The Bureau had teams of computer experts who could handle this. Real experts, not street agents who had been through a two-week course at the academy. No matter what No Such Agency wanted, she’d get them on the case and pull Pashley and . . .
Her hand stopped halfway to the phone. She couldn’t pull Pashley. The Bureau’s whole defense in the lawsuit depended on the fiction that Pashley was a competent, trusted agent. The Justice Department attorneys had explained to her that, on paper at least, she didn’t dare do anything to suggest the Bureau had less than full faith in the turkey.
All right, she’d compromise-on paper. Pashley would stay on the case, conducting an independent investigation from his damn mountaintop. Meanwhile she’d put together a tiger team to work with No Such Agency.
Wiz was staring at the screen when he heard a peremptory knock at the front door. Since he was staring at the screen because he was fresh out of ideas, he pushed his chair back from the desk and went out on the landing to see who it was. I really ought to write a screen saver for that thing, just to give me something to look at, he thought.
He got to the stairs just in time to see Anna opening the door for Dieter Hanwassel. The councilor was flanked by his nephew Pieter and a gawky young man Wiz didn’t recognize who was clutching a rather grimy roll of parchment.
Anna had been scrubbing the front hall. She was wearing an apron over her brown dress and a kerchief over her golden curls. A pail of soapy water stood halfway down the hall and she still had the scrub brush in her other hand. As the three entered she realized she was still holding the brush and blushed crimson.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Wiz said in his best snow-the-suits manner as he descended. “What can I do for you?”
Even in tights and velvet bathrobes, these guys were suits.
Suit or not, Dieter wasn’t snowed. “I want to talk to you, Wizard. On business.”
“Of course.”
“You know my nephew Pieter. This is Alfred Alfesbern. He’s a brilliant young man and he’s got the solution to your problem.”
“Well . . .” Wiz began.
“We’ll talk in your office. Come along Pieter.”
“Do I have to?” Pieter whined, looking over Dieter’s shoulder to where Anna had gone back to scrubbing the floor.
“All right,” Dieter snapped. “Wait here then. But be ready when we’re ready to go.” The other nodded, his eyes never leaving the maid.
Somewhat uneasily Wiz led his guests up the stairs and into his workroom. There weren’t any chairs for visitors and Wiz didn’t want to encourage these visitors to stay anyway.
“Now what can I do for you gentlemen?”
“It’s what we can do for you,” Dieter said. “We can solve your problem for you. Show him Alfred.”
“I call it the Dragon-Stopper,” the lanky man said, unrolling the scroll.
Wiz peered over his arm. “It looks like a town with a wall around it.”
“It is a town with a wall around it,” Dieter put in. “This town.”
“You see,” Alfred continued, “I have determined that dragons cannot pass through solid material. So if we interpose solid material between the town and the dragons, they cannot reach us.” He stood up and beamed triumphantly. “And our problem is solved!”
“But dragons can fly right over a wall.”
“Not if we build it high enough,” Alfred said. “We just extend the wall up until it is beyond the dragons’ ability to fly over it.”
Wiz wondered what the altitude ceiling on a dragon was. Even if they couldn’t do any better than a Piper Cub that still meant a 10,000-foot wall.
“That’s going to be an awfully high wall.”
“Details,” snapped Dieter. “Quibbling. This will solve the problem and we’ll be done with it.”
“How are you going to build a wall that high?”
“The same way you build a low one,” Dieter said. “What’s the matter? Have you gone stupid?”
“No, I mean how are you going to get the work done?”
“We’ll hire a good contractor. I know one or two.”