Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Status Quo by Mack Reynolds (debian ebook reader .txt) 📖
- Author: Mack Reynolds
Book online «Status Quo by Mack Reynolds (debian ebook reader .txt) 📖». Author Mack Reynolds
“This is just the glimmer of an idea, Steve. Look, remember that conversation with Susan, when she described her father taking her to headquarters?”
“So?” Steve said impatiently.
“Remember her description of headquarters?”
“Go on,” Steve rapped.
“What did it remind you of?”
“What are you leading to?”
[pg 052]“This is just a hunch,” Larry persisted, “but the way she described the manner in which her father took her to headquarters suggests they're in the Greater Washington area.”
Steve was staring at him disgustedly. How obvious could you get?
Larry hurried on. “What's the biggest business in this area, Steve?”
“Government.”
“Right. And the way she described headquarters of the Movement, was rooms, after rooms, after rooms into which they'd stored the money.”
“And?”
Larry said urgently, “Steve, I think in some way the Movement has taken over some governmental buildings, or storage warehouse. Possibly some older buildings no longer in use. It would be a perfect hideout. Who would expect a subversive organization to be in governmental buildings? All they'd need would be a few officials here and there who were on their side and—”
Steve said wearily, “You couldn't have thought of this two days ago.”
Larry cut himself off sharply, “Eh?”
Steve said, “We found their headquarters. One of their members cracked. Ben Ruthenberg of the F.B.I. found he had a morals rap against him some years ago and scared him into talking by threats of exposure. At any rate, you're right. They had established themselves in some government buildings going back to Spanish-American War days. We've arrested eight or ten officials that were involved.”
“But the money?”
“The money was gone,” Steve said bitterly. “But Susan was right. There had evidently been room after room of it, stacked to the ceiling. Literally billions of dollars. They'd moved out hurriedly, but they left kicking around enough loose hundreds, fifties, twenties, tens and fives to give us an idea. Look, Woolford, I thought you'd been pulled off this case and that Walt Foster was handling it.”
Larry said sourly, “I'm beginning to think so, too. They're evidently not even bothering to let me know about developments like this. See you later, Steve.”
The other's face faded off.
Larry Woolford looked across the double desk at Irene Day. “Look,” he said, “when you're offered a promotion, take it. If you don't, someone else will and you'll be out in the cold.”
Irene Day said brightly, “I've always know that, sir.”
He looked at her. The typical eager beaver. Sharp as a whip. Bright as a button. “I'll bet you have,” he muttered.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Woolford?”
The phone lit as LaVerne said, “The Boss wants to talk to you, Larry.” Her face faded and Larry's superior was scowling at him.
He snapped, “Did you get anything on this medical records thing, Woolford?”
“Medical records?” Larry said blankly.
The Boss grunted in deprecation. [pg 053] “No, I suppose you haven't. I wish you would snap into it, Woolford. I don't know what has happened to you of late. I used to think that you were a good field man.” He flicked off abruptly.
Larry dialed LaVerne Polk. “What in the world was the Boss just talking about, LaVerne? About medical records?”
LaVerne said, frowning, “Didn't you know? The Movement's been at it again. They've fouled up the records of the State Medical Licensing bureaus, at the same time sabotaging the remaining records of most, if not all, of the country's medical schools. They struck simultaneously, throughout the country.”
He looked at her, expressionlessly.
LaVerne said, “We've caught several hundred of those responsible. It's the same thing. Attack of the social-label. From now on, if a man tells you he's an Ear, Eye and Throat specialist, you'd better do some investigation before letting him amputate your tongue. You'd better use your judgment before letting any doctor you don't really know about, work on you. It's a madhouse, Larry.”
Larry Woolford, for long moments after LaVerne had broken the connection, stared unseeingly at his secretary across from him until she stirred.
He brought his eyes back to the present. “Another preliminary move, not the important thing, yet. Not the big explosion they're figuring on. Where have they taken that money, and why?”
Irene Day blinked at him. “I don't know, I'm sure, sir.”
Larry said, “Get me Mr. Foster on the phone, Irene.”
When Walt Foster's unhappy face faded in, Larry said, “Walt did you get Frol Eivazov?”
“Eivazov?” the other said impatiently. “No. We haven't spent much effort on it. I think this hunch of yours is like the other ones you've been having lately, Woolford. Frol Eivazov was last reported by our operatives as being in North Korea.”
“It wasn't a hunch,” Larry said tightly. “He's in this country on an assignment dealing with the Movement.”
“Well, that's your opinion,” Foster said snappishly. “I'm busy, Woolford. See here, at present you're under my orders on this job. In the way of something to do, instead of sitting around in that office, why don't you follow up this Eivazov thing yourself?” He considered it a moment. “That's an order, Woolford. Even if you don't locate him, it'll keep you out of our hair.”
