“Which was pretty much to be expected,” Corrigan answered. His tone was matter-of-fact, with no second thoughts or regrets. “I still think it will do more good this way in the long run, after the dust settles.”
Pinder rubbed his chin as if still pondering something that he had spent a lot of time on, and nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it since yesterday, and I have to agree. The air needed clearing. Things have been getting out of control for a long time. So the other thing I wanted you to know is that if things do get rough, you can count on my support. As you say, it will do everyone more good in the long run.”
“Well, thanks: I appreciate it.” Corrigan said.
“I’ll keep you posted if I hear anything more,” Pinder promised, and hung up.
Like the others at the TV interview the day before, and at dinner in the evening, Pinder too had succumbed to following Corrigan’s lead, almost as if their roles of senior and junior in the line of command had been reversed. And it had happened so naturally and easily, Corrigan realized, that he didn’t even think about it.
There had still been no sign or word of Tom Hatcher since yesterday, which was odd, considering that they were in the last days of preparation before Oz. Already some critical decisions had had to be delayed, and the software section-heads were getting anxious. Corrigan was wondering whether he ought to have somebody check with the police, when his desk unit buzzed again and Judy came through on voice.
“Ken Endelmyer’s secretary at Head Office is holding. Also, I’ve got another reporter on the line, wanting to talk to you: a Lola Ellis from Futures magazine in L.A., but she’s here in Pittsburgh right now.”
Corrigan sighed. “Let’s see what himself wants and get it over with. Slot the reporter in when you can for later.” The Meechum interview had apparently made an impression—this was the third journalist this morning asking for more information.
“She’s being very insistent,” Judy said. “She seemed to think you’d recognize the name.”
Corrigan grinned as he signed some letters that he had been checking when Pinder called. “A good try, but I’ve never heard of her. Fix an appointment, will you, and put Celia through. Oh, and could you try calling Tom’s place one more time, Judy?”
“Will do. You’re through,” Judy’s voice said. At the same time Corrigan’s schedule for the day appeared on the screen, with Celia’s face framed in a window in one corner.
“Top o’ the mornin’,” Corrigan said, accentuating his brogue.
“Hello, Mr. Corrigan. I’m sorry to drop this on you at such short notice, but Mr. Endelmyer would like to meet with you rather urgently. Could you get over here for, say, eleven o’clock this morning?” Coming from such heights, it was an order couched as a request merely for form. God, Corrigan thought to himself, he must really have stirred things up. He saw on his schedule that he had a couple of things fixed for around then, but they would just have to be shifted.
“Yes, that will be fine,” he replied.
“We’ll see you at eleven, then.”
The window with the face vanished, and Corrigan called up a color bar to indicate to Judy the appointments that would have to be changed. Her voice came through again a moment later.
“Still nothing from Tom. I’ve put Lola Ellis in to see you here at four-thirty this afternoon. Uh-oh . . .” Judy had just seen Corrigan’s changes flagged on her monitor outside. “What’s this? Has something come up for this morning?”
“I have to report to the general,” Corrigan said.
“What’s up?”
“Celia didn’t say. Firing squad, probably.”
Judy paused just long enough to be discreet. “I thought you were very good. But you did rock the party boat a bit.”
Corrigan snorted. “Well, maybe this is where I get told that I’m not going to get my captain’s hat.”
“That would be a shame,” Judy said.
“Ah, not a bit of it,” Corrigan told her. “We can always go and work in a bar.”
* * *