Chapter 7

When Sam Sokolski had flicked off, Larry stared at the vacant phone screen for a long moment, assimilating what the other had told him. He was astonished that an organization such as the Movement could have spread to the extent it evidently had through the country's intellectual circles, through the scientifically and technically trained, without his department being keenly aware of it.Illustration.One result, he decided glumly, of labeling everything contrary to thestatus quoasweirdand dismissing it with contempt. Admittedly, that would have been his own reaction only a week ago.Suppose that he'd been at a cocktail party, and had drifted up to a group who were arguing about social-label judgments and the need to develop amovementto change society's use of them. The discussion would have gone in one ear, out the other, and he would have muttered inwardly,“Weirds,”and have drifted on to get himself another vodka martini.Larry snorted and dialed the Department of Records. He'd never heard of Frank Nostrand before, so he got Information.The bright young thing who answered seemed to have a harried expression untypical of Records employees. Larry said to her,“I'd like the brief on a Mr. Frank Nostrand who is evidently an expert on rockets. The only other thing I know about him is that he recently got in the news as the result of a controversy with Senator McCord.”“Just a moment, sir,”the bright young thing said.She touched buttons and reached into a delivery chute. When her eyes came up to meet his again, they were more than ever harried. They were absolutely confused.“Mr. Franklin Howard Nostrand,”she said,“currently employed by Madison Air as a rocket research technician.”“That must be him,”Larry said.“I'm in a hurry, Miss. What's his background?”Her eyes rounded.“It says ... it says he's an Archbishop of the Anglican Church.”Larry Woolford looked at her.She looked back, pleadingly.Larry scowled and said,“His university degrees, please.”Her eyes darted to the report and she swallowed.“A bachelor in Home Economics, sir.”“Look here, Miss, how could a Home Economics degree result in his becoming either an Archbishop or a rocket technician?”“I'm sorry, sir. That's what it says.”Larry was fuming but there was no point in taking it out on this junior employee of the Department of Records. He snapped,“Just give me his address, please.”She said agonizingly,“Sir, it says, Lhasa, Tibet.”A red light flicked at the side of his phone and he said to her,“I'll call you back. I'm getting a priority call.”[pg 043]He flicked her off, and flicked the incoming call in. It was LaVerne Polk. She seemed to be on the harried side, too.“Larry,”she said,“you better get over here right away.”“What's up, LaVerne?”“This Movement,”she said,“it seems to have started moving! The Boss says to get over here soonest.”The top of his car was retracted. Larry Woolford slammed down the walk of his auto-bungalow and vaulted over the side and into the seat. He banged the start button, dropped the lift lever, depressed the thrust pedal and took off at maximum acceleration.He took the police level for maximum speed and was in downtown Greater Washington in flat minutes.So the Movement had started moving. That could mean almost anything. It was just enough to keep him stewing until he got to the Boss and found out what was going on.He turned his car over to a parker and made his way to the entrance utilized by the second-grade department officials. In another year, or at most two, he told himself all over again, he'd be using that other door. He had an intuitive feeling that if he licked this current assignment it'd be the opening wedge he needed and he'd wind up in a status bracket unique for his age.LaVerne looked up when he hurried into her anteroom. She evidently had two or three calls going on at once, taking orders from one phone, giving them in another. Something was obviously erupting. She didn't speak to him, merely nodded her head at the inner office.In the Boss' office were six or eight others besides Larry's superior. Their expressions and attitudes ran from bewilderment to shock. They weren't the men you'd expect to have such reactions. At least not those that Larry Woolford recognized. Three of them, Ben Ruthenberg, Bill Fraina and Dave Moskowitz were F.B.I. men with whom Larry had worked on occasion. One of the others he recognized as being a supervisor with the C.I.A. Walt Foster, Larry's rival in the Boss' affections, was also present.The Boss growled at him,“Where in the heavens have you been, Lawrence?”“Following our leads on this so-called Movement, sir,”Larry told him.“What's going on?”Ruthenberg, the Department of Justice man, grunted sour amusement.“So-called Movement, isn't exactly the correct phrase. It's a Movement, all right.”The Boss said,“Please dial Records and get your dossier, Lawrence. That'll be the quickest way to bring you up on developments.”Mystified, but already with a growing premonition, Larry dialed Records. Knowing his own classification code, he had no need of Information this time. He got the hundred-word brief and stared at it as it filled the screen. The only items really correct were his name and present occupation. Otherwise his education was[pg 044]listed as grammar school only. His military career had him ending the war as a General of the Armies, and his criminal career record included four years on Alcatraz for molesting small children.Blankly, he faded the brief and dialed his full dossier. It failed to duplicate the brief, but that was no advantage. This time he had an M.D. degree from Johns Hopkins, but his military career listed him as a dishonorable discharge from the navy where he'd served in the steward department. His criminal record was happily nil, but his religion was listed as Holy Roller. Political affiliations had him down as a member of the Dixiecrats.The others were looking at him, most of them blankly, although there were grins on the faces of Moskowitz and the C.I.A. man.Moskowitz said,“With a name like mine, yet, they have me a Bishop of the Orthodox Greek Catholic Church.”Larry said,“What's it all about?”Ruthenberg said unhappily,“It started early this morning. We don't know exactly when as yet.”Which didn't seem to answer the question.Larry said,“I don't get it. Obviously, the Records department is fouled up in some manner. How, and why?”