Tiger! Tiger! (31 page)

`No.'

`That's my business and Most Secret,' Y'ang-Yeovil objected mildly.

`You've got as few secrets from me as I have from you.'

Dagenham grinned mirthlessly. `See if you can beat Central Intelligence back here with that report, Jiz. Go.' She disappeared.

`About property rights,' Y'ang-Yeovil murmured. `May I suggest to Presteign that Central Intelligence will guarantee full payment to him for his rights, title and interest in PyrE?'

`Don't coddle him, Yeovil.'

`This conference is being recorded,' Presteign said, coldly. `The captain's offer is now on file.'

He turned his basilisk face to Dagenham. `You are in my employ, Mr. Dagenham. Please control your references to myself.'

`And to your property?'

Dagenham inquired with a deadly smile. `You and your damned property. All of you and all your damned property have put us in this hole. The system's on the edge of total annihilation for the sake of your property. I'm not exaggerated It will be a shooting war to end all wars if we can't stop it.'

`We can always surrender,' Presteign answered.

`No,' Y'ang-Yeovil said. `That's already been discussed and discarded at H.Q. We know the post-victory plans of the Outer Satellites. They involve total exploitation of the Inner Planets. We're to be gutted and worked until nothing's left. Surrender would be as disastrous as defeat'

`But not for Presteign,' Dagenham added.

`Shall we say . . . present company excluded?' Y'ang-Yeovil replied gracefully.

`All right, Presteign,' Dagenham swiveled in his chair. `Give.'

`I beg your pardon, sir?'

Let's hear all about PyrE. I've got an idea how we can bring Foyle out into the open and locate the stuff, but I've got to know all about it first. Make your contribution.'

`No,' Presteign answered.

`No, What?'

`I have decided to withdraw from this information pool. I will reveal nothing about PyrE.'

`For God's sake, Presteign! Are you insane? What's got into you? Are you fighting Regis Sheffield's Liberal party again?'

`It's quite simple, Dagenham,' Y'ang-Yeovil interposed. `My information about the surrender-defeat situation has shown Presteign a way to better his position. No doubt he intends negotiating a sale to the enemy in return for ... property advantages:

`Can nothing move you?' Dagenham asked Presteign, scornfully. Can nothing touch you? Are you all property and nothing else? Go away, Jiz! The whole thing's fallen apart.'

Jisbella had jaunted into the Star Chamber again. 'Commando Brigade's report,' she said. `We know what happened to Foyle.'

`What?'

`Presteign's got him.'

`What!'

Both Dagenham and Y'ang-Yeovil started to their feet.

`He left Mars in a private yawl, was shot up, and was observed being picked up by the Presteign S.S. Vorga.'

`Damn you, Presteign,' Dagenham snapped. `So that's why you've been.'

`Wait,' Y'ang-Yeovil commanded. `It's news to him too, Dagenham. Look at him.'

Presteign's handsome face had gone the color of ashes. He tried to rise and fell back stiffly in his chair. `Olivia . .
 
he whispered. `With him . . . That scum. . .'

'Presteign?'

`My daughter, gentlemen, has . . . for sometime been engaged in . . . certain activities. The family vice. Blood and- I . . . have managed to close my eyes to it. . . Had almost convinced myself that I was mistaken. I . . . But Foyle! Dirt! Filth! He must be destroyed!'

Presteign's voice soared alarmingly. His head twisted back like a hanged man's and his body began to shudder.

`What in the-?'

`Epilepsy,' Y'ang-Yeovil said. He pulled Presteign out of the chair on to the floor. `A spoon, Miss McQueen. Quick!'

He levered Presteign's teeth open and placed a spoon between them to protect the tongue. As suddenly as it had begun, the seizure was over. The shuddering stopped. Presteign opened his eyes.

'Petit mal,' Y'ang-Yeovil murmured, withdrawing the spoon. `But he'll be dazed for a while.'

Suddenly Presteign began to speak in a low monotone. 'PyrE is a pyrophoric alloy. A pyrophore is a metal which emits sparks when scraped or struck. PyrE emits energy, which is why E, the energy symbol, was added to the prefix Pyr. PyrE is a solid solution of trans-Plutonian isotopes, releasing thermo-nuclear energy on the order of stellar phoenix action. Its discoverer was of opinion that he had produced the equivalent of the primordial proto-matter, which exploded in the Universe.'

`My God!' Jisbella exclaimed.

Dagenham silenced her with a gesture and bent over Presteign.

`How is it brought to critical mass. Presteign? How is the energy released?'

`As the original energy was generated, in the beginning of time,' Presteign droned. `Through Will and Idea.'

`I'm convinced he's a Cellar-Christian,' Dagenham muttered to Y'ang-Yeovil. He raised his voice. `Will you explain, Presteign?'

`Through Will and Idea,' Presteign repeated. 'PyrE can only be exploded by psychokinesis. Its energy can only be released by thought. It must be willed to explode and the thought directed at it. That is the only way.'

