and the C.I.A. man. He suspected that they had gone through similar routines.
Moskowitz said, “With a name like mine, yet, they have me a Bishop of the Orthodox Greek Catholic Church.”
Larry said, hopelessly, “What in the name of whatever is if all about?”
Ruthenberg said, resignation in voice, “It all started early this morning, so far as we know. As a matter of fact, we don’t exactly know what in the hell has happened.” Which didn’t seem to answer the question.
Larry said, “I don’t get it. Obviously, the Department of Records is fouled up in some manner. How and why?”
“How, we know, more or less,” the Boss rumbled disgustedly. “Why, is another matter. You’ve spent more time than anyone else on this assignment, Lawrence. Perhaps you can tell us.” He grabbed up a pipe from his desk, tried to light it noisily, noticed finally that it held no tobacco and threw it to the desk top again.
“Evidently, a large group of these Movement individuals either already worked in Records or wriggled themselves into Key positions in the technical end of the department. Now they’ve managed to sabotage the files.”
“Weve caught most of them already,” one of the F.B.I. men growled, “but damn little good that does us at this stage of the game.”
The C.I.A. supervisor made a gesture indicating that he gave it all up. He said, “Not only here, but it happened in Chicago and San Francisco as well. All at once. Evidently perfectly rehearsed. Personnel records from coast to coast are all bollixed. The question is, why?”
Larry said slowly, “I think I know that now. Yesterday I wouldn’t have but I’ve been picking up odds and ends from here and there.”
They all fixed their eyes on him.
Larry sat down and ran a hand back through his hair. “The general idea is to change the country’s reliance on social-label judgements.”
“On
Larry viewed his chief. “Of one person judging another according to social-labels. Professor Voss and the others—”
“Who did you say?” Ruthenberg interrupted with a snap.
“Voss. Professor Peter Voss from the University over in the Baltimore section of town. He’s the ring leader, the brains behind the Movement.”
Ruthenberg snapped to Fraina, “Get on the phone and send out a pick-up order for him.”
Fraina was on his feet. “What kind of a charge do I lay on him, Ben?”
Ben Ruthenberg said sarcastically, “Rape, or something. Get moving, well figure out a charge later. The guy’s a fruitcake.”
Larry said wearily, “He’s already gone into hiding. I’ve been trying to locate him. He managed to slip me some knockout drops and got away yesterday.”
The Boss looked at him in disgust. He said, “You mean a rank amateur managed to do you in?”
There was no answer to that.
Ruthenberg said, “We’ve had men go into hiding before. Get going, Fraina.”
Fraina left the office and the others looked back to Larry, waiting for him to go on.
The Boss said, “About this social-label nonsense—”
Larry said, “They think the country is going to pot because of it. People hold high office or places of responsibility not because of superior intelligence, or even acquired skill, but because of the social-labels they’ve accumulated, and these can be based on something as flimsy—from the Movement’s viewpoint—as who your grandparents were, how much seniority you have on the job, what part of town you live in, or what tailor cuts your clothes.”
Their expressions ran from scowls and frowns to complete puzzlement.
Walt Foster, Larry’s neck and neck rival, grumbled, “What’s all this got to do with sabotaging the country’s Records? You sure you know what you’re talking about, Larry?”
Larry shrugged as he said, “I don’t have the complete picture, but one thing is sure. It’s going to be harder for a while to base your opinions on a quick hundred-word brief on a man. Yesterday, an employer, considering hiring somebody, could dial the man’s dossier, check it, and form his opinions by the status labels the would-be employee could produce. Today, he’s damn well going to have to exercise his own judgement.”
LaVerne’s face lit up the screen on the Boss’ desk and she said, “Those two members of the Movement who were picked up in Alexandria are here, sir.”
“Send them in,” the Boss rumbled. He looked at Larry. “The F.B.I, managed to arrest almost everyone directly involved in the sabotage.”
The two prisoners seemed more amused than otherwise. They were young men, in their early thirties—well- dressed and obviously intelligent. The Boss had them seated side by side and glared at them for a long moment before speaking. Larry and the others took chairs in various parts of the room and added their own stares to the barrage.
The Boss said, “Your situation is an unhappy one, gentlemen.”
One of the two shrugged.
The Boss said, “You can, ah, hedge your bets by cooperating with us. It might make the difference between a year or two in prison—and life.”
One of them grinned and said, “I doubt it.”
The Boss tried a slightly different approach. “You have no reason to maintain a feeling of obligation to Professor Voss and the others. You’ve been let down. You have obviously been abandoned. Had they any feeling for you there would have been more efficacious arrangements for your escape.”
The more articulate of the two shrugged again. “We were expendable, and were fully aware of it,” he said. “However, it won’t be long before we are out.”
“You think so?” Ruthenberg grunted.
The revolutionist looked at him. “Yes, I do,” he said. “Six months from now and we’ll be heroes. By that time the Movement will have been a success.”
The Boss snorted. “Just because you deranged the Records? Why, that’s but temporary.”
“Not so temporary as you think,” the technician replied. “This country allowed itself to get deeply immeshed in punch-card and tape records. Oh, it made sense enough. With the population we have, and the endless files that result from our ultra-complicated society, it was simply a matter of developing a standardized system of records for the nation as a whole. Now, for all practical purposes,
“First step!” Larry blurted.
The two prisoners looked at him in obvious amusement. “That’s right,” the quieter of the two said. “This is just the first step. You didn’t think we expected to achieve our purpose with nothing more than this, did you?”
“Don’t kid yourselves,” Ben Ruthenberg bit out. “It’s also the last.”
The two Members of the Movement grinned at him. Oh, they were enjoying themselves all right, all right.
XV
When the others had gone, the Boss looked at Larry Woolford. He said sourly, “When this department was being formed, I doubt that anyone had in mind this particular type of subversion, Lawrence.”
Larry grunted. “Give me a good old-fashioned Commie, any time. Look sir, what are the Department of Justice boys going to do with those two prisoners?”
