mind.
He didn’t have to phone Helen. She beat him to it.
The audio-alarm told him he was wanted on the phone, and it was her face that lit up the screen when he flicked it on. She looked distraught.
“Little Ed! Do you know where Buzz is?”
He scowled at her. “No. The last time I saw him he was with you at the club.”
“He’s disappeared.”
“What does that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve been trying to find him, to suggest we three get together again and bounce this thing around. But he’s not at the paper. Nor at his apartment.”
Ed had a sudden premonition. “You don’t think he’s gone up to see Tubber?”
Her eyes were wide. “That’s also what I’m afraid of.”
Ed said, “I’ll be right over.” He flicked off the phone and turned to go.
8
The audio said, “Two gentlemen to see you.”
Ed looked at the door screen. Two men stood there. Two men he had never seen before.
He opened up and they looked at him impassively.
“You’re Edward Wonder?” the first one, the older one, said.
“That’s right.”
“There’s somebody’d like to talk to you.” He brought out a wallet, flicked it open for inspection. “My name’s Stevens; this is Johnson.”
Ed grunted his lack of awe. “Gestapo, eh? What can I do for you?”
“You can come along,” Johnson said, mildly courteous.
Ed Wonder was moved to stubbornness. “Why? What’ve I supposed to have done?”
The first one, Stevens, said, “Search me. Some big deal, Mr. Wonder. Now will you please come along?”
“Look, I’m a citizen, and a taxpayer.” He thought about that. “At least I was until a week ago. Aren’t you supposed to have a warrant, or something?”
“Evidently, that was the good old days,” Stevens said, without antagonism. “Things are in a hurry now. Emergency. We were told to bring you in soonest. So we’re doing it.”
Ed Wonder felt more stubborn by the minute. “No,” he said. “Besides, I hate coppers.”
They looked at him.
He said, “That’s a long time ambition. To call a police officer a copper.”
Johnson said, “Swell. So now you’ve called somebody a copper. So lets get along.”
Ed gave up. “All right. But if you think you’ve got an emergency, you ought to know about my emergency.”
“It’s probably the same one,” Stevens said.
They ushered him down the elevator and to the street, one at each arm, easily, but Ed Wonder had the feeling that if he’d made a sudden dash for it, he wouldn’t have got more than two feet. There was a huge hover limousine before the door. They ushered him into the front seat and took their own positions to both sides of him. Stevens dialed their destination and the hover car rose toa police level and sped south.
“Where’re we going?” Ed said.
“Manhattan.”
“Why?” Ed said. “Don’t I get some sort of idea? I thought I was allowed to phone a lawyer, or something.”
“That was the good old days,” Stevens said.
Johnson was more cooperative. “Actually, Mr. Wonder, we don’t know what they want you for. This is the most hush-hush operation I’ve ever worked on.”
“Who’s they?” Ed demanded, indignant again, now.
Neither of them responded to that.
Manhattan was approximately a hundred miles to the south. Stevens lessened the speed fifteen minutes later and slipped into the heavier traffic of Ultra-New York.
They approached the New Woolworth Building, entered a vehicle portal and came to a halt before three smartly uniformed men, two of whom carried heavy caliber automatics in quick draw holsters.
Ed and his two plainclothesmen came out of the car and received the oatmeal look from the guards.
Credentials were presented and checked. The unarmed guard got on a phone and spoke into it quietly. Then he turned, nodded and showed them to an elevator.
They rose at stomach churning acceleration for what seemed a fantasically long time to Ed Wonder. They reached a peak of speed and then began to drop off. The door finally opened.
There were more guards, also armed. These too were passed. Ed Wonder’s two plainclothesmen ushered him down a hall to a side corridor. He passed a window and shot a look out. They were evidently very near the top of the tallest building in Manhattan. The doors of some of the rooms they passed were open. Inside were scores, hundreds, of men and women office workers. All seemed harassed. Other rooms were being set up for further activity; I.B.M. machines being wheeled in, key punches, collators, automatic printers, sorters.
“What the devil’s going on, here?” Ed demanded.
Johnson replied reasonably, “Like we told you. We don’t know.”
They finally reached their destination. Ed was ushered into a small anteroom, unoccupied save for a single girl at a desk.
Stevens said, “Wonder, Edward. Kingsburg. ‘C’ priority. Number Z-168.” He handed her an envelope. She opened it and scanned the single sheet it contained. “Oh, yes. Mr. Yardborough has been waiting.” She directed her voice to an interoffice communicator. “Mr. Yardborough, Mr. Wonder from Kingsburg has been brought in.”
Ed said hotly, “Look here, am I under arrest? If so, I want to phone a lawyer.”
She looked at him, shook her head as though too tired to answer. “Mr. Yardborough will see you now.”
One of the plainclothesmen opened the inner door for Ed’s passage, then closed it behind him.
Mr. Yardborough sat at a littered desk. The way Ed remembered it, an executive should never have a littered desk. There should only be one item of business at a time before the efficient executive.
Mr. Yardborough’s desk was littered to hell and gone.
He looked up, as weary in appearance as his receptionist. “Have a chair, Mr… uh… Wonder. Let me see.” He took up a paper out of the mess before him, then three news clippings.
Ed Wonder sat down. At least, somewhere in here he’d find out what was going on. The whole thing looked less and less like a police matter. He began to suspect…
Yardborough said, “Edward Wonder. Program director of the Far Out Hour, broadcasting on radio from Kingsburg. This first item we have on you is a news item written by…” he checked the clipping “…Buzz De Kemp, of the Kingsburg
Ed started to say something, but Yardborough held up a weary hand. “Just a minute. The second item is along the same line. Mr. De Kemp did another piece, also tongue in cheek, contending that this itinerent preacher, Tubber, was the cause of the so-called Homespun Look fashion fad.”
Yardborough laid down the second clipping, took up a third. “The last item also carries Mr. De Kemp’s byline but the style of writing seems somewhat different.”
“It was redone by the rewrite desk,” Ed mumbled. Things were beginning to clear.
“Indeed. Very well. This story, humorous in tone, reveals that Tubber claims to have been the cause of the current difficulties pertaining to television and radio.” Yardborough put the clipping down.
Ed said, “Where’d you get those?”
The other man smiled ruefully. “Believe me, Mr. Wonder, we have copies of every newspaper in the world, in whatever language, coming in here to the top five floors of the New Woolworth Building. We have translators going