“How, we know,”the Boss rumbled disgustedly.“Why is another matter. You've spent more time than anyone else on this assignment, Lawrence. Perhaps you can tell us.”He grabbed up a pipe from his desk, tried to light it noisily, noticed finally that it held no tobacco and threw it to the desk again.“Evidently, a large group of these Movement individuals either already worked in Records or wriggled themselves into key positions in the technical end of the department. Now they've sabotaged the files.”“We've caught most of them already,”one of the F.B.I. men growled,“but damn little good that does us at this point.”The C.I.A. supervisor made a gesture indicating that he gave it all up.“Not only here but in Chicago and San Francisco as well. All at once. Evidently perfectly rehearsed. Personnel records from coast to coast are bollixed. Why?”Larry said slowly,“I think I know that now. Yesterday, I wouldn't have but I've been picking up odds and ends.”They all looked at him.Larry sat down and ran a hand back through his hair.“The general idea is to change the country's reliance on social-label judgments.”“Onwhat,”the Boss barked.“On one person judging another according to social-labels. Voss and the others—”“Who did you say?”Ruthenberg snapped.“Voss. Professor Peter Voss from the University over in Baltimore section. He's the ring leader.”Ruthenberg snapped to Fraina,“Get on the phone and send out a pick-up order for him.”Fraina was on his feet.“What charge, Ben?”[pg 045]Ben Ruthenberg snorted.“Rape, or something. Get moving, we'll figure out a charge later. The guy's a fruitcake.”Larry said wearily,“He's evidently gone into hiding. I've been trying to locate him. He managed to slip me some knockout drops and got away yesterday.”The Boss looked at him in disgust.Ruthenberg said evenly,“We've had men go into hiding before. Get going, Fraina.”Fraina left the office and the others looked back to Larry.The Boss said,“About this social-label nonsense—”Larry said,“They think the country is going to pot because of it. People hold high office or places of responsibility not because of superior intelligence, or even acquired skill, but because of the social-labels they've accumulated, and these can be based on something as flimsy—from the Movement's viewpoint—as who your grandparents were, what school you attended, how much seniority you have on the job, what part of town you live in, or what tailor cuts your clothes.”Their expressions ran from scowls and frowns to complete puzzlement.Walt Foster grumbled,“What's all this got to do with sabotaging the country's Records tapes?”Larry shrugged.“I don't have the complete picture, but one thing is sure. It's going to be harder for a while to base your opinions on a quick hundred-word brief on a man. Yesterday, an employer, considering hiring somebody, could dial the man's dossier, check it, and form his opinions by the status labels the would-be employee could produce. Today, he's damn well going to have to exercise his own judgment.”LaVerne's face lit up the screen on the Boss' desk and she said,“Those two members of the Movement who were picked up in Alexandria are here, sir.”“Send them in,”the Boss rumbled. He looked at Larry.“The F.B.I. managed to arrest almost everyone directly involved in the sabotage.”The two prisoners seemed more amused than otherwise. They were young men, in their early thirties—well dressed and obviously intelligent. The Boss had them seated side by side and glared at them for a long moment before speaking. Larry and the others took chairs in various parts of the room and added their own stares to the barrage.The Boss said,“Your situation is an unhappy one, gentlemen.”One of the two shrugged.The Boss said,“You can, ah, hedge your bets, by co-operating with us. It might make the difference between a year or two in prison—and life.”One of them grinned and then yawned.“I doubt it,”he said.The Boss tried a slightly different tack.“You have no reason to maintain a feeling of obligation to Voss and the others. You have obviously been abandoned. Had they any feeling for you there would have been more efficacious arrangements for your escape.”[pg 046]The more articulate of the two shrugged again.“We were expendable,”he said.“However, it won't be long before we're free again.”“You think so?”Ruthenberg grunted.The revolutionist looked at him.“Yes, I do,”he said.“Six months from now and we'll be heroes since by that time the Movement will have been a success.”The Boss snorted.“Just because you deranged the Records? Why that's but temporary.”“Not so temporary as you think,”the technician replied.“This country has allowed itself to get deeply enmeshed in punch-card and tape records. Oh, it made sense enough. With the population we have, and the endless files that result from our ultra-complicated society, it was simply a matter finally of developing a standardized system of records for the nation as a whole. Now, for all practical purposes,allof our records these days are kept with the Department of Records, confidential as well as public records. Why should a university, for instance, keep literally tons of files, with all the expense and space and time involved, when it can merely file the same records with the governmental department and have them safe and easily available at any time? Now, the Movement has completely and irrevocably destroyed almost all files that deal with the social-labels to which we object. An excellent first step, in forcing our country back into judgment based on ability and intelligence.”