along somehow, but you'll just get things into a worse mess.'
'I've got to try,' said Kennedy.
'And I still want my girl back.'
'I can't do that; I need Snyder too much. But I'll make it up to you somehow.' Kennedy sighed. 'Lord, if you knew how much I've wanted to tell all this!'
With sudden wariness: 'Not that it's to be repeated. In fact, you're to lay off me; call off your dogs. Don't try to tell anyone else what I've told you. You'd never be believed and I already have enough power to suppress the story, if you should get it out somehow. And if you give me any more trouble at all, I'll see to it that you— stop.'
'Murder?'
'Or commitment to an asylum. I can arrange that too.'
Fraser sighed. He felt oddly unexcited, empty, as if the interview had drained him of his last will to resist. He held the pipe loosely in his fingers, letting it go out.
'Ask me a favor,' urged Kennedy. 'I'll do it, if it won't harm my own program. I tell you, I want to square things.'
'Well—'
'Think about it. Let me know.'
'All right.' Fraser got up. 'I may do that.' He went out the door without saying goodnight.
4
HE sat with his feet on the table, chair tilted back and teetering dangerously, hands clasped behind his head, pipe filling the room with blue fog. It was his usual posture for attacking a problem.
And damn it, he thought wearily, this was a question such as he made his living on. An industrial engineer comes into the office. We want this and that—a machine for a very special purpose, let's say. What should we do, Mr. Fraser? Fraser prowls around the plant, reads up on the industry, and then sits down and thinks. The elements of the problem are such-and-such; how can they be combined to yield a solution?
Normally, he uses the mathematical approach, especially in machine design. Most practicing-engineers have a pathetic math background—they use ten pages of elaborate algebra and rusty calculus to figure out something that three vector equations would solve. But you have to get the logical basics straight first, before you can set up your equations.
All right, what is the problem? To get Judy back. That means forcing Kennedy to restore her normal emotional reactions—no, he didn't want her thrust into love of him; he just wanted her as she had been.
What are the elements of the problem? Kennedy acts outside the law, but he has blocked all official channels. He even has connections extending through the Iron Curtain.
Hmmmm—appeal to the FBI? Kennedy couldn't have control over them—
Martinez could help no further. Sworsky had closer contact with Washington. He'd been so thoroughly cleared that they'd be inclined to trust whatever he said. But Sworsky doubted the whole story; like many men who'd suffered through irresponsible Congressional charges, he was almost fanatic about having proof before accusing anyone of anything. Moreover, Kennedy knew that Sworsky was Fraser's friend; he'd probably be keeping close tabs on the physicist and ready to block any attempts he might make to help. With the backing of a man like Snyder, Kennedy could hire as many detectives as he wanted.
In fact, whatever the counter-attack, it was necessary to go warily. Kennedy's threat to get rid of Fraser if the engineer kept working against him was not idle mouthing. He could do it—and, being a fanatic, would.
But Kennedy, like the demon of legend, would grant one wish—just to salve his own conscience. Only what should the wish be? Another woman? Or merely to be reconciled, artificially, to an otherwise-intolerable situation?
Fraser swore at himself. Damn it to hell, this was a problem in logic. No room for emotion. Of course, it might be a problem without a solution. There are plenty of those.
He squinted, trying to visualize the office. He thought of burglary, stealing evidence—silly thought. But let's see, now. What was the layout, exactly? Four suites on one floor of the skyscraper, three of them unimportant offices of unimportant men. And—
Fraser sat for a long while, hardly moving. Then he uncoiled himself and ran, downstairs and into the street and to the nearest pay phone. His own line might be tapped—
'Hello, hello, Juan?... Yes, I know I got you out of bed, and I'm not sorry. This is too bloody important.... Okay, okay.... Look, I want a complete report on the Messenger Advertising Service.... When? Immediately, if not sooner. And I mean
'Hello, Jim? Were you asleep too?... Sorry.... But look, would you make a list of all the important men you know fairly well? I need it bad.... No, don't come over. I think I'd better not see you for a while. Just mail it to me.... All right, so I am paranoid....'
JEROME K. FERRIS was a large man, with a sense of his own importance that was even larger. He sat hunched in the chair, his head dwarfed by the aluminum helmet, his breathing shallow. Around him danced and flickered a hundred meters, indicator lights, tubes. There was a low humming in the room, otherwise it was altogether silent, blocked and shielded against the outside world. The fluorescent lights were a muted glow.
Fraser sat watching the greenish trace on the huge oscilloscope screen. It was an intricate set of convolutions, looking more like a plate of spaghetti than anything else. He wondered how many frequencies were involved. Several thousand, at the very least.
'Fraser,' repeated Kennedy softly into the ear of the hypnotized man. 'Colin Fraser. Colin Fraser.' He touched a dial with infinite care. 'Colin Fraser. Colin Fraser.'
The oscilloscope flickered as he readjusted, a new trace appeared. Kennedy waited for a while, then: 'Robert Kennedy. Sentiment, Inc. Robert Kennedy. Sentiment, Inc. Robert Kennedy. Sentiment—'
He turned off the machine, its murmur and glow died away. Facing Fraser with a tight little smile, he said: 'All right. Your job is done. Are we even now?'
'As even, as we'll ever get, I suppose,' said Fraser.
'I wish you'd trust me,' said Kennedy with a hint of wistfulness. 'I'd have done the job honestly; you didn't have to watch.'
'Well, I was interested,' said Fraser.
'Frankly, I still don't see what you stand to gain by the doglike devotion of this Ferris. He's rich, but he's too weak and short-sighted to be a leader. I'd never planned on conditioning him for my purposes.'
'I've explained that,' said Fraser patiently. 'Ferris is a large stockholder in a number of corporations. His influence can swing a lot of business my way.'
'Yes, I know. I didn't grant your wish blindly, you realize. I had Ferris studied; he's unable to harm me.' Kennedy regarded Fraser with hard eyes. 'And just in case you still have foolish notions, please remember that I gave him the father-conditioning with respect to myself. He'll do a lot for you, but not if it's going to hurt me in any way.'
'I know when I'm licked,' said Fraser bleakly; 'I'm getting out of town as soon as I finish those courses I'm signed up for.'
Kennedy snapped his fingers. 'All right, Ferris, wake up now.'
Ferris blinked. 'What's been happening?' he asked.
'Nothing much,' said Kennedy, unbuckling the electrodes. 'I've taken my readings. Thank you very much for the help, sir. I'll see that you get due credit when my research is published.'
'Ah—yes. Yes.' Ferris puffed himself out. Then he put an arm around Fraser's shoulder. 'If you aren't busy,' he said, 'maybe we could go have lunch.'
'Thanks,' said Fraser. 'I'd like to talk to you about a few things.'
