atthe head of my scarfaced acquaintance. He raised his arm, but the heavycase slammed into it and bounced off his forehead.
It probably broke his arm, and possibly fractured his skull. I didn'twait to find out.
Holding tightly to the defense mech, I darted into the store entrance. Ileft Maxwell blindly clutching the assailant into whose path I hadthrown him. I didn't worry about Maxwell. They could have him. If I gotaway, they wouldn't dare kill him. And if I didn't get away, they wouldkill both of us.
The escalator was just inside the door to the right, and I ran down thedownward-moving steps, doubling back to the left at the bottom, and outthe door on the pedestrian level. I turned left again and ran to thecorner, crossed the street and ran three-fourths the length of theblock.
I glanced backward and didn't see anyone running after me, so I entereda late-hour department store. I wasn't safe yet, and I didn't feel safe,but I felt encouraged enough to slow down to a fast walk through theaisles of the men's clothing section.
I had to get to a visiphone, first of all, and call Newell in New York.And then--well, I wasn't sure. Hide, somewhere. Keep from beingcaptured.
It took me three minutes of rapid wandering through the building to finda row of visiphone booths. I placed the call. While I waited, nervouslycrossing and uncrossing my legs, peering intermittently out the windowto see if there was any sign of pursuit, I had time to think.
I had time to think, but I didn't think. Not really. I was thinking ofwhat I was going to tell Newell. Thinking of Maxwell being dragged awayby Grogan's "secretaries," and wondering what would happen to him. But Ididn't really think, and maybe it's just as well.
A little less than nine agonizing minutes elapsed before Newell's plumpface appeared on the screen.
"You're late tonight," he said. "I was just on the verge of calling you.How're things going?"
I told him quickly, and with a minimum of detail, what had happenedsince our last session.
"It's Grogan, after all," I said. "I'd recognize that scarfaced gorillaof his anywhere. Get Grogan and--"
The boss nodded. "We'll get him. You let me worry about that. You've gotto.... You say they were beaming telenosis on Maxwell? How the devil didthey get his wave-band so soon?"
"You can worry about that one, too," I told him.
"Okay. Never mind. Where are you now? Never mind that either. Just staythere. Call the nearest police station and have them send someone afteryou. Get in a nice snug cell and stay put. We'll take care of Grogan andMaxwell. Okay, now. Don't waste any time."
* * * * *
We hung up together. Then I quickly dialed the operator and asked forthe nearest sectional police station.
When the face of the desk sergeant flashed on the screen, I told him,"My name is Earl Langston. My life is in immediate danger. I'm in a vpbooth near the Pacific Street entrance, number four, of Underhill'sdepartment store, second level."
"Stay where you are," the sergeant replied. "We'll have someone afteryou in ten or fifteen minutes."
In a surprisingly short time, an overweight, gray-uniformed policemanwith a face like a bulldog rapped at the door of the booth.
I stood up and opened the door.
"Earl Langston?" he asked. I nodded and followed him to an elevator. Wewent up to the third level and then through a maze of aisles anddepartments before going out a door that opened on a parking lot.
The policeman led me to an unmarked auto and opened the back door forme. Two dogs barked at my heels as we walked to the vehicle. I shooedthem off before I closed the door.
I leaned back on the soft cushions with a sigh and set the heavy defensemech on the edge of the seat beside me, still holding the handle looselywith one hand.
The motor purred as we moved slowly out of the parking lot and into thestreet.
I paid no attention to where we were going. Just breathed another sighand closed my eyes. At last, I could begin to relax. In just a fewminutes, now, I'd be safe. I hadn't realized how tense I was. My neckmuscles ached and my stomach slipped slowly from my chest cavity backdown to where it belonged.
It seemed a long time ago that I had abandoned Maxwell to Grogan'sthugs.... What had happened to him since then? How long ago had it been?Only half an hour? Not much longer, anyway.
