"Hmm-"
"It might work," Mary put in. "I'll be the other agent, I can-"
The Old Man and I said, "No," together-and then I flushed; it was not my prerogative to say so. Mary went on, "I was going to say that I am the logical one because of the, uh, talent I have for spotting a man with a parasite on him."
"No," the Old Man repeated, "It won't be necessary. Where he's going they'll all have riders-assumed so until proved otherwise. Besides, I am saving you for something."
She should have shut up, but for once did not. "For what? This is important."
Instead of snapping at her the Old Man said quietly, "So is the other job. I'm planning to make you a presidential bodyguard, as soon as I can get it through his head that this is serious."
"Oh." She thought about it and answered, "uh, boss-"
"Eh?"
"I'm not certain I could spot a woman who was possessed. I'm not, uh, equipped for it."
"So we take his women secretaries away from him. Ask me a hard one. And Mary-you'll be watching him, too. He's a man, you know."
She turned that over in her mind. "And suppose I find that one has gotten to him, in spite of everything?"
"You take necessary action, the Vice President succeeds to the chair, and you get shot for treason. Simple. Now about this mission. We'll send Jarvis with the scanner and I think I'll include Davidson as an extra hatchet man. While Jarvis keeps the pick-up on you, Davidson can keep his eyes on Jarvis-and you can try to keep one eye on him. Ring-around the-rosy."
"You think it will work, then?"
"No-but any plan of action is better than no plan. Maybe it will stir up something."
While we headed for Iowa-Jarvis, Davidson, and I-the Old Man went back to Washington. He took Mary along. She cornered me as we were about to leave, grabbed me by the ears, kissed me firmly and said, "Sam-try to come back."
I got all tingly and felt like a fifteen-year-old. Second childhood, I guess.
Davidson roaded the car beyond the place where I had found a bridge out. I was navigating, using a large-scale ordnance map on which had been pinpointed the exact landing site of the real space ship. The bridge, which was still out, gave a close-by and precise reference point. We turned off the road two tenths of a mile due east of the site and jeeped through the scrub to the spot. Nobody tried to stop us.
Almost to the spot, I should say. We ran into freshly burned-over ground and decided to walk. The site as shown by the space station photograph was included in the brush fire area-and there was no "flying saucer". It would have taken a better detective than I will ever be to show that one had ever landed there. The fire had destroyed the traces, if any.
Jarvis scanned everything, anyhow, but I knew that the slugs had won another round. As we came out we ran into an elderly farmer; following doctrine we kept a wary distance, although he looked harmless.
"Quite a fire," I remarked, sidling away.
"Sure was," he said dolefully. "Killed two of my best milk cows, the poor dumb brutes. You fellows reporters?"
"Yes," I agreed, "but we've been sent out on a wild-goose chase." I wished Mary were along. Probably this character was naturally round-shouldered. On the other hand, assuming that the Old Man was right about the space ship-and he had to be right-then this all-too-innocent bumpkin must know about it and was covering it up. Ergo, he was hag-ridden.
I decided that I had to do it. The chances of capturing a live parasite and getting its picture on the channels back to the White House were better here than they would be in a crowd. I threw a glance at my teammates; they were both alert and Jarvis was scanning.
As the farmer turned to go I tripped him. He went face down and I was on his back like a monkey, clawing at his shirt. Jarvis moved in and got a close up; Davidson moved over to cover point. I had his back bare before he got his wind.
And it was bare. It was as clean as mine, no parasite, no sign of one. Nor any place on his body, which I made sure of before I let him up.
I helped him up and brushed him off; his clothes were filthy with ashes and so were mine. "I'm terribly sorry," I said. "I've made a bad mistake."
He was trembling with anger. "You young-" He couldn't seem to find a word bad enough for me. He looked at all of us and his mouth quivered. "I'll have the law on you. If I were twenty years younger I'd lick all three of you."
"Believe me, old timer, it was a mistake."
"Mistake!" His face broke and I thought he was going to cry. "I come back from Omaha and find my place burned, half my stock gone, and my son-in-law no place around. I come out to find out why strangers are snooping around my land and I like to get torn to pieces. Mistake! What's the world coming to?"
I thought I could answer that last one, but I did not try to. I did try to pay him for the indignity but he slapped my money to the ground. We tucked in our tails and got out.
When we were back in the car and rolling again, Davidson said to me, "Are you and the Old Man sure you know what you are up to?"
"I can make a mistake," I said savagely, "but have you ever known the Old Man to?"
"Mmm. . . no. Can't say as I have. Where next?"
"Straight in to WDES main station. This one won't be a mistake."
"Anyhow," Jarvis commented. "I got good pick-up throughout."
I did not answer.
At the toll gates into Des Moines the gatekeeper hesitated when I offered the fee. He glanced at a notebook and then at our plates. "Sheriff has a call out for this car," he said. "Pull over to the right." He left the barrier down.
"Right it is," I agreed, backed up about thirty feet and gunned her for all she was worth. The Section's cars are beefed up and hopped up, too-a good thing, for the barrier was stout. I did not slow down on the far side.
"This," said Davidson dreamily, "is interesting. Do you still know what you are doing?"
"Cut the chatter," I snapped. "I may be crazy but I am still agent-in-charge. Get this, both of you: we aren't likely to get out of this. But we are going to get those pix."
"As you say, chief."
I was running ahead of any pursuit. I slammed to a stop in front of the station and we poured out. None of "Uncle Charlie's" indirect methods-we swarmed into the first elevator that was open and punched for the top floor-Barnes's floor. When we got there I left the door of the car open, hoping to use it later.
As we came into the outer office the receptionist tried to stop us but we pushed on by. The girls looked up, startled. I went straight to Barnes's inner door and tried to open it; it was locked. I turned to his secretary. "Where's Barnes?"
"Who is calling, please?" She said, polite as a fish.
I looked down at the fit of the sweater across her shoulders. Humped. By God, I said to myself, this one has to be. She was here when I killed Barnes. I bent over and pulled up her sweater.
I was right. I had to be right. For the second time I stared at the raw flesh of one of the parasites.
I wanted to throw up, but I was too busy. She struggled and clawed and tried to bite. I judo-cut the side of her neck, almost getting my hand in the filthy mess, and she went limp. I gave her three fingers in the pit of her stomach for good measure, then swung her around. "Jarvis," I yelled, "get a close up."
The idiot was fiddling with his gear, bending over it, his big hind end between me and the pick up. He straightened up. "School's out," he said. "Blew a tube."