The Fracas Factor (17 page)

Balt Haer nodded. “You have my word.”

Freddy Soligen turned to go, but then cocked his head in thought. He snapped his fingers and said, “Talking about Joe Mauser and Stonewall Cogswell just brought something to mind.”

Baron Haer viewed him impatiently. He wanted to get rid of the telly reporter and talk the whole thing over with Michael Fodor and Paul Warren. “What?” he said.

“I just saw Max Mainz in the nightclub. At first, I didn’t recognize him. But now it comes back to me.”

“Who in the hell’s Max Mainz?” Fodor said. “And what difference does it make?”

Freddy said, “He used to be Joe Mauser’s batman. Back in that fracas when he first flew the glider, Mainz was his observer, or signalman. The second time Joe used the glider, the time they nailed him, I took over so I could cover it for telly and Max was pissed off, jealous.

That’s when I met him—at the airport. Only briefly, but it was him, all right. Come to think of it, I’ve seen him with Joe on another occasion. When Joe Mauser fought that Sov-officer in the duel in Budapest, it was televised, and at one time I spotted Mainz, along with other embassy Americans, in the background.”

“Max Mainz,” Paul Warren said. “It comes back to me. It was election day in Kingston on the outskirts of the Catskill Military Reservation. Election day, when all castes can mix. Lowers can go into Upper bars, restaurants, and even hotels. Joe Mauser, a captain then, came into the Upper bar there with his orderly. You were there, Balt, and so was the Sov-world colonel, Lajos Arpad, or whatever his name was, who was connected with the International Disarmament Commission as an observer to see that the Universal Disarmament Pact was being observed.”

Balt Haer was looking shocked. He said, “Now that you mention it, I do remember. That’s where I’ve seen the man before. That clod, Mauser, had the gall to introduce him.”

“Yes, Max Mainz was the name all right,” Warren nodded.

Freddy Soligen said, “What in the name of Holy Jumping Zen’s he doing down there with your Minutemen, or whatever you call them?”

Balt Haer’s lips had gone pale. He said, “Let me think for a minute. Yesterday, I read his Category Security dossier. There was nothing in it that mentioned that he had been Joe Mauser’s orderly. And certainly nothing in it that mentioned that he had accompanied Mauser to Budapest. How in the world could that be? It would have to be in his dossier. Everything is in a man’s Security dossier.”

Michael Fodor said softly, “It means that these officials that bounced Mauser to Low-Upper and have offered Freddy, here, a rise in rank to Commentator are even higher placed than we suspected. It means that they’re in position to alter Category Security dossiers.”

“That’s practically impossible,” Warren blurted.

Fodor looked at him.

Balt Haer ran the back of his right hand over his mouth. He said, very slowly, “I’ve often wondered why the information I’ve submitted to Category Security about my sister’s hairbrained flirtations with subversives never turned up on her dossier.”

Freddy said, “Well, this is all your problem, not mine. All I know is, Max Mainz is down in your saloon getting drenched with your Minutemen. And now, we’ve made a deal. Good night.”

He turned and left.

Balt Haer looked from one to the other of his two fellow officers of the Nathan Hale Society. He said, “The man just joined up. He’s obviously a goddamned spy. Gentlemen, I think we’ve just been given another tool which will enable us to completely repudiate this mysterious subversive organization.”

Chapter Fifteen

After Joe Mauser finished breakfast, the tellyphone buzzed and when he answered it, Nadine Haer’s face faded in.

She smiled her love-smile for him and said, “Hello, darling. I’m back.”

“Mission accomplished?”

“Well, no.”

“What happened?”

“I shouldn’t discuss it over the phone. H and H are coming over to my place to work it around. We’ll also have an opportunity to go over our interview with the doctor the other day. Can you come soonest? Their time is limited, of course.”

“I’ll be there, sweetie.”

She looked at him mockingly. “Sweetie?” she said. “You sound like a teenager.”

“I feel like one when I see you.”

“I’ll discuss that further with you tonight.”

“It’s a date.” Her face faded from the telly screen.

Then the identity screen on the door rang. The face there was that of Freddy Soligen. Joe activated the door and went into the living room, an extra coffee cup in hand.

He said, “Hi, chum-pal.”

The friendly salutation set Freddy back, but wordlessly he took the proffered coffee and sank down into a chair. Joe took the couch.

