ill effects that a couple of headache tabletswouldn't set right.
The situation, while bad, was not immediately desperate. If thewhite-clad raiders controlled the top landing stage, they were pinneddown by the firearms and sono guns of the defenders, below, who werein a position to stop anything that came down the escalators or thelift shaft. The fate of the first party was proof of that. And thevery magnitude of the riot guaranteed that somebody on the outside,city police, State guards, or even Consolidated States regulars, wouldbe taking a hand shortly. The air attack and 'copter-landing on theroof had been excellent tactics, but it had been a seriouspolicy-blunder. As long as the disturbance had been confined to theinterior of the store, the city police could shrug it off as anotherminor riot on property supposed to be protected by private police, anddo nothing about it. The rocket-attack on the top landing stage andthe spectacular explosion of the fireworks temporarily stored there,however, was something that simply couldn't be concealed or dismissed.The cloud of varicolored smoke alone must have been visible all overthe five original boroughs of the older New York, and there wereprobably rumors of atom-bombing going around.
"What gets me," Slater, who must have been thinking about the samething, said to Cardon, "is where they got hold of those twofighter-bombers. That kind of stuff isn't supposed to be in privatehands."
"A couple of hundred years ago, they had something they called theSullivan Law," Cardon told him. "Private citizens weren't even allowedto own pistols. But the gangsters and hoodlums seemed to be able toget hold of all the pistols they wanted, and burp guns, too. I know offour or five racket gangs in this area that have aircraft like that,based up in the Adirondacks, at secret fields. Anybody who hasconnections with one of those gangs can order an air attack like thison an hour's notice, if he's able to pay for it. What I can'tunderstand is the Independent-Conservatives doing anything like this.The facts about this business will be all over the state before thepolls open tomorrow--" He snapped his fingers suddenly. "Come on;let's have a look at those fellows who came down on the lift!"
There were two dead men in white Independent-Conservative robes andhoods, lying where they had been dragged from the lift platform.Cardon pulled off the hoods and zipped open the white robes. One ofthe men was a complete stranger; the other, however, was a man he hadseen, earlier in the day, at the Manhattan headquarters of theRadical-Socialist Party. One of the Consolidated Illiterates'Organization people; a follower of West and Yingling.
"So that's how it was!" he said, straightening. "Now I get it! Let'sgo see if any of those wounded goons are in condition to bequestioned."
* * * * *
Ray Pelton and Doug Yetsko had their heads out an open window on theright side of the cab of the 'copter truck; Ray was pointing down.
"That roof, over there, looks like a good place to land," he said. "Wecan get down the fire escape, and the hatch to the conveyor belt isonly half a block away."
Yetsko nodded. There'd be a watchman, or a private cop, in thebuilding on which Ray intended landing. A couple of hundred dollarswould take care of him, and they could leave two of Mason's boys withthe vehicles to see that he stayed bribed.
"Sure we can get in on the freight conveyor?" he asked. "Maybe it'llbe guarded."
"Then we'll have to crawl in through the cable conduit," Ray said."I've done that, lots of times; so have most of the other guys." Henodded toward the body of the truck, behind, where his dozen-odd'teen-age recruits were riding. "I've played all over the store, eversince I've been big enough to walk; I must know more about it thananybody but the guy who built it. That's why I said we'd have to bringbullet guns; down where we're going, we'd gas ourselves with gas guns,and if we used sono guns, we'd knock ourselves out with the echo."
"You know, Ray, you'll make a real storm trooper," Yetsko said. "Ifyou manage to stay alive for another ten years, you'll be almost asgood a storm troop captain as Captain Prestonby."
That, Ray knew, was about as high praise as Doug Yetsko could giveanybody. He'd have liked to ask Doug more about CaptainPrestonby--Doug could never seem to get used to the idea of hisofficer being a schoolteacher--but there was no time. The 'coptertruck was already settling onto the roof.
