Marino nodded. “In Center City Chicago. First thirty-six floors are commercial, and the twenty above are residential You’ve studied the floor plan? Fine. He’s pretty definitely holed up in a large residential suite on the forty-second floor. No guessing why he chose it, or how long he’s been there, but I’m one hundred percent certain that that’s where he is—” He shot Faircloth a nervous glance, almost apologetic. “I’m Psi-High, you know. That’s why I’m sure he’s there. I located him and then three of us got him triangulated. Hard to explain exacdy how, but we did, and we can keep him pinned pretty well, too. If he doesn’t try to shower us, that is. We’re pretty sure he knows we’re there.”
“What do you mean, shower you?”
Marino tapped his forehead grimly. “Throw a barrage at us, the works. This creature has powerful voltage, and I mean powerful. He showered one of our Psi-High people yesterday, and it was brutal. Nearly ripped his mind apart.”
Faircloth shivered. “But you can keep track of him.”
“Yes.” Marino lit a cigarette with nervous fingers. “Whether you can or not is something else again. No offense. I know it’s a touchy thing, but it’s just plain fact that psi-negatives have trouble keeping track of this bird at all without the help of psi-contact. You really shouldn’t be here at all, as far as logic is concerned, but those are the orders. Roberts put us Psi-Highs out to spot him, but he doesn’t want any Psi-Highs in on the kill.” Marino’s voice was flat with disappointment. “Political pressure, I guess. Wouldn’t do to give a Psi-High credit for anything.” He glanced at Faircloth and reddened. “Sorry, it just slipped out.” He bit his lip. “Anyway, you’re to have a dozen other psi-negatives to help you. I hope God’ll be helping you too.”
Faircloth grinned tightly. “Got you nervous?”
“It’s got me plenty nervous.”
“Well, cheer up. Those ‘orders’ were strictly for the record that Benjamin Towne is going to be seeing sooner or later. Roberts has no intention of pulling you off this, or any of the others, Psi-High or otherwise. As for me, I want your best Psi-High men—every one of them—to go in with me. We’ve got to get this creature, and get him cold. He’s slick, and he’s too dangerous to fool around with. Have you got the building sewed up?”
Marino grinned. “Tight as a vacuum.”
“Good. Keep it very unobtrusive and try to keep the Psi- Highs from broadcasting any more than they have to.”
Marino gave him a queer look. “They’ll do the best they can, of course.”
“Right.” Faircloth ran a hand through his brown hair, and loosened his tie a trifle. “As soon as rush hour is over and the building is cleared we’ll go up in the elevator. I want the power cut the second we step off, all over the building. Elevators, lights, everything. We’ll be on the forty-first floor, and we’ll have a team on the forty-third. Then we’ll close in together. Sound all right?”
Marino shrugged. “I guess so. Thing is, they had him boxed in just as tight in Des Moines last week and he slid right through.” The man’s eyes were worried. “We just don’t know what we’re fighting. That’s the whole trouble. Even the Psi- Highs are up a tree.”
The car gave a lurch, and slid to a stop. They stepped out into a brightly lighted tunnel filled with people emptying out of the huge building above. The two men waited to board an express surface elevator and stepped off on the main concourse of the Condor Building. The last sunset rays made a dazzling golden display on the banks of heliomirrors, and Faircloth blinked, shielding his eyes a moment after the softer light below. Then he glanced at his watch. “Let’s get some coffee,” he said. “We’ve got a few minutes.”
They slid into an eating booth along the concourse and dropped in coins for coffee. It was so clumsy, this whole approach, Faircloth thought. Three and a half weeks since the ship had been spotted along the Mississippi, and they were still just learning how clumsy they were. Right from the beginning, when the first report of alien contact had come in, and the ship itself discovered, the attempt to examine it was a blunder. Even a crack demolition team couldn’t get near it. It had exploded when they were ten yards away. And then picking up the alien’s trail—true, they had been able to trace his route from the first farmhouse where he had stopped the night he landed, then west through the farm country to Des Moines, then northeast to the great Chicago metropolis. But when it came to contacting the creature, or capturing him. . Faircloth shook his head. Clumsy just wasn’t the right word.
He glanced at Marino, and reached across the booth and buzzed for a newstape. He scanned the Washington news hurriedly—another upheaval in the Liberal Party over the Coalition question with South America—another proposed International Council meeting—and another vicious attack by Medical Affairs Secretary Benjamin Towne on the Hoffman Center’s training program for Psi-Highs. Denouncing Dr. Reuben Abrams as the leader in a plan to train all Psi- High deviants (Towne actually used the word I) and to seek repeal of the present laws preventing two Psi-Highs from marrying. Paul went tense, searching for Jean Sanders’ name. It was not mentioned, and he took a deep breath and clenched his fist. If that filthy rabble rouser ever dragged her name into the public eye—He finished his coffee, watching sourly as the tape moved slowly up the screen.
Then his eye caught a small item with a Des Moines dateline, well hidden among the minor items. He read it, frowning:
Des Moines, la., 27 June 2177. A woman whose name was withheld today placed charges of assault and invasion of privacy against Miss Martha Bishop, 23, of Oak Park Section, Chicago, whose name is listed in the Federal psi- positive registry. The charge, made at local Federal Security offices, accused Miss Bishop of gross mental interference. The victim, who allegedly had information concerning “rumors of an alien visitor,” claimed that Miss Bishop had attempted to prevent her from reporting her information to authorities. After failing in this attempt, Miss Bishop allegedly employed her psi- powers to erase the information from the woman’s mind. Miss Bishop could not be reached for comment.
Mr. J. B. Dunlap, Liberal Administration spokesman, has repeatedly denied other rumors of alien visitors which have been persistently appearing this summer. Nevertheless, the charges against Miss Bishop are being investigated fully—
Faircloth snapped off the tape angrily and returned to his coffee. Finally he nodded to Marino. “Better drink up,” he said, “and contact your men. It’s time to go.”
Marino finished his coffee in a gulp. Then they stepped out onto the concourse again.
Ted Marino left to give his men a final briefing, arranging to meet Faircloth back in the concourse five minutes later. Paul found a visiphone relay booth, and sank his long, lean body down in a relaxer facing the screen. The last of the rush.hour people were still drifting by in the corridor;
Paul watched them anxiously. If only he could talk to Jean! He wondered what she would think of the news item from Des Moines. He battled an impulse to call her, then compromised and dialed the priority code for the Federal Security Commission offices in Washington.
The relays clicked, and the code carried him through the front-line secretaries without any trouble. He gave a sigh of relief. He was in no mood to argue with secretaries. A moment later he was blinking at Roberts’ 3-D image on the screen.