She took a deep breath, and spread her hands again. “I knew then that I couldn’t do it, and it wouldn’t make any difference what he did to me, no matter how much he hated me, I couldn’t do it.”
She was silent for a long time, and Alexander gave her time to recover. She looked at him, and gave a brittle laugh. “There isn’t much more. I got out of New York. The police had me in for questioning twice. I spent a night in jail for vagrancy, and I saw he wasn’t going to quit, not until I was pounded right down into the ground. I stole a car and drove to Boston and ran the car into the river. I had no money and no papers, so I couldn’t get a job. I didn’t dare register for relief, because Bahr would find me. Well, he’ll find me eventually, anyhow, but right now he’s too busy. There isn’t any work for me here. I have three college degrees and an IQ of 150, and I can’t even get a job as a waitress. I hadn’t eaten for two days when I got to Boston, but I found a way to live. No papers, no clearance. I can’t even be a registered whore, so I take what I can get. I’m young, I learn fast, I’m scared sick and I get myself drunk as much as I can stand it. I hate myself, but I swear to God I hate him worse.”
He knew that any comment now would only rub salt in the wounds, and finally the shell fell away completely and she began to cry, and he let her he on the bed and cry herself to sleep as if she were a little girl. She had a nightmare and woke up screaming, but he held her and talked to her like a child and after a while she lay quiet. Finally she woke up, for which Alexander was duly thankful because he was getting a trifle impatient, and he knew that he had not yet begun.
Later, a quieter, more restrained Libby showed every evidence that her confidence had returned a little. Alexander recognized that at least one important point had been won: that to her he was the reincarnation of Mark Vanner. He played his cards skillfully then as he made sandwiches and coffee for them. He told her about his own blitzing from BURINF to Wildwood, let her realize that he was an outlaw like herself, although in a stronger position, and able to help her. She accepted this; even though she had drawn herself in after the naked release of the morning, he could see that she wanted his friendship desperately.
In a flash of insight he sensed that she was Mark Vanner’s daughter. In the BRINT dossier she looked like her mother, but now, watching her . . . the flair for organizing uncertain and inexact ideas, the talent for abstraction . . . it was clear.
He waited until he was certain that the time was right before he said, “I think that I might be able to find out where your son is,” and a door that had been slammed shut in Libby’s life swung open again.
“He’s somewhere in the Playschool system,” she said, hardly daring to believe what she heard. “The records will have been changed. And Bahr’s people have infiltrated.”
“I know that,” Alexander said. “I still think we could locate him. If he is in the system, BRINT will have duplicate files.”
She stared at him. “If you could do it, if you could only do it.” She was interested, desperately interested.
Alexander suggested a plan.
If they could locate the boy, BRINT would get him out of the Playschool. Money would be made available, and Libby and Tim would be conducted out of the country, probably to Canada. In return, Libby would help Alexander.
“How?” she wanted to know.
“It has to do with Bahr. I can’t tell you more right now, except that it may be dangerous for you.”
“And Tim will be gotten out of the school in any case?”
“Before anything else begins,” Alexander promised her. “There’s one thing, though. You may have to face Bahr personally and fight him. If you’re afraid to, you’d better say so now.”
Libby was silent for a long time. Then she turned away. “I don’t want anything to do with Bahr,” she said dully.
“All right, but what are you going to do with your life? Drink yourself blind? Forget Bahr and your son? Just stand by and turn into a low-grade prostitute? Look, you’re part of this. Julian Bahr didn’t just happen out of a clear blue sky. You made him. DEPCO made him. Vanner . . . yes, Mark Vanner made him, hate by hate.”
“I know that,” she said sharply. “I know the life he’s had.
I know what DEPCO did to him when he was in Riley. He was washed up when I met him. I made him stand up again. I made him fight . . . .” She stopped.
“Yes, you made him fight, to build an empire to lay at your feet.” He faced her, forced her to meet his eyes. “Do you know why you ran away from Bahr? I’ll tell you why. Because you’d already destroyed DEPCO. You always wanted to.”
“I didn’t! I wanted to help, to do all I could.”
“By shielding Bahr? By putting him in power?”
She whirled on him. “Why do you want to torment me? I hate you!”
“You hate Bahr. Fight him.”
“All right, I will. I’ll get even with him!” She bit off the rest of the sentence, but her eyes were narrowing and hardening in anger, and Alexander knew that the White Queen was already taken.
Chapter Nineteen
It had gone smoothly for Bahr, everything had gone smoothly during the weeks while the continent was torn, hammered and smelted into a space industry under his ruthless reform. There had been enough work to tax even Bahr’s enormous reserves, and exhaustion gave him occasional stretches of dreamless sleep. On his desk was the report from White Sands announcing the first successful pilot model of the new atomic drive, and he was pleased, vastly pleased, until the memo came into his hands—an innocuous enough note except that it came in under a special code heading that guaranteed it would come to his personal attention.
He read the memo, and threw his office door open, bellowing for Walters, from whom the memo had come. “What does this thing mean?” he roared, waving the memo sheet under Walters’ nose.
“Just what it says,” Walters told him. “She took the child back.”
“What do you mean, she took the child back? Who said she could take the child back?”
Walters showed him the papers. The whole matter was perfectly legal and straightforward, and much as he wanted to, Bahr could find nothing out of order. An attorney representing Libby Allison had paid a quiet visit to the authorities at the Bordentown Playschool. He had made the proper identification in Libby’s behalf, and presented satisfactory evidence of her desire and ability to support the child properly. She had a sufficiently good job, and a suitable standing account in a Canadian bank. The paperwork had been carried through, and Tim had been released in her care.
The last Bahr had heard directly from Libby, she had been dispossessed from her New York apartment. After that, there had been too much demand on his time, too many things to do, and not enough of his personal staff to handle the load. Now he alerted four of his men and ordered them to make an investigative pounce.
They found her apartment in Boston in ten hours flat, but Libby Allison was gone, permanently. Her forwarding address was in Quebec, Canada. A check with the Border Guard Intelligence gave the tantalizing information that Libby had driven into Canada with a permanent residence passport the previous day.
The boy had been with her.
The very audacity of it infuriated Bahr even more than the fact itself. A conference with Braelow, his personal attorney, and he laid it on the line. “I want that boy back here. I don’t care how, I don’t even care whether he’s dead or alive, I just want him back!”
Braelow studied the situation, and came back with empty hands. The DIA team that Bahr had sent to Canada for surveillance returned with a report as detailed as it was useless. Libby had a job; she left Tim in a nursery during the day, and took him home to an apartment a few blocks away at night. Her Canadian job was actually a civil service job. Bahr saw an opening wedge there, and put pressure on various people to get her fired, so that she would be unable to manage support, but something or somebody seemed to be exerting equal pressure on the other side, and Libby was not fired from her job . . . .