alley a quick frisk after they passed out. Did you get anything?'
'A shooter,' Billy said, satisfaction in his voice.
'Well, as soon as we get out into the countryside, you ought to ditch it. We can't afford to be found by the police with an unlicensed gun. If they coop Roy up in some banger, the Graf's men will figure out how to get to him within hours. If any of the rest of your boys are heeled, think about that.'
They looked at him respectfully even as Les, obviously expert at the wheel, took them out onto the highway. Dick Samuelson said, 'Yes, sir,' meek as a mouse, and brought out a compact black automatic, holding it in a gloved hand to be tossed out a window.
Billy dipped his hand into the side pocket of his prole denim jacket reluctantly and came out with a Gyrojet pistol. 'It's a beauty,' he said with regret. 'Whoever those cloddies were, they didn't skimp on equipment.'
'They're probably employees of the Graf,' Forry said sourly.
Dick Samuelson hissed between his teeth. 'Then Roy wasn't just whistlin' Dixie when he said that most likely we'd be in thick soup, eh? I've heard about the Graf.'
Ron said, 'There's a car behind. I think it's a tail.'
Les grinned gently and snicked his gear selector. 'I picked out this pile of iron myself,' he said. 'Belt up, boys.'
Billy said to Forry, 'You still think we ought to toss these shooters out?'
'Absolutely,' the newsman said. 'The first time we turn a comer, so they can't see you do it. For all we know, they're police. We don't want to take on a carload of fuzzies.'
'Okay,' Billy said. 'Get our asses out of here, Les. Graf's men or fuzzies, they're sure to be heeled.'
Shaking their pursuers was child's play for Lester Bates. He was not only a racing driver but a very smooth one, powering through the apex of every turn, using every inch of the road.
It was only after there could be no doubt that they had lost their pursuers that Les turned to Forry. 'Where do you want to go?'
Forry gave directions and then, after a time, said, 'That tavern, there. Pull in behind it.'
Roy looked at him. 'You don't mean we're hiding out in a roadside bar?'
The little man grunted amusement. 'Hardly. That's just where we drop this car. You know what's happened by this time? Whoever was following us has noted our license number and relayed it to either the police or some of their own organization. So we switch. I have a car stashed here; the owner's an old drinking buddy who can keep his mouth shut.'
Dick Samuelson looked over at him as they pulled into the parking area. 'Even if the Graf's hit men are working him over?'
'No, not then,' Forry admitted, drawing deeply on his cigarette. 'But Ted doesn't know enough to tell them anything. His instructions are to give them the truth. We left a hovercar here and later picked it up, leaving this one in its place.'
They pulled up beside the vehicle he indicated. Les looked at it questioningly. He said, 'It has no license plates. That'll make it conspicuous.'
Forry nodded. 'On purpose. Ted couldn't tell anybody what the numbers were, even if he wanted to. We'll put the plates on shortly, down the road a bit.'
Continually checking to see whether they had picked up new pursuers, they finally made it to their destination. It was an old house on the beach to the south of Miami, fairly well isolated. Undoubtedly, it had once been the winter home of a wealthy northerner. Forry had Les Bates back the car into the garage, so that it would be hidden from view but poised for escape.
The six of them went into the rambling one-story villa. Forry led the way to the living room. Roy looked about him. 'How'd you manage this?'
Forry said, 'I rented it for a week, using my international credit card. I've got a few thousand saved up. We won't use your million a day until after we've made our initial play. We don't want them to zero in on us at this stage.'
They all found seats in comfort chairs or on couches. Ron said, on edge, 'What happens now?'
Forry said, 'In a minute, one of you go up to the sundeck on the roof as a sentry. But I want to talk to you first, before the others get here.'
'What others?' Roy said.
'You'll see,' Forry told him. He looked around at Ron, Les, Dick, and Billy, ran his tongue thoughtfully over his gray lower lip, and said, 'The question becomes, how do Roy and I know we can trust you? I think his idea of getting Wobbly members to act as his bodyguard, rather than professionals, was a good one. In the past, Deathwish Policyholders have hired professionals. Often they wound up getting hit by their own guards, who were either bribed by the Graf's men, or were already on his payroll. No offense intended, but how can we know that one of you can't be gotten to, if the bribe's big enough?'
Silence. When Roy spoke, his voice carried rock-solid confidence. 'Forry,' he said, 'it's a thing you wouldn't know about. All of these boys are at least third-generation Wobblies. They got their ethics at grandpa's knee.'
'Two of my great-grandparents, as well,' Les said quietly.
Roy continued, 'I've know Les, Ron, Billy, and Dick all of their lives. Their parents are personal friends. When I was Billy's age, I lived next door to his folks. I've changed his diapers. You see, Forry, being a radical becomes a way of life. Practically all of your family's friends are Wobblies. You play with the children of other Wobbly families. Your fun is mostly picnics or dances or other entertainments thrown to raise funds for the movement. You attend meetings with your parents before you're old enough to understand what the hell that sweaty, sincere guy with the microphone is talking about. When you're old enough to notice girls, the ones you can approach easiest are Wobblies themselves, probably one of the girls you grew up with. If you have children, they're raised in the same tradition, a sort of political ghetto. The radical movement in the United States started in 1877 with the socialistic Labor Party. The Wobbly movement got going in 1905, mostly with socialists. Do you know how many generations ago that was?
'Think of it! Eight generations of us. Oh, new recruits do come in; not many, I admit. And sometimes Wobblies drop out and stay out. But largely our membership consists of people raised in the radical tradition. Forry,' he chuckled, 'I'm beginning to suspect we're starting to breed true. Young fellows like these four are
'There goes your credibility,' Forry growled. 'Just kidding, of course. But I selected these four because they're third-or-more-generation revolutionists and all personal friends of mine, like their parents before them. If I can't trust them, I don't give a damn how soon they kill me.'
'Okay, okay.' Forry Brown looked around at the four, one by one. They all wore expressions of faint embarrassment, with pride shining through.
Roy said, 'Now I've got a question. Back in Nassau, you asked Oliver Brett-James how big the benefits to his company were when I die, and how much the daily premiums he had to pay were. Why did you want to know?'
Forry brought a pack of his smuggled cigarettes from a pocket and took his time lighting up. He said finally, 'I wanted to know how much time we had before his company started hurting. As of midnight tonight, I start earning my way. Your publicity starts tomorrow. I've already gotten in touch with my contacts in Tri-Di news. They're all going to broadcast the story of the Wobbly who took out a Deathwish Policy so that he'd acquire the credit needed to spread his message. Oh yes, tomorrow I start earning my ten thousand pseudo-dollars a day. The longer I keep you alive, the longer I keep my job. It stops the moment you do.' Les blurted, 'Ten thousand a day!' Forry spread his hands. 'Why not? There's a personal risk. Suppose I get into the line of fire when somebody takes a shot at Roy? Or suppose somebody heaves a bomb that gets all of us? Besides, what is ten thousand to Roy? He has a million on tap every day. He can afford to keep his hired help happy. By the way, you four bodyguards will each get ten thousand daily.'
Dick Samuelson growled, 'You're one thing, but
Roy Cos shook his head at that. He said, 'No. Forry's right, Dick. There's nothing in that contract that says I can't have a bodyguard and pay him as much as he's worth. I'm not allowed to make donations to organizations— political, religious, or whatever. But you can squirrel your wages away. When I've finally had it, you boys can contribute as much to the movement as you like. If I last long enough, you'll be rich. I don't believe I've ever known a rich Wobbly. You'll be in a position to make the biggest donations to the organization ever.''
