"The period has been halved," Fred said. "We now see it's necessary to
accelerate things."
"Tell me what you want me to do. Then I'll give you my answer."
"It's simple enough. You're to resign in my favor. If it's not done
by nightfall tomorrow, we'll find it necessary to release the Lamarre
serum. Those are our terms, and don't try to bargain with me."
Walton was silent for a moment, contemplating his brother's cold face
on the screen. Finally he said, "It takes time to get such things done.
I can't just resign overnight."
"FitzMaugham did."
"Ah, yes--if you call that a resignation. But unless you want to
inherit the same sort of chaos I did, you'd better give me a little
time to prepare things."
Fred's eyes gleamed. "Does that mean you'll yield? You'll resign in my
favor?"
"There's no guarantee the UN will accept you," Walton warned. "Even
with my recommendation, I can't promise a one hundred percent chance of
success."
"We'll have to risk it," said Fred. "The important step is getting you
out of there. When can I have confirmation of all this?"
Walton eyed his brother shrewdly. "Come up to my office tomorrow at
this time. I'll have everything set up for you by then, and I'll be
able to show you how the Popeek machinery works. That's one advantage
you'll have over me. FitzMaugham kept half the workings in his head."
Fred grinned savagely. "I'll see you then, Roy." Chuckling, he added,
"I knew all that ruthlessness of yours was just skin deep. You never
were tough, Roy."
* * * * *
Walton glanced at his watch after Fred had left the screen. The time
was 1100. It had been a busy morning.
But some of the vaguenesses were beginning to look sharper. He knew,
for instance, that Sellors had been in the pay of the same organization
that backed Fred. Presumably, this meant that FitzMaugham had been
assassinated by the landed gentry.
But for what reason? Surely, not simply for the sake of assassination.
Had they cared to, they might have killed FitzMaugham whenever they
pleased.
He saw now why the assassination had been timed as it had. By the time
the conspirators had realized that Walton was sure to be the old man's
successor, Fred had already joined their group. They had ready leverage
on the prospective director. They knew they could shove him out of
office almost as quickly as he got in, and supplant him with their
puppet, Fred.
Well, they were in for a surprise. Fred was due to appear at Walton's
office at 1100 on the morning of the seventeenth to take over command.
Walton planned to be ready for them by then.
There was the matter of Lamarre. Walton wanted the little scientist and
his formula badly. But by this time Fred had certainly made at least
one copy of Lamarre's documents; the threat would remain, whether or
not Popeek recovered the originals.
Walton had twenty-four hours to act. He called up Sue Llewellyn,
Popeek's comptroller.
"Sue, how's our budget looking?"
"What's on your mind, Roy?"
"Plenty. I want to know if I can make an expenditure of--say, a
billion, between now and nightfall."
"A _billion_? You joking, Roy?"
"Hardly." Walton's tone was grim. "I hope I won't need it all. But
there's a big purchase I want to make ... an investment. Can you
squeeze out the money? It doesn't matter where you squeeze it from,
either, because if we don't get it by nightfall there probably won't be
a Popeek by the day after tomorrow."
"What _are_ you talking about, Roy?"
"Give me a yes or no answer. And if the answer's not the one I want to
hear, I'm afraid you can start looking for a new job, Sue."
She uttered a little gasp. Then she said, "Okay, Roy. I'll play along
with you, even if it bankrupts us. There's a billion at your disposal
as of now, though Lord knows what I'll use for a payroll next week."
"You'll have it back," Walton promised. "With compound interest."
His next call was to a man he had once dealt with in his capacity of
secretary to Senator FitzMaugham. He was Noel Hervey, a registered
securities and exchange slyster.
Hervey was a small, worried-looking little man, but his unflickering
eyes belied his ratty appearance. "What troubles you, Roy?"
"I want you to make a stock purchase for me, pronto. Within an hour,
say?"
Hervey shook his head instantly. "Sorry, Roy. I'm all tied up on a hefty
monorail deal. Won't be free until Wednesday or Thursday, if by then."
Walton said, "What sort of money will you be making on this big deal of
yours, Noel?"
"Confidential! You wouldn't invade a man's privacy on a delicate matter
like--"
"Will it be worth five million dollars for you, Noel?"
"Five million--hey, is this a gag?"
"I'm awfully serious," Walton said. "I want you to swing a deal for me,
right away. You've heard my price."