaning across the desk. "Mrmtrmbimble…" I mumbled.

"What?"

"Shall I speak his name aloud, here? With these men listening?"

"Speak up? Who is it? Tell me!" he frothed, coming around the desk.

"I'll tell you," I said, bending my knees and tensing my muscles. "Someone very close to you who wants to kill you…" And as I spoke the words I hurled myself forward. Smashing into the guards who stood between us, knocking them aside. Staggering with the weight of the chains, dragging my arms up. My outstretched hands could barely reach his face; one fingernail brushed his skin.

Then the blows struck my head and body, driving me to the ground where the soldiers began to kick me. I was only vaguely aware of Oliveira stopping them, bending over and dragging me to my feet. Soldiers held me tightly; I could barely breathe. Oliveira had his pistol out and the cold muzzle was pushed between my eyes.

"Speak!" he commanded. "One last time before I blow your brains out. Who wants to kill the General-President?"

"I do," I said hoarsely through my bruised throat. "I want to kill him and I have just done so. Don't you see that scratch on his face, the drops of blood?" Zapilote raised his hand to his cheek and touched it, then looked at the red stain on his fingers.

"You searched me!" I shouted, "But you did not find the weapon. This nail, this fingernail, cut to a point. And coated with four-hour virus. Zapilote has been infected and will be dead within that time. You're dead now, old man. Dead!"