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THE OBSERVERS
By G. L. VANDENBURG
_You can't be too suspicious when security is at stake. When everybody who is after a key military job wears a toupee, it is obviously a bald case of espionage._
A job as laboratory technician with the Army Weapons Development Centercarried about as much prestige as a bat boy in a World Series.
George Fisher was a laboratory technician.
He was a shy but likeable fellow, a diligent worker and trustworthy. Hedidn't talk. He was rarely talked to. He had no burning ambition to pushhimself ahead in the world. Being an assistant to the brains was goodenough for him. He had a commendable talent for minding his ownbusiness.
In a security job these qualities counted ahead of scientific knowledge.
One day George Fisher turned up dead. The initial shock and concernexperienced by his superiors was soon overcome by the coroner's finding.Suicide.
Harry Payne was the Civilian Personnel Director of Fort Dickson. It washis job to find a replacement for George Fisher.
"Miss Conway!" Harry's voice lashed into the intercom.
There was an interminable pause. He cursed under his breath.
Then, "Yes, Mr. Payne?"
"Where the hell were you? Never mind. Bring me the file on GeorgeFisher."
"George Fisher?" Miss Conway was in her favorite state of mind ...confusion. "But he's dead, isn't he?"
Harry let out a deep anguished groan. "Yes, Miss Conway, he's dead.That's why I want his file. That answer your question?"
"Yes, sir. Be there in a jiffy!"
Harry could tell she was bubbling over with smiles as she spoke. A fewmore centuries would pass, he thought, before they manufactured anotherbroad as dumb as Miss Conway.
* * * * *
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked out the window. Acrossthe parade ground he could see the Army Weapons Development Center. Hehad no idea what new bomb they might be working on behind those heavilyguarded fences. He didn't care.
He was only concerned with the people who worked there. The rest of FortDickson used mostly Civil Service Personnel. But the barricaded securityjungle across the parade grounds was more particular about its hiredhelp. A person's record had to be spotless almost from the day of hisconception ... or a person could not even gain entrance.
Harry had never been inside Weapons Development. He had once been totraffic court as a roaring juvenile eighteen years before. That wasenough to bar him from even visiting. He realized, though, that the armycouldn't afford to take chances.
Hiring new technicians required an arduous screening process. Harryloathed it. He was thankful that the personnel at Weapons Developmentwere highly paid and usually permanent. He never had to hire more thanone person a year.
Miss Conway swept into the office and handed Harry the folder.
"Thanks," he muttered.
"Don't mention it, boss."
Harry called after her as she went back toward the reception room.
"Stay by your desk, will you? The government may need you."
A muffled giggle was her only response.
Miss Conway was a civil service employee. She had been Harry's secretaryfor six months. Like most other civil service personnel, according toHarry's way of thinking she was a tower of inefficiency. His chiefannoyance stemmed from the fact that the army had arbitrarily placed herin his office. He had been given no choice in the matter. It was onehell of a way to treat a personnel director, he thought.
He sat at his desk gloomily aware of the headaches he'd have to face inhis quest for George Fisher's replacement. He opened the folder andglanced at the vital statistics.
Fisher, George--Age: 40--Weight: 160--Height: 5'9"--Eyes: Green--Hair:None--Complexion: Light--Date of Employment: 10/7/58--Date of Departure:4/12/59--Reason: Suicide--etc., etc. Harry yawned. Statistics bored him.
He turned to a page marked "Qualifications" and started reading. Thephrase "Education and experience in nuclear physics required," caughthis eye. The requirement was no surprise to him. But whenever he saw ithe took a few minutes off to indulge his curiosity. What _was_ the bigproject at Weapons Development? He'd love to know. He wouldn't find out,of course. And the inability to find out naturally gave his imaginationthe widest latitude. His most persistent theory involved an atomicpowered rocket capable of knocking the Russians' manned satellites outof space. The Russians were still ahead of everyone and their latestsatellites were heavily armed. As usual they were lording it over therest of the world. And the rest of the world had not come up with aneffective answer to this challenge.
Harry closed the folder. He glanced at a list of technical schools. Hewould call each of them and ask them to submit a list of labtechnicians. He would also look over the field of technicians still leftin private enterprise.
The intercom buzzed.
"What is it, Miss Conway?"
"Miss Ralston is here."
"Who is Miss Ralston?"
"She has an appointment with you."
"An appointment!" Harry was baffled. "Who made it?"
"I did. I guess I forgot to tell you."
Harry closed his eyes and counted to ten. "Thank you, Miss Conway. Willyou step into my office for a moment?" He tried to control his mountinganger.
She breezed into the office.
"Now, Miss Conway, will you please tell me who is this Miss Ralston?"
"She operates 'Ralston Personnel Consultants'. I think she wants to talkto you about the replacement for George Fisher. You know, the one whodied."
"Yes, yes, I know. And _you_ know, Miss Conway, we don't do businessthrough agencies."
