shouldn't have sold Forry out. You undoubtedly contacted the Graf's people on your own. They wouldn't have known how to get in touch with you, or even that you were working for Roy.'
The other said in a quick rage, 'Poor Cos is going to get it anyway! What difference does a few days make? We'll collect our ten thousand a day as long as he lasts and then, when they get to him, we'll get a bonus of maybe another half million from the Graf when they burn him. The Graf never reneges on a deal.'
'No,' Mary Ann said bitterly. 'And neither do I, you cynical gob of snot.'
Ferd Feldmeyer held out a hand. 'No more reports, Peters. Give me your transceiver.'
'Get screwed, you fat jerk.'
Ferd's eyebrows went up in his lardy face. 'Peters, I'm twice your weight and ten years younger. Do you really wanta try me?'
Jet glared but finally dipped a hand into his side pocket and brought forth the communications device. The speechwriter took it, dropped it to the floor, and ground it under his heel. 'You stupid, greedy bastard,' he said. 'You not only don't get the seventy thousand pseudo-dollars, but you won't get anything from the Graf's outfit, either.' He turned to Mary Ann. 'Let's go. We don't want to keep them waiting.'
Carrying their bags, Mary Ann and Ferd piled into the car parked in the driveway. In actuality, it was Jet Peters's vehicle, which bothered them not at all. Mary Ann drove.
Under way, Ferd Feldmeyer growled, 'The idiot. Didn't it ever occur to him that when the Graf's boys finally polished off Roy, some of us might go, too? They might just toss a grenade, getting us all. Then the Graf wouldn't have to renege on the quarter of a million he promised Jet. There wouldn't be any Jet to pay off.'
Mary Ann said, 'Well, at least we learned one thing.'
He looked over at her, still disgusted at the defection of his friend. 'What?'
'It's definite that it's the Graf's contract.'
'A hell of a lot of good that does us,' he said. 'The Graf's men are far and away the most efficient in their rotten business.'
The corner where they were scheduled to rendezvous wasn't far. The small Tri-Di station couldn't have been many miles away. Forry wasn't telling anything he could withhold.
Mary Ann parked, and within three minutes another car pulled up alongside them. Les Bates was at the wheel, Forry beside him. The rest were in the back.
Forry called over, 'Hurry it up. Let's get out of here.'
Mary Ann and Ferd brought their luggage over and stuffed it into the large compartment of the limousine. Ferd crowded into the front with Forry and Les; Mary Ann got into the back with Roy and the three other guards, taking a jump seat.
Roy said, 'Where the devil's Jet?'
Ferd answered wearily, 'He sold out to the Graf. Mary Ann caught him reporting. Evidently, he'd promised to finger you.'
Les took off, accelerating rapidly.
'Damn,' Forry said angrily. 'I didn't expect any of the team to get the gimmes this soon.'
They rode in silence for a moment.
Les said to Forry, 'Where are we going?'
And Forry said, 'I don't know.'
They all looked at him blankly.
He said impatiently, 'Don't you get it?
For a time, as they sped across the country, all were blank.
Billy Tucker said hesitantly, 'I was thinking in terms of getting a couple of mobile homes and keeping on the move. Just turning up from time to time for broadcasts.'
Roy objected, 'Then we'd be hiding from the news people as well as the Graf and we'd miss all that free publicity Forry's talking about.'
'And that's going to get your message across even faster than your own talks,' Mary Ann said.
Dick Samuelson said, 'I hope the organization is grinding out our pamphlets fast enough to meet the demand.'
'They won't have to,' Forry said. 'But never fear, profit-making publishers will get into the act. If there's a market, before the next week is out, you'll see more material on the Wobbly program than you ever suspected could exist. But to get back to it. Where do we go?'
Ron Ellison said hesitantly, 'I know a big hotel in Miami where they've got a king-size penthouse.
'I worked there once,' Ron told him. 'I know the place. It wouldn't take much to secure it. There's only one private elevator, with a steel door. And there's another steel door at the only stairway. The place was originally built with the idea of attracting South American politicians who'd taken off with their country's treasure, or Syndicate men, or maybe Tri-Di stars who wanted to get away from their fans.'
Forry said sourly, 'There are quite a few places in southern Florida of that type. Anything special about this one?'
'Well, yes,' Ron said. 'When I was working there, there were three or four other Wobblies besides me. Hotels are automated to hell and gone, these days, but you've always got to have some staff.'
'I get it,' Roy said. 'Having our own people planted in the hotel means that much more security. They might be able to spot something offbeat and report it to you.'
'That's right,' Ron said nodding. 'You'd be surprised how fast gossip goes through a big hotel. Suppose one of the Graf's men turned up claiming to be from the phone company and wanting to get into the penthouse for repairs. The hotel electrician, a chum-pal of mine named Larry, would spot him in a minute. Either that or he'd tag along with him, just to be sure, as long as he was in the hotel.'
'I'm sold,' Forry said. 'Ron, get on your transceiver and find out if that penthouse is available. If so, rent it in your name. Don't mention anything about Roy or me. Say you'll pay in advance daily but don't let on that you have endless funds. Say you're coming in tonight.'
While Ron was making arrangements, Forry said to Roy, 'If I know this type of hotel penthouse arrangement, there'll be a private entrance, probably at the rear of the hotel. Ron will know. We'll go in that way. You and I will have scarves around our heads, on the off chance that somebody who saw the broadcast might spot us. We want to be organized in that place before our coming-out party to the news syndicates.'
'Right,' Roy said. He took a deep breath. 'How long do you think I'll last, Forry?'
The other took time to light a smoke before answering. He said, trying to keep feeling from his voice, 'I don't know. Probably longer than anybody thinks. There are some aspects of this one that the Grafs boys haven't run into before. In the past, the suckers who signed the Deathwish Policies to have their fun and spend their credits did it in public—nightclubs, restaurants, bars, shops, theatres. They were sitting ducks. We're going to present them with a whole new set of problems.'
They pulled up before the looming beachside resort hotel an hour later and were met at the private entrance by the manager. Monsieur Pierre Boucherer was a product of the best Swiss hotel management school, therefore, a whiz at fawning.
He fawned. He welcomed their party of eight with pure enthusiasm. He saw nothing untoward in the heads of two men swathed in scarves. He saw nothing untoward in the party insisting on taking up their own luggage to their extrav-agantly expensive skytop rental. He would have seen nothing untoward if they'd all had live coral snakes for neckties. He alone accompanied them to the penthouse.
It took two trips in view of their number, the amount of luggage, and the fact that the elevator was only medium-size. But at last, all of them were gathered in the spacious living room.
'Jesus,' Billy Tucker said, looking around, taking it all in. He had obviously never been in a luxury hotel apartment.
Monsieur Boucherer fawned, even as he rubbed his gloved hands together. 'And now, how may I serve you?'
Forry, still masked like a Moslem virgin, looked over at the bar. He then sent his eyes around to his
