Robert Heinlein - The Puppet Masters

She turned around and let a deep sigh. "That's why I didn't want to go to your hotel room. Now we're safe. Now I know we are safe for the first time since I saw that thing on the station manager's back. This apartment is tight; I turn off the air and leave it sealed like a vault every time I leave it."

"Say-how about the air conditioning? Could one get in through the ducts?"

"Possibly-but I didn't turn on the conditioner system; I cracked one of the air-raid reserve bottles instead. Never mind; what would you like to eat?"

I wanted to suggest Mary herself, served up on lettuce and toast, but I thought better of it. "Any chance of about two pounds of steak, just warmed through?"

We split a five-pound steak between us and I swear I ate the short half. While we chomped, we watched the newscast. Still no news from Iowa.

I did not get to see the bear traps; she locked her bedroom door. I know; I tried it. Three hours later she woke me and we had a second breakfast. Presently we struck cigarettes and I reached over and switched off the newscast. It was devoted principally to a display of the states' entries for "Miss America." Ordinarily I would have watched with interest but since none of the babes was round-shouldered and their contest costumes could not possibly have concealed humps bigger than mosquito bites, it seemed to lack importance that day.

I said, "Well?"

Mary said, "We've got to arrange the facts we have dug up and rub the President's nose in them. Action has to be on a national scale-global, really."

"How?"

"We've got to see him again."

I repeated, "How?"

She had no answer for that one.

I said, "We've got only one route-via official channels. Through the Old Man."

I put in the call, using both our codes so that Mary could hear, too. Presently I heard, "Chief Deputy Oldfield, speaking for the Old Man. He's not available. Shoot."

"It's got to be the Old Man."

There was a pause, then, "I don't have either one of you down as on assignment. Is this official or unofficial?"

"Uh, I guess you'd call it unofficial."

"Well, I won't put you through to the Old Man for anything unofficial. And anything official I am handling. Make up your mind."

I thanked him and switched off before I used any bad language. Then I coded again. The Old Man has a special code, in addition to regular channels, which is guaranteed to cause him to rise up out of his coffin-but God help the agent who uses it unnecessarily. I hadn't used it in five years.

He answered with a burst of profanity.

"Boss," I said, "on the Iowa matter-"

He broke off short. "Yes?"

"Mary and I spent all night digging former data out of the files. We want to talk it over with you."

The profanity resumed. Presently he told me to brief it and turn it in for analysis and added that he intended to have my ears fried for a sandwich.

"Boss!" I said sharply.

"Eh?"

"If you can run out on the job, so can we. Both Mary and I are resigning from the Section right now-and that's official!"

Mary's eyebrows went up but she said nothing. There was a silence so long that I thought he had cut me off, then he said, in a tired, whipped voice, "Palmglade Hotel, North Miami Beach. I'll be the third sunburn from the end."

"Right away." I sent for a taxi and we went up on the roof. I had the hackie swing out over the ocean to avoid the Carolina speed trap; we made good time.

The Old Man was sunburned all right. He lay there, looking sullen and letting sand dribble through his fingers, while we reported. I had brought along a little buzz box so that he could get it directly off the wire.

He looked up sharply when we came to the point about thirty-year cycles, but he allowed it to ride until he came to my later query about possible similar cycles in disappearances, whereupon he stopped me and called the Section. "Get me Analysis. Hello, Peter? This is the boss. I want a curve on unexplained disappearances, quantitative, starting with 1800. Huh? People, of course–did you think I meant latch keys? Smooth out known factors and discount steady load-what I want to see is humps and valleys. When? I want it two hours ago; what are you waiting for?"

After he switched off he struggled to his feet, let me hand him his cane and said, "Well, back to the jute mill. We've no facilities here."

"To the White House?" Mary asked eagerly.

"Eh? Be your age. You two have picked up nothing that would change the President's mind."

"Oh. Then what?"

"I don't know. Keep quiet, unless you have a bright idea."

The Old Man had a car at hand, of course, and I drove us back. After I turned it over to block control I said, "Boss, I've got a caper that might convince the President, if you can get him to hold still."

He grunted. "Like this," I went on, "send two agents in, me and one other. The other agent carries a portable scanning rig and keeps it trained on me the whole time. You get the President to watch what happens."

"Suppose nothing happens?"

"I plan to make it happen. First, I am going where the space ship landed, bull my way on through. We'll get close-up pix of the real ship, piped right into the White House. After that I plan to go back to Barnes's office and investigate those round shoulders. I'll tear shirts off right in front of the camera. There won't be any finesse to the job; I'll just bust things wide open with a sledge hammer."

"You realize you would have the same chance as a mouse at a cat convention."

"I'm not so sure. As I see it, these things haven't any superhuman powers. I'll bet they are strictly limited to whatever the human being they are riding can do-maybe less. I don't plan on being a martyr. In any case I'll get you pix, good ones."

"Hmm-"

"It might work," Mary put in. "I'll be the other agent, I can-"

The Old Man and I said, "No," together-and then I flushed; it was not my prerogative to say so. Mary went on, "I was going to say that I am the logical one because of the, uh, talent I have for spotting a man with a parasite on him."

"No," the Old Man repeated, "It won't be necessary. Where he's going they'll all have riders-assumed so until proved otherwise. Besides, I am saving you for something."

She should have shut up, but for once did not. "For what? This is important."

Instead of snapping at her the Old Man said quietly, "So is the other job. I'm planning to make you a presidential bodyguard, as soon as I can get it through his head that this is serious."

"Oh." She thought about it and answered, "uh, boss-"

"Eh?"

"I'm not certain I could spot a woman who was possessed. I'm not, uh, equipped for it."

"So we take his women secretaries away from him. Ask me a hard one. And Mary-you'll be watching him, too. He's a man, you know."

She turned that over in her mind. "And suppose I find that one has gotten to him, in spite of everything?"

"You take necessary action, the Vice President succeeds to the chair, and you get shot for treason. Simple. Now about this mission. We'll send Jarvis with the scanner and I think I'll include Davidson as an extra hatchet man. While Jarvis keeps the pick-up on you, Davidson can keep his eyes on Jarvis-and you can try to keep one eye on him. Ring-around the-rosy."

"You think it will work, then?"

"No-but any plan of action is better than no plan. Maybe it will stir up something."

While we headed for Iowa-Jarvis, Davidson, and I-the Old Man went back to Washington. He took Mary along. She cornered me as we were about to leave, grabbed me by the ears, kissed me firmly and said, "Sam-try to come back."

I got all tingly and felt like a fifteen-year-old. Second childhood, I guess.

Davidson roaded the car beyond the place where I had found a bridge out. I was navigating, using a large-scale ordnance map on which had been pinpointed the exact landing site of the real space ship. The bridge, which was still out, gave a close-by and precise reference point. We turned off the road two tenths of a mile due east of the site and jeeped through the scrub to the spot. Nobody tried to stop us.