She shook her head. "No, it'll get dark before we could get home that way. I know you're here, but-I just don't want to today."
"Okay; no problem. Let's find a bus, shall we?"
They reached her complex well ahead of the vehicular flash flood, and Michael escorted her to her apartment door. "Thank you for a wonderful day," she said to him, blushing suddenly as she realized how much she sounded like a teenager on a date.
"The pleasure was mine," Michael responded smoothly.
"Would you like to come in for some tea?"
"Not while I'm on duty, I'm afraid."
"Oh, that's right. Will I see you tomorrow? I mean-well, you know what I mean."
"Call me if you want to go out," he told her. "I won't be right outside your door, but I'll be available on a few minutes' notice. If you need any help at night, by the way, just turn on your neckband. I won't be around, but another Angel is nearby and can come to your aid very quickly."
"All right. Good night, Michael."
"Good night, Mrs. Lieberman. Have a good evening."
It took twelve phone calls just to find someone who knew where Guardian Angels, Inc., was actually located in the Draut Building, and once there Petrie ran into a receptionist who made the PR executive secretary look like a pushover. "I'm sorry, Mr. Petrie, but my instructions are very clear. No names or personal data are to be given out; no interviews with Angels or the technical staff are to be allowed; no tours; nothing. Period."
"Not even a phone interview?"
"Not even. Sorry." She didn't look all that sorry, actually.
"Can you give me even a 'typical Angel' profile or something? Have a heart-my editor will flay me if I don't come back with something."
She shook her head. "I can't give you anything but sympathy."
He snorted. "Thanks."
Back in the hallway, Petrie pondered his next move. Obviously, the direct approach was well guarded.
But maybe there was a back door. Strolling semi-aimlessly, he soon found a temporarily deserted corridor. Pulling out his phone, he dialed a number.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Boyd; Craig Petrie. You busy?"
"Aw, come on, Petrie, de-access me already. Every time you call I wind up in trouble with somebody."
"Easy, Boyd, this won't ruffle anyone's pinfeathers. All I want is something on Guardian Angels.
"You and everyone else in the world. Sorry, but we've got strict instructions on Angel data; it all stays here."
"Hold it a second. All I want is some idea how many Angels Draut's hired, just so I know how big an operation Guardian Angels is going to be. Draut's got good business instincts; I want to see how much he's putting into this." operation Guardian Angels is going to be. Draut's got good business instincts; I want to see how much he's putting into this."
"My own personal use only. Guaranteed."
"Double the usual price?"
Petrie grimaced. "Okay."
"All right, I'll see what the personnel records say. Round numbers only, though, and absolutely no names."
"Fine. Call me back."
The return call came a few minutes later. "You're out of luck, Petrie. I can't find any records of anyone being hired as an Angel. Either they're being internally transferred to the job from other parts of the corporation or their hiring is being kept completely separate from our records here. Or both."
"Odd. Where else in Draut Enterprises would you get trained bodyguards to use as Angels?"
"Security men would be the closest thing I can think of, but I couldn't find any record of large numbers of them being hired or transferred. I checked," he added, obviously pleased he'd anticipated Petrie's question.
Petrie gnawed at his cheek. "Any major hiring going on anywhere?"
"Oh, sure. Research people, mostly. The Force Beam Applications Division is really burning RAM, I know, but that group's still raking in patents and money, so there's no surprise there. Computer Division's adding staff, too. That tell you anything?
"Not really. Well, thanks anyway, Boyd."
"Thank me in cash," was Boyd's closing remark.
So Draut wasn't hiring his Angels through his own personnel department. Where in blazes, then, were they coming from? Overseas, perhaps? If Draut was planning some sort of action against the government, there were lots of countries that would be only too willing to help. Or perhaps he was hiring from the ranks of illegal aliens. But then now was he finagling the payroll records, which Personnel should have?
Or maybe- Or maybe there were no Angels at all.
Petrie stopped dead as that thought struck him. It sounded insane... but why not, realty? No one outside the corporation had ever claimed to have touched an invisible Angel, or even to have watched one become invisible. With all communication handled through the neckbands, moreover, it would be easy to simply set up a bunch of men with radios and sensor screens pretending to be Angels-ordinary men, without any special combat training or licenses, who could be hidden almost anywhere among Personnel's files.
But why would Draut do something that crazy?
Grinning tightly, Petrie headed for an exit. Charlie, his editor, was going to flip over this one.
"We'd better start for home," Mrs. Lieberman remarked with some regret. It was a lovely afternoon, sunny and warm, and she hated the thought of being cooped up in her apartment all evening.
Michael's sigh was just barely audible. "Mrs. Lieberman, I wish I could convince you that you really don't have to go home this early when I'm with you. I realize you have half a lifetime of habit to overcome, but you really are safe with me. I'd hoped that nearly two weeks together would have convinced you of that."
"I know, Michael, I know, and I don't mean to insult you or anything. It's just... well, sometimes it's hard to believe you're really here. You walk so quietly, never bump into anybody, never touch me on the arm.
I guess deep down I'm scared you're just a figment of my imagination."
"I'm sorry," Michael said after a short pause. "I wish I could let you touch me, but I have orders against that."
"Orders?" She'd been assuming he was merely shy. "Why, for heaven's sake?"
"Well," he said, lowering his voice confidentially, "for all I know you could be a lovely and dangerous Russian spy in disguise, plotting to steal the secret of invisibility. If I let you touch me, you might suddenly spring into action, wrestling me to the ground and beating me into unconsciousness. Then you would spirit me back to Russia where you'd receive a medal and a plush Moscow apartment."
She couldn't help it. The picture that evoked was so absurd that she threw back her head and laughed until she was gasping for breath. "Michael, you're a gem," she said when she got her wind back. "All right, I give up. Let's go to a movie. There's one playing near here that I've been wanting to see for ages."
The sun was low in the sky and the last remnants of rush hour traffic were beginning to clear out when they emerged from the theater. "Where is everybody?" Mrs. Lieberman asked, more to hear herself speak than for information. She had never seen the streets and sidewalks so quiet and it suddenly made her very nervous.
"It's dinner time; most people are eating. Are you hungry?"
"A little, but I'd rather eat at home." Where she could feel safe.
"Okay. Let's go. We can catch a bus a couple of blocks from here."
She had gone almost a block when the muggers came up behind her, and they came so silently she never knew they were there until her arm was suddenly grabbed and her purse torn from her grasp. She turned, pulled off-balance by the hand on her arm, and saw her attackers: two weasel-faced teenaged boys. One was clutching her purse like a prize, but she saw him only with peripheral vision-her full attention was on the boy still holding her arm. His eyes smoldered with hate, and even as she shrank from that glare he raised his free hand to strike her.
The blow never fell. Without warning, his head snapped backward and his grip on her arm was broken.