“Persuasion sounds ominous. What do you mean?”

“Perhaps that was the wrong word to use in this context. I think rewards-for-effort might express it better. As you well know, experienced teachers will make sure that good behavior, good classwork, is noticed and complimented. It is really a matter of positive reinforcement, a technique with proven efficacy. Doing the direct opposite, pointing out failures, accomplishes very little — other than instilling a sense of guilt, which is almost always counterproductive. In Brian’s case the computer proved to be the key to any learning problems he had. I’ve seen the recordings — you can look at them as well if you wish — of just what he has accomplished in a very few weeks—”

“Recordings? I am afraid that I don’t understand.”

Gimelle looked uncomfortable, arranging and rearranging paper clips on the desk before him. “There is nothing unusual or illegal in this. It is common practice in most schools — in fact it is required here at UFE. You must have seen it in your employment contract when you signed it.”

“Hardly. There were over fifty pages of fine print in the thing.”

“What did your lawyer say about it?”

“Nothing — since I didn’t consult one. At the time life for me was, shall we say, rather stressful. What you are saying is that all of the students in this school have taps on their computers, that everything they enter can be seen and recorded?”

“A common and accepted practice, a very useful diagnostic and educational tool. After all, in the days of written notebooks they were turned in to be graded. You might say that accessing a student’s computer is very much the same thing.”

“I don’t think it is. We grade notebooks — but not personal diaries. All of which is beside the point. I’ll consider the morality of this dubious practice some other time. Now we are thinking about Brian. What did these clandestine recordings reveal?”

“An exceedingly unusual and original mind. LOGO, as you know, is more man a first computer language that children learn. It is very flexible when implemented correctly. I was delighted to see that Brian not only solved the problems of the class assignments, but when he had a solution he tried to write a meta-program that incorporated all of his solutions. He invented data bases of IF-THEN rules for his own programming. For example if an answer was needed then he would insert some lines of code. And edit later. Very easy to do in LOGO — if you know how — because all the tools are there. For example, while other students were learning to draw pictures, graphics programs, using LOGO, Brian was way ahead of them. He saved and indexed each useful drawing fragment with changeable parameters, along with geometric constraints on where to draw it. His programs now draw recognizable caricatures of the other students, and myself as well. They can even change expression. That was last week — and he has unproved the programs already. Now the figures can walk, and solve simple problems, right on the screen.”

Paddy had a good deal to think about when he went home that night.

Benicoff and the surgeon both looked up, startled, when the door slammed open and General Schorcht stamped in, the pinned-up empty sleeve of his jacket swinging as he stabbed the index finger of his left hand at Snaresbrook.

“You. If you are Dr. Snaresbrook you’re coming with me.”

The surgeon turned about slowly to face the intruder. She had to lean back to look up at the tall General’s face. She appeared not to be impressed.

“Who are you?” she said coldly.

“Tell her,” Schorcht snapped at Benicoff.

“This is General Schorcht who is with…”

“That’s identification enough. This is a military emergency and I need your help. There is a patient here in intensive care, Brian Delaney, who is in great danger.”

“I am well aware of that.”

“Not medical danger — physical attack.” Benicoff started to speak but the General waved him to silence. “Later. We have very little time now. The hospital authorities inform me that the patient is too ill to be moved at this time.”

“That is correct.”

“Then the records must be altered. You will come with me to do this.”

Snaresbrook’s skin grew livid; she was not used to being spoken to in this manner. Before she could explode Benicoff quickly intervened.

“Doctor, let me fill you in very quickly. We have firm reason to believe that when Brian was shot, that others were killed as well. There must be national security involved or the General would not be here. I am sure that explanations will be forthcoming — but for the moment would you please be of assistance?”

Brain surgeons are well used to instant, life-and-death decisions. Snaresbrook put down her coffee cup, turned at once and started toward the door.

“Yes, of course. Come with me to the nurse’s station.”

The General had certainly made no friends since he had entered the hospital. The angry head nurse was reluctantly pacified by Snaresbrook and finally convinced of the urgency of the matter. She dismissed the other nurses while Snaresbrook managed to do the same with the staff doctor. Only when they were gone did the General turn to the gray-haired head nurse, who matched him glare for glare.

“Where is the patient now?” he asked.

She turned to the indicator board and touched a lit number. “Here. Intensive care. Room 314.”

“Are there any other rooms on this floor that are empty?”

“Just 330. But it is a double…”

“That doesn’t matter. Now change the indicator board and the records to show Delaney in 330, and 314 as being empty.”

“There will be trouble…”

“Do it.”

She did — with great reluctance. As she punched in the changes another nurse hurried in, still pinning on her badge. Schorcht nodded grimly.

“About time, Lieutenant. Get into the station. The rest of us are leaving. If anyone asks, the patient Brian Delaney is in room 330.” He silenced the staff nurse with a quick chop of his hand. “Lieutenant Drake is a military nurse with a great deal of hospital experience. There will be no trouble.” His beeper sounded and he switched on his radio and listened to it. “Understood.” He put it back on his belt and looked around him.

“We have about two minutes, possibly. Listen and don’t ask questions. We will all leave this area — leave this floor in fact. Lieutenant Drake knows what to do. We have just learned that there will be an attempt on the patient’s life. I not only want to prevent this crime but obtain information about the would-be perpetrators. You can all help by simply leaving now. Understood?”

The General led the way; there were no arguments. Nurse Drake stood almost at attention as they were hurried down the corridor to the stairwell and off the third floor. Only when they were gone did she take a deep breath and relax slightly. She pulled her uniform straight and turned to the mirror on the wall to make sure her cap was square and correct. When she turned back she controlled her start of surprise when she saw the young man standing at the counter.

“Can I help you… Doctor?” she said. He was dressed in hospital whites and had an electronic stethoscope hanging from his pocket.

“Nothing important. I just came on. Passed some worried visitors asking about a Brian Delaney. A new admittance?” He leaned over the counter and tapped the indicator. “Is that him?”

“Yes, Doctor. Intensive care, 330. Critical but stable.”

“Thanks. I’ll tell them when I go out.”

The nurse smiled at him. Nice-looking, tanned, late twenties, carrying a black bag. Still smiling, she put her hand to her waist and as soon as he had turned his back pressed twice on the button of what appeared to be an ordinary pager.

Whistling softly through his teeth, the young man went down the corridor, turned a corner and past 330 without a glance. He stopped at the next cross corridor and looked both ways — then ran swiftly and silently back to the room. No one was in sight. With his hand in the black bag he threw open the door and saw the empty beds. Before he could react the two men inside the room, one to each side of the door, pushed automatic pistols into his midriff.