“First step!”Larry blurted.The two prisoners looked at him.“That's right,”the quieter of the two said.“This is just the first step.”“Don't kid yourselves,”Ben Ruthenberg snapped at them.“It's also the last!”The two members of the Movement grinned at him.When the others had gone, the Boss looked at Larry Woolford. He said sourly,“When this department was being formed, I doubt anyone had in mind this particular type of subversion, Lawrence.”Larry grunted.“Give me a good old-fashioned Commie, any time. Look, sir, what are the Department of Justice boys going to do with those prisoners?”“Hold them on any of various charges. We've conflicted with the F.B.I. in the past on overlapping jurisdiction, but thank heavens for them now. Their manpower is needed.”Larry leaned forward.“Sir, we ought to take all members of the Movement we've already arrested, feed them a dose of Scop-Serum, and pressure them to open up on the organization's operations.”His superior looked at him, waiting for him to continue.Larry said urgently,“Those two we just had in here thought the whole thing was a big joke. The first step, they called it. Sir, there's something considerably bigger than this cooking. Uncle Sam might pride himself on the personal liberties guaranteed[pg 047]by this country, but unless we break this organization, and do it fast, there's going to be trouble that will make this fouling of the records look like the minor matter those two jokers seemed to think it.”The Boss thought about that. He said slowly,“Lawrence, the Supreme Court ruled against the use of Scop-Serum. Not that it is over efficient, anyway. Largely, these so-called truth serums don't accomplish much more than to lower resistance, slacken natural inhibitions, weaken the will.”“Sure,”Larry said.“But give a man a good dose of Scop-Serum and he'd betray his own mother. Not because he's helpless to tell a lie, but because under the influence of the drug he figures it just isn't important enough to bother about. Sir, Supreme Court or not, I think those two ought to be given Scop-Serum along with all other Movement members we've picked up.”The Boss was shaking his head.“Lawrence, these men are not wide-eyed radicals picked up in a street demonstration. They're highly respected members of our society. They're educators, scientists, engineers, technicians. Anything done to them is going to make headlines. Those that were actually involved in the sabotage will have criminal charges brought against them, but they're going to get a considerable amount of publicity, and we're going to be in no position to alienate any of their constitutional rights.”Larry stood up, approached his chief's desk and leaned over it urgently.“Sir, that's fine, but we've got to move and move fast. Something's up and we don't even know what! Take that counterfeit money. From Susan Self's description, there's actually billions of dollars worth of it.”“Oh, come now, Lawrence. The child exaggerated. Besides, that's a problem for Steven Hackett and the Secret Service, we have enough on our hands as it is. Forget about the counterfeit, Lawrence. I think I shall put you in complete control of field work on this, to co-operate in liaison with Ben Ruthenberg and the F.B.I. So far as we're concerned, the counterfeit angle belongs to Secret Service, we're working on subversion, and until the Civil Liberties Union or whoever else proves otherwise, we'll consider this Movement an organization attempting to subvert the country by illegal means.”Larry Woolford made a hard decision quickly. He was shaking his head.“Sir, I'd rather you gave the administrative end to someone else and let me continue in the field. I've got some leads—I think. If I get bogged down in interdepartmental red tape, and in paper work here at headquarters, I'll never get to the heart of this and I'm laying bets that we either crack this within days or there are going to be some awfully big changes in this country.”The Boss glared at him.“You mean you're refusing this assignment, Woolford. Confound it, don't you realize it's a promotion?”Larry was worriedly dogged.“Sir, I'd rather stay in the field.”[pg 048]“Very well,”the other snapped disgustedly,“I hope you deliver some results, Woolford, otherwise I am afraid I won't feel particularly happy about your somewhat cavalier rejection of this opportunity.”He flicked on the phone and snapped to LaVerne Polk,“Miss Polk, locate Walter Foster for me. He is to take over our end of this Movement matter.”LaVerne said,“Yes, sir,”and her face was gone.The Boss looked up, still scowling.“What are you waiting for, Woolford?”“Yes, sir,”Larry said. It was just coming home to him now, what he'd done. There possibly went his yearned for promotion in the department. There went his chance of an upgrading in status. And Walt Foster, of all people, in his place.At LaVerne's desk, Larry stopped off long enough to say,“Did you ever assign that secretary to me?”LaVerne shook her head at him.“She's come and gone, Larry. She sat around for a couple of days, after seeing you not even once, and then I gave her another assignment.”“Well, bring her back again, will you? I want her to do up briefs for me on all the information we accumulate on the Movement. It'll be coming in from all sides now. From the Press, from those members we've arrested, from our F.B.I. pals, now that they're interested, and so forth.”“I'll give you Irene Day,”LaVerne said.“Where are you off to now, Larry?”“Probably a wild goose chase,”Larry growled.