Part 14 (2/2)

JOHN.

PROFESSOR WILL SEE YOU ALONE AT HOME.

MARY (9:32).

So-Brozlan was alone in his private apartment suite in the residential sector of Anderscliff, as expected.

Weeks of a.n.a.lysis of the data patterns extracted from the surveillance computer had revealed that the professor never left his private quarters before ten-thirty in the morning. Perhaps he was in the habit of working alone for the first part of the morning before going over to the biophysics labs, where he spent most of his time; maybe he was simply a late riser. The reason really didn't matter. The a.s.sa.s.sin knew all he needed to know.

He left the booth, returned to ground level, and waited for one of the Establishment's auto-shuttles to take him to the residential sector. Eight minutes later, a porter seated at a desk just inside the entrance door of Residential Block 3 looked up in surprise as a tall, lean, hatted figure carrying a black briefcase marched straight past him, tossing back a curt ”Good morning” over his shoulder. The porter just had time to check the ENTRY AUTHORIZATION POSITIVE display on his panel before the figure disappeared into the elevator at the far end of the hall.

The residential sector was a high-security zone, accessible to only a handful of privileged people apart from the scientists and other special-category personnel who resided within the perimeter of Anderscliff.

The tables stored in the memory subsystem of the surveillance computer, however, told it that the holder of the pa.s.s code a.s.signed to Kra.s.sen, Hadley B., could move freely anywhere within the Establishment.

When he came out of the elevator on the second floor, he was carrying the briefcase under his left arm and holding the pistol, a.s.sembled and loaded, in his right-hand jacket pocket. He moved slowly along the corridor, walking straight past the door that bore the nameplate BROZLAN without checking his stride or turning his head. At the end of the corridor he stopped, turned, and just as slowly walked back again, scanning the walls and ceiling for any sign of TV cameras. Finding none, he stopped when he came back to the door, listened for perhaps ten seconds, then pressed the ball of his right thumb against the printlock plate set into the doorframe. A click sounded as the lock disengaged.

Records of which prints were authorized to operate which of the thousands of printlocks around Anderscliff were also stored in the surveillance computer. Officially, only four prints had been specified to open the lock of Brozlan's private suite: those of the professor himself, the domestic attendant for Residential Block 3, the manager of domestic services, and the duty medical supervisor. Somehow a fifth print had been added to that set; it was identical to the one stored in the personnel record headed KRa.s.sEN, HADLEY B.

He paused inside the door and closed it softly behind him. One of the other doors leading off from the small entrance hall was ajar, and from behind it came the sound of movement and the rustle of papers.

The a.s.sa.s.sin moved forward and brought his eye close to the crack at the edge of the door.

The room was a litter of books, papers, and scientific journals, and its far wall consisted entirely of shelves. Sitting at a desk in front of the shelves, a white-haired man, probably in his late fifties, and wearing a plain gray suit, was sorting piles of doc.u.ments into something approaching order. The a.s.sa.s.sin recognized him at once. He stepped quickly and silently around the door. Three catlike paces brought him facing the desk, pistol leveled.

”Keep your hands on the desk. Don't move. Don't make a noise.”

The white head jerked up sharply in surprise. Eyes open wide with alarm and disbelief took in the menacing figure confronting them.

”You-you are from the Federation . . .” He had detected the slight Martian accent in the other's voice.

The a.s.sa.s.sin nodded expressionlessly. ”And you are Professor Malleborg Brozlan-defector from Mars and traitor to the Federation.”

Brozlan saw the coldness behind the unblinking gray eyes and knew then that he had no hope. He tried the only gambit open to him.

”Did they tell you why I defected to Earth? Haven't you wondered?”

”Those things do not concern me.” The a.s.sa.s.sin's tone was final.

”But they concern everybody. Did you realize that-”

A dull phutt, a m.u.f.fled thud, and the briefest suggestion of a hiss sounded all at the same time. The professor recoiled back in the chair, his eyes wide with shock. His fists clenched as his body stiffened.

Then his eyes glazed over and stared sightlessly at infinity. The rim of the small hole that had appeared in his s.h.i.+rtfront, an inch to the left of the breastbone, began to turn red.

The a.s.sa.s.sin waited a few seconds longer, then stepped around the desk and lifted the professor's chin with his finger. The head lolled limply to one side. He reached out and felt the temple for a pulse. There was none. He raised the pistol again, rested the tip of the barrel against the pad of muscle over the carotid artery at the side of the neck, and gently squeezed the trigger again.

Five minutes later he emerged from Residential Block 3 and boarded the next pa.s.sing shuttle. As the shuttle was pulling away from the pickup point, the wail of a siren heralded the approach of an ambulance moving at high speed. The ambulance screeched to a halt outside the residential block and disgorged three white-clad medical orderlies, who raced in through the door before the last moans of the siren had died away.

The planners of the a.s.sa.s.sin's mission could not have known that six weeks before to the day, the professor had suffered a heart attack, and that during the ensuing surgery a microelectronic cardiac monitor had been implanted in his chest. The signals transmitted by the monitor were picked up continuously by detectors similar to those that read the lapel badges, and routed to measuring instruments in the Establishment's medical center. The instruments were programmed to sound an alarm the instant that any irregularity appeared in Brozlan's cardiac waveforms.

The a.s.sa.s.sin almost made it. The alarm reached the rooftop checkpoint seconds after he had pa.s.sed through without incident. As the guards came rus.h.i.+ng out of the door behind him, shouting after him to stop, he broke into a run toward the airmobile. The tranquilizer dart hit him squarely in the back of the neck. The dose on it would have stunned an ox.

”Doctor, I think he's coming 'round now.” The voice, a woman's, sounded blurred and far away.

Coherent thoughts refused to form in his mind. Bright lights and meaningless patches of color swam before his eyes. Two faces seemed to be peering down at him from a million miles away. He pa.s.sed out again.

He was in bed in what could have been a hospital room. Apart from the uniformed guard standing by the door, there were two other men in the room, seated on chairs flanking his bed. The one to his left was aged maybe forty-five and dressed in a navy-blue three-piece suit, white s.h.i.+rt, and silver tie. His hair was graying and his upper lip adorned by a clipped, military-style mustache that seemed to enhance his generally debonair image. His eyes were twinkling, and he seemed to be waiting for the a.s.sa.s.sin to fully regain his faculties. The other was younger, dark-haired, swarthy-skinned and unsmiling.

”Allow me to offer my congratulations,” the older of the two said after a few seconds. ”Another minute and you'd have got clean away.” He was obviously English, probably an army officer, possibly high-ranking. The a.s.sa.s.sin said nothing, allowing his thoughts time to coalesce into something approaching organized. The most important thing was that the mission had been successful: He had penetrated one of the most closely guarded places on Earth and carried out his a.s.signment. What happened now was of secondary importance.

He hauled himself up for a better view of his visitors, and the Englishman moved the pillows behind him to prop him up. Silence persisted for what seemed a long time.

”What went wrong?” the a.s.sa.s.sin asked at last. His voice was monotonous and resigned . . . but curious.

”Wrong? Actually, nothing, old chap. That is, you didn't do anything wrong. We picked you up through something that you couldn't possibly have known about. Call it an accident. The details of that can wait until later. Right at this moment there are a lot of other things that we'd very much like to know about you.”

The a.s.sa.s.sin slumped back against the pillows and raised his eyes to the ceiling in feigned boredom. His expression said the rest.

”You'd be surprised how much we know about you already,” the Englishman went on, unperturbed.

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