The professor stared down at the dead man.
“Who is that?”
Bert was disgusted He said sarcastically, “How would I know? You people haven’t told me a damn thing. I can’t tell the good guys from the bad guys without some sort of program. Come on into the living room and start talking.” He led the way.
At the entry Professor Ralph Marsh pulled up short at the sight of Jim Hawkins, who leered at him from the bar upon which he leaned.
“Who is that?” Marsh blurted.
“That,” Bert said, “is Mr. James Hawkins. Late captain in the Asian War and my long time comrade in arms.”
“What have you told him?”
“What the hell could I tell him? I don’t know anything. Who are these jokers?” Bert indicated Marsh’s two companions with a thumb and they looked slightly apprehensive. “I told you to bring some muscle. This is muscle in your books?”
Marsh said testily, “It is not important who they are, as of the moment. And what do you mean, muscle?” He looked at Jim “You’ve been wounded?”
“Many times,” Jim Hawkins said laconically. “Most recently, this afternoon.”
Marsh said to his lead companion, who carried a doctor’s bag, “David, that is, Doctor Smith, take a look at him.”
Bert said, “You used Smith before. I’m beginning to suspect you haven’t much imagination, Marsh.”
The other ignored him and the new Doctor Smith led Jim into the bathroom.
Marsh said, “Where is Miss Masterson?”
“I told you,” Bert said. “As we were leaving this apartment, we ran into Jill in the corridor, coming from the next suite. Four young goons were hustling her along. We jumped them. One of them plugged Jim. I plugged him. The rest got away with Jill. We couldn’t call for help quickly enough since they had a musher on in the vicinity.”
“A musher?”
“As I said before, some cloak and dagger man you’ve turned out to be. A musher is an electronic device that smothers any bug, transceiver, or any other transmitter or receiver in its vicinity.”
“Bug?”
“Oh, shut up. Listen, Jim and I are in the soup. You’ve got to get rid of that stiff out in the foyer. Then you’re going to have to sit down and tell me a few things. Jill was in on the same deal I am, wasn’t she? Katz said there was another student acting as a control.”
Professor Marsh said stubbornly, “I can’t tell you.”
“The hell you can’t, friend.”
Marsh turned and said to his remaining companion, “Make arrangements for the disposal.”
“Now wait a minute,” Bert said. “What do you figure on doing? I can just see you parading through the lobby with…”
Marsh looked at him peevishly. “We are not without resources. The doctor is… that is, he has access to the Medical College of this university city.”
Bert looked at him blankly.
Marsh said, his voice impatient. “Your… victim, Alshuler, will be utilized in the dissecting room in the surgery department as a cadaver.”
The third of the trio said to Bert, in a somewhat timorous voice, “Give me a hand.”
Bert followed him into the foyer, mystified. The other opened the suite’s door. In the hall was a hospital cart of the type utilized to transport patients to and from surgery. Bert stood aside as the doctor—he assumed he was a doctor—pushed the wheeled stretcher into the foyer and then helped him to raise the corpse onto it. The other stretched a white sheet over the dead man. Bert picked up the bloodied rug he had put under the body’s head and stuck it under the sheet as well.
Something came to him and he picked up a hospital towel from the cart, went out into the corridor and swabbed up the blood there, to the best of his ability. He returned to the suite and stuck the towel under the sheet.
He looked at the doctor. “You really think you can get this over to your medical school?”
The man jittered unhappily but squeaked, “Yes.”
“What’s in all this for you?”
The other shook his head.
In disgust, Bert went back into the living room. Jim was at the bar again, his right arm immobilized in a sling.
Bert Alshuler looked at Marsh. “Kay. What about Jill Masterson?”
“We’ll immediately do what we can.”
“That’s not enough. Who has her?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“What was she doing here?”
“As you’ve already mentioned, the same thing you were.”
“What am I doing?”
“See here, Alshuler, you took this assignment and pledged yourself to silence.”
“That’s not enough now, obviously. We want Miss Masterson back… safely.”
“In spades,” Jim said, his voice even.
Marsh suppressed irritation “Very well, Alshuler. I’ll go over all this with Professor Katz and undoubtedly he will go into it further with you tomorrow. He is out of town today.” Marsh made a motion with his head toward Doctor Smith. “We had better be on our way.” He looked at Bert. “Meanwhile, do nothing further in this regard.”
Jim rapped, “Who in the devil were those guys that snatched Jill?”
Marsh looked at him. “I’ve already told you I don’t know. Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. Come along, David.”
Doctor Smith followed him.
When they were gone, Jim said, “Who were they?”
Bert shook his head. “You know almost as much as I do. I got into this because they promised me a nice financial deal. I decided it was some sort of new departure in teaching, involving speeding up the brain so you can learn faster and evidently retain more of what you assimilate. Now I don’t know what the hell it is.”
Jim said, “They couldn’t have snatched her for money. She didn’t have any. She was on Guaranteed Annual Income, just like you and me.”
“I think I’ve got one possible lead,” Bert said, heading for the phone screen. “Give me your Identity Card.”
Jim handed it over.
Bert Alshuler put the card in the slot and said, “I would like the faces and names of all professors in this university city.”
Chapter Eight
Jim leaned over his shoulder. “What’s going on?”
“I’m looking for somebody I had a run-in with yesterday morning. He might be connected with this gang.”
It was a lengthy process. There were a good many full professors in an educational institution of this magnitude. It was a lengthy process and without result. Bert grunted disgust.
He thought for a while and said, “He was too young to be a full professor anyway and, into the screen, “I would like the faces and names of all the assistant professors and instructors in this university city.”
The faces began to flash before him again, alphabetically, as before. He drew pay dirt in the Ks. His mysterious visitor was named Kenneth Kneedler.
He said into the screen, “University Information, please. Let me have what is available to students on Assistant Professor Kenneth Kneedler, I am considering taking one of his classes.”
The screen said, “Yes, Mr. Hawkins.”
Kenneth Kneedler taught several courses in political economy, including one on Communism.
“Communism,” Jim snorted. “In this country? In a government-run university?”
Bert said into the screen, “University Information, please Where is Assistant Professor Kenneth Kneedler, at the present?”
“In his office. Administration Building, floor forty-three, Office Number 385.”
Bert came to his feet and jerked his head at his companion. “Come on over here and open this case for me.” He led the way to the panel behind which was hidden the collection of weapons.
“Now you’re talking,” Jim growled. He brought forth his oversized pocketknife.