13

 

Ted Arnold invited Jean Morris and Ed Rucks to have dinner with him. Ostensibly the occasion was to enable them to report progress. Arnold knew that the two had no progress to report, but he reasoned that they might have urgent need for a couple of shoulders to cry on, and he had two that were amply padded and had withstood deluges of tears from frustrated Universal Trans engineers that they were virtually waterproof.

He took them to the small executive’s dining room of the Terminal Restaurant. They had the room to themselves, and two bowing waiters to serve them, and soft music in the background, and a corner table with candlelight that did bewitching things with a tint of red that Arnold was noticing for the first time in Jean’s hair.

The two of them read the menu almost distastefully. "I’m not hungry," Jean announced finally.

"Nonsense," Arnold said. "There’s no point in being miserable on an empty stomach."

He ordered for the three of them, and then he leaned back, waved his arms comfortingly, and said, "Tell all to Papa Arnold."

"There’s nothing to tell," Ed Rucks said. "It’s hopeless."

"It’s never hopeless. Where there’s life, there’s hope."

Jean choked on a mouthful of water.

"The police were very co-operative," Rucks said. "They got the point right away—a clandestine transmitter opened up all kinds of possibilities for theft and kidnaping and what have you. They gave it the works."

"Confidentially, I hope," Arnold said.

"Oh, yes. They got that point, too. Of course we didn’t tell them that anything had happened. Just that we were afraid it might happen. They fine-combed the area around the terminal, and got absolutely nothing. We couldn’t expect any more than that of them. Brussels is no village, and it would take them years to cover the whole city."

"I’ll see that they get an official expression of thanks from the company."

"Yes. Well, we don’t really know that the bootleg transmitter was in Brussels, or if it was, that it was located anywhere near the terminal. And even if it was located near the terminal, the odds are that it was moved before they started to look for it. If that doesn’t add up to a hopeless situation, Jean’s an ugly old hag, and I’m a dashing young optimist." He ruffled his gray hair disgustedly.

"Do you have anything in mind for your next step?" Arnold asked.

"After Brussels, the world," Rucks said. "I suppose we could try the same thing in New York."

"If Brussels was difficult, New York would be impossible. There are just too many places to hide a transmitter."

"A fine consolation you are!" Jean snapped. "What shall we do, then?"

"Keep looking for Darzek."

"Just like that," Jean said. "It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack when you haven’t any idea where the haystack is."

"Did that guy Grossman give out with any information?" Rucks asked.

"Nary a thing. His knowledge begins and ends in the book-keeping department—or so he says. The two lie detector tests he took didn’t contradict him."

"I’d like to use a good thumb screw on him," Jean said.

"Don’t," Arnold told her. "It wouldn’t become you. Nevertheless, children, in these days of great and solemn tragedy I see one tantalizing ray of hope. Built into my ingenious little safety device that prevents this sort of thing from’ happening again, there is a signal light that screams red if anyone so much as tries to cut in on one of our transmitters. To date not one of those lights has flashed. I regard that as highly significant. The parties responsible for this outrage invested a lot of money, time, and inventiveness in the attempt to wreck Universal Trans, and they wouldn’t be giving it up if they could help it. Their transmitter is still hors de combat and they haven’t been able to build another one."

Jean Morris sniffed disgustedly. "I suppose all this time Jan has been sitting in a cellar somewhere, holding a gun on them."

"He probably has them strung up by the toes, and he’s tickling their feet to extract a confession."

Jean smiled—the first time that evening.

"Now, then," Arnold said, as the drinks arrived. "To Darzek, wherever he may be. May he never run out of feathers."

They drank solemnly.