The long silence indicated to Caesar that Armando himself had doubts. Caesar blurted, “It’s too risky! Suppose they refuse to let you go.”
“Oh, no, they won’t.” But Caesar was not deceived by the false confidence in Armando’s voice. He’d lived too close to the circus owner for too many years not to recognize uncertainty passed off as just the opposite. “However, just in case I am not back by the time you judge two hours have elapsed—” Armando’s hand lifted, no more than a pale glimmer in the darkness between the overhead lights—“follow along the way we were going. I chose this tunnel because it leads to the harbor. Those horns you heard—ships on the water. Freighters. Should I be detained longer than a couple of hours, you must have a hiding place. You can’t roam loose up above—you’d be picked up at once. And down here, you’ll be surrounded by the service crews after midnight. At the harbor though—the docks are dark. Ape shipments coming in from other parts of the world are frequently unloaded there at night. Perhaps you can find one of those shipments. Infiltrate it—hide among your own kind. Should that fail, at least there are shadowy places along the wharves. Somehow, I’ll get back and find you . . .”
Caesar was not the bold, defiant animal of an hour ago. The prospect of being abandoned in the tunnel filled him with fright.
Armando pressed his arm. “One more thing to remember, should you go to the harbor. Apes imported from overseas arrive naked. You’ll have to get rid of those clothes.”
“But I don’t want to hide and cower like—”
“Caesar, we must have an alternate plan! If I don’t succeed in convincing the authorities quickly, the only true sanctuary for you is among your own kind.”
Caesar knew further protest was useless. Certainly the circus owner would know what the urgencies of the situation required. So the ape simply nodded in forlorn agreement.
Armando forced a smile, patted Caesar’s shoulder. “I am only preparing you for an outside chance. I fully expect to talk my way free in thirty minutes. Wait here and I’ll see you soon.”
He turned and walked sluggishly back along the tunnel. Caesar watched the man’s figure dwindle, passing in and out of the soft pools of fight, growing smaller until it disappeared altogether. The harbor horn sounded mournfully.
“An hour—two at most—that’s really a very short time,” Caesar said to himself. Yet huddled against the bare concrete wall, he was unable to avoid one chilling realization. For the first time in his entire existence, he was utterly alone. He kept staring after Armando with huge, rounded eyes, as if just wishing would bring his only friend back.
FIVE
Jason Breck stood on the terrace of his operations suite and studied the high rises of his city, brilliantly illuminated shafts piercing the night sky. It was his city. He took pride in the fact that he could claim that at age thirty-three.
The goal had not been won without immense effort, long hours, and some bureaucratic in-fighting he preferred not to remember—along with its victims. But he’d made it. Now he could stand at the rail gazing at the orderly rows of buildings—Breck delighted in order, neat arrangements, all loose ends tied—and take pleasure from the view. Perfect. Except for one problem waiting to be solved immediately, just inside, in his personal office. Perfect—Except for the dark stain in view on the pavement many stories below. There, earlier today, a gorilla had gone berserk.
Jason Breck refused to glance down at that stain again. With the delicate man-simian balance he was responsible for maintaining in the city, he would brook no slovenly discharge of housekeeping—or order-keeping—duties. Signs of such duties undone enraged him.
The stain, and the problem waiting in the office, erased much of his customary easygoing charm. He wanted to be neither charming nor agreeable tonight. Things were getting ever so slightly out of hand. He hadn’t slept well in recent weeks because of it.
To bring the waiting problem to a quicker solution, he had decided to stroll out on the terrace for a few minutes. His politician’s mind told him that a slight delay might actually speed matters along—by increasing the strain on the suspect.
Judging that the proper amount of time had now passed, Breck turned around. He saw that he was right, but no smile showed on his tanned face.
Inside the rolled-back doors, the flashily dressed suspect shifted in the chair on the other side of Breck’s priceless, genuine walnut desk. Three small lamps in the large office created vast islands of shadow—an intimidating effect. Near one of these lamps, Breck’s aide, MacDonald, hunched forward on the edge of a lounge, awaiting the next move. Opposite stood two other men.
Kolp was heavyset, bespectacled; Hoskyns, lean, wiry. Both held posts in the top echelon of the State Security Agency. Like MacDonald, both watched Breck on the terrace for a cue.
Walking with relaxed strides—another studied effect—Breck re-entered the office. He sat down opposite the suspect, folded his hands on the gleaming walnut desk top.
“Señor Armando,” he said. “I’m afraid I am still not satisfied with your explanation. Why did you say ‘human?’ It’s a decidedly odd term for another human to use.” Breck pinned the suspect with an emotionless stare. “Don’t you agree?”
The city governor could smell the circus owner’s sweat. It was most unpleasant. He concealed his distaste, and the nagging concern that underlay all his tension tonight, and continued to fix Armando with an authoritative stare.
Armando sputtered a few incoherent syllables—good sign—strategy working—before making sense: “Mr. Governor, I did not say ‘human’.”
“But Señor, a score of witnesses—”
“I don’t care; they are wrong. I said ‘inhuman!’ I said, ‘You lousy inhuman bastards.’ And by the Blessed Saint Francis who loved all animals, I meant it!”
For a moment Armando’s dark Latin eyes showed defiance. Breck was sure it wouldn’t last. It didn’t. Armando’s tone suddenly became conciliatory. “Sir, as I have told you several times, I came to you voluntarily. To explain that the animal has run away before. To clear up the misunderstanding. And to beg your permission to be allowed to search for my star performer again, unmolested. Would I have come here trying to deceive you? You, with the authority to command an entire city of police investigators?”
Armando indicated the silent Kolp and Hoskyns. But Breck noted the tremor in the gesture. Armando went on. “I could not hope to do such a thing, Mr. Governor! I am a plain, uneducated man. I run a circus, I—”
“We know you run a circus,” Kolp interrupted, lamplight flashing on his spectacles. He sounded irritated. Hoskyns added immediately: “We did some checking. We know that you’ve run the circus since twenty years ago—”
“The very year,” said Breck, “when the two talking apes arrived on Earth. And produced a baby whose survival could have threatened the future of the human race. You remember, don’t you?”
“Naturally, of course,” Armando nodded. “But—”
“Governor Breck.”
The governor swiveled in his silent, perfectly sprung chair. “What is it, Mr. MacDonald?”
“I don’t see where this line of questioning is leading us. It’s my understanding that the baby was shot dead along with his parents.”
“Or so the authorities believed,” Breck replied, annoyed with his aide for a moment. “However, there was some confusion about the shooting, and, since the incident down below involving this man and his animal, I’ve been wondering whether it was the right baby.”
Through narrowed eyes, Breck watched for a reaction on Armando’s face. He saw only bewilderment.