Gogarty looked sick. "There's--there's a report on your desk, Mr.
Defoe," he said worriedly. "We--well--figured the half-masses just got
close enough to boil instead of to explode. We--"
"I see." Defoe looked at him for a long moment. Then, disregarding
Gogarty, he turned back to me, shoved the coffee at me. "All right,
Thomas. They've got the warhead. Hydrogen? Cobalt? What about fuel?"
I told him what I knew. Gogarty, listening, licked his lips. I didn't
envy him. I could see the worry in him, the fear of Defoe's later
wrath. For in Defoe, as in Slovetski, there was that deadly fire.
It blazed only when it was allowed to; but what it touched withered
and died. I had not seen Defoe as tightly concentrated, as drivingly
intent, before. I was sorry for Gogarty when at last, having drained me
dry, Defoe left. But I was glad for me.
* * * * *
He was gone less than an hour--just time for me to eat a Class-C meal a
silent expediter brought.
He thrust the door open and stared at me with whitely glaring eyes.
"If I thought you were lying, Thomas ..." His voice was cracking with
suppressed emotion.
"What happened?" I demanded.
"Don't you know?" He stood trembling, staring at me. "You told the
truth--or part of the truth. There _was_ a hideout on Vesuvius. But an
hour ago they got away--while you were wasting time. Was it a stall,
Thomas? Did you know they would run?"
I said, "Defoe, don't you see, that's all to the good? If they had to
run, they couldn't possibly take the bomb with them. That means--"
He was shaking head. "Oh, but you're wrong, Thomas. According to the
director of the albergo down the hill, three skyhook helicopters came
over--big ones. They peeled the roof off, as easy as you please, and
they lifted the bomb out and then flew away."
* * * * *
I said stupidly, "Where?" He nodded. There was no emotion in his voice,
only in his eyes. He might have been discussing the weather. "Where?
That is a good question. I hope we will find it out, Thomas. We're
checking the radar charts; they can't hide for long. But how did they
get away at all? Why did you give them the time?"
He left me. Perversely, I was almost glad. It was part of the price
of switching allegiance, I was learning, that shreds and tatters of
loyalties cling to you and carry over. When I went against the Company
to rescue Benedetto, I still carried with me my Adjusters' Handbook.
And I confess that I never lost the habit of reading a page or two
in it, even in the Catacombs, when things looked bad. And when I saw
the murderous goal that Slovetski's men were marching toward, and I
returned to Defoe, I still could feel glad that Benedetto, at least,
had got away.
But not far.
It was only a few hours, but already broad daylight when Gogarty,
looking shaken, came into the room. He said testily, "Damn it, Wills, I
wish I'd never seen you! Come on! Defoe wants you with us."
"Come on where?" I got up as he gestured furiously for haste.
"Where do you think? Did you think your pals would be able to stay out
of sight forever? We've got them pinpointed, bomb and all."
He was almost dragging me down the corridor, toward a courtyard. I
limped out into the bright morning and blinked. The court was swarming
with armed expediters, clambering into personnel-carrying copters
marked with the vivid truce-team insignia of the Company. Gogarty
hustled me into the nearest and the jets sizzled and we leaped into the
air.