Universe Twister - Keith Laumer [202]
"Mark II. You may leave that aspect of the matter to me. I want names, dates, drop points, amounts paid—"
"You're all mixed up," Lafayette cut in. "I don't know a thing about all that. All I know is the Mark III was stolen from me while I was asleep, and—" He paused, looking at one of the photos, showing an elderly gentleman with a vague smile and a pince-nez.
"How? With a derrick?" Belarius asked querulously.
"What? How do I know? I had it in my secret pocket, and—"
"Pocket! Look here, Raunchini—don't attempt to make a fool of me! Your only hope for clemency is strict veracity and total recall!"
"My name's not Raunchini!"
Belarius glared, then turned to a small console at his elbow and jabbed at a button.
"Full dossier on Agent Raunchini," he ordered. "And double-check the ID."
"Look here, Mr. Belarius," Lafayette said. "You can play with your buttons later. Right now you need to get a squad in there to collect the stuff and find that Mark III before Lom uses it!"
Belarius turned as the panel behind him beep!ed.
"Definite confirmation of Raunchini ID," a crisp voice said.
"Retinal and palm prints check out too. Junior Field Agent, assigned to Locus Beta Two-Four, Plane P-122, Charlie 381-f."
"Your wires are crossed," Lafayette said. "I'm Lafayette O'Leary—or I used to be. Right now I'm Tazlo Haz—"
"Stop babbling, man! An insanity plea won't help you!"
"Who's insane? Why don't you listen to me? I'm trying to save your bacon for you!"
"I doubt if you've ever seen a Focal Referent," Belarius snapped. "You obviously haven't the faintest notion of the machine's physical characteristics."
"Oh, no? It's about six inches high, with a plastic case with a bunch of wires and wheels inside!"
"That does it," Belarius said flatly. "The Mark II is a great improvement over earlier models; but it still weighs four and a half tons, and occupies three cubic yards of space!"
"Oh, yeah?" O'Leary came back. "You obviously don't know what you're talking about!"
"I happen," Belarius rasped, "to be Chief of Research, and Project Officer for the Focal Referent program—which happens to be classified Unthinkable Secret!"
"Well—I'm thinking about it—"
With a quick motion, Belarius lifted what was obviously a hand weapon from beneath the desk.
"Send a squad of enforcers to Trog 87 on the double," he said over his shoulder to the intercom.
"Just a minute," Lafayette protested. "You're making a big mistake! I admit it looks a little strange, my having wings—"
"Wings?" Belarius edged backward in his chair. "Hurry up with that enforcer squad," he said over his shoulder. "He may get violent at any moment, and I'd dislike to be forced to vaporize him before we get to the bottom of this."
"I can explain," Lafayette insisted. "Or—well, I can't explain it, but I can assure you it's all perfectly normal, in an abnormal sort of way."
"Never mind the protestations," Belarius said grimly. "Sane or otherwise, I'll soon have the truth out of you via brain-scrape. It may leave your cerebrum a trifle soggy, but in matters of Continuum security, there's no room for half measures!"
"Why don't you check my story out?" Lafayette protested. "What makes you so sure you know it all?"
"If there were one hard datum to check, Raunchini, I'd gladly do so!"
"Listen," O'Leary said desperately, "check on me: O'Leary, Lafayette O'Leary, part-time agent from Artesia!"
Belarius pushed out his lips, gave a curt order to the intercom. As they waited, Lafayette's eyes strayed back to the photo which had caught his eye. He had seen that face somewhere . . .
"Who's he?" he asked, pointing.
Belarius raised an eyebrow, following O'Leary's pointing finger. His expression flickered.
"Why do you ask?" he inquired casually.
"I've seen him—somewhere. Recently."
"Where?" Belarius came back crisply.
Lafayette shook his head. "I don't remember. All those blows on the head—"
"So—you're going to play it cagey, eh?" Belarius snarled. "What's your price for selling out? Immunity?