Eric Russell - Three to Conquer

“Usurping?” Conway repeated the word as if it were the ultimate in insults. He gathered himself together with visible effort, spoke in tones of restraint, “The President cannot work more than twenty-four hours per day. Therefore he deputes certain of his powers and responsibilities. I am now exercising some of the authority so assigned.”

“By virtue of which you have his ear, while others have not,” Harper riposted. “So how about putting the matter to him?”

“No.”

“All right. I am no longer asking you to do so; I am telling you to do so.”

“Telling me?” The other registered incredulity.

“That’s what I said: I am telling you. Refusal to co-operate is a game at which two can play. You can take Leeming’s proposition to the President or count me out of this fracas, as from now.”

“You cannot do that.”

I can.

“You know full well that we’re dependent upon you to make positive identification where opportunity arises. You cannot possibly stand idly by, knowing what’s happening, watching it happen and doing nothing.”

“I can; and what’s more, I shall. You aren’t the only one who can make like a mule.”

“This is outrageous!” General Conway exploded.

“It’s mutinous, too,” indorsed Harper, showing indecent relish. “It’s barefaced treachery. You could have me shot for it. Try it and see what good it does you. I’d be even less useful dead than dumb.”

Conway breathed heavily while his face showed exasperation, then he said, “Against my better judgment, I will take this up with the President and do my best to persuade him. I promise to try to get the required action with a minimum of delay, but I offer no guarantee of success.”

“Your word is good enough for me,” said Harper. “You’re an officer and a gentleman. And in our antagonistic ways we’re both working for the same end, aren’t we?”

He got a grunt of irritation for that, put down the phone, eyed Leeming. “He’ll do it; he’s the sort who sticks to a promise like grim death once it’s been forced out of him.” He consulted his wristwatch. “Before I go, there’s one thing I’d like to know, if you can tell me.”

“What’s that?”

“How does this progressive disease become epidemic? How is it passed from one to another?”

“The same way as the dog got it. That girl Joyce Whittingham had received an injection in the upper arm, presumably with the blood of a victim.”

“We can’t say for certain that the dog has it.”

“No, but we do know the Whittingham girl had it; and we know she’d received an injection. So had two others. The fourth corpse had a plaster-covered cut that told the same story. My guess is that their reactions were the same as the dog’s—a few minutes’ confusion, collapse into a brief fit, rapid recovery.”

“Well, the fact that contact alone evidently is not sufficient helps a little,” mused Harper. “It means a prospect has to be grabbed arid held long enough to receive and get over a shot, eh?”

Leeming nodded and went on, “If this virus is not the actual cause, it’s a definite by-product; and, if it’s not the cause, well"—he spread his hands expressively—"we’re at a complete loss for any other.”

“Anything else you can tell me about it?”

“Yes. It locates itself in the brain and spinal column; that is its natural habitat. The rest is theory and you can have it for what it’s worth. I believe that the virus increases until it overflows into the bloodstream and thereby creates an urge to transmit the surplus, to seek another circulatory system leading to another brain and spinal column.”

“Humph!” Harper stewed that a while.

If these assumptions happened to be correct, that imprisoned dog might well be capable of creating its own rescuer and much-wanted ally by getting in one good snap at an unwary leg, or by licking a hand on which was a minute cut. The presence of virus in its saliva could open the gates to freedom and a wholesale conversion of human forms.

“If you want my advice,” he said to Leeming, “you’d do well to put an end to that dog before it puts an end to you.”

“Don’t worry. We’re used to coping with such matters here. Nobody goes near enough to be spat upon, much less touched.”

“You know your own business, and it’s high time I resumed tending to mine. I am going home, back to the trap that Conway hopes will catch a live one.” Harper let go a harsh chuckle. “If I’m dead out of luck, they may bring you a struggling zombie that will prove to be me.”

“What d’you mean?” inquired Leeming, wide-eyed.

“Never mind. Let’s find the escort, if I return without them, there’ll be the deuce to pay.”

Rausch was hanging around the office when Harper arrived in the morning. He said, “We stayed put until eight last evening, thinking you’d be sure to return here. If your guard hadn’t advised us that they’d delivered you safely home, we’d have been stuck in this dump all night.”

“What with one thing and another, including three stops en route, I got back too late.” Hanging up his hat, Harper sat down at his desk and reached for the mail. “Where’s Norris? How come you’re here? I thought you were making an ambush of the Baum place?”

“We’ve abandoned hope of catching anyone there. The news about the Baums appeared in yesterday’s last editions, and despite the cover-up it’s more than enough to warn off the Baums’ playmates.”

“Well, all I can say is that some people appear pretty good at thwarting the Feds.” Harper tore open a couple of envelopes, rapidly scanned their contents. “Where did you say Norris has gone?”

“I didn’t say. If it’s any satisfaction to you, he has dashed out on what is probably another fruitless trip.”

“What do you mean by ‘another’?”

“Yesterday, while you were absent,” explained Rausch, “the boys picked up no less than eight alleged McDonalds. It would have been a topnotch performance if any one of them had turned out to be McDonald; but none were. Half an hour ago Norris rushed away for a look at number nine.”

“How’s he checking?”

“Easily enough. He has mug-shots, prints and so forth. He’s got sufficient to pin down the right one beyond all shadow of doubt. We’ve not yet laid hands on the right one.”

“I’d give much to know how he’s keeping out of reach,” Harper observed. “Anything else happened that I ought to know about?”

“Your police friend Riley called in the afternoon, became nosy about where you’d gone.”

“Did you tell him?”

“How could we? We didn’t know ourselves. And even if we’d possessed the information, we wouldn’t have given it. He is not entitled to be told.”

“Did he state the purpose of his visit?”

“No. I got the impression that it was just a casual drop-in for a gab. He said he’d call again today. He fooled around, trying to make your secretary, then went.”

Harper dropped the letter he was holding, eyed Rausch sharply. “Say that again, the bit about my secretary.”

“Riley horsed about with her a bit, then departed.”

“Never! Never in a month of Sundays! He wouldn’t make a pass at Moira if she begged him. That’s why I kid him about it. He’s so solidly married that it’s boring.”

“He did,” asserted Rausch. “Maybe the solidity is becoming slightly undermined.”

Harper relaxed, said, “You’ve made a point there. Moira is due to arrive in about ten minutes. I’ll ask her about this.”

“I don’t see the need. Not unless you’ve a hen on her love-life.”

“The bond between us is firmly based upon a mutual affection for hard cash,” Harper informed him. “That and no more.”