CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Walking quickly, Hunt led the way into the passage beyond the corner bar and though the doorway into the vestibule where the dark blue flowers wilted in their tub. Del Cullen followed close behind, with Lebansky and Koberg bringing up the rear. Their footsteps echoed as they crossed the hail. Ignoring the ever-to-be-fixed elevator, they made straight for the stairwell. They passed landings where discordant Jevlenese music blared behind closed doors and stale cooking odors hung in the air, and stopped finally at the purple door with the white surround on the third floor up.
“Murray, are you in there?” Hunt called, stabbing at the call plate with a finger. “It’s Vic Hunt.”
Murray’s voice replied a moment later. “Vic? Say, what gives? We weren’t expecting you.”
“This isn’t social. It’s urgent. Open up.”
“Hey, look, I’m not sure I like that tone of voice, you know. It just so happens that right now—”
“Open the door, dammit, or we’ll break it down!”
“I don’t have to take that kind of shit. If you wanna bust your shoulder trying, that’s okay by me. Get lost.”
“Look, there’s a carload of Shiban police around the corner downstairs. If you don’t let us in, they’ll come up and torch it down.. You’ve got ten seconds.”
The door began sliding aside. Hunt went in without waiting for it to open fully, and the other three followed him through into the lounge. Murray was sitting with two other men and several girls at the large table, which was decked with bottles and glasses and had been pulled out from its usual place by the wall. They seemed to be in the middle of a kind of gambling game that involved unfamiliar cards and tokens placed on a board. Murray lowered the hand he was holding and looked at the intruders with displeasure.
“Okay, now would you mind—”
“It’s private. Get these people out.” Hunt’s words were echoed in Jevlenese, meaning that ZORAC was active on channel fifty-six.
“They’re my guests. Fuck you.”
Cullen jerked a thumb in the direction of the door. “This is official Administration security business, and we’re in a hurry. Everybody but him, out.”
One of the two other men, paunchy, with a balding head, oily countenance, and wearing a silky, light gray suit, stood up and thrust his face belligerently to within an inch of Cullen’s. “Oh yeah? Well, you don’t give the orders here, shithead. I happen to be a friend of—”
Koberg spun him around, lifted him, yelping, from the floor by his collar, and carried him from the room. There was a thump of something heavy being dumped outside the front door. “ZORAC, get off the line,” Hunt said as Koberg returned, expressionless, a few seconds later. The other man who had been with Murray hurried out after grabbing some tokens from the table, and the girls followed in a flurry.
Hunt turned back to Murray as Lebansky moved to position himself outside, closing the door behind him. “You were holding something back the last time I was here,” he said. “You know more about Baumer than you let on. I didn’t make a big thing about it then because I wanted to let you think it over. But things have changed. I need to know who he’s mixed up with, what he gets up to, and where he goes.”
Murray licked his lips dryly. His eyes darted from Cullen to Koberg, who was standing with his arms folded and his back to the door, and then back to Hunt. “What makes you think I know any more than I already said?” he demanded.
“Come on, stop fooling around,” Hunt said. “He’s mixed up with the local Mafia equivalent, right? That’s who you’re covering for.”
“Have you been seeing Nixie? Did she tell you this?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“Where has she been going?”
Hunt could see no point in compounding the situation with further deviousness. “Right now, she’s back at PAC, working with some Ganymean scientists,” he said.
“Scientists? Nixie?”
“Believe me, Murray, there’s a lot more to this than you ever imagined. It involves the whole Earth-Jevlen-Thurien political situation. Somebody’s gone missing, and Baumer set it up. We want the people who are running him. I know they’re the kind who can get nasty, but that’s just something you’ll have to live with.” He waited. Murray shifted uncomfortably on his chair and wrestled internally. Hunt waved toward Koberg. “We’re not playing games, Murray. If you don’t give, we’ll hustle you back to PAC right now, and they’ll get it out of you.”