“Which reminds me. Do me a favor, LaVerne. Call Personal Service and find out where Frank Nostrand is. He's some kind of rocket technician at Madison Air Laboratories. I'll be in my office.”“Frank Nostrand,”LaVerne said briskly.“Will do, Larry.”Back in his own cubicle, Larry stood for a moment in thought. He was increasingly aware of the uncomfortable feeling that time was running out on them. That things were coming to a dangerous head.He stared down at the dozen or more books and pamphlets that his never seen secretary had heaped up for him. Well, he certainly didn't have time for them now.He sat down at the desk and dialed an inter-office number.The harassed looking face of Walter Foster faded in. On seeing Larry Woolford he growled accusingly,“My pal. You've let them dump this whole thing into my lap.”Larry grinned at him.“Better you than me, old buddy. Besides, it's a promotion. Pull this off and you'll be the Boss' right-hand man.”“That's a laugh,”Foster said.“It's a madhouse. This Movement gang is as weird as they come.”“I bleed for you,”Larry said.“However, here's a tip. Frol Eivazov, of theChrezvychainaya Komissiyais somewhere in the country.”“Frol Eivazov!”Foster blurted.“What've the Commies got to do with this? Is this something the Boss knows about?”[pg 049]“Haven't had time to go into it with him,”Larry said.“However, it seems that friend Frol is here to find out what the Movement is all about. Evidently the big boys in Peking and Moscow are nervous about any changes that might take place over here. I suggest you have him picked up, Walt.”Illustration.Walt Foster said,“O.K. I'll put some people on it. Maybe the F.B.I. can help.”Larry flicked off as he saw the red priority light on his phone shining. He pushed it and LaVerne's face faded in.She said,“This Franklin Nostrand you wanted to know about. He's evidently working at the laboratories over in Newport News, Larry. He'll be on the job until five this afternoon.”“Fine,”he said. Larry grinned at her.“When are we going to have that date, LaVerne?”She made a face.“Some day when the program involves having fun instead of parading around in the right places, driving the right model car, dressed in exactly the right clothes, and above all associating with the right people.”It was his turn to grimace.“I'm beginning to think you ought to sign up with Voss and this Movement of his. You'd be right at home with his weirds.”She stuck out her tongue at him, and flicked off.He looked at the empty screen and chuckled. He had half a mind to get a record of their conversation, strip out[pg 050]just the section where she'd stuck out her tongue, and then play it back to her. She'd be taken aback by being confronted by her own image making faces at her.As he made his way to the parking lot for his car, something in their conversation nagged at him, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He considered the girl, all over again. She had almost all the qualities he looked for. She was attractive, without being overly so. He disliked women out of the ordinarily beautiful, it became too much to live up to. She was sharp, but not objectionably so. Not to the point of giving you an inferiority complex.But, Holy Smokes, she'd never do as a career man's wife. He could just see the Boss' ultraconservative better half inviting them to dinner. It would happen exactly once, never again.He obtained his car, lifted it to one of the higher levels and headed for Newport News. It was a half-hour trip and he wasn't particularly expectant of results. The tip Sam Sokolski had given him, wasn't much to go by. Evidently, Frank Nostrand was a friend of the Professor's but that didn't necessarily mean he was connected with the movement, or that he knew Voss' whereabouts.He might have saved himself the trip.The bird had flown again. Not only was Frank Nostrand not at the Madison Air Laboratories, but he wasn't at home either. Larry Woolford, mindful of his departmental chief's words on the prestige these people carried, took a full hour in acquiring a search warrant before breaking into the Nostrand home.Nostrand was supposedly a bachelor, but the auto-bungalow, similar to Larry Woolford's own, showed signs of double occupancy, and there was little indication that the guest had been a woman.Disgruntled, Larry Woolford dialed the offices, asked for Walt Foster. It took nearly ten minutes before his colleague faded in.“I'm up to my eyebrows, Larry. What'd you want?”Larry gave him Frank Nostrand's address.“This guy's disappeared, Walt.”“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 pickhimup, 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[pg 051]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 cocked into something, Woolford. Yesterday, you had this whole assignment 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 himsir,”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?”[pg 052]“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 Washington 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 button.“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.[pg 053]“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. They've fouled up the records of the State Medical Licensing bureaus, at the same time sabotaging the remaining records of most, if not all, of the country's medical schools. They struck simultaneously, throughout the country.”He looked at her, expressionlessly.LaVerne said,“We've caught several hundred of those responsible. It's the same thing. Attack of the social-label. From now on, if a man tells you he's an Ear, Eye and Throat specialist, you'd better do some investigation before letting him amputate your tongue. You'd better use your judgment before lettinganydoctor you don't really know about, work on you. It's a madhouse, Larry.”

