Status Quo Part 15

"So?"

"He was a close friend of Professor Voss. I got a warrant to search his house. It shows signs that he had a guest. Possibly it was the Professor.

Do you want to get some of the boys down here to go through the place?

Possibly there's some clue to where they took off for. The Professor's on the run and he's no professional at this. If we can pick _him_ up, I've got a sneaking suspicion we'll have the so-called Movement licked."

Walt Foster slapped a hand to his face in anguish. "You knew where the Professor was hiding, and you tried to pick him up on your own and let him get away. Why didn't you discuss this with either the Boss or me? I'm in charge of this operation! I would have had a dozen men down there. You've fouled this up!"

Larry stared at him. Already Walt Foster was making sounds like an enraged superior.

He said mildly, "Sorry, Walt. I came down here on a very meager tip. I didn't really expect it to pan out."

"Well, in the future, clear with either me or the Boss before running off half c.o.c.ked into something, Woolford. Yesterday, you had this whole a.s.signment on your own. Today, it's no longer a minor matter. Our department has fifty people on it. The F.B.I. must have five times as many and that's not even counting the Secret Service's interest. It's no longer your individual baby."

"Sorry," Larry repeated mildly. Then, "I don't imagine you've got hold of Frol Eivazov yet?"

The other was disgusted. "You think we're magicians? We just put out the call for him a few hours ago. He's no amateur. If he doesn't want to be picked up, he'll go to ground and we'll have our work cut out for us finding him. I can't see that it's particularly important anyway."

"Maybe you're right," Larry said. "But you never know. He might know things we don't. See you later."

Walt Foster stared at him for a moment as though about to say something, but then tightened his lips and faded off.

Larry looked at the phone screen for a moment. "Did that phony expect me to call him _sir_," he muttered.

The next two days dissolved into routine.

Frustrated, Larry Woolford spent most of his time in his office digesting developments, trying to find a new line of attack.

For want of something else, he put his new secretary, a brightly efficient girl, as style and status conscious as LaVerne Polk wasn't, to work typing up the tapes he'd had cut on Susan Self and the various phone calls he'd had with Hans Distelmayer and Sam Sokolski. From memory, he dictated to her his conversation with Professor Peter Voss.

He carefully read the typed sheets over and over again. He continually had the feeling in this case that there were loose ends dangling around.

Several important points he should be able to put his finger upon.

On the morning of the third day he dialed Steve Hackett and on seeing the other's worried, pug-ugly face fade in on the phone, decided that if nothing else the Movement was undermining the United States government by dispensing ulcers to its employees.

Steve growled, "What is it Woolford? I'm as busy as a whirling dervish in a revolving door."

"This is just the glimmer of an idea, Steve. Look, remember that conversation with Susan, when she described her father taking her to headquarters?"

"So?" Steve said impatiently.

"Remember her description of headquarters?"

"Go on," Steve rapped.

"What did it remind you of?"

"What are you leading to?"

"This is just a hunch," Larry persisted, "but the way she described the manner in which her father took her to headquarters suggests they're in the Greater Was.h.i.+ngton area."

Steve was staring at him disgustedly. How obvious could you get?

Larry hurried on. "What's the biggest business in this area, Steve?"

"Government."

"Right. And the way she described headquarters of the Movement, was rooms, after rooms, after rooms into which they'd stored the money."

"And?"

Larry said urgently, "Steve, I think in some way the Movement has taken over some governmental buildings, or storage warehouse. Possibly some older buildings no longer in use. It would be a perfect hideout. Who would expect a subversive organization to be in governmental buildings? All they'd need would be a few officials here and there who were on their side and-"

Steve said wearily, "You couldn't have thought of this two days ago."

Larry cut himself off sharply, "Eh?"

Steve said, "We found their headquarters. One of their members cracked.

Ben Ruthenberg of the F.B.I. found he had a morals rap against him some years ago and scared him into talking by threats of exposure. At any rate, you're right. They had established themselves in some government buildings going back to Spanish-American War days. We've arrested eight or ten officials that were involved."

"But the money?"

"The money was gone," Steve said bitterly. "But Susan was right. There had evidently been room after room of it, stacked to the ceiling. Literally billions of dollars. They'd moved out hurriedly, but they left kicking around enough loose hundreds, fifties, twenties, tens and fives to give us an idea. Look, Woolford, I thought you'd been pulled off this case and that Walt Foster was handling it."

Larry said sourly, "I'm beginning to think so, too. They're evidently not even bothering to let me know about developments like this. See you later, Steve."

The other's face faded off.

Larry Woolford looked across the double desk at Irene Day. "Look," he said, "when you're offered a promotion, take it. If you don't, someone else will and you'll be out in the cold."

Irene Day said brightly, "I've always know that, sir."

He looked at her. The typical eager beaver. Sharp as a whip. Bright as a b.u.t.ton. "I'll bet you have," he muttered.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Woolford?"

The phone lit as LaVerne said, "The Boss wants to talk to you, Larry." Her face faded and Larry's superior was scowling at him.

He snapped, "Did you get anything on this medical records thing, Woolford?"

"Medical records?" Larry said blankly.

The Boss grunted in deprecation. "No, I suppose you haven't. I wish you would snap into it, Woolford. I don't know what has happened to you of late. I used to think that you were a good field man." He flicked off abruptly.

Larry dialed LaVerne Polk. "What in the world was the Boss just talking about, LaVerne? About medical records?"

LaVerne said, frowning, "Didn't you know? The Movement's been at it again.