The Second Mack Reynolds Megapack. Mack Reynolds
shrugged. “He will be freed as soon as you comply.”
The other’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know I’ll stick to my promise? A contract made under duress has no validity.”
Casey said impatiently, “Having Fredric in our hands now is a minor matter, an immediate bargaining point to emphasize our position. Senator, we have investigated you thoroughly. You have a wife of whom you are moderately fond, and a mistress whom you love. You have three adult children by your first wife, and four grandchildren. You have two children by your second wife, Fredric and Janie. You have a living uncle and two aunts, and five first cousins. Being a politician, you have many surface friends, which we shall largely ignore, but you also know some thirty persons who mean much to you.”
McGivern was beginning to adjust to this abnormal conversation. He growled, “What’s all this got to do with it?”
Warren Casey looked into the other’s eyes. “We shall kill them, one by one. Shot at a distance with a rifle with telescopic sights. Blown up by bomb. Machine-gunned, possibly as they walk down the front steps of their homes.”
“You’re insane! The police. The...”
Casey went on, ignoring the interruption. “We are in no hurry. Some of your children, your relatives, your friends, your mistress, may take to hiding in their panic. But there is no hiding—nowhere on all this world. Our organization is in no hurry, and we are rich in resources. Perhaps in the doing some of us will be captured or dispatched. It’s beside the point. We are dedicated. That’s all we’ll be living for, killing the people whom you love. When they are all gone, we will kill you. Believe me, by that time it will be as though we’re motivated by compassion. All your friends, your loved ones, your near-of-kin, will be gone.
“We will kill, kill, kill—but in all it will be less than a hundred people. It will not be thousands and millions of people. It will only be your closest friends, your relatives, your children and finally you. At the end, Senator, you will have some idea of the meaning of war.”
By the end of this, although it was delivered in an almost emotionless voice, Phil McGivern was pushed back in his swivel chair as though from physical attack. He repeated, hoarsely, “You’re insane.”
Warren Casey shook his head. “No, it is really you, you and those like you, who are insane. Wrapped up in your positions of power, in your greed for wealth in the preservation of your privileges, you would bring us into a conflagration which would destroy us all. You are the ones who are insane.”
The Pacifist agent leaned forward. “Throughout history, Senator, there have been pacifists. But never such pacifists as we. Always, in the past, they have been laughed at or sneered at in times of peace, and imprisoned or worse in time of war.”
“Cowards,” Senator McGivern muttered in distaste. Casey shook his head and chuckled. “Never, Senator. Don’t look for cowards among pacifists and conscientious objectors. It takes courage to buck the current of public opinion. A coward is often better off in the ranks and usually safer. In modern war, at least until the advent of nuclear conflict, only a fraction of the soldiers ever see combat. The rest are in logistics, in a thousand branches of behind the lines work. One man in twenty ever glimpses the enemy.”
McGivern snapped, “I’m not interested in your philosophy, criminal. Get to the point. I want my son back.
“This is the point, Senator. Today we Pacifists have become realists. We are willing to fight, to kill and to die, in order to prevent war. We are not interested in the survival of individuals; we are of the opinion that another war will destroy the race, and to preserve humanity we will do literally anything.”
McGivern thumped a heavy fist on his chair arm. “You fool! The Northern Hemisphere seeks domination of the whole world. We must defend ourselves!”
The Pacifist was shaking his head again. “We don’t care who is right or wrong—if either side is. It finally gets to the point where that is meaningless. Our colleagues are working among the Polarians, just as we are working here in the Southern Hemisphere. Persons such as yourself, on the other side, are courting death just as you are by taking steps that will lead to war.”
Warren Casey stood. “You have one week in which to resign your office, Senator. If you fail to, you will never see your son Fredric again. And then, one by one, you will hear of the deaths of your relatives and friends.”
The Pacifist agent came quickly around the desk and the older man, in an effort to escape, pushed his chair backward and tried to come to his feet. He was too clumsy in his bulk. Warren Casey loomed over him, slipped a syrette into the other’s neck.
Senator Phil McGivern, swearing, fell to his knees and then tried to come erect. He never made it. His eyes first stared, then glazed, and he dropped back to the floor, unconscious.
Warren Casey bent momentarily over Walters, the secretary, but decided that he was safe for a time. He shot a quick look about the room. What had he touched? Had he left anything?
He strode quickly from the room, retracing the path by which the butler had brought him fifteen minutes earlier, and let himself out the front door.
* * * *
His cab pulled up before the aged, but well-preserved, mansion, and he dropped coins into the vehicle’s toll box and then watched it slip away into the traffic.
He walked to the door and let himself be identified at the screen. When the door opened he strolled through.
A young woman, her face so very earnest in manner that her natural prettiness was all but destroyed, sat at a desk.
Rising, she led the way and held the door open for him and they both entered the conference room. There were three men there at the table, all of them masked.
Casey was at ease in their presence. He pulled a chair up across from them and sat down. The girl took her place at the table and prepared to take notes.
The chairman, who was flanked by the other two, said, “How did the McGivern affair go, Casey?”
“As planned. The boy proved no difficulty. He is now at the hideaway in charge of Operative Mary Baca.”
“And the Senator?”
“As expected. I gave him full warning.”
“The secretary, Walters. He was eliminated?”
“Well, no. I left him unconscious.”
There was a silence.
One of the masked men said, “The plan was to eliminate the secretary to give emphasis to the Senator as to our determination.”
Casey’s voice remained even. “As it worked out, it seemed expedient to follow through as I did.”
The chairman said, “Very well. The field operative works with considerable range of discretion. No one can foresee what will develop once an operation is underway.” Warren Casey said nothing.
The second board member sighed. “But we had hoped that the sight of a brutal killing, right before him, might have shocked Phil McGivern into submission immediately. As it is now, if our estimates of his character are correct, the best we can hope for is capitulation after several of his intimates have been dispatched.”
Casey said wearily, “He will never capitulate, no matter what we do. He’s one of the bad ones.”
The third board member, who had not spoken to this point, said thoughtfully, “Perhaps his immediate assassination would be best.”
The chairman shook his head. “No. We’ve thrashed this all out. We want to use McGivern as an example. In the future, when dealing with similar cases, our people will be able to threaten others with his fate. We’ll see it through, as planned.” He looked at Casey. “We have another assignment for you.”
Warren Casey leaned back in his chair, his face expressionless, aside from the perpetual weariness. “All right,” he said.