“What about you, sir?” asked Peterson. “I wish you’d let me go. It’s my fault they caught her.”
Movius squeezed the man’s arm. “No, it isn’t. Grace brought it on herself. She did it trying to protect me from her father.” He released Peterson’s arm. “Good opps, men.”
Out into the dark street, a dark cloud obscuring the moon. A body. He walked around it. It sound of a door opening. Someone said, “In here.” Movius could discern the outline of a man holding a stutter gun, heard a voice talking on a phone. “He just came in. I’ll bring him right up.” The phone clicked. “Elevator’s over here.” A hand took his arm, guided him.
“Elevator,” said Movius. “I thought there was no power.”
“This is the Communications Building,” said the voice. “Big emergency generators here.”
Of course, he thought. There would be.
They remained in darkness all the way up. His escort opened the elevator door, said, “To your right. Don’t use that handlight.” Then, oddly, the man whispered, “Good opps, sir.”
He walked down the hall, heard a door open. A voice said, “In here.” Another hand came out to guide him. The door closed, lights came on. It was a stuffy room, full of tobacco smoke. Thick layers of blankets had been nailed over the windows. Movius looked around. Loren Addington sat behind a table, a fat owl, nervously chewing on something. The table held a row of stutter guns, all pointing toward the door.
“A cornered rat,” thought Movius.
Helmut Glass sat on a leather couch against the right wall. A stutter gun rested in his lap. His head was swathed in bandages, his left arm in a sling. A rough night for The Coor.
The man who had pulled him into the room turned out to be vapid-face, the one who had brought Grace to Gerard’s office. He carried a gun in his right hand.
“Where’s Grace?” demanded Movius.
Glass stood up from the couch. He carried the stutter gun loosely in his right hand. “In good time.”
“I see Grace or we don’t bargain,” said Movius.
Glass raised the muzzle of his gun. “I could kill you right where you stand.” The Coor’s eyes looked like two ball bearings, grey steel, glaring from beneath the red-stained bandage around his head.
“I came up here fully expecting that,” said Movius. “My men have orders to attack if I’m not back in a specified time. If they find me dead, they’ll literally tear you limb from limb.”
Glass sneered. “I have a crew repairing a transmitter right now. We’re going to call in outside help. After we’ve put down your stupid revolt, your men, as you call them, will be hunted down one by one and executed. I have unilateral powers to carry out this threat.”
He doesn’t know, thought Movius. He said, “We hold all but eleven of the world’s major cities. The handful of your people remaining in those eleven are in no position to send help.”
“That’s a lie!” The Coor’s face flamed.
In a calm, even tone, Movius said, “By our estimates, you had fourteen million government employees in the world, a fair proportion of whom would remain loyal to you out of fear of the LP’s. We have the rest of the population.”
“I’ve a mind to drop you where you stand,” said Glass.
“Wait!” It was Addington. “He may be telling the truth, Helmut.”
“What if he is?”
“Where’s Grace?” asked Movius in the same even tone. “I’ll trade you your lives for Grace’s life.”
“You planted that Lang bitch on me, didn’t you?” demanded Glass.
Movius understood then that Glass and Addington did not have Grace. Cecelia had rescued Grace or Cecelia and Grace had been killed in an attempt to escape. Either way, let Glass squirm for what he had done. “Yes, I did,” said Movius. “Cecie was one of my most trusted operatives.”
The Coor’s face contorted. He raised his gun until the muzzle was level with Movius’ chest.
They’ll slaughter you, thought Movius. Those men who stood at attention for me will tear you to pieces a little bit at a time.
A stutter gun chattered. With a remote feeling of amazement, Movius watched Glass crumple to the floor.
“Drop it!” The voice was Addington’s, crazy, hysterical.
Again there was the sound of the gun, the thump of a body falling behind Movius. Vapid-face at the door! Addington stood behind the table with the gun in his hands. He dropped it to the table, held out his hands, palms up.
“I saved your life, Movius. I give myself up to you.”
Movius felt a moment of disgust so deep it sickened him. He took a deep breath. “Tell your men to lay down their arms.”
“You’ll protect me, Movius?”
“I’ll protect you.”
Chapter 27
Movius looked out at the dawn light, blue and lucid on the river, the pigeons strutting on O’Brien’s window ledge. He felt drained of all emotion. Would they find her?
Janus Peterson came into the office. Movius heard, turned. Peterson saluted, a stiff motion of finger to forehead. Why did all of the damned fools insist on that stupid gesture? Even Navvy.
Peterson smiled. “We found them, sir. Miss Lang got her away and they found Quilliam. He hid ’em in the tunnels.”
“Where is…”
“She’s on her…”
Grace pushed past Peterson. “Here, darling.” She rushed into his arms.
The little elf, he thought, stroking her hair. The wonderful little elf! He lifted his head, saw Cecelia Lang just outside the door. For a split instant, the shield behind her eyes dropped and he saw the lost, hopeless hurt there. Then she turned away. Quilliam London took her place, came into the room, shut the door. Something odd about Quilliam, he thought. A glazed look in the eyes. A gun in his hand! Janus was backing away from the gun. Movius stiffened.
“Now the reckoning, Mr. Movius,” said Quilliam London. His voice was tight, strange.
Grace pushed away from Movius, turned. “Father! You said…”
“I said many things to come to grips with this monster.” He motioned with the gun. “Stand away from him.”
Grace shook her head.
“I said stand away from him!”
“Listen to me,” said Grace. Her voice was low, flat. “If you kill Dan I shall tell the world who did it. I’ll explain about your precious charts. They’ll tear you and your work to pieces. Your whole life will have been for nothing!”
London’s gun hand wavered. Movius saw Peterson moving a hand slowly toward a pocket.
“Grace…” How old Quilliam’s voice sounded. “I’m…”
“You’ll be a forgotten nothing,” she said. “I’ll teach your grandchild to hate your memory.”
Grandchild, thought Movius. Great Roper! Did any man ever learn under stranger circumstances that he was to be a father?
London said, “Grandchild?” His voice sounded querulous.
Grace strode toward him. “Give me that gun!”
He handed it to her. “Yes, Leone.”
Leone was Grace’s mother.
He allowed Grace to lead him from the room, following quietly.
O’Brien came in sight, strode briskly into the room, stared after Grace and her father, started to turn away and whirled back, “That’s Quilliam!” he said. “He swore he’d…”
“It’s all right,” said Movius. “They’re going down to the infirmary for a sedative. Quilliam isn’t feeling well.” He pointed to the papers O’Brien carried. “What are those?”
O’Brien seemed to recall his mission. “Dan, we’ve got to do something fast. They’re smashing the registration kiosks. A mob broke into Comp Section, ripped apart the Selector. It’ll take a month to repair it. I’ve a…”