inviting them out to dinner. It would happen exactly once, never again. And Larry had been buttering up to the Boss’ better half for the better part of a decade now. He had won her over the hard way, and with just those status labels, status symbols, that the Movement was in such revolt against.
He obtained his car, lifted it to one of the higher levels and headed for Newport News. The former naval base and maritime center was shortly to be assimiliated into Greater Washington but hadn’t quite made it yet. It was a half hour trip and he wasn’t particularly expectant of results. The tip Sam Sokolsld had given him wasn’t much to go by. Seemingly, Frank Nostrand was a friend of the Professor’s, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was connected with the Movement, or that he was aware of Professor Voss’ whereabouts.
He might have saved himself the trip.
The bird had flown again. In fact, two birds had flown. Not only was Frank Nostrand not at the Madison Air Laboratories, but he wasn’t at home, either. Larry Woolford, mindful of his departmental chief’s words on the prestige these people carried, and the need to avoid hanky-panky when they were involved, took a full hour in acquiring a search warrant before breaking into the Nostrand home.
Nostrand was supposedly a bachelor, but the auto-bungalow, similar to Larry Woolford’s own, showed signs of double occupancy, and there was little indication that the guest had been a woman.
Disgruntled, Larry Woolford dialed the offices, asked for Walt Foster. It took nearly ten minutes before his colleague faded in.
He said, snappishly, “I’m up to my eyebrows, Larry. What in the hell do you want?”
Larry gave him Frank Nostrand’s address. “This guy has disappeared, Walt.”
“So?”
“He was a close friend of Professor Voss. I got a warrant to search his house. It shows signs he had a guest. Possibly it was the Professor. Do you want to get some of the boys down here to go through the place? Possibly there’s some sort of clue to where they took off for. The Professor’s on the run and he’s no professional at this. If we can pick
Walt Foster slapped a hand to his face in anguish. “You knew where the Professor was hiding, and you tried to pick him up on your own and let him get away. Why didn’t you discuss this with either the Boss or me? I’m in charge of this operation! I would have had a dozen men down there. You’ve really fouled this one up, Woolford!”
Larry stared at him. Already Walt Foster was making sounds like an enraged superior.
He said mildly, “Sorry, Walt. I came down here on a very meager tip. I didn’t really expect it to pan out. It was one chance in a million.”
“Well, in the future, for crissakes, clear it with either me or the Boss before running off half-cocked into something, Woolford. Yesterday, you had this whole assignment on your own. Today, it’s no longer a minor matter. Our department alone has two hundred people on it, in Greater Washington alone. The F.B.I. must have five times that many and that’s not even counting the Secret Service’s interest. It’s no longer your individual baby.”
“Sorry,” Larry repeated. Then, “I don’t imagine you’ve got hold of Ilya Simonov yet.”
The other was disgusted. “Do you think we’re magicians? We just put out the call for him a few hours ago. He’s no amateur. If he doesn’t want to be picked up, and he obviously doesn’t, he’ll go to ground and we’ll have our work cut out for us finding him. I can’t see that it’s particularly important anyway.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Larry said. “But you never know. He might have learned some things that we’re not up on. See you later, Walt.”
Walter Foster stared at him for a moment as though about to say something, but then tightened his lips and faded off.
Larry looked at the phone screen for a moment. “Did that phony expect me to call him
XVI
The next two days dissolved into routine.
Frustrated, Larry Woolford spent most of his time in his office digesting developments, trying to figure out a new line of attack. There had to be something, some manner in which to flush this Movement thing before they came up with their next step in disrupting the country’s socioeconomic system.
For want of something else, he put his new secretary, a brightly efficient girl, as style and status conscious as LaVerne Polk wasn’t, to work typing up the tapes he had cut on Susan Self and the various phone calls he’d had with Hans Distelmayer and Sam Sokolski. From memory, he dictated to her his conversation with Professor Peter Voss.
He carefully read the typed sheets over and over again. He continually had the feeling in this case that there were loose ends dangling around. There must be several important points he should be able to put his finger upon.
On the morning of the third day he dialed Steve Hackett and on seeing the other’s worried, pug-ugly face fade in on the phone screen, decided that if nothing else the Movement was undermining the United States government by dispensing ulcers to its employees.
Steve growled, “What is it, Woolford? I’m as busy as a whirling dervish in a revolving door.”
“This is just the glimmer of an idea, Steve,” Larry told him. “But look, remember that conversation with Susan, when she described her father taking her to headquarters?”
“Yeah, of course. So what? Go on,” Steve said impatiently.
“Do you remember her description of headquarters?” Larry continued.
“Go on,” Steve rapped.
“What did it remind you of?”
“What in the hell are you leading up to?” the Secret Service agent demanded.
“This is just a hunch,” Larry went on, nibbling his lower lip thoughtfully, “but the way she described the manner in which her father took her to headquarters suggests that they’re in the Greater Washington area.”
Steve was taking him in with disgust. How obvious could you get?
Larry stuck to it, though. “What’s the biggest business in this area, Steve?”
“Government.”
“Right. And the way she described headquarters of the Movement, was rooms, after rooms, after rooms, in which they’d stored the money.”
“And?”
Larry said urgently, “Steve, I think in some way the Movement has taken over some governmental building, or storage warehouse. Possibly some older building, no longer in use. It would be a perfect hideout. Who would expect a subversive organization to be in a governmental building? All they’d need would be a few officials here and there who were on their side and—”
Steve said wearily, “You couldn’t have thought of this two days ago, could you?”
Larry cut himself off sharply. “Eh?”
Steve said, “We found their headquarters. One of their captured members cracked. Ben Ruthenberg of the F.B.I. found he had a morals rap against him some years ago. Something to do with messing around with a very young boy. The homosexual bit, but with a young kid, instead of a consenting adult. So Ben scared the pants off him by talking about threats of exposure. At any rate, you’re right. They had established themselves in some government buildings going back to Spanish-American War days. We’ve arrested eight or ten officials that were involved in letting the Movement take over the buildings.”
“But the money?” Larry said.
“The money was gone,” Steve said bitterly. “They’d gotten it out in time. But Susan Self was right. There had evidently been room after room of it, stacked to the ceilings. Literally billions of counterfeit dollars. They’d moved out hurriedly, but they left enough loose hundreds, fifties, twenties, tens and fives around to give us an idea. Look, Woolford, I thought you’d been pulled off this case and that Walt Foster was handling it.”
Larry said sourly, “I’m beginning to think