Now again I had time to think, and this time I did think. I began to askmyself questions--to wonder about certain things.
How had Grogan learned Maxwell's wave-band so soon?
What was Grogan doing with a telenizer in the first place, and what washe up to? Just personal revenge against me?
How did I know for sure that it _was_ Grogan?
That question startled me. I opened my eyes and sat up straight. Inmoving so suddenly, my hand knocked over the defense mech and it thuddedto the floor. As I bent quickly to pick it up, it started clickingagain.
Several things occurred to me at once, then, and my stomach waddeditself into a tight ball and shot up again to press against my heart. Myneck and back muscles tightened.
* * * * *
The first thing that struck me, I think, was that the defense mech hadstarted clicking _again_. It had been clicking before.... As Maxwell andI left the bar, the defense mech had begun clicking steadily.Then--sometime--it had stopped. Probably when I hit Scarface with it.But I hadn't noticed. And for thirty minutes--closer to forty-five,now....
There was no particular sequence to the flood of realizations thatrushed my consciousness next and left me feeling weak and shaky.
The desk sergeant had said ten minutes. The policeman had gotten therein less than five. We were driving, not through side streets toward apolice station, but along a high-speed lane of a main thoroughfare, awayfrom the city. Two dogs had yapped at my heels. The "police" vehicle wasunmarked--unusual if not illegal.
When I looked at the driver, he was not, of course, a policeman.
He was one of Grogan's bodyguards--the one into whose arms I had thrownMaxwell not long ago.
He was staring straight ahead at the road, his spread-nosed facecomposed. He hadn't noticed anything.
I took a deep breath and leaned back again, half-closing my eyes. But Idid not relax. The clicking of the defense mech seemed thunderous to me,but if the driver heard it, he gave no indication. Perhaps it would havemeant nothing to him if he did hear it.
I tried to think of the problem at hand, but my mind refused tocooperate. It kept rushing back to events of the recent past anddemanding reasons and explanations.
When the defense mech faltered and quietly stopped clicking, I was awareof it this time. My first impulse was to hit it with my hand and try tomake it work again, but I restrained myself.
I controlled my thoughts firmly, holding them tight and shaping themcarefully in my mind before letting them go.
The driver was again a policeman in the gray police uniform. We wereonce more driving slowly through city streets instead of speeding alonga highway. Two dogs ran beside the auto, barking--the same two dogs thatI had shooed before I closed the door.
I formed my thoughts: _I know who you are. It's no secret any more. Butwhy? What are you trying to do?_
There was no reply.
It could mean one of two things. Either he simply didn't want to answer,or else he wasn't on the machine in person but was playing animpression-tape on my wave-band. I tried again.
_You're licked, you know. Already you're licked. Even if my call toNewell was nothing but a telenosis dream--even if no one knows anythingabout this but me, you're still licked--_
* * * * *
No reply. None of any kind. I'd expected at least to get a sinisterchuckle, or a flood of horrors. But there was nothing more nor less thanwhat there had been--the policeman driving through quiet city streets,and the dogs barking.
Then it was just a recording, prepared in advance. My mind was not beingfollowed in person. Not right now.
But that was no help and
no assurance. I still didn't dare get out ofthe car. Or knock the driver over the head and take over the car myself.At ninety miles an hour, and with a visual impression of moving slowlyalong city streets, that would be a sure form of suicide.
Or would it?
Apparently I had no choice but to wait until we arrived at ourdestination and then do what I could--which might not be much.
Lord, if I could make another vp call before we got there!
Careful, though. Even with no operator at the telenizer, I had to watchout for thought leakage. My thoughts were surely being recorded, andcertain kinds of thoughts might trigger automatic precautionarymeasures.
I gave the defense mech a hard bang with my hand. It clicked twice. Igot a brief glimpse of the highway flashing past and the lights of othervehicles.
Then the clicking stopped, and we were back in town, crawling along. Ihit the defense mech again, a