Illustration.

One result, he decided glumly, of labeling everything contrary to thestatus quoasweirdand dismissing it with contempt. Admittedly, that would have been his own reaction only a week ago.

Suppose that he'd been at a cocktail party, and had drifted up to a group who were arguing about social-label judgments and the need to develop amovementto change society's use of them. The discussion would have gone in one ear, out the other, and he would have muttered inwardly,“Weirds,”and have drifted on to get himself another vodka martini.

Larry snorted and dialed the Department of Records. He'd never heard of Frank Nostrand before, so he got Information.

The bright young thing who answered seemed to have a harried expression untypical of Records employees. Larry said to her,“I'd like the brief on a Mr. Frank Nostrand who is evidently an expert on rockets. The only other thing I know about him is that he recently got in the news as the result of a controversy with Senator McCord.”

“Just a moment, sir,”the bright young thing said.

She touched buttons and reached into a delivery chute. When her eyes came up to meet his again, they were more than ever harried. They were absolutely confused.

“Mr. Franklin Howard Nostrand,”she said,“currently employed by Madison Air as a rocket research technician.”

“That must be him,”Larry said.“I'm in a hurry, Miss. What's his background?”

Her eyes rounded.“It says ... it says he's an Archbishop of the Anglican Church.”

Larry Woolford looked at her.

She looked back, pleadingly.

Larry scowled and said,“His university degrees, please.”

Her eyes darted to the report and she swallowed.“A bachelor in Home Economics, sir.”

“Look here, Miss, how could a Home Economics degree result in his becoming either an Archbishop or a rocket technician?”

“I'm sorry, sir. That's what it says.”

Larry was fuming but there was no point in taking it out on this junior employee of the Department of Records. He snapped,“Just give me his address, please.”

She said agonizingly,“Sir, it says, Lhasa, Tibet.”

A red light flicked at the side of his phone and he said to her,“I'll call you back. I'm getting a priority call.”

He flicked her off, and flicked the incoming call in. It was LaVerne Polk. She seemed to be on the harried side, too.

“Larry,”she said,“you better get over here right away.”

“What's up, LaVerne?”

“This Movement,”she said,“it seems to have started moving! The Boss says to get over here soonest.”

The top of his car was retracted. Larry Woolford slammed down the walk of his auto-bungalow and vaulted over the side and into the seat. He banged the start button, dropped the lift lever, depressed the thrust pedal and took off at maximum acceleration.

He took the police level for maximum speed and was in downtown Greater Washington in flat minutes.

So the Movement had started moving. That could mean almost anything. It was just enough to keep him stewing until he got to the Boss and found out what was going on.

He turned his car over to a parker and made his way to the entrance utilized by the second-grade department officials. In another year, or at most two, he told himself all over again, he'd be using that other door. He had an intuitive feeling that if he licked this current assignment it'd be the opening wedge he needed and he'd wind up in a status bracket unique for his age.

LaVerne looked up when he hurried into her anteroom. She evidently had two or three calls going on at once, taking orders from one phone, giving them in another. Something was obviously erupting. She didn't speak to him, merely nodded her head at the inner office.

In the Boss' office were six or eight others besides Larry's superior. Their expressions and attitudes ran from bewilderment to shock. They weren't the men you'd expect to have such reactions. At least not those that Larry Woolford recognized. Three of them, Ben Ruthenberg, Bill Fraina and Dave Moskowitz were F.B.I. men with whom Larry had worked on occasion. One of the others he recognized as being a supervisor with the C.I.A. Walt Foster, Larry's rival in the Boss' affections, was also present.

The Boss growled at him,“Where in the heavens have you been, Lawrence?”

“Following our leads on this so-called Movement, sir,”Larry told him.“What's going on?”

Ruthenberg, the Department of Justice man, grunted sour amusement.“So-called Movement, isn't exactly the correct phrase. It's a Movement, all right.”

The Boss said,“Please dial Records and get your dossier, Lawrence. That'll be the quickest way to bring you up on developments.”

Mystified, but already with a growing premonition, Larry dialed Records. Knowing his own classification code, he had no need of Information this time. He got the hundred-word brief and stared at it as it filled the screen. The only items really correct were his name and present occupation. Otherwise his education was[pg 044]listed as grammar school only. His military career had him ending the war as a General of the Armies, and his criminal career record included four years on Alcatraz for molesting small children.

Blankly, he faded the brief and dialed his full dossier. It failed to duplicate the brief, but that was no advantage. This time he had an M.D. degree from Johns Hopkins, but his military career listed him as a dishonorable discharge from the navy where he'd served in the steward department. His criminal record was happily nil, but his religion was listed as Holy Roller. Political affiliations had him down as a member of the Dixiecrats.

The others were looking at him, most of them blankly, although there were grins on the faces of Moskowitz and the C.I.A. man.