`There's no key? No formula?'

`No. Only Will and Idea are necessary.' The glazed eyes closed.

`God in Heaven!' Dagenham mopped his brow. `Will this give the Outer Satellites pause, Yeovil?'

`It'll give us all pause.'

`It's the road to hell,' Jisbella said.

`Then let's find it and get off the road. Here's my idea, Yeovil. Foyle was tinkering with the hell-brew in his lab in Old St Pat's, trying to analyze it' `I told you that in strict confidence,' Jisbella said furiously.

`I'm sorry, dear. We're past honor and decencies. Now look, Yeovil, there must be some fragments of the stuff lying about . . . as dust, in solution, it precipitates . . . We've got to detonate those fragments and blow the hell out of Foyle's circus.'

'Why?'

`To bring him running. He must have the bulk of the PyrE hidden there somewhere. He'll come to salvage it.'

`What if it blows up too?'

`It can't; not inside an Inert Lead Isotope safe.'

`Maybe it's not all inside.'

'Jiz says it is . . . at least so Foyle reported.'

`Leave me out of this,' Jisbella said.

`Anyway, we'll have to gamble.'

`Gamble!'

Y'ang-Yeovil exclaimed. `On a Phoenix Action? You'll gamble the solar system into a brand new Nova.'

`What else can we do? Pick any other road . . . and it's the road to destruction, too. Have we got any choice?'

`We can wait,' Jisbella said.

`For what? For Foyle to blow us up with himself with his tinkering?'

`We can warn him.'

`We don't know where he is'

`We can find him.'

`How soon? Won't that be a gamble too? And what about that stuff lying around waiting for someone to think it into energy? Suppose a Jack-Jaunter gets in and cracks the safe, looking for goodies? And then we don't just have dust waiting for an accidental thought, but twenty pounds.'

Jisbella turned pale. Dagenham turned on the Intelligence man. `You make the decision, Yeovil. Do we try it my way or do we wait?'

Y'ang-Yeovil sighed. `I was afraid of this,' he said. `Damn all scientists. I'll have to make my decision for a reason you don't know, Dagenham. The Outer Satellites are on to this too. We've got reason to believe that they've got agents looking for Foyle in the worst way. If we wait they may pick him up before us. In fact, they may have him now.'

`So your decision is . . .?'

'The blow-up. Let's bring Foyle running if we can.'

`No!' Jisbella cried.

`How?' Dagenham asked, ignoring her.

`Oh, I've got just the one for the job. A one-way telepath named Robin Wednesbury.'

`When?'

`At once. We'll clear the entire neighborhood. We'll get full news coverage and do a full broadcast. If Foyle's anywhere in the Inner Planets, he'll hear about it'

`Not about it,' Jisbella said in despair. `He'll hear it. It'll be the last thing any of us hear.'

As always, when he returned from a stormy civil court session in Leningrad, Regis Sheffield was pleased and complacent, rather like a cocky prizefighter who's won a tough fight. He stopped off at Blekmann's in Berlin for a drink and some war-talk, had a second and more war-talk in a legal hangout on the Quai D'orsay, and a third session in the Skin and Bones opposite Temple Bar. By the time he arrived in his New York office he was pleasantly illuminated.

As he strode through the clattering corridors and outer rooms, he was greeted by his secretary with a handful of memo-beads.

`Knocked Djargo-Dantchenko for a loop,' Sheffield reported triumphantly. `Judgement and full damages. Old D.D.'s sore as a boil. This makes the score eleven to five, my favor.'

He took the beads, juggled them, and then began tossing them into unlikely receptacles all over the office, including the open mouth of a gaping clerk.

`Really, Mr. Sheffield! Have you been drinking?'

`No more work today. The war news is too damned gloomy. Have to do something to stay cheerful. What say we brawl in the streets?'

`Mr. Sheffield!'

'Anything waiting for me that can't wait another day?'

`There's a gentleman in your office.'

`He made you let him get that far?' Sheffield looked impressed. `Who is he? God, or somebody?'

'He won't give his name. He gave me this.'

The secretary handed Sheffield a sealed envelope. On it was scrawled: URGENT. Sheffield tore it open, his blunt features crinkling with curiosity. Then his eyes widened. Inside the envelope were two Cr 50,000 notes. Sheffield turned without a word and burst into his private office. Foyle arose from his chair.

`These are genuine,' Sheffield blurted. `To the best of my knowledge.'

'Exactly twenty of these notes were minted last year: All at on deposit in Terran treasuries. How did you get hold of these two?'

`Mr. Sheffield?'

`Who else? How did you get hold of these notes?'

`Bribery.'

'Why?'

`I thought at the time that it might be convenient to have them available.'

'For what? More bribery?'

'If legal fees are bribery'.

`I set my own fees,' Sheffield said. He tossed the notes back to Foyle. `You can produce them again if I decide to take your case and if I decide I've been worth that to you. What's your problem?'