"You don't think he'll refuse to heal him, do you?" Sylvia said, her alarm slipping back on her. "That's not like Alan."
"You didn't see his eyes. And if McCready doesn't get what he wants, he won't let Alan go."
"But he can't hold him!"
"He can for a while. I thought he had destroyed all of Alan's original test results, but now that I think of it, I'll bet he kept the originals of his psychological profiles."
"Why?"
"Because Alan scores out as a bloody paranoid schiz. They could hold him on the grounds that he's dangerous to himself or others."
"I'll call Tony," Sylvia said, angry as well as frightened now. "He'll turn that place upside down."
"Don't count on it, Sylvia. Those profiles, along with the Foundation's reputation and the senator's personal influence… well, it could be a long time before we spring Alan."
"Pardon me," said Ba, who hadn't moved from the doorway. "But does the Missus want the Doctor returned from the Foundation?"
"Yes, Ba," she said, noting the hint of eagerness in his voice. She knew how highly he regarded Alan. "Any ideas?"
"I shall go there and bring him back."
He said it so matter-of-factly, yet Sylvia saw the determination in his eyes.
"Forget it!" Charles said with a laugh. "The Foundation's security is airtight."
"I have been there many times with the Missus. I shall go there tonight and bring the Doctor back."
Charles laughed again. But Sylvia watched Ba's face, remembering what Greg had told her about the simple fisherman who had attached himself to the Ranger group and trained with them, and whom Greg had said he wanted most at his side in any combat situation. Ba wanted to do this. And Sylvia realized with a sudden tingle of excitement that she wanted him to do it.
"Very well, Ba. But be careful."
The smile dropped from Charles' face as if he had been shot. "What? Just like that? Go get Alan? Are you crazy?"
Sylvia returned Ba's grateful little bow, but stopped him as he turned to make his exit. "Wait, Ba." She turned to Charles. "Would you draw a few floor plans and tell him where you think Alan may be? It would greatly help matters."
"But this is insane! Security will be all over him as soon as he sets foot inside!"
"Let's hope Ba doesn't have to hurt too many of them." She was enjoying the befuddled expressions playing over Charles' face.
He finally settled down and she watched as he sketched out the floor plans of the upper levels. Ba leaned over them in silence.
"Where's Alan now?" Sylvia asked. She didn't know why, but it was important to her to know the location of his room.
"Most likely he's still in the seventh-floor patient wing— room 719—but he could be anywhere in the complex." He pointed to a section of the top floor. "Your safest bet is here: Alan will be in McCready's private quarters between 9:45 and 10:45 tonight."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because I remember my chart saying that high tide is 10:18 tonight. That would probably be the best place and time to find him."
Ba shook his head. "The best time is when he is between. It would be very hard to enter the senator's private place."
Charles was looking at him with new respect. "That makes good sense, old boy. I daresay you might bring this off after all. Although I sincerely doubt it." He took off his lab coat. "Here. Take this. I can't imagine any place or circumstance in the Foundation where you wouldn't stand out like a sore thumb, but this might make you less conspicuous."
"Want to go along, Charles?"
He smiled sardonically. "Sounds like I'd have a wonderful time—I'm especially entranced by the possibility of being arrested for breaking and entering and spending a few nights in a New York City jail. No, Love. I'll pass on this. Doubt if I'd be much use anyway. They know me there, and all security shifts have surely been informed that I'm persona non grata. And besides, I've got to get home to Julie. A functioning renal system is still a very new thing for her. I want to be there if she needs me."
That reminded Sylvia that she would have to catch Gladys and ask her to stay with Jeffy for a few hours while she was out. She waited until Ba showed Charles out, then caught him as he headed back toward the garage.
"I'm coming along tonight, Ba," she told him, and watched the usually placid features reflect his bewilderment and concern.
"Missus, there might be trouble! You cannot come!"
"Oh, but I must, Ba. And if you won't have me along, I'll drive there on my own. So let's not waste time arguing."
"But why, Missus?"
Sylvia thought about that. Why, indeed? Why get personally involved in something like this when Ba could probably do just as well on his own? Maybe it was because she felt so helpless in the face of Jeffy's regression. Would this make her feel useful? She wasn't sure, and it really didn't matter. She only knew she loved Alan and wanted to be there for him. And that was enough.
"Because, Ba," she told him. "Just because."
___46.___
At the Foundation
Ba had a bad feeling about tonight as he pulled into the curb before the Foundation building. His initial plan had been simple: one man moving stealthily through the halls. Now it had been complicated by the Missus.
He was still recovering from the shock of the Missus' insisting on coming along tonight. He had planned to take his AMC Pacer, but now he was driving the Graham, and the Missus was in her usual place in the rear seat.
During the drive, Ba had argued strenuously to limit her to the most marginal involvement, such as waiting at the wheel of the car while he went inside, but she had flatly refused. She wanted to be there.
So he had reluctantly given the Missus a safe assignment: Go to the front entrance and make a scene—create a diversion.
"That's my specialty," she had said. "Making scenes."
As he put on the emergency brake, Ba heard the top twist off a bottle. He turned and saw her pouring liquor into a short glass. She took some in her mouth, rinsed it around like mouth wash, then swallowed with a grimace.
"Ugh! How do people drink scotch?" She breathed into her palm. "At least I'll smell the part. Let's go. It's showtime." Her eyes were bright with excitement.
Ba got out and stepped around to let her out, then watched as she walked up to the brightly lit front entrance, glass in hand, staggering just enough to look like someone who had had more than enough to drink.
He took a small duffle bag from the front seat and left the car under the lights at the curb. It would be safe there for a while, and he had decided that the best way to bring Dr. Bulmer out was straight through the front door.
He hurried off toward the side of the building.
It was 9:20 and he could wait no longer.
Senator McCready had rested all day. Sleep in other than short dozes had been almost impossible due to the excitement and anticipation of tonight. But he had resolutely stored up his strength, all but screaming at the clock for the unbearably slow caress of the hands across its face.
Now the time was almost here. He was going to Bulmer. At first he had intended to have him brought up here to the top-floor residence, but had dropped that idea in favor of one with more psychological appeal. He would go to Bulmer, thus appearing to be a humble supplicant rather than someone expecting a command performance.
Yes, this was the better approach. And after he was cured, Bulmer would have to be discredited. Try as he might, McCready could think of no alternative solution. That small, almost forgotten part of him let out a faint cry of protest. He turned a deaf ear to it. He couldn't relent now. He couldn't ignore the polls or the computer projection. A vindicated Dr. Alan Bulmer would be too much of a liability. McCready had to ruin him. There was simply no other way out.