"You mean the Bishop girl in Des Moines?" Roberts nodded unhappily.
"Got the report from Des Moines on it this afternoon. Trumped up from
beginning to end. I tell you, Towne is not playing around. I don't
know how he plans to work things, but I'm afraid that story was just
a starter. He'll do everything he can to tie the Alien up with the
Psi-Highs in the public eye--and you know Ben Towne when he gets
rolling. He'll play this rumor business up to the hilt. And the way
things are in the Senate now, that could mean real trouble."
"Who's controlling Security news releases?"
Roberts gave a short laugh. "Take a guess. Just one guess. Don't miss
tonight, my friend."
* * * * *
Faircloth nodded and signalled off. He sat swearing quietly to himself
for a few moments. Then Marino came by, and he swung out into the hall
again, glancing at his watch. "Ready?"
Marino nodded. "Got the squads placed on the 41st and 43rd. Power goes
off when we step off the elevator on the 41st. Okay?"
Faircloth grunted, and spread out a floor plan of the 42nd floor. "Is
the building all clear?"
"All the commercial levels, yes. And autolocks go on all the doors but
the one we want when the power goes off."
"Good. At least we shouldn't have residents underfoot. You've got
Psi-Highs posted outside the building?"
"Yes, in 'copters. Circling the building fairly close, out of sight
range of the 42nd."
"All right. We'll move in on him as soon as the power goes off. I want
cameras going everywhere--in the corridors, in the stairwells, even
in the 'copters outside. If there's a slip-up, I want to see where he
goes, and especially I want a picture of him. A _good_ picture of him.
Maybe he can fuzz up human eyesight, but he'll have a hell of a time
fuzzing up a camera. Let's go."
They stepped on the elevator, felt it rush up to the 41st floor. They
stepped off. As the door closed behind them, the whirring motors died,
and the lights went out. Faircloth led the way swiftly to the closed
stairwell where they met four other men, one with a motion camera.
"Cover everything," Paul said sharply. "If you see him, stop him with a
shocker, not with pellets. We want him alive." He opened the stairwell
and started up with the men behind him. Moments later they met part of
the group from the 43rd; they started swiftly down the dark corridor
toward the pinpointed residential suite.
And then, like a savage blow, a wall of fire exploded in Faircloth's
brain. He gave a scream and jerked out his arms in an agonized
convulsion. He fell forward on his face.
Wave after wave of searing agony burned through his brain; he jerked on
the floor, trying to scream again, unable to force a sound through his
twisted lips. He heard shouts around him, and a whistle shrilled; there
were running feet. Somebody tripped over him, tumbled to the floor with
a bone jarring crash. Three shots rang out even as he dragged himself
to his knees.
He was blinded; he had never felt such horrible, driving pain, and
he clawed along the wall as more footsteps echoed frantically in the
corridor. Suddenly Marino was shaking his arm, and together they burst
through the open door of the suite as a roar of derisive laughter tore
through his mind.
Faircloth opened his eyes and saw the empty room through a burning red
haze of pain. He collapsed on a chair, exhausted, as Marino threw open
all the doors. He gave a shout down the hall and others came running.
Unbelieving, Faircloth stared around him, then looked frantically at
Marino. "You--you got him on the stairs?"