He also refused to tell Bahr what the project was, or anything about it, even though Bahr threatened him with more amphetamine. Cullen knew about security, and nothing short of a BRINT unrestricted examination would have gotten topsec information out of him. Bahr made a note on the spot to give Cullen a type 4 background check as soon as things quieted down; Bahr did not like people to refuse him anything.
The following six men, far more co-operative, had also been picked up, as far as they knew, from their homes on Sunday night by unidentifiable captors. There were two sociologists, a biologist, two linguists, and one of the few physicists in the country still working on physics. They had all been questioned intensively about their respective fields, never seeing their questioners and all confirming the curious sing-song of a tik-talker intermediary. One of them had been indiscreet enough, after two hours of electroshock, to divulge certain information about a topsec project he was connected with for DEPCO. It showed on the PG, of course, and Bahr made a note to frighten as much information out of the man as he could about DEPCO research plans before turning him over to DEPCO for prosecution.
This procedure was not ultimately carried out, due to the subject’s suicide sometime after the interview, which annoyed Bahr considerably. Bahr did not as a rule allow people to change his plans for him.
But the pattern was unmistakably clear, when all the data had been gathered. All seven men had been abducted by someone, taken somewhere, and systematically drained of information, then dumped in widely distributed areas in a state of confusion and extreme nervous exhaustion.
Bahr slammed the folders shut and went down to the room where the repatriates had been herded after their interrogation. Dr. Petri was hovering there, anxiously awaiting permission to administer sedation. Bahr shrugged off his protests, and nodded to the two DIA men standing guard at the door. One of them was a tall, heavy man with a crew cut and a hard, convict’s face; he returned the nod briefly, and straightened his shoulders automatically when Bahr came into the room.
The repatriates looked up apathetically as Bahr put a heavy foot up on a chair and faced them. “All right, we’re through questioning you for now,” Bahr said. “When Dr. Petri is satisfied that you’re in good medical shape, you’ll be released.” He watched the sagging heads, heard the tiny sigh of relief around the room. “However, you will be kept under full security surveillance.”
It was the equivalent of house arrest. The sagging heads jerked up again in protest.
“But you’ve already questioned us,” Cullen said feebly.
“Obviously you must realize that under the circumstances we can’t assume that anything you’ve told us is true,” Bahr said.
“But surely the polygraph records . . . .”
“May mean nothing at all. I realize that we’ve never found Occidentals who could beat our polygraph system, under suitable drug treatment. Unfortunately, the results are inconclusive with Orientals, who have a different notion of truth, and particularly with yogis, who can control their sympathetic system.”
Cullen was sitting up now, his face red with anger. “Mr. Bahr, we have certain legal rights.”
“As of now, Dr. Cullen, you have no legal rights,” Bahr said sharply. “Until proven otherwise, we are forced to assume that your abductors were alien creatures who are engaged in the first steps in an invasion. You men have been in contact with those aliens . . . the only ones who have lieen in contact with them. From the manner in which you were abducted, it seems obvious that the aliens are able to penetrate our cities without detection, either in disguise as humans, or by using and controlling humans. All right, you add it up. If your abductors have techniques of mind control I hat we don’t know about, you men may be dangerous pawns. We can’t take the risk that you’re not.”
He paused for it to sink in. “Now, if you have that straight, we’ll get on. You will be released in the custody of Mr. Yost.” He indicated the hard-faced man with the crew-cut. “You will be responsible to Mr. Yost for everything you do or say. You will answer no questions and make no statements. If I find a single quote, admission, or good guess in any of the TV-casts, Mr. Yost will be in charge of improving your understanding of security.”
Yost led them away to the recovery room. Bahr had seen the spark of grudging admiration in Yost’s eyes, and he smiled in satisfaction. Yost was a former 801st lieutenant who had been in a Texas penitentiary for rape, assault, and a dozen other crimes of violence before he had volunteered. In Texas he had been a prison bully; in the 801st he found his calling, and had toughened his guerrilla platoon, and subsequently his DIA field unit, into a sharp, violently dangerous force. Yost believed in only one thing—power—and to him Bahr was power. He was afraid of Bahr, and hated him, but he was willing to obey him to the point of death. Bahr knew this, and depended on it. He recognized the advantages of a subordinate whom everybody feared and hated, who would do his dirty work for him.
And he was quite sure that by the time the repatriates were released, they would have transferred their hate and fear permanently from him to Yost.
He pushed back his chair and went upstairs to where the committee from DEPCO was waiting.
The Department of Control, the sprawling, multi-faceted, interlocking bureau which held the ultimate, final and definitive executive power of the Vanner-Elling Stability Government in its hands, was a love organization.
It had taken Julian Bahr several years and hundreds of contacts with DEPCO men at all levels of importance, from top-level executive sessions with the Joint Chiefs right down to the most casual contacts at cocktail parties, to realize the fundamental truth of that fact and, realizing it, to fully comprehend its implications. Libby Allison had denied it vigorously, and just as vigorously (if unconsciously) proved it in armed battles and bed-talk with Julian. He had heard it from the lips of high DEPCO officials who had no idea what they were admitting, and he had heard it from other DEPCO men who recognized it for what it was and still admitted it.
DEPCO was a love organization. Everything they did had love overtones. Inevitably, it clouded their judgment. Equally inevitably, it entrenched them with incredible firmness in the position of power they had held since Mark Vanner had set up his equation-control on a government-wide basis after the crash. It was exceedingly difficult to attack love as an institution and get very far with the attack.
To Julian Bahr the whole concept was difficult to comprehend, and utterly impossible to understand. Bahr instinctively preferred hate and fear to love, but now he knew that he had to have wholehearted, unquestioning co-operation from DEPCO. Therefore, he had to love them. While his elevator rose the six stories to the conference room where the DEPCO committee had been waiting for him, Bahr tried valiantly to think of a single reason to love the organization which was doing everything within its power to wreck his life.
He couldn’t find a reason.
Love was necessary at times, of course, sometimes even pleasant, refreshing, comforting. Sometimes he thought he really did love Libby, and suffered violent pangs of guilt at the way he always seemed impelled to fight her, to try to dominate her. He wished he didn’t have to depend on her faking his Stability Rating, because if she had just been a good-looking girl maybe he could talk to her frankly the way he once had talked to certain prostitutes before the custom of installing tape recorders in hotel rooms and houses.
But Libby was still a therapist who worked for DEPCO, and there were some things you couldn’t tell your analyst oven when she was sleeping with you.