Without waiting for an answer, Gordon simultaneously hailed a double scooter and spoke into the instrument at his wrist.
"That's fine," said Pembun happily. "That was w'ere I 'ad a mind to go, any'ow."
He boarded the scooter in front of Gordon, and this time followed Cassina's advice. He waited until the scooter had come to a complete stop, got off without difficulty, and strolled cheerfully into Spangler's office.
"Sorry I was 'ard to find," he said apologetically. "I 'ad my mind on w'at I was doing, and I didn' notice I 'ad my communicator turned off."
"Perfectly all right, Mr. Pembun," said Spangler, with iron patience. Neither he nor Pembun had alluded to the warehouse fiasco during the three days since it had happened; their relationship was polite and formal. "Sit down. That's all, Gordon, thanks." He turned to Pembun. "Your suggestions are being followed up," he said curtly. "My immediate superior has directed me to ask you if you can help us still further by suggesting some new line of attack—one preferably that won't require two or three months to operate."
"I was working on that," Pembun told him, "and not getting much of anyw'ere. But it doesn' matter now. I got another idea, and I was lucky. I found your Rithch."
As Spangler's face slowly froze, Penbun added, " 'E's Colonel Cassina's aide, Captain Wei."
Spangler began in a strangled voice, "Are you seriously saying—" He stopped, pressed a stud on the edge of his desk, and began again. "This conversation is being recorded, Mr. Pembun. You have just said that you have found the Rithian, and that he is Captain Wei. Tell me your reasons for that statement, please."
"Well, I better start at the beginning," said Pembun, "otherwise it won't make sense. You see, I 'ad a notion this Rithch might be a little worried. The fluoroscopes wouldn' bother 'im, of course, but the planet-wide embargo would. And so far as 'e knew, you might bring up something that would work better than fluoroscopes. So I thought it jus' might be possible that 'e'd 'ide 'imself in the middle of the people that were looking for 'im. That way, 'e'd be able to dodge your search squads, and 'e might stand a chance of getting 'imself out through the cordon. That was w'y 'e picked Colonel Cassina, seemingly. Any'ow, I thought it would strike 'im funny.
"So I went around making people lahf, jus' taking a chance. It was kind of 'ard, because like I told you, the Rithi got a primitive sense of yumor. Now, if you go and fall on your be'ind in front of a Rithch, 'e's going to lahf. 'E can't 'elp 'imself. That's w'at Captain Wei did. I've 'eard the Rithi lahf before. It sounds enough like yuman lahfter to fool you if you're not paying attention, but once you've 'eard it you'll never be mistaken. I'm telling you the truth, Commissioner. Captain Wei is the Rithch."
Spangler, his lips thin, put his hand over the communicator plate. "Dossier on Captain Wei," he said.
"If you'll excuse me, Commissioner, I don' know w'ether 'e knows 'e gave 'imself away or not. If 'e knows we're after 'im and we don' catch 'im pretty quick, 'e's liable to do something we won't like."
Spangler glanced at Pembun, his face sharp with irritation, and started to speak. Then his desk communicator buzzed and he put his hand over it. "Yes?"
Gordon's worried voice said, "There is no dossier on Captain Wei, Commissioner. I don't understand how it could have happened. Do you want me to check with District Archives in Denver?"
After a moment Spangler shot another glance at Pembun, a look compounded of excitement, intense dislike and unwilling respect. He said, "Do it later, Gordon. Meanwhile, get me Colonel Cassina, and then call the guardroom. I want all the available counter-Rithian trainees with full equipment, and I want them now."
There was no doubt about it: "Captain Wei" was the Rithian spy. Somewhere, somehow, it must have managed to meet Cassina and make friends with him; or, at any rate, contrived to remain in his company long enough to take over control of Cassina's mind—to convince him, probably, that "Wei" was an old and valued friend, with whom Cassina had worked elsewhere; that "Wei" was now free to accept a new assignment, and that Cassina had already arranged for his transfer.
Introduced by Cassina, the supposed Chinese officer had passed without question. But there was no dossier in the files bearing that name. "Captain Wei" did not exist.
All this time, Spangler thought with a shudder, that monster had been living in their midst, sitting at their conferences, hearing everything that was planned against it. It must have been hard for it not to laugh.
The bitterest thing of all was that Pembun had found it. If it ever got out that a moon-faced colonial had solved Spangler's problem for him by falling on his rear all over Administration Hill…
Spangler impatiently put the thought out of his mind. They were at the doorway to Cassina's private office. "Wei" was in the smaller office immediately beyond; it communicated both with Cassina's suite and with the outer offices.
He saw the squad leader raise his watch to his ear. By now the other half of the detail would have reached the outer offices and quietly evacuated them. It must be time to go in.
The squad leader opened the door, and Spangler stepped in past him. Pembun was immediately behind; then came the five operatives, all armed with immobilizing field projectors, and Mark XX "choppers"—energy weapons which, in the hands of a skilled operator, would slice off an arm or leg or tentacle—as neatly as a surgeon could do it.
The operatives were encased from head to foot in tight, seamless gasproofs. The upper halves of their faces were covered by transparent extensions of the helmets; the rest of the face-coverings, with the flexible tubes that led to oxygen tanks on their backs, dangled open on their chests.
This, at any rate, was according to standard operating procedure. The Rithian was urgently wanted alive, but no chances could or would be taken. "Wei's" room would be shut off by two planar force screens, one projected by the standard equipment in Cassina's desk, the other by a portable projector set up by the squad in the outer offices. At the same instant, the air-conditioning ducts serving the room would be blocked off. Inside that airtight compartment, the operatives would simultaneously gas and immobilize the Rithian; and if anything went wrong, they would use the choppers. It was a maneuver that had been rehearsed by these men a hundred times. Spangler was certain that nothing would go wrong.
Spangler had told Cassina nothing—had only asked if Wei were in his office, then had hesitated as if changing his mind and promised to call back in a few minutes. Now Cassina stood up behind his desk, eyes bulging. "What's this? What's this?" he said incredulously.
"Wei," Spangler explained briefly. "Stand out of the way, please, Colonel. I'll explain in a moment."
"Explain!" said Cassina sharply. "See here, Spangler—"
The squad leader moved forward to the closed door of the inner office. At his signal, three of the remaining men took positions in front of the door; the other moved to herd Cassina out from behind his desk.
Cassina stepped aside, then moved suddenly and violently. Spangler, frozen with shock, saw him stiff-arm the approaching operative and instantly hurl himself into the group at the door. The group dissolved into a maelstrom of motion; then the door was open. Cassina had disappeared, and the others were untangling themselves and streaming in after him. Spangler found himself running forward. A wisp of something acrid caught his throat; muffled shouts rang in his ears. A man's green-clad back blocked his view for an instant, then he darted to one side and could see.
The Rithian, his back oddly humped, was half-crouched over the dangling, limp body of Colonel Cassina. The monster's hands were clenched around Cassina's throat. Everything was very clear, highly magnified. A voice Spangler had not heard in years, the nasal, high-pitched voice of his Classics instructor, suddenly filled the room. Evidently the loudspeaker system had been turned on, though why they had got Professor Housty to declaim, "The quality of mercy is not strained; it droppeth as the gentle rain…" Spangler really could not say. It was very strange.