stand for the complete dismemberment of the welfare state. We ought to get together to pull this rotten system down.'
More mutterings and still more agitation. The saturnine Max Finklestein was looking at his companion in amusement.
Hamp said deliberately, 'I've done a lot of wondering about the Nihilists. You are a continuation of the terrorists of the late 20th century, such as the Symbiosis Army here in the States, and the Sekigun, the so-called Red Army of Japan, and similar groups in Germany and Italy. Anti-establishment, but pro-what? And, given the viewpoint of those who opt for the status quo, you serve a very definite need. Whether you want to be or not, you serve as agents provocateurs. The assassinations and kidnappings laid at your door serve to turn sincere people of good will away from any movement that proclaims the need for fundamental change. People are repelled by what you do in the name of radicalism, which puts a chip on their shoulders about all revolutionary groups— including the Wobblies, who foreswear force and violence and want to make their changes through legal means. In short, you're the kiss of death to all the movements represented here tonight. If there was no such organization as the Nihilists, it would be to the interest of such outfits as the United Church, the IABI, the World Club and, for that matter, Mercenaries, Incorporated, to start one. They use you to louse up the image of anybody advocating change.'
'That's a lie!' Ostrander yelled in indignation.
'Is it?' the black said emptily. 'Let me give an example. Recently, the multimillionaire World Club man, Harold Dunninger, managed to get himself on the shitlist of the United Church, as well as in the bad graces of some of the higher-echelon members of the World Club. Names? Harrington Chase, Moyer of the IABI, and Lothar von Brandenburg, the Graf, who was anxious to take the place scheduled for
Dunninger in the top ranks of the World Club. Obviously it wouldn't do for Dunninger to be eliminated by one of the Graf's men. So the job was delegated to the Nihilists and the blame put on them.'
'That's a lie, you bastard!'
'I$o, it isn't, Ostrander. You engineered it yourself. You're a mole in the Nihilists, an agent of the Graf.'
The Nihilist delegate was gaping at him, his face white, only partially in anger. His younger companion seated next to him was eyeing him strangely.
Hamp shrugged in contempt. 'You pretended it was a kidnapping to raise funds for your organization but you put the ransom so high there was no chance of it being met. Then you killed him, per orders of the Graf. I don't have the proof with me here tonight, but now that I've made the charge, I have no doubt that your fellow Nihilists will look into the matter.'
The black flicked a hand at the chairman to indicate that he was through and returned to his chair.
Forty Brown looked at him, amusement on his wizened face. 'You really throw the shit in the fan, don't you?'
Roy Cos was looking thoughtful. 'You know,' he said, 'I think you're right, Hamp. I've often wondered about what motivates those Nihilists. They're just too far around the bend to be true.'
Hamp's talk had been the finish of the meeting. It broke up into squabbles, everybody standing as they argued.
Max said mildly, 'What happened to our friend, Nils Ostrander?'
Billy Tucker had come up, worried about the way the gathering was now milling around. He said, 'I just saw him light out, arguing with that kid with him. Shouldn't we get out of here?'
Hamp said to Roy, 'I'd like to talk to you a little more. Could it be arranged?'
Roy Cos said, 'We're staying in a suite at the Drake, just for the night. Why don't you come over with us?'
'Right,' Hamp told him. 'But just a minute. I want to say something to someone here.'
'Hurry it up,' Forry Brown told him, scowling. 'I don't like Roy to be exposed to so many people for so long, and we've still got to ran the gauntlet in the street. By this time the word's probably gotten around that the Deathwish Wobbly is inside this building and there might be a few thousand rubberneckers out there, with a few of the Graf's men sprinkled among them.'
Hamp made his way across the room and confronted one of the delegates, who looked as though he was preparing to leave.
Hamp said, looking directly into the man's eyes, 'Hello, Pinell. I understand you're looking for me.'
The other was too young to be very adept at covering but he tried. He said, 'The name's Merson and I represent…'
'Your name's Franklin Pinell,' Jerry interrupted flatly, 'and you were sent by the Graf and Peter Windsor to hit me. You're the son of the late Buck Pinell, co-founder of Mercenaries, Incorporated, who has an account amounting to some forty-five million pseudo-dollars in a bank in Berne.'
Frank Pinell's eyebrows went up in shock. He said, 'How the hell would you know a thing like that?'
'I own the bank,' Hamp said. 'Now, look, I want to talk to you but I have something else on the fire right now. Where are you staying?'
'At the Drake, but…'
'Wizard. That's where I'm going right now. In fact, maybe I'll register myself. I'll see you later tonight. What name did you say you were going under?'
'Merson,' Frank said weakly.
'See you later,' Hamp returned to where Roy and Forry and the bodyguards were waiting.
Forry, ever suspicious, said, 'Who the hell was that?'
Hamp granted amusement. 'A guy the Graf sent to finish me off. Maybe I'll tell you about it someday.'
Some of the delegates were still arguing out in the hall as the group of them headed for the elevator. Max said to Hamp, 'I've got some things to do tonight, including a report to the Executive Committee. I'll meet you in the morning.'
'Great,' Hamp told him. 'I'll register at the Drake.'
The guards took over again at the elevator. Billy and Ron went down first to check out the lobby. When the elevator returned the five remaining guards, plus Roy, Forry, Hamp, and Max, all crowded in. So did several of the other dele-gates, two of them still arguing. Forry began to remonstrate about their coming along in this elevator load, but Roy shook his head wearily and the little ex-newsman shrugged it off.
Halfway down, Roy's business manager gave a startled cough. Max darted a look at him. 'For Christ's sake,' he blurted. 'What's wrong?'
The small man's face was wet and shiny and gray of color. He had both of his fists clamped tight against his chest. His jaw was going up and down as if he was trying to say something that wouldn't come. Les blurted, 'He's having a heart attack!' Two of the guards grabbed the stricken man by the arms, supporting him. The elevator came to a halt at the ground floor and the group emerged, hauling Forry Brown with them. They headed for a chair.
Hamp yelled at the top of his voice, 'A doctor! Get a doctor from that police ambulance across the street!'
Forry Brown's eyebrows were high, his eyes bulging as though in surprise. His jaw continued to move, soundlessly. And even as they lowered him into the chair, he passed out. Two white-jacketed young men, Red Cross bands around their arms, came hurrying in with a stretcher. They expertly snaked the stricken man onto it and trotted from the lobby with him.
Ron said, 'I'll go along,' and followed after. Les was the first to recover from surprised confusion. He said to Roy, 'Let's get out of here. They'll take him to the hospital. There's nothing we can do and meanwhile, for all we know, there are a couple of the Graf's boys waiting outside.'
Roy nodded dumbly.
Hamp said, 'Under the circumstances, we'll have to call off our get-together.'
But the Wobbly organizer shook his head. 'No, if we've got anything to say to each other, we might as well do it. There's no guarantee I'll last the night.'
The six remaining guards stationed themselves around Hamp and their charge as the body of them moved out the door and made a beeline for the limousines. Roy, Hamp, and Billy got into the rear of one, two of the guards into the front. Then the three remaining got into the lead car. Hamp looked out the window. The crowd had grown considerably larger and the teenage kids with their baseball bats held it back, very businesslike. A half-drunk prole waved one hand high and yelled, ' 'Ray for Deathwish Wobbly!'
'Yeah,' Roy muttered as they took off.
