After a couple of seconds Phil decided regretfully that keeping himself scrunched against the yielding floor with both eyes tightly closed was not going to help. He opened them cautiously, blinked at the flooring, and tried to nerve himself to look up. Meanwhile:
"Brimstine, what's keeping that FBL man?"
"Now don't worry, Mr. Billig. He'll be here any minute."
"I'm beginning to doubt it. What if they're lying about sending a man, and actually they're planning to raid us, counting on picking up the green cat when they do?"
"The government wouldn't dare do that, Mr. Billig. They need the green cat, or they think they do."
"Then why isn't that FBL man here?"
"I tell you not to worry, Mr. Billig. Relax. Let Dora stroke your forehead."
"Pfui!"
Considerably puzzled, Phil lifted his chin off the flooring and cautiously swiveled his head. The Mr. Billig he'd heard mentioned with so much awe turned out to be a very gaunt dark man who looked at first glance thirty, at second seventy, and at third a mystery to which youth-prolonging hormones might provide a clue. He was dressed in severely cut black sports togs. Moe Brimstine bulked a lot bigger, but only physically—his blunt manner had altered to that of a servant with clownish privileges. Even his black glasses now looked a trifle comic.
The other member of the trio was a breathtakingly beautiful violet blonde whose dress consisted of an endless spiral of fine silver wire over a white satin sheath. She was sitting on a table, watching the others with a cold smile. Mr. Billig was pacing steadily as if engaged in some kind of road-work, while Moe Brimstine was hovering behind him like an anxious trainer.
But to Phil the one overwhelming fact was that they weren't paying any attention to him at all. Apparently his crashing with the aquarium into the room hadn't been of enough importance to rate a glance—or if there had been a glance, it had been a mighty short one. Besides being utterly mystified and quite frightened, Phil felt a bit piqued.
"I don't think you should take that attitude toward Dora, Mr. Billig," Moe Brimstine was saying. "She's a very clever girl; just how clever even you might enjoy finding out. Isn't that right, Dora?"
"I am infinitely skilled in giving pleasure to men, women and children," Dora said with a yawn. "Among other things I have memorized all the important pornographic books written since the dawn of history."
"Pfui and trash! Brimstine, you still don't seem to realize just how serious this is. I guess I should tell you that, according to my latest information, the government is all set to indict not only three of our governors and a half hundred of our mayors, but also four of our national senators and a dozen of our representatives."
This news did seem to take Moe Brimstine aback. "But that's the whole lot," he said softly.
"Not quite, but almost," Billig snapped.
"It would mean the absolute finish of Fun Incorporated."
"And what have I been saying to you?" Billig demanded.
Phil sat up a bit morosely and settled his chin on the back of his right hand to watch them. This maneuver attracted no attention whatsoever. He gave up trying to figure it out.
Moe Brimstine had recovered his spirits with a happy shrug. "Anyhow, you've got the green cat, so you're safe."
"Have I got it?" Billig demanded, stopping his pacing. "How well have you got that cat locked up, Brimstine?"
"Look, Mr. Billig, I got it in a copper cage where nobody can get at it and it can't get at nobody, even electronically. Besides, it's still stunned. You can't ask for more than that, can you?"
"Maybe not," Billig allowed grudgingly. "But then I come back to my other point: How can we be sure the government needs the cat so badly they'll be willing to quash all those indictments in exchange for it?"
"Now, don't worry about that, Mr. Billig. That's one thing we can be sure of. We've known for at least a month that finding that cat has been the absolute top priority, top secret job of the FBL, the FBI and the special secret service."
"But why should it be?" Billig was pacing again. "Just a funny colored animal. It doesn't make sense."
"Look, Mr. Billig, we've been all through this before. They're absolutely convinced that cat is terribly dangerous. They think it can control minds and change personalities, and they seem to think they have cases to prove it, including four top officials who've managed to skip the country, apparently headed for Russia. They've taken all sorts of secret steps, not only to find the cat, but to guard the president and all important officials from any possible contact with it. As far as our information goes, the first government theory was that the cat came from Russia, that the Lysenko view of genetics was true and that the Russkies were able to breed intelligent animals with extrasensory powers, for use as spies and saboteurs and possibly to replace a large part of the world's population. But now the government seems to believe that the cat is a mutant or monster of some sort and that it's in a position to conquer America—the whole world even—by controlling feelings and thoughts."
Phil sat up indignantly. He wanted to say, "Why, Lucky isn't like that at all." In his interest in the conversation, he had almost forgotten his incredible situation.
"I know, I know," Billig was saying, "but what do you think about it, Brimstine?"
Brimstine shrugged. "I think they're nuts," he said happily. "The cat didn't seem anything peculiar to me, though I'm taking no chances. I think it's all a grade-A delusion, a top secret panic."
"You think they're nuts and you expect me not to worry," Billig groaned. "Where's that FBL man?"
"On his way," Brimstine assured him. "Everything's going to turn out all right."
"That's what you told me when the president first started to take action against Fun," Billig flared. "You said it was just a bluff, a sop to the midwestern vote. You told me Barnes was a drunken farmer who could be got at twenty ways. You told me it would all blow over, like the other six times. Well, it didn't. Something happened that changed things."
"I know," Brimstine admitted, seeming for once at a loss for easy words.
"Do you know yet what happened?" Billig pressed.
Brimstine shrugged. "I think Barnes is nuts."