Moskowitz said,“With a name like mine, yet, they have me a Bishop of the Orthodox Greek Catholic Church.”

Larry said,“What's it all about?”

Ruthenberg said unhappily,“It started early this morning. We don't know exactly when as yet.”Which didn't seem to answer the question.

Larry said,“I don't get it. Obviously, the Records department is fouled up in some manner. How, and why?”

“How, we know,”the Boss rumbled disgustedly.“Why is another matter. You've spent more time than anyone else on this assignment, Lawrence. Perhaps you can tell us.”He grabbed up a pipe from his desk, tried to light it noisily, noticed finally that it held no tobacco and threw it to the desk again.“Evidently, a large group of these Movement individuals either already worked in Records or wriggled themselves into key positions in the technical end of the department. Now they've sabotaged the files.”

“We've caught most of them already,”one of the F.B.I. men growled,“but damn little good that does us at this point.”

The C.I.A. supervisor made a gesture indicating that he gave it all up.“Not only here but in Chicago and San Francisco as well. All at once. Evidently perfectly rehearsed. Personnel records from coast to coast are bollixed. Why?”

Larry said slowly,“I think I know that now. Yesterday, I wouldn't have but I've been picking up odds and ends.”

They all looked at him.

Larry sat down and ran a hand back through his hair.“The general idea is to change the country's reliance on social-label judgments.”

“Onwhat,”the Boss barked.

“On one person judging another according to social-labels. Voss and the others—”

“Who did you say?”Ruthenberg snapped.

“Voss. Professor Peter Voss from the University over in Baltimore section. He's the ring leader.”

Ruthenberg snapped to Fraina,“Get on the phone and send out a pick-up order for him.”

Fraina was on his feet.“What charge, Ben?”

Ben Ruthenberg snorted.“Rape, or something. Get moving, we'll figure out a charge later. The guy's a fruitcake.”

Larry said wearily,“He's evidently gone into hiding. I've been trying to locate him. He managed to slip me some knockout drops and got away yesterday.”

The Boss looked at him in disgust.

Ruthenberg said evenly,“We've had men go into hiding before. Get going, Fraina.”

Fraina left the office and the others looked back to Larry.

The Boss said,“About this social-label nonsense—”

Larry said,“They think the country is going to pot because of it. People hold high office or places of responsibility not because of superior intelligence, or even acquired skill, but because of the social-labels they've accumulated, and these can be based on something as flimsy—from the Movement's viewpoint—as who your grandparents were, what school you attended, how much seniority you have on the job, what part of town you live in, or what tailor cuts your clothes.”

Their expressions ran from scowls and frowns to complete puzzlement.

Walt Foster grumbled,“What's all this got to do with sabotaging the country's Records tapes?”

Larry shrugged.“I don't have the complete picture, but one thing is sure. It's going to be harder for a while to base your opinions on a quick hundred-word brief on a man. Yesterday, an employer, considering hiring somebody, could dial the man's dossier, check it, and form his opinions by the status labels the would-be employee could produce. Today, he's damn well going to have to exercise his own judgment.”

LaVerne's face lit up the screen on the Boss' desk and she said,“Those two members of the Movement who were picked up in Alexandria are here, sir.”

“Send them in,”the Boss rumbled. He looked at Larry.“The F.B.I. managed to arrest almost everyone directly involved in the sabotage.”

The two prisoners seemed more amused than otherwise. They were young men, in their early thirties—well dressed and obviously intelligent. The Boss had them seated side by side and glared at them for a long moment before speaking. Larry and the others took chairs in various parts of the room and added their own stares to the barrage.

The Boss said,“Your situation is an unhappy one, gentlemen.”

One of the two shrugged.

The Boss said,“You can, ah, hedge your bets, by co-operating with us. It might make the difference between a year or two in prison—and life.”

One of them grinned and then yawned.“I doubt it,”he said.

The Boss tried a slightly different tack.“You have no reason to maintain a feeling of obligation to Voss and the others. You have obviously been abandoned. Had they any feeling for you there would have been more efficacious arrangements for your escape.”

The more articulate of the two shrugged again.“We were expendable,”he said.“However, it won't be long before we're free again.”

“You think so?”Ruthenberg grunted.

The revolutionist looked at him.“Yes, I do,”he said.“Six months from now and we'll be heroes since by that time the Movement will have been a success.”

The Boss snorted.“Just because you deranged the Records? Why that's but temporary.”

“Not so temporary as you think,”the technician replied.“This country has allowed itself to get deeply enmeshed in punch-card and tape records. Oh, it made sense enough. With the population we have, and the endless files that result from our ultra-complicated society, it was simply a matter finally of developing a standardized system of records for the nation as a whole. Now, for all practical purposes,allof our records these days are kept with the Department of Records, confidential as well as public records. Why should a university, for instance, keep literally tons of files, with all the expense and space and time involved, when it can merely file the same records with the governmental department and have them safe and easily available at any time? Now, the Movement has completely and irrevocably destroyed almost all files that deal with the social-labels to which we object. An excellent first step, in forcing our country back into judgment based on ability and intelligence.”