"Oh, Miss Ralston doesn't run an agency. She told me. Her business ismuch more exclusive than that. She handles very highly specializedpeople. That's the reason why ..."
"I know. That's why you gave her an appointment with me," said theexasperated personnel director. "Well, you can go right back out andtell her I've canceled the appointment. This is a security job we'refilling and ..."
* * * * *
Before Harry could utter another syllable his attention was drawn to thedoorway. The view to the outer office was blocked by a bundle of curves.The most alluring female bombshell his eyes had ever beheld puteverything important out of his mind.
"I didn't realize you were being so inconvenienced, Mr. Payne. I'mterribly sorry." Her eyes drooped. "I can take my business elsewhere."Miss Ralston's voice was just above a half whisper. The words came outwarm and intoxicating.
"No, wait! Wait a minute, Miss Ralston." Harry was out of his chair andat the door. He took her arm. "Who said anything about inconvenience?Come in. Come in. That'll be all, Miss Conway. Thanks."
The secretary giggled and left. Miss Ralston sat down and lit acigarette. Harry noticed she was wearing a beige knit suit with aneckline that spoke volumes. Every curve was in the right place. Everymovement had another movement all its own.
Harry knew she was bound to talk business and he knew there wasn't muchhe could do for her in that direction. But at thirty-five, and eligible,he just couldn't let this woman leave his office. Harry Payne was asucker for a gorgeous face. He knew it and he knew the gorgeous faceknew it.
"Tell me, Miss Ralston, when did my secretary arrange this appointmentfor you?"
"I called yesterday."
Harry arched his eyebrows and smiled. "Yesterday? What prompted you tocall me?"
"You're looking for a laboratory technician, aren't you?"
"What gave you that idea?" he asked, not caring in the slightest whatgave it to her.
"I make it
my business to comb the papers every day, Mr. Payne. I cameacross the news of George Fisher's suicide and called you. Simple asthat."
"You don't waste any time."
She smiled and pursed her lips. "Do you?"
"I try not to."
"I have seven clients who would qualify for the job. I'd appreciate itif you'd see them."
"Well, as a matter of fact, Miss Ralston ..."
She leaned forward with an inquisitive "Yes?"
Harry cleared his throat. "As a matter of fact I'm not supposed to dobusiness with civilian agencies."
"Mr. Payne," she smiled demurely, "do I look like an agency? Or do Ilook like a Personnel Consultant?"
* * * * *
Now there was an opening, Harry thought, but it might be best to avoidit. "You're working to get someone a job. It amounts to the same thing."
"I see. Then how _do_ you go about hiring your new personnel?"
"I do the soliciting myself. Sorry, Miss Ralston, but I don't make therules and regulations."
But the lady was undeterred. She crossed her legs and sank further intothe easy chair. Her eyes sparkled at Harry.
"These clients of mine are all top men, Mr. Payne. Why couldn't I justleave you their names? You can still do the soliciting. I'd be happy toforego my regular commission on this job. Call it the value ofprestige."
Harry recognized another opening and this time plunged in. "Suppose wetalk it over later. There's a place at Fourth Avenue and Woodward called'Maria's.' Best Italian food in captivity. I'm through at five. Whatabout you?"
She didn't have to say anything. Her eyes told him he would be havingan Italian dinner that night. And not alone. She rose and walked infront of his desk.
"I'm so glad we have something in common, Mr. Payne. I can't think wellon an empty stomach either."
After walking her to the outer office he came back to his desk. He tooka deep breath and loosened his tie. Dreams like Miss Ralston didn'tmaterialize every day. For a first meeting he figured he hadn't faredtoo badly at all. And if this first date went well he was sure he'd beseeing a lot of this girl.
It did not escape Harry's mind that here was a girl who was in the habitof getting what she wanted. But why not? Her powers of persuasion wereGrade-A. They were so good they presented him with one big problem. Hehad regulations. Army regulations. He couldn't violate them. MissRalston, it was obvious, was going to meet him solely for the purpose ofgetting a client a job. Would he be able to see her again after she knewhe had no intention of hiring that client?
* * * * *
The following morning Harry entered the office to find his secretaryunusually busy. She was pecking away furiously at the typewriter.
He handed her a sheet of paper and said, "Miss Conway, copy these namesand addresses and when they ..."
"When they come in you'll see them at half-hour intervals." She smiledbenignly. "Miss Ralston just called and told me. Pretty smart chick,huh, boss?"
Harry did a slow burn and ambled into his office. Miss Conway was right,of course, and that's what annoyed him. It had been quite a night. Hewined and dined her. They did all the bright spots. And, wonder ofwonders, on the first date they wound up at Paula Ralston's apartment.She was a captivating hostess, an exquisite dancer and something of asorceress. After one kiss, an unforgettable one, Harry had agreed tointerview her seven clients.
But all this was last night, Harry reminded himself. Today was adifferent matter. He was in the sanctity of his office now and capableof clearer thinking. Paula Ralston had accomplished the first phase ofher mission. The next move was his. _Seeing_ the clients, herationalized, was not violating the regulations. And for the moment itsatisfied her.
