'He's still alive,' he said before they could ask.
'In surgery now, but the doctors don't give him much chance. I don't think we'll be getting any 18
William Greenleaf
answers out of him. The one in the balcony got away.'
'Got away?' Paul asked in surprise. 'How?'
'He slipped out before we could seal the exits.'
'Damn.'
'The Guard threw a net around the auditorium,' Hanes went on. 'Maybe we'll get lucky. Anyway, I think we should cancel the next show and get out of here.'
'I agree,' Paul said.
Dorland had kept silent, as if he had little interest in what had happened in the auditorium. Now he turned from the window and said, 'We can't cancel the show this late. People have come from all over the local sector to see it. Besides, we'll have to schedule another one to make up for the show that was ruined.'
'Ruined?' Paul said. 'You were almost done. In another five minutes—'
'Set it up for tomorrow night,' Dorland went on in the same quiet voice. He thought for a moment, then added, 'Some people may not be able to come back because of other plans. Refund double their ticket price. That might help make up for what happened.'
Paul stared gloomily down at his hands, calculating what that would cost. He bit his lip and turned to Hanes. 'Step up security for tonight. Two guards at each door, and at least a dozen inside. You'll have to use local people, but make sure you screen them.'
Hanes nodded and turned to leave. After the door had hissed shut, Paul leaned his head back and closed his eyes, letting himself sink deeper into the cushions of the chair. He felt as if all the energy had been drained out of him. A moment later he heard the sound of the heavy wardrobe door sliding open.
CLARION
19
'You aren't going out, I hope,' he said without opening his eyes.
'Not really.'
Paul's eyes snapped open. He had never heard the voice before. The bearded man stepped out of the wardrobe, ducking under the low doorway. He held a small black gun in one hand. Dorland had turned from the window to stare at him.
The man closed the wardrobe door and glanced at Paul. Then his eyes went to Dorland. A slow grin grew across his face.
'Hello, Dorland,' he said. 'It's been a long time.'
Chapter Two
WHEN DORLAND DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING, THE MAN
crossed the room in three long strides and dropped into one of the chairs across from Paul. He was a big, round- shouldered man with skin that was lined and creased from exposure to the elements. His eyelids drooped, giving him a look of haughty superciliousness. His hair was thin and sunbleached. He seemed relaxed and at ease—much different from the way he had looked in the auditorium. The brown coveralls he wore looked as if he'd slept in them three days running.
He glanced at the door, then waved the gun.
'Better lock that.'