“First step!”Larry blurted.

The two prisoners looked at him.“That's right,”the quieter of the two said.“This is just the first step.”

“Don't kid yourselves,”Ben Ruthenberg snapped at them.“It's also the last!”

The two members of the Movement grinned at him.

When the others had gone, the Boss looked at Larry Woolford. He said sourly,“When this department was being formed, I doubt anyone had in mind this particular type of subversion, Lawrence.”

Larry grunted.“Give me a good old-fashioned Commie, any time. Look, sir, what are the Department of Justice boys going to do with those prisoners?”

“Hold them on any of various charges. We've conflicted with the F.B.I. in the past on overlapping jurisdiction, but thank heavens for them now. Their manpower is needed.”

Larry leaned forward.“Sir, we ought to take all members of the Movement we've already arrested, feed them a dose of Scop-Serum, and pressure them to open up on the organization's operations.”

His superior looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

Larry said urgently,“Those two we just had in here thought the whole thing was a big joke. The first step, they called it. Sir, there's something considerably bigger than this cooking. Uncle Sam might pride himself on the personal liberties guaranteed[pg 047]by this country, but unless we break this organization, and do it fast, there's going to be trouble that will make this fouling of the records look like the minor matter those two jokers seemed to think it.”

The Boss thought about that. He said slowly,“Lawrence, the Supreme Court ruled against the use of Scop-Serum. Not that it is over efficient, anyway. Largely, these so-called truth serums don't accomplish much more than to lower resistance, slacken natural inhibitions, weaken the will.”

“Sure,”Larry said.“But give a man a good dose of Scop-Serum and he'd betray his own mother. Not because he's helpless to tell a lie, but because under the influence of the drug he figures it just isn't important enough to bother about. Sir, Supreme Court or not, I think those two ought to be given Scop-Serum along with all other Movement members we've picked up.”

The Boss was shaking his head.“Lawrence, these men are not wide-eyed radicals picked up in a street demonstration. They're highly respected members of our society. They're educators, scientists, engineers, technicians. Anything done to them is going to make headlines. Those that were actually involved in the sabotage will have criminal charges brought against them, but they're going to get a considerable amount of publicity, and we're going to be in no position to alienate any of their constitutional rights.”

Larry stood up, approached his chief's desk and leaned over it urgently.“Sir, that's fine, but we've got to move and move fast. Something's up and we don't even know what! Take that counterfeit money. From Susan Self's description, there's actually billions of dollars worth of it.”

“Oh, come now, Lawrence. The child exaggerated. Besides, that's a problem for Steven Hackett and the Secret Service, we have enough on our hands as it is. Forget about the counterfeit, Lawrence. I think I shall put you in complete control of field work on this, to co-operate in liaison with Ben Ruthenberg and the F.B.I. So far as we're concerned, the counterfeit angle belongs to Secret Service, we're working on subversion, and until the Civil Liberties Union or whoever else proves otherwise, we'll consider this Movement an organization attempting to subvert the country by illegal means.”

Larry Woolford made a hard decision quickly. He was shaking his head.“Sir, I'd rather you gave the administrative end to someone else and let me continue in the field. I've got some leads—I think. If I get bogged down in interdepartmental red tape, and in paper work here at headquarters, I'll never get to the heart of this and I'm laying bets that we either crack this within days or there are going to be some awfully big changes in this country.”

The Boss glared at him.“You mean you're refusing this assignment, Woolford. Confound it, don't you realize it's a promotion?”

Larry was worriedly dogged.“Sir, I'd rather stay in the field.”

“Very well,”the other snapped disgustedly,“I hope you deliver some results, Woolford, otherwise I am afraid I won't feel particularly happy about your somewhat cavalier rejection of this opportunity.”He flicked on the phone and snapped to LaVerne Polk,“Miss Polk, locate Walter Foster for me. He is to take over our end of this Movement matter.”

LaVerne said,“Yes, sir,”and her face was gone.

The Boss looked up, still scowling.“What are you waiting for, Woolford?”

“Yes, sir,”Larry said. It was just coming home to him now, what he'd done. There possibly went his yearned for promotion in the department. There went his chance of an upgrading in status. And Walt Foster, of all people, in his place.

At LaVerne's desk, Larry stopped off long enough to say,“Did you ever assign that secretary to me?”

LaVerne shook her head at him.“She's come and gone, Larry. She sat around for a couple of days, after seeing you not even once, and then I gave her another assignment.”

“Well, bring her back again, will you? I want her to do up briefs for me on all the information we accumulate on the Movement. It'll be coming in from all sides now. From the Press, from those members we've arrested, from our F.B.I. pals, now that they're interested, and so forth.”