She certainly was a determined girl. Anyone would think, watching heroperate, that a lab technician was a job of world-shaking importance.What the hell, he shrugged, if the girl didn't look out for her owninterests, she wouldn't have a successful business. There's only one wayto keep clients happy and that's to keep them busy.
Besides, her maneuvering wasn't going to work anyway. He just couldn'thire any of them. His problem now was to stall her for a couple of daysso he could keep seeing her. In the end he might possibly tell her thearmy had refused to accept any of them.
He glanced out the window and saw the Weapons Development Center acrossthe parade ground. Business appeared to be going on as usual. Routine.Quiet. Cautious. _High time I start thinking seriously about thatreplacement_, he thought.
There was a knock at the door.
"Come in."
Miss Conway bounced in. "They've started to arrive. The first one is aMister Thompson."
"Okay, let's get started. Send him in."
* * * * *
Thompson was a small, roundish man in his mid-forties. He remained quiteat ease during the interview. Harry began the session in the usual dullmanner, formulating his questions from the several sheets of informationMr. Thompson had brought with him.
It wasn't long before Harry detected something unusual about the man.But he couldn't determine what it was. He became more alert, moreinterested as the interview progressed.
"Where are you from originally, Mr. Thompson?"
"Chicago."
"Oh, yes." He glanced at the written information. "I see you went to theUniversity."
"Yes, sir. My practical experience is documented on the second sheet."
What was it about this guy? He was overly polite but that could hardlybe considered strange. His answers were brief, to the point, even curt.That was just a personality trait, Harry supposed. Couldn't condemn aman for that.
"How long did you live in Chicago?"
"Twenty-one years, sir."
"Are you married?"
"No, sir."
He had noted before that Mr. Thompson had a distracting habit of pattinghis hair. Now he knew why. He was wearing a toupee. Harry wondered ifthe poor guy was sensitive about it. If he _was_ that conscious of it,it might account for his strange attitude.
"Thank you for coming in, Mr. Thompson. I'll submit your papers toColonel Waters. If he has any further interest in you, don't besurprised if you receive a visit from a couple of Intelligence agents.That's routine for this job. I just tell you in advance so you won'tworry."
"I understand," he said, rising and checking his toupee once more. "Manythanks to you, sir." He shook Harry's hand and left the room.
Harry glanced at the papers again. Mr. Thompson's background wasimpressive indeed. There didn't seem to be much question as to hisability. But what a queer duck he was!
The second applicant was a short, wiry man named Chase. Like hispredecessor, he was brief and to the point with his answers. He let hisqualification papers speak for themselves. He was formal and polite.
Midway through the interview Harry noticed that he too was wearing atoupee. If that wasn't the damnedest coincidence! Fortunately Mr. Chasedidn't have the annoying habit of patting his head every thirty seconds.Harry guessed he either had a more expensive one or was just endowedwith more confidence that it would not slip off.
The interview over, Mr. Chase offered his thanks and strolled out.
Harry had a few moments to himself before Paula's third client arrived.He thought about the first two men. Funny thing about toupees ... eventhe most expensive ones could always be detected. He couldn't quiteunderstand why the two men wore them. They were often used by playboys,actors, self-styled over-age Romeos, people whose niche in societydepends upon their looks. But not scientists or technicians. In factHarry couldn't remember ever having known one such person who shunnedhis baldness in this manner. That didn't mean they had no right. But itdid seem peculiar as hell.
* * * * *
By the time the third interview was over Harry Payne's curiosity wasablaze. Applicant number three, Mr. Boles, was not only wearing a toupeebut had gone one step further. Just north of his mouth there w
as amustache! A good-looking mustache, well groomed and shaped, but phoneyas a wax banana.
For a moment he thought Paula Ralston might be perpetrating a joke ofelaborate proportions. He rejected the idea as fast as it came to him.He didn't know the girl very well yet, but he knew her well enough toknow she was strictly business. _She wanted one of these men to get thatjob._
He flipped the intercom button for Miss Conway. She might be able totell him ... indirectly.
"You wanted me, Mr. Payne?"
"Yes, Miss Conway. The three men who've already been in here ... haveyou noticed anything strange about them?"
Her eyebrows merged and spelled perplexity. She pursed her lips and gavethe matter the gravest consideration. Then she concluded, "Yes,something very strange."
Harry was hopeful. "What was it?"
"None of them did very much talking. Strictly anti-social types."
Harry groaned, realizing he should have known better. "Thank you, MissConway. That's all."
"The fourth guy is waiting outside."
"Let him sit for a couple of minutes, then send him in."
He decided to put the whole matter out of his mind and get theinterviews over as fast as possible. There were other, more seriousduties to attend to. The toupee episode was probably nothing more than acrazy coincidence anyway. Strictly an item for Believe-It-Or-Not.