jobs,gobbledygook jobs, non-producing jobs, make-work jobs, red-tapebureaucracy jobs. At a time when the nation is supposedly in a breakneckeconomic competition with the Soviet Complex, we put our best brainsinto advertising, entertainment and sales, while they put theirs intoscience and industry."
He stopped long enough to shake an indignant finger at the surprisedTracy. "But that isn't the worst of it. Have you ever heard of plannedobsolescence?"
Tracy acted as though on the defensive. "Well ... sure ..."
"In the Soviet Complex, and, for that matter, in Common Europe and othereconomic competitors of ours, they simply don't believe in plannedobsolescence and all its related nonsense. Razor blades, everywhereexcept in this country, don't go dull after two or three shaves. Carsdon't fall apart after two or three years, or even become so out ofstyle that the owner feels that he's losing status by being seen in it,the owners expect to keep them half a lifetime. Automobile batteriesdon't go to pieces after eighteen months, they last for a decade. And onand on!"
The old boy was really unwinding now. "Nor is even that the nadir ofthis socio-economic hodge-podge we've allowed to develop, this economyof production for sale, rather than production for use." He stabbed withhis finger. "I think one of the best examples of what was to come was tobe witnessed way back at the end of the Second War. The idea of theball-bearing pen was in the air. The first one to hurry into productiongave his pen a tremendous build-up. It had ink enough to last threeyears, it would make many carbon copies, you could use it under water.And so on and so forth. It cost fifteen dollars, and there was only onedifficulty with it. It wouldn't write. Not that that made any differencebecause it sold like hotcakes what with all the promotion. He wasn'tinterested in whether or not it would write, but only in whether or notit would sell." Moncure threw up his hands dramatically. "I ask you, cansuch an economic system be taken seriously?"
"What's your point?" Tracy growled dangerously. He'd never met one thisfar out, before.
"Isn't it obvious? Continue this ridiculous economy and we'll lose thebattle for men's minds. You can't have an economic system that allowssuch nonsense as large scale unemployment of trained employees, plannedobsolescence, union featherbedding, and an overwhelming majority ofthose who are employed wasting their labor on unproductive employment."
Tracy said, "Then if I understand you correctly, Freer Enterprises wasdeliberately organized for the purpose of undermining the economy sothat it will collapse and have to be reorganized on a different basis."
"That is _exactly_ correct," Moncure said defiantly. "I am devoting mywhole fortune to this cause. And there is nothing in American law thatprevents me from following through with my plans."
"You're right there," Tracy said wryly. "There's nothing in American lawthat prevents you. However, you see, I have no connection whatsoeverwith the American government." He slipped the gun from its holster.
* * * * *
Frank Tracy made his way wearily into LaVerne's domain. She looked upfrom the desk. "Everything go all right, Mr. Tracy?"
"I suppose so. Tell Comrade Zotov that I'm back from Chicago, please."
She clicked switches, said something into an inner-office communicator,then looked up again. "He'll see you immediately, Mr. Tracy."
Pavel Zotov looked up from his endless paperwork and wheezed the sigh ofa fat man. He correctly interpreted the expression of his fieldoperative. "Pour us a couple of drinks, Frank, or would you rather haveit _Frol_, today?"
His best field man grunted as he walked over to the bar. "Vodka, eh?_Chort vesmiot_ how tired one can become of this everlasting bourbon."He reached into the refrigerator compartment and brought forth a bottleof iced Stolichnaya. He poured two three-ounce charges and brought themback to his bureau chief's desk.
They toasted silently, knocked back the colorless spirit. Pavel Zotovsaid, "Well, Frol?"
The man usually called Frank Tracy said, "The worst case yet. This onehad quite a clear picture of the true situation. He saw thenecessity--given _their_ viewpoint, of course--of getting out of thefantastic rut their economy has fallen into." He ran his hand over hismouth in a gesture of weariness. "Chief, do you have any idea of howlong it would take us to catch up to them, if we ever did, if theyreally turned this economy on full blast, as an alternative to theirpresent foul-up?"
"That's why we're here," the Chief said heavily. "What did you do?"
The man sometimes called Tracy told him.
Zotov winced. "I thought I ordered you--"
"You did," the man called Tracy told him curtly, "but what alternativewas there? The fire will completely destroy the records. I have thenames and addresses of all the others connected with Freer Enterprises.We'll have to arrange car accidents, that sort of thing."
The fat man's lips worked. "We can't get by with this indefinitely,Frol. With such blatant tactics, sooner or later their C.I.A. or F.B.I.is going to get wind of us."
Tracy came to his feet angrily. "What alternative have we? We've beensent over here to do a job. We're doing it. If we're caught, who knowsbetter than we that we're expendable? If you don't mind, I'm going onhome."
As he left the office, through the secret door that led through theinnocuous looking garage, the man they called Frank Tracy was inwardlythinking, "Zotov might be my superior, and a top man in the party, buthe's too soft for this job. Perhaps I'd better send a report back toMoscow on him."
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