Freddy said, “Joe, I’ve been having second thoughts.”

“Oh, such as what?”

“My protection. The deal you offered me the other day; it has angles.”

“You get to be a Rank Commentator,” Joe said.

“So you say, but you’re messing around with a very hot fire, Joe. What happens if a wheel comes off? You’re dealing with the Bureau of Investigation, the Category Security, and such amateur outfits as the Nathan Hale Society. Any of them can be tough.”

“We have good cover for our people, Freddy. We’re not a bunch of mollies.”

“So you say, so you say. But you’re talking about overthrowing the government, and you’re putting me in a position so that I can help. I told you how I stood the other day. Sure, I’d like a Rank Commentator deal. But how do I know, even if you can swing it, that I wouldn’t wind up booted out of Category Communications altogether, like you were booted out of Category Military—and maybe with a slammer sentence on top of that?”

“Our cover is really tops, Freddy,” Joe said, finishing his coffee.

“Who?” Freddy said flatly.

“That’s top secret,” Joe said reasonably. “Take my word for it. I’m going to see them this morning and tell them about you. They’ll put things to work. I think that you’ll be a telly Rank Commentator before the week is out.”

Freddy said, “Listen, Joe, I’m not a kid. Before I stick my neck out before the Bureau of Investigation and Category Security, I want to know it’s safe.”

Joe Mauser made a decision. “Freddy,” he said. “The head of the Bureau of Investigation is one of your covers.”

Freddy Soligen gaped at him. “You’re drivel-happy, Joe. The head of the Bureau of Investigation is Wallace Pepper. He’s a drunken bum.”

“Don’t be naive,” Joe sighed. “The real head of the North American Bureau of Investigation is Frank Hodgson. He’s no more than an Upper-Middle, or something like that, but he’s the one who runs the Bureau. Pepper is only an Upper figurehead. The same thing applies to some of our other top members. Philip Holland, for instance, the man behind Harlow Mannerheim, supposedly our Minister of Foreign Affairs.”

“You mean that you people have infiltrated that far up in the government?” Freddy said in disbelief.

“Yes,” Joe told him patiently. “How do you think I got to be an Upper? That was a two-caste bounce.”

Freddy Soligen made a motion of acceptance with his right hand after putting down his cup. “Okay,” he said. “You swing the promotion, Joe, and I’m with you.”

Joe stood to accompany him to the door. “You look a bit preoccupied, Freddy.”

Freddy nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Sam has joined up with Stonewall Cogswell’s side in that new fracas between him and Bitter Dave.”

“Oh?” Joe looked worried. “That’s not so good. I have a feeling those two will really have it out this time. Over the years that grudge between them has been getting worse and worse, not better.”

“Stonewall will lick him again,” Freddy said, at the door. “He’s licked him four times and he’ll do it again.” He hesitated momentarily before adding, “But not without taking plenty of casualties. Sam’s still a greenhorn as far as the fracases are concerned.”

Inwardly, Joe agreed with him, but didn’t want to add to the little man’s worries.

When Freddy Soligen was gone, Joe went over to his transport terminal and dialed for a vacuum-tube capsule. He hoped that he wasn’t holding up the meeting at Nadine’s place but Freddy hadn’t been with him very long. When the two-seater capsule arrived, he got in and dialed directly through to the Haer mansion.

He emerged in the living room and Nadine came over to welcome him, her lips raised for a kiss. Joe did his best.

“Hello, darling,” she said.

Frank Hodgson and Philip Holland were seated side by side on one of the couches. Both rose and shook hands.

Phil Holland said, “How’d that thing with your man Mainz and the Nathan Hale Society work out? Did I get those changes in his Security dossier worked out in time?”

“I don’t know yet,” Joe said worriedly. “Max was scheduled to go to their headquarters last night. If you didn’t get the changes done in time, he probably got himself into the soup. Is there any way we can check?”

“Not that I know of,” Holland said. “Long since, I suppose, we should have planted some of our membership in the Nathan Hale Society, but we didn’t. For one thing, it’s composed almost entirely of Lowers, except for those at the head. And we draw a blank when it comes to Lowers among our membership.”

The three men reseated themselves.

“Coffee, anybody?” Nadine said.

“I just had coffee,” Joe said, but the other two accepted and Nadine left to get it.

