"Absolutely. We must know where that serum is hidden."
Lanson sighed heavily. "I'll authorize it," he said. He looked beaten.
Washington to New York was a matter of some few minutes. The precious
authorization in his hands, Walton spoke to di Cassio via the screener
setup at Security Keep, informed him of what was going to be done with
him. Then, despite the fat man's hysterical protests, he turned the
authorization over to Martinez with instructions to proceed with the
mind pick.
It took fifty-eight minutes. Walton waited in a bare, austere office
somewhere in the Keep while the mind-picking technicians peeled away
the cortex of di Cassio's mind. By now Walton was past all ambivalence,
all self-doubt. He thought of himself as a mere robot fulfilling a
preset pattern of action.
At 1950 Martinez presented himself before Walton. The little security
head looked bleak.
"It's done. Di Cassio's been reduced to blubber and bone. I wouldn't
want to watch another mind picking too soon."
"You may have to," Walton said. "If di Cassio wasn't the right one, I
intend to go straight down the line on all hundred-odd of them. One of
them dealt with Fred. One of them must know where the Lamarre papers
are."
Martinez shook his head wearily. "No. There won't need to be any more
mind-picking. We got it all out of di Cassio. The transcript ought to
be along any moment."
As the security man spoke, an arrival bin in the office flashed and
a packet arrived. Walton broke impatiently for the bin, but Martinez
waved him away. "This is my domain, Mr. Walton. Please be patient."
With infuriating slowness, Martinez opened the packet, removed some
closely-typed sheets, nodded over them. He handed them to Walton.
"Here. Read for yourself. Here's the record of the conversation between
your brother and di Cassio. I think it's what you're looking for."
Walton accepted the sheets tensely and began to read: