“I rented a car in Klamath Falls.”
“This Carlos fellow must be pretty important to your company.”
“I’ve already told you he is,” Peruge said, allowing just a trace of testiness to appear in his voice.
“They fly you all the way out here from Baltimore just to inquire about him?”
Peruge took the phone away from his ear, stared at it. What gave with this country cop? Peruge put the phone back to his ear and said, “Carlos covered the whole West Coast for us. It’s important that we find out about him as soon as possible. If something’s happened to him, we have to replace him immediately. The buying season is about to begin. I’ve already talked to the State Patrol in Salem. They told me to contact the authorities here.”
“Thought you said you got a car in Klamath Falls,” Kraft said.
“I went that far by chartered plane,” Peruge said and waited with increasing interest for Kraft’s response.
“Chartered plane? My, my. You coulda flown right into here and landed on our little dirt strip if you’d wanted. Why didn’t you do that?”
So both of us are fishing, Peruge thought. Good. He wondered what Kraft’s response would be if the explanation included an account of how Peruge had missed connections in Portland and had been forced to rendezvous with his people in Klamath Falls.
“I don’t like these little country landing fields,” Peruge said.
“Can’t say I blame you much for that, but this is a nice enough little field. You file a report with the State Police in Salem?” Kraft’s tone was alert and probing.
Good interrogation technique, Peruge thought. This country cop was no simpleton.
“Yes, I did. Carlos had his van shipped to Portland for this vacation and took it from there. The State Police are making inquiries along the way. They have copies of the photograph.”
“I see. Fireworks must be big business,” Kraft said. “You people are spending a lot of money—chartered airplanes and everything.”
Peruge considered this, decided a barb was called for. He said, “We look after our people and hang the cost, Mr. Kraft. I hope you’ll start your inquiries as soon as possible. Now, how do I get to your office?”
“You’re at the motel, eh?”
“Yes.”
Kraft told him to come out of his motel parking lot, turn right “like you were going to Lakeview” and come out to County Road 14. “Hang a left there and come up to the new shopping center. You can see it from the highway. I got a little office on the second floor. Everybody knows where it’s at.”
“I’ll be right over,” Peruge said.
“Just a minute, Mr. Peruge,” Kraft said. “You carrying any skyrockets or firecrackers, things like that?”
“Of course not!” Peruge managed to sound properly shocked while noting that Kraft had his name down correctly and was obviously on the official offensive. Did they think him unaware of state laws on fireworks? He said, “We ship only through legal channels, Deputy Kraft. Our people carry photographs and order lists. If we broke laws we wouldn’t be in business very long. I find your question interesting, however.”
“Just want to be sure you know our law,” Kraft explained. “We don’t take it kindly when people come around saying one of our folks may have caused harm to a visitor. You gotta be mighty—”
“I didn’t even suggest that,” Peruge interrupted. “I take it as very interesting that you suggest it, however, Deputy Kraft. You can expect me in your office in just a few minutes.”
Silence, then, “Okay. Don’t forget that picture.”
“I wouldn’t think of it.”
Peruge sat staring at the telephone for a moment after hanging up. Presently, he placed a call to Salem and told the State Patrol he had talked by telephone with Deputy Sheriff Lincoln Kraft and asked if the patrol had anything to report. They had nothing. He called the Baltimore switchboard next and asked them to contact the FBI. This had been agreed upon as a code signal that he distrusted the local authorities and his office was to firm up the request for FBI assistance.
He depressed the stem on his wristwatch transmitter then and felt the faint throbbing against his skin that told him the teams at the Steens Mountain campsites were on the job and monitoring his signal. Everything was in order. Time to begin bearding Hellstrom in his den.
The words of Nils Hellstrom.
The living prototype of the computer was designed by nature long before man ever set foot on earth. It is nothing more nor less than the termite mound, one of the first experiments in social order. It is a living reminder that all may not be as man would wish it to be among the life forms that share this planet with him. We all know, of course, that compared with man, the insect does not display what we could describe as intelligence. But why should we feel proud about that? Where there is no intelligence, there may be no stupidity. And the termite mound stands there as a living accusation, a finger pointed at our pride. A computer is a mechanism programmed with a thousand tiny bits of information. It operates by juggling information into a form of logic. Think about it. Is a beautifully functioning society not a form of logic? I say that the creatures of such a mound, each a bit of the whole, move through their hidden circuits, a thousand tiny particles of information organizing themselves into an indisputable form of logic. Their source of power is a brood mother, a queen. She represents a great throbbing mass of energy, motivating all around her with insatiable need. Thus, our Hive rests firmly on its breeding chambers. Within the queen’s pulsating body lies the future of the mound. Within our breeding chambers lies our future and, in truth, the future of humankind.
Kraft called the farm as soon as Peruge had broken the connection. He had Hellstrom on the line within a minute.
“Nils, there’s a fellow at the motel named Peruge. Says he’s from the Blue Devil Fireworks Corporation and he’s looking for a missing salesman and the salesman’s wife. Missing in your area. Says he has a letter from the salesman which mentions Guarded Valley. Should we know anything about that?”
“I told you to expect this,” Hellstrom said.
“I know, but this fellow sounds very sharp. He’s already talked to the State Patrol and I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he called in the FBI.”
“Don’t you think you can handle him?”
“I may’ve made him suspicious.”
“How?”
“I kept probing for some kind of admission from him that this wasn’t an ordinary missing-persons case. He’s on his way over here right now. Says he has a photograph of the missing couple. State Patrol has a copy, too. FBI is sure to get another one. Somebody’s bound to’ve seen this pair, and they’re going to center them right here.”
“They won’t find anything at the farm,” Hellstrom said. He sounded sad and tired, and Kraft felt the first twinge of a deeper concern.
“I sure hope you’re right. What should I do?”
“Do? Cooperate with him in every way. Take the photograph. Come up here to inquire.”
“Nils, I don’t like this. I hope you’re—”
“I’m trying to keep the interface of our conflict as small as possible, Linc. That is my most urgent concern.”
“Yes, but what if he asks to tag along?”
“I hope he does.”
“But—”
“Bring him!”
“Nils—if I bring him up there with me, I hope he’s coming back with me.”
“That is our concern, Linc.”
“Nils—I’m real worried. If he—”
“I’ll handle it myself, Linc. We’ll have everything smooth and ordinary when you arrive.”
“I sure hope so.”
“How did he get to Fosterville, Linc?”