"So what? So this, you idiot! That girl is a representative of our most
dangerous enemy."
"The United States?" wailed Malenkov.
"Far worse than the United States."
Laniq sprinted for the doorway at the other end of the room, heard the
voice call from behind her: "Guards! Stop that woman!"
The speaker was Mulid Ruscar.
* * * * *
When Laniq failed to return Tedor began to worry. It suddenly occurred
to him that he might be able to reach Mulid Ruscar for help. True,
Ruscar had sent out an order for his arrest, but directives could be
mis-read, transferred incorrectly. Perhaps Ruscar merely needed him
urgently. Perhaps Ruscar had realized he would be flitting through the
ages and nothing short of arrest would detain him long enough for them
to get together. Tedor used his tongue to flick on the tiny transmitter
embedded in his palate, then said:
"This is Tedor Barwan calling Mulid Ruscar. Barwan calling Ruscar."
He waited not more than half a minute when the answering voice
whispered in his ear. "Tedor, where are you?"
"In Moscow, Chief. I'm sorry I couldn't wait in New York. I have news
for you. It's about Laniq Hadrien."
"Laniq? Oh, of course. Laniq Hadrien eh? Where are you?"
Tedor gave Ruscar his address.
"Fine, Tedor. I'll send someone over to fetch you. Stay right there."
"All right, chief." And Tedor cut the connection. Ruscar had a way
about him for getting to the bottom of intrigue. Tedor felt better
already.
A moment later, the doorbell rang. Ruscar's man? Impossible.
Tedor opened the door and admitted a nervous Dorlup.
"Barwan, thank heaven I found you. Harry Marsden gave me your address."
Tedor watched guardedly as Dorlup entered the room, sat down on a big
chair. "Have you people got any closer to finding the time-tyrant?"
Tedor shook his head.
"Let me ask you another question. At the very beginning of all this you
were going to write a report. What was it about?"
"The 20th century, of course. I was going to say it seemed that the
most aggressive, war-like state here, Russia, was receiving aid from
our own time. Fornswitthe started to write it."
"That's what I thought." Dorlup mopped his forehead, although it
was comfortably warm in the apartment. "And someone killed him and
stole it. You thought I was the only one who could have known where
Fornswitthe was living. But someone else knew. Mulid Ruscar knew."
"Of course Ruscar knew," Tedor declared irritably. "That doesn't mean
anything. Ruscar is fighting everything the monopolist stands for."
"We'll get back to that. It might interest you to know I'm a fugitive.
I escaped from Ruscar in the United States when Ruscar accused me of
being the time-tyrant."
"I've wondered the same thing myself. But somehow you don't fill the
role."
"He has enough phony evidence to make it stick, Barwan. You see,
certain people were creating too much of a fuss about the monopolist.
It was crimping Ruscar's plans. He figured if he could convict a
scapegoat the furor would die down, at least for a while. I was his
scapegoat."
Tedor frowned while he poured them both drinks. "It just doesn't make
sense. Ruscar all his life has stood for everything the monopolist was
trying to tear down.
"Which is exactly why no one ever suspected him."
"I think you're crazy, or lying, or wrong--but we'll find out soon
enough. Ruscar knows I'm in Moscow. He's sending someone over, as a
matter of fact."
"If Ruscar is sending someone to find you we've got to get out of
here!" Dorlup gasped.
"Calm down. We'll do no such thing. We'll wait for Ruscar's man and see
what this is all about."
"_You'll_ wait, you mean--if you are stupid enough to aid in your own
execution. I'm getting out of here." Dorlup climbed to his feet, but
Tedor pushed him back into his chair.
"You're waiting with me, Dorlup. I'd like to find out once and for all
just where you fit into all this."
"Barwan, I came to you in good faith! Give me a chance! Ruscar has
enough rigged evidence to have me gassed."
"Sit still and wait."
Dorlup emptied his glass of vodka, reached over to the table and
tremblingly poured another.
Seconds later the doorbell rang.
