"I'm George Sutton," he told her, quietly, "and I'm a Holy. Appleton would give a lot to get his hands on me. I was born a Holy and 111 always be one. If you don't believe me, look."
He tore his shirtfront open and pointed to the right side of the chest. "No incision scar," he said. "There's no transmitter in me."
"The scar could have disappeared."
"You're wrong," he said. "It always leaves a scar. As you grow up, new transmitters must be implanted.
You get your final transmitter when you're well into your teens."
"Get in the car," she told him, sharply. "If you don't, someone will notice us. And if you're not a Holy…"
"You think, perhaps, that I'm a man from Forever Center. You think…"
"Get in the car," she said.
Out in the street the car was swallowed by the great flowing traffic river.
"I saw Daniel Frost," said Button, "that first night. One of my men brought him to our hideout and I talked with him…"
"What did you say to him?"
"Many things. We talked about our slogan campaign and he thought poorly of it. And I asked him if he read the Bible and if he believed in God. I always ask that of people. Miss, that was a funny question that you asked—what we talked about. What difference does it make?"
"Because I know something of what you talked about."
"You have seen him, then?"
"No. I haven't seen him."
"There was another man…"
"It was the other man," she said. "Dan told him you had asked about the Bible and if he believed in God."
"So now you're satisfied about me."
"I don't know," she said, her voice tense and tight. "I suppose I am, although I can't be sure. It all has been a nightmare. Not knowing anything. Being watched. I knew they were watching me; I saw them. And I am positive that my phone was tapped. I couldn't just sit still. I couldn't simply sit and take it. That's why I went to Appleton. And you—you've been watching, too!"
He nodded. "You and Frost and this other man—this Chapman. Miss, we don't merely paint the slogans on the walls. We do many other things. We fight Forever Center in every way we can."
"But why?"
"Because they are our enemies; they're the enemies of mankind. We're all that's left of the old mankind. \Ve are the underground. We've been driven underground."
"I don't mean that. I mean why are you watching us?"
"I suppose that's part of it. But we can help you, too. We were standing by the night the man was killed, behind the restaurant. We were ready to be of help, but Frost didn't need our help."
"And you know where he is?"
"No. We know he stole a car. We figure that he left the city. We lost him, but the last we saw of him he was heading west."
"And you thought that I might know."
"Well, no, we didn't think so. We'd not have contacted you if you'd not gone to Forever Center."
"What has that to do with it? I had the right…"
"You had the right, of course. But now Apple-ton knows that you know he is watching you. So long as you played stupid and said nothing, you were safe."
"Now I suppose I'm no longer safe."
"You can't fight Forever Center," he told her. "No one person can. There'll be an accident, something will happen. We have seen it happen in other instances."
"But I have something that he wants."
"Not something that he wants. Something, rather, that he wants no one else to have. The answer is quite simple. With Frost out of the way and you out of the way, he'll be in the clear."
"You know all about this?"
"Miss," said Button, "I'd be downright simple if I didn't have my pipelines into Forever Center."
And this was it, she thought. No ordinary band of religious fanatics, no simple slogan painters, but a well-organized and efficient band of rebels who through the years, working quietly, and no doubt with daring, had caused Forever Center more trouble than anyone realized.
But doomed to failure. For no one could stand against the force and strength of a structure that, in effect, was owner of the world and that, furthermore, held out the promise of eternal life.
Into a structure such as this, there surely would be pipelines. Not only by the Holies but by anyone who might stand to gain. And with the greed occasioned by the driving need to establish an estate against the second life, there always would be those who would provide the pipelines.
"I suppose that I should thank you," said Ann.
"No thanks are necessary."
"Where can I drop you?"
"Miss Harrison," Sutton said, "I have more to say to you and I hope you'll listen to me."
"Why, of course, I'll listen."
"This paper that you have…"
"So you want it, too."
"If something should happen to you, if…"
"No," said Ann. "It isn't mine. It belongs to Daniel Frost."
"But if it should be lost. It's a weapon, don't you see? I don't know what is in it, but we…"
"I know. You'd use anything that you could get. Anything at all. No matter how you got it. No matter what it was."
"You're not very complimentary, but I suppose that is the case."
"Mr. Sutton," Ann said, "I'm going to pull over to the curb. I'll slow up, but I won't stop. And I want you to get out."
"If you wish, miss."
"I do wish," she said. "And leave me alone. One is enough, trailing me and spying. I don't need two of you."
It had been a mistake going to see Marcus Apple-ton, she told herself. No matter what she might have thought or said, this was not something that could be resolved in a court of law. And a bluff, no matter how well managed, was no good at all. There was, it seemed, too much at stake and too many people who had an interest in what was going on. You could not dodge them all.
There was just one answer for this moment. She could not go back, not to her office, nor to her apartment. For now the squeeze was on and if she had her way about it, she would not be caught.
She slowed the car and Sutton stepped heavily to the curb.
"Thanks for the ride," he said.
"Don't mention it," she told him, and gunned the car back into the flowing traffic.
She had some money in her bag and her credit cards and there was no reason why she should go back.
On the lam, she thought. But not really on the lam. Going to someone, not running from someone.
God grant, she thought, that he's still all right!
28
He had swung far south of Chicago. Once, from far off, he had seen the distance-misted towers and blocks of masonry that rose beside the lower end of the lake. Now he was west of it and heading north, still following the tiny, twisting, oldtime roads. At times they dwindled out or became impassable and he would be forced to turn around and retrace his way, looking for another of the primitive, grass-grown highways that trended in the right direction.
It had been like that all the way from the East Coast and he had not made good progress. Although there was no reason now that he should make good progress. There was no reason, he told himself time and time again, that he go anywhere. He had no actual destination; the destination that he did have was an emotion-charged fantasy in which there could be no real meaning and no purpose. The comfort and identity which it seemed to hold was no more than delusion; when he arrived it would be as empty and as barren as any mile along the road he took to reach it. But knowing this, he still made his way toward it, driven by an inner urge which he failed to understand.