But to be in the S.S. a man had to have larceny in his heart and sadism in his soul. Gestapo. Storm troopers for whatever politico was in power. Jubal longed for the days when a lawyer could cite the Bill of Rights and not have some over-riding Federation trickery defeat him.
Never mind — What would happen now? Heinrich's force certainly had had radio contact with its base; ergo, its loss would be noted. More S.S. troopers would come looking — already headed this way if that second car had been chopped off in the middle of an action report. «Miriam — »
«Yes, Boss.»
«I want Mike, Jill, and Anne at once. Then find Larry — in the shop, probably — and both of you come back, lock all doors and ground-floor windows.»
«More trouble?»
«Get movin', gal.»
If the apes showed up — no,when they showed up — if their leader chose to break into a locked house, well, he might have to turn Mike loose on them. But this warfare had to stop — which meant that Jubal must get through to the Secretary General.
How?
Call the Palace? Heinrich had probably been telling the truth when he said that a renewed attempt would simply be referred to Heinrich — or whatever S.S. boss was warming that chair. Well? It would surprise them to have a man they had sent a squad to arrest blandly phoning in, face to face — he might be able to bull his way to the top. Commandant “What's-his-name”, chap with a face like a well-fed ferret. Twitchell. The commanding officer of the S.S. buckos would have access to the boss.
No good. It would be a waste of breath to tell a man who believes in guns that you've got something better. Twitchell would keep on throwing men and guns till he ran out of both — but he would never admit he couldn't bring in a man whose location was known.
Well, when you couldn't use the front door you slipped in through the back — elementary politics. Damn it, he needed Ben Caxton — Ben would know who had keys to the back door.
But Ben's absence was the reason for this donkey derby. Since he couldn't ask Ben, whom did he know who would know?
Hell's halfwit, he had been talking to one! Jubal turned to the phone and tried to raise Tom Mackenzie, running into three layers of interference, all of whom knew him and passed him along. While he was doing this, his staff and the Man from Mars came in; they sat down, Miriam stopping to write on a pad:«Doors and windows locked.»
Jubal nodded and wrote below it:«Larry — panic button?» then said to the screen, «Tom, sorry to bother you again.»
«A pleasure, Jubal.»
«Tom, if you wanted to talk to Secretary General Douglas, how would you go about it?»
«Eh? I'd phone his press secretary, Jim Sanforth. I wouldn't talk to the Secretary General; Jim would handle it.»
«But suppose you wanted to talk to Douglas himself.»
«Why, I'd let Jim arrange it. Be quicker to tell Jim my problem, though. Look, Jubal, the network is useful to the administration — and they know it. But we don't presume on it.»
«Tom, suppose you just had to speak to Douglas. In the next ten minutes.»
Mackenzie's eyebrows went up. «Well… if 1 had to, I would explain to Jim why it was — »
«No.»
«Be reasonable.»
«That's what I can't be. Assume that you had caught Sanforth stealing the spoons, so you couldn't tell him what the emergency was. But you had to speak to Douglas immediately.»
Mackenzie sighed. «I would tell Jim that I had to talk to the boss — and that if I wasn't through to him right away, the administration would never get another trace of support from the network.»
«Okay, Tom, do it.»
«Huh?»
«Call the Palace on another instrument — and be ready to cut me in instantly. I've got to talk to the Secretary General right now!»
Mackenzie looked pained. «Jubal, old friend — »
«Meaning you won't.»
«Meaning I can't. You've dreamed up a hypothetical situation in which a — pardon me — major executive of a global network could speak to the Secretary General. But I can't hand this entree to somebody else. Look, Jubal, I respect you. The network would hate to lose you and we are painfully aware that you won't let us tie you down to a contract. But I can't do it. One does not telephone the World chief of government unless he wants to speak to you.»
«Suppose I sign an exclusive seven-year contract?»
Mackenzie looked as if his teeth hurt. «I still couldn't. I'd lose my job — and you would have to carry out your contract.»
Jubal considered calling Mike into pickup and naming him. But Mackenzie's own programs had run the fake «Man from Mars» interviews — and Mackenzie was either in on the hoax — or he was honest, as Jubal thought, and would not believe that he had been hoaxed. «All right, Tom. But you know your way around in the government. Who calls Douglas whenever he likes — and gets him? I don't mean Sanforth.»
«No one.»
«Damn it, no man lives in a vacuum! There must be people who can phone him and not get brushed off by a secretary.»
«Some of his cabinet, I suppose. Not all of them.»
«I don't know any of them, either. I don't mean politicos. Who can call him on a private line and invite him to play poker?»
«Um … you don't want much, do you? Well, there's Jake Allenby.»
«I've met him. He doesn't like me. I don't like him. He knows it.»
«Douglas doesn't have many intimate friends. His wife rather discourages — Say, Jubal… how do you feel about astrology?»
«Never touch the stuff. Prefer brandy.»
«Well, that's a matter of taste. But — see here, Jubal, if you ever let on I told you this, I'll cut your lying throat.»
«Noted. Agreed. Proceed.»
«Well, Agnes Douglas does touch the stuff… and I know where she gets it. Her astrologer can call Mrs. Douglas any time — and, believe you me, Mrs. Douglas has the ear of the Secretary General. You can call her astrologer… and the rest is up to you. »
«I don't recall any astrologers on my Christmas card list,» Jubal answered dubiously. «What's his name?»
«Her. Her name is Madame Alexandra Vesant, Washington Exchange. That's V, E, S, A, N, T.»
«I've got it,» Jubal said happily. «Tom, you've done me a world of good!»
«Hope so. Anything for the network?»
«Hold it.» Jubal glanced at a note Miriam had placed at his elbow. It read: «Larry says the transceiver won't trans-he doesn't know why.» Jubal went on, «That spot coverage failed through a transceiver failure.»
«I'll send somebody.»
«Thanks. Thanks twice.»
Jubal switched off, placed the call by name and instructed the operator to use hush and scramble if the number was equipped for it. It was, not to his surprise. Soon Madame Vesant's dignified features appeared in his screen. He grinned at her and called, «Hey, Rube!»
She looked startled, then stared. «Why, Doc Harshaw, you old scoundrel! Lord love you, it's good to see you. Where have you been hiding?»
«Just that, Becky — hiding. The clowns are after me.»
Becky Vesey answered instantly, «What can I do to help? Do you need money?»
«I've got plenty of money, Becky. I'm in much more serious trouble than that — and nobody can help me but the Secretary General himself. I need to talk to him — right away.»
She looked blank. «That's a tall order, Doc.»
«Becky, I know. I've been trying to get through to him … and I can't. But don't you get mixed up in it… girl, I'm hotter than a smoky bearing. I took a chance that you might be able to advise me — a phone number, maybe, where I could reach him. But I don't want you in it personally. You'd get hurt — and I'd never be able to look the Professor in the eye… God rest his soul.»
«I know what the Professor would want me to do!» she said sharply. «Knock off the nonsense, Doc. The Professor always swore that you were the only sawbones fit to carve people. He never forgot that time in Elkton.»