“I'll give you Irene Day,”LaVerne said.“Where are you off to now, Larry?”

“Probably a wild goose chase,”Larry growled.“Which reminds me. Do me a favor, LaVerne. Call Personal Service and find out where Frank Nostrand is. He's some kind of rocket technician at Madison Air Laboratories. I'll be in my office.”

“Frank Nostrand,”LaVerne said briskly.“Will do, Larry.”

Back in his own cubicle, Larry stood for a moment in thought. He was increasingly aware of the uncomfortable feeling that time was running out on them. That things were coming to a dangerous head.

He stared down at the dozen or more books and pamphlets that his never seen secretary had heaped up for him. Well, he certainly didn't have time for them now.

He sat down at the desk and dialed an inter-office number.

The harassed looking face of Walter Foster faded in. On seeing Larry Woolford he growled accusingly,“My pal. You've let them dump this whole thing into my lap.”

Larry grinned at him.“Better you than me, old buddy. Besides, it's a promotion. Pull this off and you'll be the Boss' right-hand man.”

“That's a laugh,”Foster said.“It's a madhouse. This Movement gang is as weird as they come.”

“I bleed for you,”Larry said.“However, here's a tip. Frol Eivazov, of theChrezvychainaya Komissiyais somewhere in the country.”

“Frol Eivazov!”Foster blurted.“What've the Commies got to do with this? Is this something the Boss knows about?”

“Haven't had time to go into it with him,”Larry said.“However, it seems that friend Frol is here to find out what the Movement is all about. Evidently the big boys in Peking and Moscow are nervous about any changes that might take place over here. I suggest you have him picked up, Walt.”

Illustration.

Walt Foster said,“O.K. I'll put some people on it. Maybe the F.B.I. can help.”

Larry flicked off as he saw the red priority light on his phone shining. He pushed it and LaVerne's face faded in.

She said,“This Franklin Nostrand you wanted to know about. He's evidently working at the laboratories over in Newport News, Larry. He'll be on the job until five this afternoon.”

“Fine,”he said. Larry grinned at her.“When are we going to have that date, LaVerne?”

She made a face.“Some day when the program involves having fun instead of parading around in the right places, driving the right model car, dressed in exactly the right clothes, and above all associating with the right people.”

It was his turn to grimace.“I'm beginning to think you ought to sign up with Voss and this Movement of his. You'd be right at home with his weirds.”

She stuck out her tongue at him, and flicked off.

He looked at the empty screen and chuckled. He had half a mind to get a record of their conversation, strip out[pg 050]just the section where she'd stuck out her tongue, and then play it back to her. She'd be taken aback by being confronted by her own image making faces at her.

As he made his way to the parking lot for his car, something in their conversation nagged at him, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He considered the girl, all over again. She had almost all the qualities he looked for. She was attractive, without being overly so. He disliked women out of the ordinarily beautiful, it became too much to live up to. She was sharp, but not objectionably so. Not to the point of giving you an inferiority complex.

But, Holy Smokes, she'd never do as a career man's wife. He could just see the Boss' ultraconservative better half inviting them to dinner. It would happen exactly once, never again.

He obtained his car, lifted it to one of the higher levels and headed for Newport News. It was a half-hour trip and he wasn't particularly expectant of results. The tip Sam Sokolski had given him, wasn't much to go by. Evidently, Frank Nostrand was a friend of the Professor's but that didn't necessarily mean he was connected with the movement, or that he knew Voss' whereabouts.

He might have saved himself the trip.

The bird had flown again. Not only was Frank Nostrand not at the Madison Air Laboratories, but he wasn't at home either. Larry Woolford, mindful of his departmental chief's words on the prestige these people carried, took a full hour in acquiring a search warrant before breaking into the Nostrand home.

Nostrand was supposedly a bachelor, but the auto-bungalow, similar to Larry Woolford's own, showed signs of double occupancy, and there was little indication that the guest had been a woman.

Disgruntled, Larry Woolford dialed the offices, asked for Walt Foster. It took nearly ten minutes before his colleague faded in.

“I'm up to my eyebrows, Larry. What'd you want?”

Larry gave him Frank Nostrand's address.“This guy's disappeared, Walt.”

“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 pickhimup, 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[pg 051]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 cocked into something, Woolford. Yesterday, you had this whole assignment 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 himsir,”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 Washington 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 button.“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.[pg 053]“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. They've fouled up the records of the State Medical Licensing bureaus, at the same time sabotaging the remaining records of most, if not all, of the country's medical schools. They struck simultaneously, throughout the country.”

He looked at her, expressionlessly.

LaVerne said,“We've caught several hundred of those responsible. It's the same thing. Attack of the social-label. From now on, if a man tells you he's an Ear, Eye and Throat specialist, you'd better do some investigation before letting him amputate your tongue. You'd better use your judgment before lettinganydoctor you don't really know about, work on you. It's a madhouse, Larry.”

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