The fat man had gone away, promising that an official from the military sub-station at Sodra would be along soon. Meantime I pounded and demanded that another call be put through—but nobody listened. Now my chance to use the gun was gone. The man with the keys kept to the outer office.
A slack-looking youth in baggy pants and wide blue and yellow suspenders brought me in a small smorgasbord about noon. I tried to bribe him to make the call for me. He gave me a crooked smile and turned away.
It was well after dark when there was a sudden stir in the outer room of the jail. Then the metal door clanged open and a familiar face appeared—a field agent I had met once or twice in the course of my duties with Intelligence. He was a tall, worried-looking man, wearing drab civvies and carrying a briefcase. He stopped dead when he saw me, then came on hesitantly.
“Hello, Captain,” I greeted him. “We’ll all have a good chuckle over this later, as the saying goes, but right now I need out of here fast…”
The cop who had arrested me was behind him, and the fat man from the post office.
“You know my name?” the agent asked awkwardly.
“I’m afraid not—but I think you know me. We’ve met once or twice—”
“Listen to the fellow,” the fat man said. “A violent case—”
“Silence!” the agent snapped. He came up close, looked me over carefully.
“You wished to place a call to Intelligence HQ,” he said. “What did you wish to speak about?”
“I’ll tell them myself,” I snapped. “Get me out of here, Captain—in a hell of a hurry! This is top priority business!”
“You may tell me what it is you wished to report,” he said.
“I’ll report directly to Baron Richthofen!”
He lifted his shoulders. “You place me in an awkward position—”
“To hell with your position! Can’t you understand plain Swedish? I’m telling you—”
“You will address an officer of Imperial Intelligence with more respect!” the cop broke in.
The agent turned to the two men behind him. “Clear out, both of you!” he snapped. They left, looking crestfallen. He turned back to me, wiped a hand across his forehead.
“This is very difficult for me,” he said. “You bear a close resemblance to Colonel Bayard—”
“Resemblance! Hell, I am Bayard!”
He shook his head. “I was assured on that point, most specifically,” he said. “I don’t know what this is all about, my friend, but it will be better for you to tell me the whole story—”
“The story is that I have information of vital importance to the Imperium! Every minute counts, man! Forget the red tape! Get me a line to Headquarters!”
“You are an impostor. We know that much. You asked to have a call placed. A routine check at Colonel Bayard’s home indicated that he was there—”
“I can’t try to explain all the paradoxes involved. Just put my call through!”
“It is not possible to route every crank call to the Chief of Intelligence!” the man snapped. “What is this message of yours? If it seems to warrant attention, I will personally—”
“Let me talk to Bayard, then,” I cut in.
“Ah, then you abandon your imposture?”
“Call it what you like. Let me talk to him!”
“That is not possible—”
“I didn’t know we had anyone in the service as stupid as you are,” I said clearly. “All right, I’ll give you the message—and by all you hold sacred, you’d better believe me.”
He didn’t. He was polite, and heard me all the way through. Then he signaled for the jailer and got ready to leave.
“You can’t walk out of here without at least checking my story!” I roared at him. “What kind of intelligence man are you? Take a look at the suit I had with me, damn you! That will show you I’m not imagining the whole thing!”
He looked at me, a troubled look. “How can I believe you? Your claim to be Bayard is a lie, and the story you tell is fantastic! Would you have believed it?”
I stared back at him.
“I don’t know,” I said, honestly. “But I’d at least have checked what I could.”
He turned to the cop, who was back, hovering at the door.
“You have this… shuttle suit?”
The cop nodded. “Yes sir. I have it here on my desk. I’ve checked it for…” his voice faded as he and the agent went out and the door shut behind them. For another half hour I paced the cell, wondering whether I should have shot a couple of them and tried to scare the cop into unlocking me; but from what I knew of the men of the Imperium, it wouldn’t have worked. They were too damned brave for their own good.
Then the door clanged open again. A stranger was there this time—a small man with a runny nose and eyes, and glasses as thick as checkers.
“…very odd, very odd,” he was saying. “But meaningless, of course. The circuitry is quite inert…”
“This is Herr Professor Doctor Runngvist,” the agent said. “He’s checked your… ah… suit, and assures me that it’s crank work. A homemade hoax of some sort, incapable of any—”
“Damn you!” I yelled. “Sure the suit’s inert—without me in it! I’m part of the circuitry! It’s attuned to me!”
“Eh? Tuned to you? A part of the circuitry?” The old man adjusted his glasses at an angle to get a better view of me.
“Look, pops, this is a highly sophisticated device. It utilizes the wearer’s somatic and neural fields as a part of the total circuitry. Without me inside, it won’t work. Let me have it. I’ll demonstrate it for you—”
“Sorry, I can’t allow that,” the agent said quickly. “Look here, fellow, hadn’t you better drop this show now, and tell me what it’s all about?” You’re in pretty deep water already, I’d say, impersonating an officer—”
“You know Bayard, on sight, don’t you?” I cut in.
“Yes…”
“Do I look like him?”
He looked worried. “Yes, to an extent. I presume it was that which inspired this imposture, but—”
“Listen to me, Captain,” I said as levelly as I could through the bars. “This is the biggest crisis the Imperium has faced since Chief Inspector Bale ran amok…”
The captain frowned. “How did you know of that?”
“I was there. My name’s Bayard, remember? Now get me out of here—”
There was a shrilling of a telephone bell in the outer room. Feet clumped. Voices rumbled. Then the door flew open.
“Inspector! It’s a call—from Stockholm…”
My inquisitors turned. “Yes?”
“That fellow—Colonel Bayard!” an excited voice said. Someone shushed him. They stood in the hall, conversing in whispers. Then the intelligence captain came back with the cop behind him.
“You’d better start telling all you know,” he snapped, looking grimmer than ever.
“What happened?”
“Stockholm is under attack by an armed force of undetermined size!”
It was close to midnight now. I had been looking for a chance for a break for the past hour, but Captain Burman, the agent, was taking no chances. He had locked the outer door to the cell block and nobody was allowed even to come close to my cell. I think he was beginning to suspect that everything wasn’t as simple as it appeared.
I watched the door across the aisle as a key clattered in it and it swung wide. It was Burman, white-faced, and two strangers, both in civilian clothes. My wrist tensed, ready to flip the gun into my palm, but they kept their distance.