After the other was gone, Larry Woolford leaned back in his chair, his face flushed as though the other had slapped it. In a way, he had.
Larry said slowly, “Miss Day, dial me Hans Distelmayer. His offices are over in the Belmont Building.”
As always, the screen remained blank as the German spy master spoke.
Larry said, “Hans, I want to talk to Frol Eivazov.”
“Ah?”
[pg 054]“I want to know where I can find him.”
The German's voice was humorously gruff. “My friend, my friend.”
Larry said impatiently, “I'm not interested in arresting him at this time. I want to talk to him.”
The other said heavily. “This goes beyond favors, my friend. On the face of it, I am not in business for my health. And what you ask is dangerous from my viewpoint. You realize that upon occasion my organization does small tasks for the Soviets....”
“Ha!” Larry said bitterly.
“... And,” the German continued, unruffled, “it is hardly to my interest to gain the reputation of betraying my sometimes employers. Were you on an assignment in, say, Bulgaria or Hungary, would you expect me to betray you to the Chrezvychainaya Komissiya?”
“Not unless somebody paid you enough to make it worth while,” Larry said dryly.
“Exactly,” the espionage chief said.
“Look,” Larry said. “Send your bill to this department, Hans. I've been given carte blanche on this matter and I want to talk to Frol. Now, where is he?”
The German chuckled heavily. “At the Soviet Embassy.”
“What! You mean they've got the gall to house their top spy right in—”
Distelmayer interrupted him. “Friend Eivazov is currently accredited as a military attaché and quite correctly. He holds the rank of colonel, you know. He entered this country quite legally, the only precaution taken was to use his second name, Kliment, instead of Frol, on his papers. Evidently, your people passed him by without a second look. Ah, I understand he went to the trouble of making some minor changes in his facial appearance.”
“We'll expect your bill, Distelmayer,” Larry said. “Good-by.”
He got up and reached for his hat, saying to Irene Day, “I don't know how long I'll be gone.” He added, wryly, “If either Foster or the Boss try to get in touch with me, tell them I'm carrying out orders.”
He drove over to the Soviet Embassy, parked his car directly before the building.
The American plainclothesmen stationed near the entrance, gave him only a quick onceover as he passed. Inside the gates, the impassive Russian guards didn't bother to flicker an eyelid.
At the reception desk in the immense entrada, he identified himself. “I'd like to see Colonel Frol Eivazov.”
“I am afraid—” the clerk began stiffly.
“I suppose you have him on the records as Kliment Eivazov.”
The clerk had evidently touched a concealed button. A door opened and a junior embassy official approached them.
Larry restated his desire. The other began to open his mouth in denial, then shrugged. “Just a moment,” he said.
He was gone a full twenty minutes. [pg 055] When he returned, he said briefly, “This way, please.”
Frol Eivazov was in an inner office, in full uniform. He came to his feet when Larry Woolford entered and said to the clerk, “That will be all, Vova.” He was a tall man, as Slavs go, but heavy of build and heavy of face.
He shook hands with Larry. “It's been a long time,” he said in perfect English. “That conference in Warsaw, wasn't it? Have a chair, Mr. Woolford.”
Larry took the offered chair and said, “How in the world did you expect to get by with this nonsense? We'll have you declared persona non grata in a matter of hours.”
“It's not important,” Eivazov shrugged. “I have found what I came to find. I was about to return to report any way.”
“We won't do anything to hinder you, colonel,” Larry said dryly.
Eivazov snapped his fingers. “It's all amusing,” he said. “In our country we would quickly deal with this Movement nonsense. You Americans with your pseudo-democracy, your labels without reality, your—”
Larry said wearily, “Please, Frol, I promise not to convert you if you promise not to convert me. Needless to say, my department isn't happy about your presence in this country. You'll be watched from now on. We've been busy with other matters....”
Here the Russian laughed.
“... Or we'd already have flushed you.” He allowed his voice to go curious. “We've wondered about your interest in this phase of our internal affairs.”
The Russian agent let his facade slip over farther, his heavy lips sneering. “We are interested in all phases of your antiquated socio-economic system, Mr. Woolford. In the present peaceful economic competition between East and West, we would simply loathe to see anything happen to your present culture.” He hesitated deliberately. “If you can call it a culture.”
Larry said, unprovoked, “If I understand you correctly, you are not in favor of the changes the Movement advocates.”
The Russian shrugged hugely. “I doubt if they are possible of achievement. The organization is a sloppy one. Revolutionary? Nonsense,” he scoffed. “They have no plans to change the government. No plans for overthrowing the regime. Ultimately, what this country needs is true Communism. This so-called Movement doesn't have that as its eventual goal. It is laughable.”
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