Джон Болл - The First Team

For more than two hundred years we have lived here in this country, or on this land, under one system of government. During this time we have made enormous technical progress, but our society has been steadily going down the chute. Finally we lost a war. So here we stand now, with our rivers polluted, our land ruined in the dust bowls and strip mining areas, and our people hopelessly divided. Millions of us lost our life savings in the stock market to professional speculators while the mortgages on our homes go on and on, that is, if we’re lucky enough to have a home.

A lot of us don’t, and a lot more of us have to live in ghettos because our skins are black or we’re Jews, or just because we like to do our own thing the way we want — without hurting anyone else.

Now it’s different. We’re defeated and we’re going to be living under a different system from now on. Well, maybe it isn’t so bad. The Japanese were terrified when Mac Arthur came, but now they know that he brought with him the best turnaround that the country ever had. It could be that a year from now all of us will be glad as hell that this has happened. Anyhow, no more computers stuffing bills into your mailboxes every month and no more going to court because the baby got sick and you couldn’t make all your payments last month. So hang loose and see what happens, you might be real surprised. Maybe this is the best thing that has ever happened to us too.

When the show was over, Hewlitt sat back and thought about what he had seen and heard. The man could have convinced thousands, perhaps even millions, that there was no real need for concern. Unfortunately, they’d find out the truth soon enough. Or would they? It was a hard question. He doubted that the news services would be carrying the story, if it was true, about the union agent down South. Or whatever other things like that might be going on.

He had no real plans for the weekend; when it came he simply went home, called up a girl he knew moderately well, and with her took in a show. It was a war picture with the inevitable triumph of the Allied armed forces over the Wehrmacht. Once more the Nazis strutted across the screen and once more they met their downfall at the hands of the invincible Americans and their allies. He took the girl home, where they sat and had a drink or two before they made love and he went back to his apartment.

Apart from that limited excursion Hewlitt stayed close to home in the hope that Landers would call. He found it reasonable to assume that quiet private meetings were being held in secret all over the country. How even the best intended and motivated people would succeed, when the armed forces with all of their massive power had failed, was a question he did not permit himself to consider.

When Monday morning came he was almost glad to return to work, for despite everything that had happened and was continuing to happen, he was confident that Landers would contact him shortly. At the West Entrance the guards were still all foreign. Hewlitt checked through and allowed his person to be patted in various places before he made his way down to his office. He did not know very much about intelligence operations, but he did know that the search he had just submitted to would never embarrass any properly equipped operator who had a mission to accomplish. He dropped two books he had brought with him onto the top of his desk, noted that everything appeared to be untouched, and sat down with the feeling that this new week held promise, even if any action would be very limited at this stage of the game.

Oddly enough, the morning passed with no contact with any other person at all. None of the enemy intruded into his area, no one came in, the phone did not ring. He could not detect any change in the atmosphere, but that was not conclusive, since he could do precious little detecting while he sat alone and undisturbed in his cubicle. And he was prudent enough not to instigate anything on his own.

He was summoned to the Oval Office shortly after two-thirty. Zalinsky had on a different suit, a brown creation that showed signs of a slightly higher quality level. Otherwise he had not changed in the least; his manner was still exactly as it had been before.

“You will sit down,” he directed as Hewlitt came into the room. Hewlitt sat and occupied himself in looking for any visible changes in the famous office. A few personal mementos of the President’s had been removed, but nothing had been put in their places. If Zalinsky had a family, there were no pictures to give evidence of it anywhere. The man from overseas still appeared to be exactly what he was —a usurper in the office of the President of the United States. Where the President himself was Hewlitt did not know; he had been spirited away in time and the secret of his whereabouts was well kept. For a moment Hewlitt wondered if he would become the active head of the underground, then he decided that that was highly unlikely. The President was an honest and honorable man, but he owed his high office to a series of political events which had been unpredictable and which had left him at the last moment as the only acceptable candidate. He lacked a firm power of decision, which was one of the contributing reasons for the nation’s downfall. He had not believed intelligence reports which had proven to be accurate and in his honest attempt to heed the voices of all the people he had delayed too long.

“You made translation of the document that was sent to you,” Zalinsky said suddenly. “It was very strict. It has been read by experts and they agree that you made it very hard.”

Hewlitt nodded his agreement. “That was the tone in which the original was written. When I translate I do more than just go word by word from one language to the other; I also include the feeling of the original and the inner sense that it intends to convey.”

Zalinsky grunted, but said nothing. Then he twisted in his chair as though he could not accustom himself to its adjustments and looked at Hewlitt once more. “You know Amy Thornbush,” he said, making it a declaration.

Hewlitt shook his head. “I can’t place her,” he answered.

“You know Robert Landers.” He did not get the name quite right, but Hewlitt understood.

“Yes, I know Major Landers.”

“Give me your opinion of him.”

That was highly dangerous ground; Hewlitt walked it carefully. “Major Landers is an outstanding officer; his record is brilliant.”

“He is a fool,” Zalinsky said. “An idiot fool. I myself told you that you are children in some things, but you unbelieve this.” He leaned forward and became rigid with controlled anger. “You have heard, and seen, the warning given to you in all of the papers and radio stations.”

“Yes.”

“Landers did not obey. Like a little child, he tried to oppose us.”

It seemed to Hewlitt that the blood had turned cold inside his body. He did not dare to show undue interest in what Zalinsky was saying, but he was desperately anxious to learn to what extent Landers had been compromised — and how.

“What did he do?” Hewlitt asked.

Zalinsky bored through him for one quick moment. “If I tell you that, I would become a bigger fool than he is. You will come.”

As Zalinsky rose Hewlitt followed him out of the room with his mind spinning. He could not doubt any longer that Bob Landers had been blown, but he could not imagine that careful, experienced officer being as foolish as Zalinsky had depicted him. Worse, if Landers had been found out, how about the two girls and himself? His thoughts refused to sort themselves out in order; the only thing that he was certain of was that the alarm bells were ringing inside his brain and that he was for the moment highly uncertain as to what he should do next.