Universe Twister - Keith Laumer [201]
"OK, fella," one of them said, unlimbering a large and complicated-looking hypodermic, "we'll have you comfy in two and a half demisecs. Just hop up here and stretch out, face down—"
"I don't need a stretcher," Lafayette snapped. "I need someone to listen to what I have to say."
"Sure, you'll get your chance, fella," the orderly said soothingly, advancing. "Simmer down—"
Lafayette scrambled around behind the desk. "Listen—get Nicodaeus! He knows me! What I've got to report is triple X-UTS priority! I demand a hearing, or heads will be rolling around here like spilled marbles!"
The orderly looked uncertain, glanced at the woman for support. She waved her hands helplessly. "Don't look at me," she said. "I'm just the flunky on the front desk. Stand by one; Belarius is Duty Officer; I'll get him up here and let him stick his neck out." She pushed buttons and spoke briefly. The orderly flipped a switch at the head of the stretcher; it sank to the floor.
Three minutes passed in a tense silence, with Lafayette hovering behind the desk, the stretcher-bearers yawning and scratching, and the green-haired woman furiously filing her iridescent-green nails. Then a tall, wide-shouldered man with smooth gray hair and a professional air strode into the room. He glanced around, pursed his lips at Lafayette.
"Well, Miss Dorch?" he said in a mellow baritone.
"This is Agent Raunchini, sir. He's apparently a 984 case; but he won't accept sedation—"
"I'm not Agent Raunchini," Lafayette snapped. "And I have priority information to report!"
"A contradiction in terms, eh?" The newcomer gave Lafayette a glassy smile. "Just go along, there's a good fellow—"
"I want to talk to Inspector Nicodaeus!"
"Impossible. He's on a field assignment, won't be back for six months."
"I'll make a deal," O'Leary said. "Listen to what I have to say, and then I'll go quietly, fair enough? Spurd knows I could use a nap." He yawned.
Belarius looked at his wristwatch. "Young man, I don't lightly upset the routine of this Center—"
"What about a Focal Referent in unauthorized hands?" Lafayette cut in. "Is that worth missing a coffee break for?"
Belarius' urbane expression drained away.
"Did you say—don't say it!" He held up a well-manicured hand, shot a nervous glance at the others in the room.
"Possibly I'd best have a chat with Agent Raunchini after all," he said. "A private chat. Suppose we go along to my office, eh?" He gave Lafayette a smile like a warning blinker and turned to the door.
"Well, now we're getting somewhere," Lafayette murmured as he followed.
6
The gray-haired man led Lafayette along a silent corridor to a small room, unadorned except for a row of framed photographs of determined faces lining the walls. Belarius seated himself behind an impressive bleached oak desk, gestured Lafayette to a chair.
"Now, just make a clean breast of the whole matter," he said in a sternly avuncular tone. "And I'll undertake to put in a word for you."
"Sure, fine," Lafayette hitched his chair closer. "It was a Mark III. And according to—to a reliable source, there's more where that came from. With luck, he won't have had time to cart all the stuff into town and sell it—"
"Kindly begin at the beginning, Agent. When were you first approached?"
"Two weeks ago. I found the note rolled up in a pair of socks, and—"
"Who was your contact?"
"Let's leave his name out of it; he didn't know what he was getting into. As I was saying, the note told me he had to see me—"
"The name, Raunchini. Don't attempt to shield your confederates!"
"Will you let me get on with it? And my name's not Raunchini!"
"Now you're claiming to be a prep, eh? That would imply a conspiracy of considerable scope. What do you allege to have done with the real Raunchini?"
"Nothing! Stop changing the subject! The important thing is to grab the loot