* * * * *
He was tall, broad of shoulder, wore a snap-brim hat and a concealed
weapon which nevertheless bulged on his hip. He showed his credentials.
"I am from Army Intelligence," he announced. "The Chief of Staff's
Office instructed me personally to escort you to a meeting with a
Comrade Ruscar."
"Chief of Staff," said Dorlup. "That would be Chenkov himself. You're a
big fish, Barwan."
Tedor wondered if there could be any truth in all that Dorlup had said.
Looking at Dorlup now, he realized the man bordered on hysteria, and
even if he were indeed well-meaning, he could still have misinterpreted
everything. Unlikely--but no less likely than the accusations Dorlup
had made against Mulid Ruscar. Perhaps the Intelligence Agent could
inadvertently shed light on the entire situation.
Tedor yawned. "I am tired. I think I have changed my mind. Yes, I'd
rather sleep. You tell the Chief of Staff to tell Ruscar I won't see
him today, after all."
"But Comrade, I was sent to get you."
"Fine, you're a good man. I'm sending you back without me. Care for a
drink before you leave?"
"Thank you, no. I never drink on duty. Comrade, listen; the Chief of
Staff would hate to tell Comrade Ruscar that you have changed your
mind. I know this for a fact, Comrade."
"Are you trying to say I haven't much choice? I go with you voluntarily
or get taken?"
The Intelligence Agent shrugged. "I never said it and you are putting
it crudely, even coarsely. But the general assumption is correct."
Still smiling, Tedor reached for the bottle of vodka which stood on a
table near the door. The Intelligence Agent stood with one foot inside
the apartment, one outside, waiting.
"Go to hell," said Tedor.
The Intelligence Agent reached quickly for his gun. Tedor swung the
vodka bottle in a short, savage arc at the right side of the man's face
while he fumbled in his pocket for the weapon. The bottle struck his
jawbone, shattered. He screamed and fell, his face a red smear.
Tedor dragged him inside the apartment and shut the door. "Maybe you
know what you're talking about, Dorlup. Are you willing to help me
prove it?"
"I guess so. Yes, of course!"
Tedor reached into the fallen Intelligence Agent's pocket, found his
wallet, his identification card with a picture and his gun. "We'll need
this," he said. "Come on."
Laniq's commandeered auto was still parked at the curb downstairs,
a crowd of urchins admiring it. "Climb in," Tedor told Dorlup, then
walked to a display board down the street, found a poster with
Malenkov's picture, quickly removed it and ran for the car. "We're dead
ducks if my time-conveyor isn't where I left it," he said. "If it's
there, we may have a chance."
* * * * *
And half an hour later:
"So we're in your conveyor. Now what?"
"Sit down," said Tedor. "We've got to hurry."
"But this is the matter duplicator."
Tedor nodded. Each conveyor was equipped with one of the devices--which
could print perfect counterfeit money, create clothing, artificial
hair, skin tissue, anything to render a visit to past ages as foolproof
as possible.
"Whatever you want to copy is ordinarily stored on microfilm," Tedor
explained. "But this thing can copy anything."
"I know, but what do you want me--"
Tedor thrust the picture of Malenkov into the receiver. "Easy, Dorlup.
You're about the right size. Just sit still. You're going to be Georgi
Malenkov, Premier of all the Russians."
Five minutes later, Tedor looked at Malenkov rising from the chair.
"It's perfect," he said.
"I don't understand."
"You can write solidios, Dorlup; you'd better be able to _act_ as well.
You're going to be Malenkov."
Tedor sat down himself, placed the Intelligence Agent's ID picture into
the duplicator. "I'll be your personal bodyguard," he said--and he was,
moments later.
"They've got a friend of mine somewhere," said Tedor. "If Chenkov takes
orders from Malenkov, we're going to find out where. We're also going
to find out what Ruscar has up his sleeve, provided you're right about
him."
"I'm right."
"We'll see. But if you were lying, Dorlup--if you were, I'll kill you
myself."