"That was the object of giving them to you, Mr. Kovac."
"Yes, sir—well, I did, and..." He pressed the map-screen switch. "Here is the first breakdown of incidents. No pattern, you will see." He pressed the switch again. "Here is the breakdown of high-rainfall and air-moisture areas superimposed."
"Very pretty," said April. "You're an excellent cartographer."
Randy beamed. Mr. Waverly grunted. Mark flicked up an eyebrow. "Is this your idea?"
"Mr. Waverly told me to follow through on natural sequence. I thought maps were better than reams of typing."
"Is this all you have accomplished?" demanded Mr. Waverly.
"No, sir." Randy made like a magician as he again pressed the map-screen switch. "Here is a breakdown of arid areas."
"Arid!" Mr. Waverly exclaimed sharply. "That was not in your terms of reference, Mr. Kovac. You have spent valuable time on something you were not asked to do."
"Please, sir—may I give my reasons?"
"I'm sure he has good ones," said April, little realizing that the words would turn a likeable young man into her slave for life, not being that intuitive... Or was she?
"The reports, sir." Randy's voice trembled with eagerness. "From Europe especially, as well as later ones from far continents—they all emphasized rain areas. But K.S.R.6 wouldn't be an effective weapon if it had to rely on rain showers or mists. And what about areas of low rainfall?—deserts and arid areas? We have those in the States. I assumed that K.S.R.6 was tested in areas like Dartmoor. That would be natural. It wasn't heavily defended. Miss Dancer reports her opinion that the operation there was in terminal phase. It also would be natural for us to assume that main centers in this country would be in such areas. They would expect us to assume that."
"Between your assumptions and Miss Dancer's opinions should be placed a crystal ball," said Mr. Waverly severely. "I asked for follow-through summaries on which we could base action."
"With respect, sir," said Randy quietly, "we have plenty of facts to summarize as to methods and effects, and I have completed those. But we do not have any on possible centers, except reports based on assumptions."
"Touché, Mr. Kovac." Mr. Waverly's eyes suddenly twinkled. "Explain further, if you will, this departure from your instructions."
Randy switched in a graph plate. It looked like a transparent map of air routes with dots linking the cities and areas where incidents had been reported. One outstanding fact was obvious. The lines all crossed at the same point.
"Little Basin Desert, Arizona," said Randy, putting his finger on that crossing point. "Arid, very low humidity. Little Basin is an almost circular depression between hills and rocky buttes. It has been drilled for water. That operation cost as much as the purchase price of the whole lot. It is a Health Farm. At one time it was a Dude Ranch. It has been owned for nearly ten years by Healthfare Incorporated. Healthfare is associated with various health clubs through out the world, but mainly in Europe, where bronchitis and similar chest complaints are prevalent. Patients visit Little Basin from all over Europe. It is forty-three miles from the nearest town."
"You are proving that you spent the hours working," said Mr. Waverly. "Your summary is most interesting. So is the assumption that because all lines between the incident areas cross at that one point—it must mean something on which we can act."
April hunched forward, chin on hands.
"He means, stick your neck out, Randy! Sell it us as a proposition."
"I've heard worse," said Mark. "But it's a trifle airy-fairy, old lad."
"This isn't," said Randy. "Healthfare is associated with Société L'Art de Guerir—The Art of Healing Company—of Paris. Founder member and now Director-General is Dr. Carl Karadin. His associates are Georges Sirdar..."
"Sirdar the Turk!" April exclaimed.
"Ah! You know him?" Randy clicked his fingers. "Yes, of course—the organizer of the muscle men."
"What others?" said Mark briskly.
"Suzanne Karadin—she makes the third French director. Then there is S. L. Coke (British), L. Mancini (Italian), Brunnard T. Raver (American) and M. Nicorious (Greek)."
"And you got all that from drawing lines?" said April. "You are a very clever young man."
"Come into my office," Mr. Waverly snapped. He turned and hurried away.
Randy looked puzzled. Mark patted his shoulder. "Not to worry, old boy—methinks the fairies are on your side!"
As they joined him, Mr. Waverly said: "Sit down, Mr. Kovac, sit down."
Randy trod air, savoring this delicious moment of dream-come-true—lovely dreams of Mr. Waverly sending for Mr. Kovac's brilliant self, saying: "Sit down." Juniors didn't sit down. Top agents did—in fact, all top people—but not juniors. Randy eased gently down as if testing a hot bath.
Mr. Waverly was on the direct Washington line. They couldn't hear what he was saying because he spoke through the cowl sound diffuser attached to his earphones. As he waited for replies to his long conversation, he glanced at Randy.
"That was the sum-total of your follow-through, Mr. Kovac?"
"Yes, sir—er—except..."
"Cough it up, laddie," said Mark. "You're in to your ears already. We can only shoot you once."
Randy gulped. "Well, sir—I didn't have authority to phone Paris."
"I bet you tried!" April chuckled.
"The operator wouldn't put me through. I had to work through our foreign department. I wanted to find out what other business the French company owned. We could only find one."
"A couturiere?" said April.
Randy beamed at her. "That's right—only I couldn't pronounce it properly. The Healthfare Company own 'Dorés'—a fashion shop on the Rue Rivoli. How did you guess that?"
"You'll learn in this fascinating game of ours that one little 'click' sets off lots of other 'clicks'," she assured him. "They build up to a big bang if you keep clicking on the right lines. Like your lines clicking to a center. See what kept clicking after it? So it clicks with me that some expert dressmaker, tailor or, as in France, a couturiere establishment must make up that metal-dress gear. Someone they had control of—not a contract job."
Mr. Waverly held up his hand for silence. They waited. At last he removed the head stall and swung around to face them.
"The password is PHAGOCYTE."
April tapped her forehead with a knuckle and frowned.
"Something meaning ... guarding the system against infection by absorbing microbes." She laughed. "Very neat."
Mr. Waverly inched a smile at her.
"Are we not? So now—let us to work." He looked at Randy Kovac. "You will remember we are a team, Mr. Kovac. No one person is greater, or lesser, than that team. The discovery of one part is the discovery of all parts leading to a conclusion of the whole by the whole. In this context we each have one moment of glory. Let us assume you have had yours. All responsibility for it is now lifted from you. But we shall not forget that moment. You understand?"
"Yes, sir."