Universe Twister - Keith Laumer [222]
"The telephone!" he yelled. "Don't drop it, Clarence!"
5
"Clarence, my lad, you're a genius," Lom chortled, hurrying forward. "Here, just hand me that—"
"Not on your life," O'Leary said, and elbowed the old man aside to grab the old-fashioned, brass-trimmed instrument from Clarence. "Anyway, I'm the only one who knows the number!" He held the receiver to his ear, jiggled the hook.
"Hello? Hello, Central—"
There was a sharp ping! and a hum that went on and on.
"Come on! Answer!" Lafayette enjoined.
"Central," a tinny voice said brightly in his ear. "Number, please."
"It's—let's see . . . nine, five, three . . . four, nine, oh . . . oh, two, one-one."
"That is a restricted number, sir. Kindly refer to your directory for an alternate—"
"I don't have a directory! Please! This is an emergency!"
"Well—I'll speak to my supervisor. Hold the line, please."
"What do they say?" Lom asked breathlessly.
"She's speaking to her supervisor."
"What about?"
"I don't know—"
"Here—give me that telephone!" Lom made a grab; Lafayette bumbled the instrument, bobbled it, missed as Lom plunged for it. Clarence made a brilliant save an inch from the floor as the two staggered back in an off-balance embrace.
"Uh, no'm, it ain't," Clarence was saying into the mouthpiece as Lafayette extricated himself. "Name of Clarence: K . . . L . . . A . . . R . . . I . . . N . . . T . . . S . . ." He gave O'Leary an aggrieved look as the latter snatched the phone away.
"Yes? To whom did you wish to speak, sir?" a brisk voice said.
"Inspector Nicodaeus—only I understand he's on a field job somewhere—so just give me whoever's taking his place! I have vital information to report!"
"From where are you calling, sir?"
"Artesia—but never mind that—just give me somebody who can do something about—"
"Hold the line, please."
"Wait minute! Hello! Hello?"
"What do they say?" Lom demanded.
"Nothing. I'm holding the line."
"O'Leary—if you lose that connection—"
"I know; it might be fifty years before I get through again."
"Ah, there, O'Leary?" A hearty voice came on the line. "Good to hear from you. All's now well, I take it?"
"Well? Are you kidding? It couldn't be worse! Adoranne and Alain are dying of some unknown disease, there's a phony king going around kicking cats, and I'm trapped in the tower!"
"Here, who is this? I know O'Leary's voice, and this isn't it!"
"I've been all over that! I'm temporarily a fellow named Zorro, but actually I'm O'Leary, only somebody else is me, and he's running amok, and—"
"Look here, whoever you are—unauthorized use of the Central Comm Net is an offense punishable by fine, brain-scrape, and imprisonment, or any combination thereof! Now, get off the line, and—"
"You're not listening! I'm in trouble! Artesia's in trouble! We need help!"
"I'm sure," the strange voice said icily, "that matters are now well in hand. You needn't trouble yourself further—"
"Trouble myself—are you out of your hairpiece? If those trigger-happy guards get their hands on me, it'll be the firing squad!"
"See here, fellow: just take your grievances to the agent on the scene. If you have a legitimate case, it will be looked into. Now—"
"Agent? What agent? I'm the Central agent here, and I've been faked out of position and—"
"The regular man, Mr. O'Leary, is incapacitated, it appears. However, a Special Field Agent was dispatched to the Locus some hours ago, with instructions to proceed direct to the palace and make contact with one Princess Adoranne. That being the case—"
"You've sent a special agent in? Here? To Artesia?"
"That's what I said," the voice snapped. "Now if you'll excuse me—"
"Where is he? How will I recognize him? What—"
There was a sharp click, and the wavering hum of a dead line. Lafayette jiggled and yelled, but to no avail.
"Well? Well?" Lom was fairly dancing with impatience.
"He hung up on me. But I managed to pry some good news out of him: they've sent another agent in, probably one of their best men, with full powers. He'll have things straightened out in a hurry."
"Oh? Indeed. I see. Ha-hum."