"Never mind," Tom said, muffling his voice. "But if you want the killers
of Walt Spencer and his wife, pick up John Andrusco and a gal named
Livia Cord."
"Okay, Blacker," Stinson thundered. "I knew you'd be calling in."
Tom swore, and showed himself. "Listen, I'm telling you the truth. They
told me the whole story. Then they tried to have me killed."
"Is that so? And I suppose the assassin was a guy named Wright?"
"Yes!"
"Okay, wise guy. We're on to you. You've been pocketing some of that
Homelovers dough, and the treasurer found you out. Isn't that the
story?"
"No! Wright's one of _them_."
"Sure, pal. Whatever you say. Only stay right where you are so you can
do your explaining proper."
Tom tightened his lips. "Uh-huh. I don't like the sound of things. I'll
see you later, Mr. Stinson."
"Blacker!"
Tom switched off.
By the time he was settled behind the red neck of a cab-driver, Tom was
wiping a dripping film of sweat from his forehead. He couldn't return to
his apartment; there was bound to be a stake-out. He couldn't go to
Livia's; that would be walking right into danger. And he couldn't go to
Stinson, without risking a murder charge.
He leaned forward.
"Driver--make that the LaGuardia Heliport."
However efficient Stinson's operations might have been, their tentacles
hadn't reached the 'copter-rental station at the heliport. Tom signed
out a speedy vessel under an assumed name, and taxied it down the
runway. Then he pointed the nose west, and radioed ahead to his
destination at Washington, D. C.
* * * * *
Colonel Grady Mordigan had the thoughtful air of a scholar and the body
of a college wrestler. When Tom Blacker's name was announced to him, his
mouth turned down grimly. He was commanding officer of the Space Flight
Commission of the UN Air Force, and he had good reason to frown at the
sound of the PR man's name.
But he invited him into his office.
"So you're Tom Blacker," he said, pinching his jaw. "I've heard a lot
about you, Mr. Blacker."
"I'm sure," Tom said. "Only I want to tell you this, Colonel. I've
broken my connection with Homelovers. I'm on your side now."
"Side? There are no sides in this issue, Mr. Blacker. As far as I'm
concerned, Homelovers is nothing but a flea on the lip of a lion. A
damned annoying flea, maybe--but nothing more than that. Now what do you
want?"
"I have to talk to you about something. Something I just found out. Will
you listen to me?"
The colonel leaned back, looking at his watch.
"Five minutes," he snapped.
* * * * *
Tom talked for fifteen. Mordigan didn't call a halt until he was
finished, listening without a change of expression. When Tom ran out of
words, he merely tapped his fingers on the desk.
"And that's your whole story?" he said gently.
"Yes, sir. I know it's a wild one. That's one of the things they're
counting on. It's just wild enough to get me put into a laughing
academy, where I can't do them any mischief. But I had to take that
chance, Colonel."
"I see. And this--man you killed. What's happening about that?"
"I don't know," Tom said. "The way I figure it, Andrusco and the girl
have told the police that I was embezzling money from the firm--that I
killed the treasurer for my own protection. But it's not true! He's one
of _them_--one of those creatures--"
"But you have no real proof?"
Tom's back stiffened. "No," he said grimly. "If I had proof, I'd have
gone to the police. But I came here instead. Now you can tell me if I
did the right thing."
Mordigan grimaced. "I don't know, damn it! I don't have any love for the
Homelovers. To me, they've always been a bunch of greedy businessmen,
intent on salvaging their franchises at any expense. But it's not easy to
think of them as a bunch of--" His mouth twisted. "Loathsome aliens ..."
"Maybe not so loathsome," Tom said miserably. "I just don't know. Maybe
their cause is as just to them as ours is to us. But they're determined
to reach Mars before we do--before you do! And they'll do anything to
make sure--"
The colonel stood up. "But I'm afraid that question is academic, Mr.
Blacker. Because if our calculations are right, an Earth vessel will be
on the planet Mars within the next thirty-six hours."
"What?"
"No announcement has been made. But a Mars-bound ship was launched
almost a month ago, containing seven members of the space commission.
Our last radio contact with Captain Wright leads us to expect--"
"_Who?_" Tom was on his feet.
"Captain Gary Wright, the commander of the ship." His brow knitted.
"Why? Do you know him?"
"I'm not sure," Tom said weakly. "But if he's the same man--then that
flight's in danger."
"What are you talking about?"
* * * * *
Tom concluded his story about the death of the Homelovers treasurer,
down to the last detail of the framed photograph on Wright's desk. The
tale brought Colonel Mordigan into immediate action. He buzzed for his
orderly, and in another minute, was fumbling through a folder marked
Classified.
"Yes," he said numbly. "It's the same man. Father's named Benjamin
Wright, and he's vice-president and treasurer of Homelovers,
Incorporated. I never connected the two ..." He looked up, his eyes
heavy. "If your story is true, Mr. Blacker, then Captain Wright is one
of these so-called Antamundans. And if their mission is what you say it
is--"
Tom clenched his fists on the blotter. "Please, sir! Let me stay here
until the flight is concluded. After that, you can do what you like."
"All right," Mordigan said wearily. "I'll fix you up with something in
the officer's quarters. But I'm sure you're wrong, Mr. Blacker. You
_have_ to be."
Twenty-four hours later, radio contact with the Mars expeditionary ship
ceased abruptly.
From Mt. Wilson observatory, a hurried message arrived, reporting a
small, brief nova in the orbital vicinity of the planet Mars.
Tom Blacker, dozing fitfully on a cot in the quarters of a grumpy
Lieutenant-Colonel, was awakened suddenly, and summoned to the office of
Colonel Grady Mordigan.
"Very well, Mr. Blacker," the colonel said stiffly. "I'm willing to
help. Just tell me what you want me to do."
* * * * *
The receptionist smiled icily at Tom, and then the smile vanished like a
Martian polar cap.
"Why--Mr. Blacker!"
"Hi, Stella," he grinned. "Mr. Andrusco in his office?"
"Why, I don't know. Suppose I give him a ring--"
He stopped the hand that was reaching for the telephone. "No need of
that. I think I'll just surprise him. After all, it's been some time."
He turned the knob of John Andrusco's door slowly.
Livia was with him. When he entered, they both stood up hastily, their
eyes wide and their mouths unhinged.
Livia reacted first. She cried out his name, and then sat down heavily,
as if the words had been a physical force.
"Hi, Livia," Tom said casually. "Good to see you again, Mr. Andrusco.
Sorry that I haven't been around--but things have been pretty hectic for
me lately."
"How did you get here?" Andrusco's voice was choked.
"I've been here all weekend, if you want to know." Tom seated himself
blithely. "As a matter of fact, the Homelovers Building has had quite a
lot of visitors this weekend."
"What do you mean?"
"You know the staff of cleaning personnel that invades this place every
Saturday? Well, there were some changes made this particular weekend.
I'm sure you'll be interested in hearing about them."