The watchman proved amenable to reason. He took one look at Yetsko,with three feet of weighted fire hose in his hand, and gulped, thenaccepted the two C-notes Yetsko gave him. They left a couple ofLiterates' guards with the vehicles, and Ray led the way to the fireescape, and down into the alley. A few hundred feet away, there was aniron grating which they pulled up. Ray drew the pistol he had gottenout of Captain Prestonby's arms locker and checked the magazine,chamber, and safety, knowing that Yetsko and the other guards werewatching him critically, and then started climbing down the ladder.
The conduit was halfway down. Yetsko, climbing behind him, examined itwith his flashlight, probably wondering how he was going to fithimself into a hole like that. They climbed down onto the concretewalkway beside the conveyor belts, and in the dim light of theoverhead lamps Ray could see that the two broad belts, to and from thestore, were empty for as far as he could see in either direction.Normally, there should be things moving constantly in bothdirections--big wire baskets full of parcels for delivery, and trashcontainers, going out, and bales and crates and cases of merchandise,and empty delivery baskets and trash containers coming in. He pointedthis out to Yetsko.
"Sure," the big Literates' guards sergeant nodded. "They got controlof the opening from the terminal, and they probably got a gang up atthe other end, too," he shouted, over the noise of the conveyor belts."I hope they haven't got into the basement of the store."
"If they have, I know a way to get in," Ray told him. "You'd betterstay here for about five minutes, and let me scout ahead. We don'twant to run into a big gang of them ahead."
Yetsko shook his head. "No, Ray; the captain told me I was to stickwith you. I'll go along with you. And we better take another of thesekids, for a runner, in case we have to send word back."
"Ramon, you come with us," Ray said. "The rest of you, stay here forfive minutes, and then, if you don't hear from us, follow us."
"Mason, you take over," Yetsko told the guards corporal. "And keep aneye out behind you. We're in a sandwich, here; they're behind us, andin front of us. If anything comes at you from behind, send the kidsforward to the next conduit port."
Ray and Yetsko and Ramon Nogales started forward. Halfway to the nextconduit port, there was a smear of lubricating oil on the concrete,and in it, and away from it in the direction of the store, they foundfootprints. It was Ramon Nogales who noticed the oil on the ladder tothe next conduit port.
"You stick here," Yetsko told him, "and when Mason and the others comeup, hold them here. Tell Mason to send one of the guards forward, anduse the rest of the gang to grab anybody who comes out. Come on, Ray."
At the port beyond, they halted, waiting for Mason's man to come up.They lost some time, thereafter, but they learned that the section ofconduit between the two ports was empty and that the main telephoneline to the store had been cut. Whoever had cut it had gone, eitherforward or back away from the store. A little farther on, the sound ofshots ahead became audible over the clanking and rattling of theconveyor belts.
"Well, I guess this is where we start crawling," Yetsko said. "Yourfather's people seem to be holding the store basement against a gangin the conveyor tunnel."
One of the boys scouted ahead, and returned to report that they couldreach the next conduit port, but that the section of both conveyorbelts ahead of him was stopped, apparently wedged.
Yetsko stood for a moment, grimacing in an effort to reach a decision.
"I'd like to just go forward and hit them from behind," he said. "ButI don't know how many of them there are, and we'd have to be careful,shooting into them, that we didn't shoot up your father's gang, beyondthem. I wish--"
"Well, let's go through the conduit, then," Ray said. "We can slidedown a branch conduit that runs a power line
into the basement. I'llgo ahead; everybody at the store knows me, and they don't know you.They might shoot you before they found out you were a friend."
Before Yetsko could object, he started up the ladder, Yetsko behindhim and the others following. At the next conduit port, they couldhear shooting very plainly, seeming to be in front of them. At thenext one, the shooting seemed to be going on directly under them, inthe tunnel. With the flashlight Yetsko had passed forward to him, Raycould see that the dust on the concrete floor of the three-foot