Heller went smoothly and rapidly to work. With motions so fast his hand blurred, he began to freehand perfect engineering drawings using Earth symbols.
More paper was waved and put on the board, more pens twirled and offered.
He shortly had fifteen complete engineering drawings. All of the general and particular parts of the device.
Izzy seemed suddenly to be all business. He was rolling the drawings up. "Can I have one of these models?"
Screwdrivers were baton-twirled, wrenches spun. Parts grew and the device was reassembled.
Izzy took it and put it carefully in a box.
"I'll get all this patented," he said. "I'll attribute it to an anonymous team of engineers. We don't want your name associated with anything here—because of Bury, you know." He paused. "I think the patents should be in the name of Multinational. I control that."
"Patent away," said Heller. Didn't he realize Izzy was stealing his patent? The fool. "I've got to work on this other one. I have to make the tanks and fit it on the car once I've got the car tested with its own fuel."
"You go right ahead, Mr. Jet," said Izzy. "But don't connect any part of that activity with these companies or Multinational."
"I promise," said Heller.
The three girls did a sort of dance and one of them said, "Can we have some ice-cream sodas now? We've got to get back to baton-twirling school."
"Give them some sodas," said Heller and the bartender went to work.
"Gee, ain't he cute?" said one of the girls as she sat down on a stool.
Bah, they weren't his secretaries at all, just some students from a school on the same floor. And the slinky girls who had been at the bar must be just from the model school. They were cadging ice-cream sodas. Typically New York. Decadent.
The bartender brought Heller a nonalcoholic Swiss beer.
Just as he was about to drink it, a man came bursting in the door, followed by some others with cases. The tailor!
"I'm so sorry, sir," the tailor said. "I would have waited until you were back at your rooms. But the whole production line stalled."
Heller drank some nonalcoholic beer.
A tailor's assistant came up. He had a costume. It was blue. It was like a jump suit but the front lapel buckled across the front very boldly. Another one came up. He was holding an incomplete suit just like it.
"The color," said the tailor. "We got into a dispute about the color. Blue is more ethereal. But then it suddenly occurred to us about the blood."
"Blood?" said Heller.
"Yes, you see, racing is a dangerous sport. And you want to be very suitably dressed. TV cameras are always around at racing wrecks and if you wore red, it won't show the blood. So we had to get your opinion. Don't you think red is best?"
Heller sort of snorted into his beer. Maybe it was too strong for him. "Maybe you better put some padding across the front flap. It will absorb the blood better."
"Ah," said the tailor. "Make a note of that, Thread-needle. More padding on the front. Then red will do?"
"The car is red," said Heller.
"Ah, that's such a relief. Forgive us for bothering you." They all rushed off.
Izzy had not left. He was nervously wringing his hands. "Mr. Jet. He spoke of blood. Are you sure I had not better hire security guards for you twenty-four hours a day?"
"Nonsense," said Heller. "I've got weeks of work ahead of me. Nobody will get wind of this."
"Mark my words, Mr. Jet," said Izzy. "I am responsible for you even if the companies have no connection. Rockecenter will be put right out of business if you popularize that carburetor. It could be the end of the oil industry."
"No, no," said Heller. "It can burn oil, it just won't burn much of it. And it will be totally clean."
"It could ruin him just the same," said Izzy.
I went cold. Suddenly I understood what Heller was about to do! Those (bleeped) children's demonstration kits. He was using it for a carburetor! For any car or engine!
My Gods! The very worst was happening! If Delbert John Rockecenter lost a fortune, he could also lose his control of I. G. Barben Pharmaceutical! Lombar was right! Our arrangements with I. G. Barben would vanish! And that would be the end of Lombar's fondest dreams on Voltar!
It WAS an emergency!
And I had not caught it!
This would not wait for Krak! I had only a few weeks!
I must ACT!
I had to get something effective going on this at once. Up to now, I realized, I hadn't been heavy enough on Heller.
On flying feet, I sprinted down the long, long tunnel to the office of Faht Bey.
I burst in. "Get Raht and Terb on this at once!"
He wasn't at his desk.
I tore into his living area. He was stuffing himself at the table. His wife was just getting ready to hand him another platter of kadin budu—"woman's thigh," a dish of meatballs and rice. I snatched at his arm. His wife leaped back and the platter spilled all over the floor.
Urgently, I dragged him into his office. "There's trouble in New York!" I shouted at him. "I've got to get Raht and Terb on this at once!"
He was wiping at his mouth with a napkin. He didn't look very cooperative.
"I'm working on it!" I shouted into the air.
Faht Bey said, "Raht and Terb are still in the hospital, thanks to whatever you did. They won't be out for two weeks and you know it."
Oh Gods! That was true.
"The New York office!" I cried. "You've got to send something out to the New York office. They can begin to work on it at once!" Then I lifted my head and yelled, "I'm being industrious!"
Faht Bey heard his wife crying as she tried to scrape the food off the other room's floor. It made him scowl. "Every person in the New York office is gone. They're flying all over the world trying to locate people on that list of criminals you sent. You knocked them right out of operation!"
I raised my head and shouted at the top of my lungs, "I'll think of something!"
"Why are you yelling up in the air like that?" said Faht Bey.
"In case somebody is listening," I said. Stupid fool, didn't he realize this was a national emergency?
I didn't wait for his answer. He was no use. He'd gummed it all up by leaving the New York office unmanned. His fault!
I fled back up the tunnel.
I flew around in circles in my room.
Karagoz was in the yard. I rushed out and asked him if Utanc was still alive.
He tried to answer me but I couldn't wait. I raised my head and yelled, "It will all be handled!"
Karagoz was looking at me very strangely. He said, "The waiter just took out her supper dishes and she was fine."
"She wasn't writhing around the floor from poison?" I begged him.
He looked at me and shook his head. Somewhat sadly, I thought. No help from him.
I rushed back to my room.
I couldn't think. I paced.
Then I got smart. I got a bag of hand grenades out of my locker and went out in the patio. I sat down in a wicker chair. I would sit there all night and if I heard the slightest sound of anybody trying to sneak up on Utanc, I would let them have it.
It was pretty cold as night wore on. The breath of coming winter was in the air.
It cooled me.
I also realized I couldn't sit there every night for months. It was too cold.
I had just dozed when, in a flash, it came to me, totally and completely, how to stop Heller. An entire plan!
A few minor details were missing but they could be filled in as I went along.
I would go to New York, personally, myself.
I would cook Heller's goose by recruiting the most powerful opponents possible.