Cutting through the suburbs he headed outward toward this lesser road. Houses gradually thinned away and ceased. As he drove through a market-gardening area a police cruizer whined toward him, passed without pause. He let go a sigh of relief as it disappeared. Presumably it had been in too great a hurry to bother with him or perhaps its occupants had taken it for granted that he possessed a military permit.
Five minutes later he rounded a blind corner and found a road-block awaiting him two hundred yards beyond. A couple of army trucks stood side-on across the road in such a position that a car could pass provided it slowed to less than walking pace. In front of the trucks a dozen soldiers stood in line, coddling their automatic weapons and looking bored. There was no cop or agent anywhere in sight.
Mowry slowed, stopped, but kept his dynomotor rotating. The soldiers eyed him with bovine curiosity. From behind the nearest truck a broad, squat sergeant appeared, marched up to the car.
“Have you got an exit permit?”
“Don’t need one,” responded Mowry, speaking with the authority of a four-star general. Opening his wallet, he displayed his identity-card and prayed to God that the sight of it would not produce a howl of triumph.
It didn’t. The sergeant looked at it, stiffened, saluted. Noticing this, the nearby troops straightened themselves and assumed expressions of military alertness.
In apologetic tones the sergeant said, “I regret that I must ask you to wait a moment, Colonel. My orders are to report to the officer in charge if anyone claims the right to go through without a permit”
“Even the Military Intelligence?”
“It has been emphasised that this order covers everyone without exception, sir. I have no choice but to obey.”
“Of course, Sergeant,” agreed Mowry, condescendingly. “I will wait”
Saluting again, the sergeant went at the double behind the trucks. Meanwhile the twelve troopers posed with the rigid self consciousness of those aware of a brasshat in the vicinity. In short time the sergeant came back bringing with him a very young and worried looking lieutenant.
This officer marched precisely up to the car, saluted, opened his mouth just as Mowry beat him to the draw by saying, “You may stand easy, Lieutenant”
The other gulped, let his legs relax, fumbled for words, finally got out, “The sergeant tells me you have no exit permit -Colonel.”
“That’s right. Have you got one?”
Taken aback, the lieutenant floundered a bit, said, “No sir.”
“Why not?”
“We are on duty outside the city.”
“So am I,” informed Mowry.
“Yes, sir.” The lieutenant pulled himself together. He seemed unhappy about something. “Will you be good enough to let me see your identity-card, sir? It is just a formality. I’m sure that everything will be all right”
“I know that everything will be all right,” said Mowry, as though giving fatherly warning to the young and inexperienced. Again he displayed the card.
The lieutenant gave it no more than a hurried glance. “Thank you, Colonel. Orders are orders, as you will appreciate.” Then he curried favour by demonstrating his efficiency. He took one step backward and gave a classy salute which Mowry acknowledged with a vague wave. Jerking himself round like an automaton, the lieutenant brought his right foot down with a hard thump and screamed at the top of his voice, “Pass one!”
Opening out, the troops obediently passed one. Mowry crawled through the block, curving around the tail of the first truck, twisting the opposite way around the second. Once through he hit up maximum speed. It was a temptation to feel gleeful but he didn’t. He was sorry for that young lieutenant who, before long, would be taking a prize lambasting. It was easy to picture the scene when a senior officer arrived at the post to check up.
“Anything to report, Lieutenant?”
“Not much, sir. No trouble of any sort. It has been very quiet. I let one through without a permit.”
“You did? Why was that?”
“He was Colonel Halopti, sir.”
“Halopti? That name seems familiar. I’m sure I heard it mentioned as I left the other post.”
Helpfully, “He is in the M.I… sir.”
“Yar. yar. But that name means something. Why don’t they keep us properly informed? Have you a short-wave set?
“Not here, sir. There is one at the next main road block. We have a field telephone.”
“All right, I’ll use that“A little later, “You hopeless imbecile! This Halopti is wanted all over the planet! And you let him slip through your hands—you ought to be shot! How long has he been gone? Did he have anyone with him? Will he have passed through Palmare yet? Sharpen your wits, fool, and answer me! Did you note the number of his car? No, you did not—that would be too much to expect.”
And so on and so on. Yes, the balloon would go up most anytime. Perhaps in three or four hours, perhaps within ten minutes. The thought of it made Mowry maintain what was a reckless speed on such a twisting and badly surfaced road.
He shot through small and sleepy Palmare half expecting to be fired upon by local vigilantes. Nothing happened except that a few faces glanced out of windows as he went by. Nobody saw him turn off the road a little beyond the village and take to the crude track that led to the Pertane-Valapan artery.
Now he was compelled to slow down whether he liked it or not. Over the terrible surface the car bumped and rolled at quarter speed. If anything came the other way he’d be in a jam because there was no room to pull aside or turn. Two jetplanes moaned through the gathering dusk but carried straight on, indifferent to what was taking place below. Soon afterward a ‘copter came low over the horizon, followed it a short distance, dropped back and disappeared. Its course showed that it was circling around Pertane, possibly checking the completeness of military positions.
Eventually he reached the Pertane-Valapan route without having encountered anything on the track. Accelerating, he made for the forest entry-point. A number of army vehicles trundled heavily along but there was no civilian traffic to or from distant Pertane. Those inside the city could not get out, those outside did not want to go in lest they be detained there for weeks.
At the moment he reached the identifying tree and tombstone the road was clear in both directions. Taking full advantage of the opportunity he drove straight over the verge and into the forest as far as the car could go. Jumping out, he went back and repeated his former performance of carefully eliminating all tyre tracks where they entered the forest and checking that the car was invisible from the road.
The dark of night now was halfway across the sky. That meant he had to face another badly slowed-down traipse to the cave. Alternatively he could sleep overnight in the car and start his journey with the dawn. The latter was preferable; even a wasp needs rest and slumber. On the other hand the cave was more peaceful, more comfortable and a good deal safer than the car. There he could enjoy a real Terran breakfast, after which he could lie full length and snooze like a child instead of rolled up with one ear and one eye open. He started for the cave at once, trying to make the most use of the fading light while it lasted.
With the first streaks of morning he came wearily and red-eyed through the last of the trees. His finger-ring had been tingling for fifteen minutes so that he made his approach with confidence. Clumping along the pebble beach he went into the cave, fixed himself a hearty meal. Then he crawled into a sleeping-bag and surrendered consciousness. The transmission of his report could wait. It would have to wait: communication might bring instructions impossible to carry out before he’d had a good spell of slumber.