“A complete blank?” Joe said.

Hodgson said, disgust in his voice, “We don’t have a single Low-Lower in our ranks. We have a few Upper-Lowers, largely men and women who should be Middles, but have been passed over by the Department of Categories when it came to bounces. There’s more and more of that, by the way. It’s getting much more difficult by the month to up your caste. Phil and I can sometimes swing it, as we did in your case, but we can’t stick our necks out too often, or it would become noted.”

Nadine had returned with a tray of coffee things and put it on the coffee table before them.

As Hodgson poured, he looked up at her and said, “How did you do with that group on the West Coast, my dear?”

Nadine shook her head in despair and sank into a chair. “I drew a blank. They were composed largely of Upper-Lowers and especially Middles. They were another group of reformists, not potential revolutionists. What they want most is an easier system of bouncing up in caste level and more Inalienable Basic shares. They’d be more likely to join the Sons of Liberty than our organization.”

Frank Hodgson looked over at Joe. “It was the same with the Sons of Liberty?”

“Yes,” Joe told him “It’s evidently composed almost entirely of Middles who want to reform Peoples Capitalism, not overthrow it. They give lip-service to wanting to better the condition of the Lowers as well, but in actuality they’re ambitious Middles wanting to make Upper.”

Holland said in disgust, “It’s the same old story. The slob element, the Low-Lowers, join the Nathan Hale Society and sing the praises of the Ultra-Welfare State, mainly for the free booze and the opportunity to sadistically club anybody over the head who disagrees with them. The Middles, when they join anything at all, go to some reform outfit in hopes of patching up a socioeconomic system that’s beyond reform. So where is the recruit material? They are Uppers, approximately one percent of the population. But our program is to overthrow them. Some chance of gaining recruits!”

Joe was as depressed as the others at the defeatest atmosphere. He said, “Somebody mentioned the other day the need for us to recruit members of the mass media. I contacted Freddy Soligen, one of the most veteran of telly reporters. In the past he was Branch Fracas News, but he’s been thinking of switching. When I propositioned him he agreed to come over to us if we get him promoted to Rank Commentator.”

Holland looked over at Frank Hodgson. He said, “We ought to be able to swing that. Burke, over at Category Communications, owes me a few favors. It wouldn’t hurt us at all to have a Rank Commentator planted in telly. We’re not ready to use him, as yet, but there’ll come a day. For that matter, once this Soligen is in with us we might make other converts in Category Communications. We could use them.”

Hodgson nodded. “Why don’t you see about it, Phil? If you can’t twist Burke’s arm, let me know. I’ve got some leverage in Category Communications myself.”

Chapter Sixteen

After Holland and Hodgson had left, Joe Mauser spent the balance of the day, and the night, too, for that matter, with Nadine Haer. Thus Max Mainz’s efforts to get in touch with him failed. Max wasn’t aware that Nadine had returned to town. Hence he didn’t bother to call the Haer home in his search for Joe.

Jerry, however, had gotten in touch with him in the middle of the day on the telly phone, and said that they had an assignment for that night.

“What kind of an assignment?” Max said warily.

Jerry grinned at him from the screen. “Can’t tell you that over the phone, pal. It’s not much, but you’ll get a share of Variable. Don’t wear the shirt that I issued you, but bring the other thing. Well pick you up in front of your building at eight. Be waiting on the curb.” His face faded from the screen.

Max continued to stare at the blank telly phone screen. The other thing that Jerry had issued him was a billy club of the type the Minutemen carried. The thing to do was to get in touch with Joe soonest and find out just how to handle this. He had no doubt what the “assignment” was. Somebody was scheduled for a beating.

But he had no luck in locating Joe. The only other member of Joe’s organization that Max Mainz knew was Nadine Haer, and she was out of town. If he refused to go with Jerry, then his cover in the Nathan Hale Society would be blown, Joe wanted him in the Society.

He decided that perhaps Joe’s tellyphone was on the blink, and left his mini-apartment and took a hovercar over to Joe’s place. Joe wasn’t there, though.

At the same time, Joe was worriedly trying to get in touch with Max to find out what had happened the night before at the Nathan Hale Society headquarters. When he couldn’t locate Max he gave up and returned to the joys of the woman he loved. He assumed that Max would phone him sooner or later. Either at home or at the Haer mansion.