Mary’s eyebrows went up but she said nothing. There was a silence so long that I thought he had cut me off, then he said, in a tired, whipped voice, “Palmglade Hotel, North Miami Beach. I’ll be the third sunburn from the end.”
“Right away.” I sent for a taxi and we went up on the roof. I had the hackie swing out over the ocean to avoid the Carolina speed trap; we made good time.
The Old Man was sunburned all right. He lay there, looking sullen and letting sand dribble through his fingers, while we reported. I had brought along a little buzz box so that he could get it directly off the wire.
He looked up sharply when we came to the point about thirty-year cycles, but he allowed it to ride until he came to my later query about possible similar cycles in disappearances, whereupon he stopped me and called the Section. “Get me Analysis. Hello—Peter? This is the boss. I want a curve on unexplained disappearances, quantitative, starting with 1800. Huh? People, of course—did you think I meant latch keys? Smooth out known factors and discount steady load—what I want to see is humps and valleys. When? I want it two hours ago; what are you waiting for?”
After he switched off he struggled to his feet, let me hand him his cane and said, “Well, back to the jute mill. We’ve no facilities here.”
“To the White House?” Mary asked eagerly.
“Eh? Be your age. You two have picked up nothing that would change the President’s mind.”
“Oh. Then what?”
“I don’t know. Keep quiet, unless you have a bright idea.”
The Old Man had a car at hand, of course, and I drove us back. After I turned it over to block control I said, “Boss, I’ve got a caper that might convince the President, if you can get him to hold still.”
He grunted. “Like this,” I went on, “send two agents in, me and one other. The other agent carries a portable scanning rig and keeps it trained on me the whole time. You get the President to watch what happens.”
“Suppose nothing happens?”
“I plan to make it happen. First, I am going where the space ship landed, bull my way on through. We’ll get close-up pix of the real ship, piped right into the White House. After that I plan to go back to Barnes’s office and investigate those round shoulders. I’ll tear shirts off right in front of the camera. There won’t be any finesse to the job; I’ll just bust things wide open with a sledge hammer.”
“You realize you would have the same chance as a mouse at a cat convention.”
“I’m not so sure. As I see it, these things haven’t any superhuman powers. I’ll bet they are strictly limited to whatever the human being they are riding can do—maybe less. I don’t plan on being a martyr. In any case I’ll get you pix, good ones.”
“Hmm—”
“It might work,” Mary put in. “I’ll be the other agent, I can—”
The Old Man and I said, “No,” together—and then I flushed; it was not my prerogative to say so. Mary went on, “I was going to say that I am the logical one because of the, uh, talent I have for spotting a man with a parasite on him.”
“No,” the Old Man repeated, “It won’t be necessary. Where he’s going they’ll all have riders—assumed so until proved otherwise. Besides, I am saving you for something.”
She should have shut up, but for once did not. “For what? This is important.”
Instead of snapping at her the Old Man said quietly, “So is the other job. I’m planning to make you a presidential bodyguard, as soon as I can get it through his head that this is serious.”
“Oh.” She thought about it and answered, “uh, boss—”
“Eh?”
“I’m not certain I could spot a woman who was possessed. I’m not, uh, equipped for it.”
“So we take his women secretaries away from him. Ask me a hard one. And Mary—you’ll be watching him, too. He’s a man, you know.”
She turned that over in her mind. “And suppose I find that one has gotten to him, in spite of everything?”