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Updated: June 16, 2025
I wasn't there when it happened; she came into the office " Cardon felt his face tighten into a frown of perplexity. That wasn't like Literate First Class Stephen S. Bayne. He made quite a hobby of pinching salesgirls behind the counter which was one thing; the boss' daughter was quite another. "Where's Latterman?" he asked, looking around. "Down in the office, with the others, trying to help Mr.
Cardon stepped over the body of Joe West and went up to them. "Sorry to intrude on you two," he said, "but we've got to figure on how to get out of here. Could we get out the same way you got in?" he asked Yetsko. "And take Mr. Pelton with us?" Yetsko frowned. "Part of the way, we gotta crawl through this conduit; it's only about a yard square.
While Pelton listened to the record, Cardon mixed him another of the highballs, adding a little of the heart-stimulant the medic had given him. Pelton was grinning savagely when he turned off the little machine and took out the ear plug. "Great stuff, Frank! And I won't have to ham it much; it's just about the way I feel." He thought for a moment. "You have me talking about my ruined store, there.
"And that could not only hurt Pelton, but it would expose the work we've been doing in the schools," Lancedale added. "And even inside the Fraternities, that would raise the devil. Joyner and Graves don't begin to realize how far we've gone with that. They could kick up a simply hideous row about it!" "And if Pelton found out that his kids are Literates Woooo!" Cardon grimaced.
Snatching a pad and pencil from a counter, he wrote hastily: Your private office, at once; urgent and important. Looking at it, the Literate nodded in recognition of Cardon's Literacy. "Over this way, sir," he said, guiding Cardon to his small cubicle office. "Here." Cardon gave him the prescription. "Nitrocaine bulbs. They're for Chester Pelton; he's had a serious heart attack.
"No, Chet; it isn't enough to beat you if you just throw away that crying towel and start fighting. They made one mistake that's going to wreck them." "What's that, Frank?" Pelton brightened, by about one angstrom unit. "The timing, of course!" Cardon told him, impatiently. "I thought you'd see that, at once. This telecast comes on at twenty-one hundred.
"What's Joyner-Graves trying to do to us, Frank?" Chernov rumbled gutturally. "It's what we're going to do to them," Cardon replied. "Didn't the chief tell you?" Chernov shook his head. "No time. I only got here fifteen minutes ago. Chasing all over town about that tip from Sforza. Nothing, of course. Nothing from Sforza, either.
For an instant, Cardon was reminded of a tomcat watching a promising mouse hole. "Claire!" Cardon exploded, "give him a nitrocaine bulb. Why are you all just standing around?" Claire turned. "There are none," she said, looking at him with desperate eyes. "The box is empty; he must have used them all."
The cloud of varicolored smoke alone must have been visible all over the five original boroughs of the older New York, and there were probably rumors of atom-bombing going around. "What gets me," Slater, who must have been thinking about the same thing, said to Cardon, "is where they got hold of those two fighter-bombers. That kind of stuff isn't supposed to be in private hands."
They both stared at him, swearing in amazement. "All right, Doug!" Ray called out. "We're in! Bring the gang down!" Frank Cardon and Ralph Prestonby were waiting at the freight-elevator door when it opened and Russell Latterman emerged, a rifle slung over one shoulder. Cardon stepped forward and took the rifle from him. "Come on over here, Russ," he said. "And don't do anything reckless."
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