Three days later Joseph Dixon slid a closed-circuit message plate
across the desk to his boss.
"Here. You might be interested in this."
Reinhart picked the plate up slowly. "What is it? You came all the way
here to show me this?"
"That's right."
"Why didn't you vidscreen it?"
Dixon smiled grimly. "You'll understand when you decode it. It's from
Proxima Centaurus."
"Centaurus!"
"Our counter-intelligence service. They sent it direct to me. Here,
I'll decode it for you. Save you the trouble."
Dixon came around behind Reinhart's desk. He leaned over the
Commissioner's shoulder, taking hold of the plate and breaking the
seal with his thumb nail.
"Hang on," Dixon said. "This is going to hit you hard. According to
our agents on Armun, the Centauran High Council has called an
emergency session to deal with the problem of Terra's impending
attack. Centauran relay couriers have reported to the High Council
that the Terran bomb Icarus is virtually complete. Work on the bomb
has been rushed through final stages in the underground laboratories
under the Ural Range, directed by the Terran physicist Peter
Sherikov."
"So I understand from Sherikov himself. Are you surprised the
Centaurans know about the bomb? They have spies swarming over Terra.
That's no news."
"There's more." Dixon traced the message plate grimly, with an
unsteady finger. "The Centauran relay couriers reported that Peter
Sherikov brought an expert mechanic out of a previous time continuum
to complete the wiring of the turret!"
Reinhart staggered, holding on tight to the desk. He closed his eyes,
gasping.
"The variable man is still alive," Dixon murmured. "I don't know how.
Or why. There's nothing left of the Albertines. And how the hell did
the man get half way around the world?"
Reinhart opened his eyes slowly, his face twisting. "Sherikov! He must
have removed him before the attack. I told Sherikov the attack was
forthcoming. I gave him the exact hour. He had to get help--from the
variable man. He couldn't meet his promise otherwise."
Reinhart leaped up and began to pace back and forth. "I've already
informed the SRB machines that the variable man has been destroyed.
The machines now show the original 7-6 ratio in our favor. But the
ratio is based on false information."
"Then you'll have to withdraw the false data and restore the original
situation."
"No." Reinhart shook his head. "I can't do that. The machines must be
kept functioning. We can't allow them to jam again. It's too
dangerous. If Duffe should become aware that--"
"What are you going to do, then?" Dixon picked up the message plate.
"You can't leave the machines with false data. That's treason."
"The data can't be withdrawn! Not unless equivalent data exists to
take its place." Reinhart paced angrily back and forth. "Damn it, I
was _certain_ the man was dead. This is an incredible situation. He
must be eliminated--at any cost."
Suddenly Reinhart stopped pacing. "The turret. It's probably finished
by this time. Correct?"
Dixon nodded slowly in agreement. "With the variable man helping,
Sherikov has undoubtedly completed work well ahead of schedule."
Reinhart's gray eyes flickered. "Then he's no longer of any use--even
to Sherikov. We could take a chance.... Even if there were active
opposition...."
"What's this?" Dixon demanded. "What are you thinking about?"
"How many units are ready for immediate action? How large a force can
we raise without notice?"
"Because of the war we're mobilized on a twenty-four hour basis. There
are seventy air units and about two hundred surface units. The balance
of the Security forces have been transferred to the line, under
military control."
"Men?"
"We have about five thousand men ready to go, still on Terra. Most of
them in the process of being transferred to military transports. I can
hold it up at any time."
"Missiles?"
"Fortunately, the launching tubes have not yet been disassembled.
They're still here on Terra. In another few days they'll be moving out
for the Colonial fracas."
"Then they're available for immediate use?"
"Yes."
"Good." Reinhart locked his hands, knotting his fingers harshly
together in sudden decision. "That will do exactly. Unless I am
completely wrong, Sherikov has only a half-dozen air units and no
surface cars. And only about two hundred men. Some defense shields, of
course--"
"What are you planning?"
Reinhart's face was gray and hard, like stone. "Send out orders for
all available Security units to be unified under your immediate
command. Have them ready to move by four o'clock this afternoon. We're
going to pay a visit," Reinhart stated grimly. "A surprise visit. On
Peter Sherikov."
* * * * *
"Stop here," Reinhart ordered.
The surface car slowed to a halt. Reinhart peered cautiously out,
studying the horizon ahead.
On all sides a desert of scrub grass and sand stretched out. Nothing
moved or stirred. To the right the grass and sand rose up to form
immense peaks, a range of mountains without end, disappearing finally
into the distance. The Urals.
"Over there," Reinhart said to Dixon, pointing. "See?"
"No."
"Look hard. It's difficult to spot unless you know what to look for.
Vertical pipes. Some kind of vent. Or periscopes."