"That's your explanation for everything!" Billig roared softly. "If something happens this time, do you suppose I'll be happy because you tell me the coppers arresting me are nuts? Where is the FBL man?"
"You really should try and relax, I tell you, Mr. Billig," Moe Brimstine suggested, recovering himself. "Distract yourself somehow. Like with Dora here." And ignoring Billig's third, "Pfui," Brimstine looked at her critically. "Fix your mouth, dear," he said.
With a graceful obedience that nevertheless managed to be contemptuous the violet blonde beauty slid from the table and came straight toward Phil, who decided that now at last they'd have to stop pretending he wasn't there.
"Get that slinky walk, Mr. Billig," Moe Brimstine was urging. "What a gorgeous babe, eh?"
She tossed her head, stopped six feet short of Phil, took out a lipstick, looked straight ahead of her, and very carefully made up her lips. At the same time something cold and sucking closed on the fingers of Phil's left hand. He instinctively flipped it, and a tiny pink octopus sailed through the air toward the girl and flattened itself against something in the air about two feet short of her.
Phil watched it clinging there and felt his mind swell to bursting, as if he'd had another shot of Tan Jet lemonade. Then he got up, walked cautiously forward, and felt.
There was an invisible flat surface, extending as far as he could reach, between himself and the other half of the room. He realized he was on the viewing side of a one-way mirror bisecting the room. Dora, standing so close he could otherwise have touched her, turned, and as she did so, her skirt brushed the other side of the surface. He saw it was at least two inches from the side to which the octopus still clung. A mirror would hardly be that thick. It must consist of two panes probably with the space between them evacuated. For as he realized with a new surprise, he must not be hearing their voices directly, but a miked and transmitted version of them, which in turn must be binaural, so that they would be heard in depth and the proper direction.
Confirming this, he noted that the voices did not localize quite as perfectly as they had seemed to before he had caught on to the illusion. Also, the depth effect was a bit too rich, as if the mikes were more than ears-distance apart.
He also saw that all sources of illumination were beyond the panel.
But now that he knew they were not ignoring him, but simply unaware of his presence, he felt very much the burglar and very uneasy. He looked nervously back along the corridor he'd traveled and ahead along its darker and straighter continuation that, also this side of the panel, led out of the room. He asked himself why Billig should have the setup arranged and the sound turned on so that he and Brimstine and Dora could be spied on. It didn't make sense. Although he was protected, Phil felt a shiver legging it up his spine.
He might have left the spy chamber but at that moment Moe Brimstine put down a phone and said excitedly, "He's coming!" whereupon Billig at once stopped pacing and became as cool and unworried as dark tranquil water. He pointedly did not look at the archway beyond him, though Brimstine did.
A man came through the archway and stopped. He held his spine and the expression of his face very straight. His hair was touched with gray and his face showed years of worry—but not Billig's kind.
Billig looked at him with a questioning smile that barely stopped short of a smirk. He waited a moment and said softly, "Under the circumstances, I suppose you do not care to use your name, but—"
"It's Dave Greeley," the other said bluntly.
"—but I do suppose that you come from the Federal Bureau of Loyalty and that you are fully empowered to deal for the services and the president?"
The other nodded once.
"Mr. Greeley, Mr. Brimstine," Billig said with a gracious wave of his arm that reminded Phil of the swaying of a snake. "Mr. Greeley, Dora ... er, Dora Pannes."
The government man barely acknowledged the introductions.
"Mr. Billig," he said, "you tell us you have the green cat. If you have, we'll buy it."
"And what will you pay?" Billig murmured.
"The Moreland-McCartney letters, proving the graft those senators received from Fun Incorporated, plus all related recording and microwave taps. Similar material in sixty-odd other cases, which I hardly need enumerate to you in detail."
"Not enough," Billig said softly.
Greeley hesitated. "Of course, I could appeal to you," he said in a different voice; "simply as Americans, as citizens of this hemisphere facing a deadly danger—"
"Please, Mr. Greeley," Billig said with a chuckle.
Greeley shut his lips tight. When he opened them, his earlier voice spoke.
"Letters of confidence on all the indicted officials, dated today and signed and thumbprinted by the president and all the service heads, with confirming vocal recordings and pictures of the recordings being made. Naturally our experts will have to examine the cat before the exchange is made. They can be here in twenty minutes."
"That is better," Billig murmured, "quite a bit better. But not enough."
"What else do you want?" Greeley demanded angrily, but it seemed to Phil that he knew.
"The witnesses, delivered into our hands," Billig said. "O'Malley, Fattori, Madelin Luszcak, and the thirty-odd—no, I'll be precise—thirty-four others."
"That's out," Greeley said sharply. "I can't offer to pay you in human lives."
"Who mentioned anything like that?" Billig asked mildly. "I didn't, did I, Moe? It's just that we'd feel safer with the witnesses in our protective custody rather than yours."
"You know what you'd do to them," Greeley said.
Billig shrugged. "You wouldn't have to think about it. In any case, there are ways to forget." And he glanced at Dora, who flashed the FBL man a lazy, provocative smile.
Greeley flushed. For a few seconds he seemed to be concentrating on his breathing. "Look here, Billig," he said finally, "don't get the idea that either I or the government feels anything but loathing and detestation for you. Fun Incorporated has corrupted a third of a nation, and we have your headquarters here and in twenty cities so well cordoned a wasp couldn't get out. The sole reason we haven't smashed you is that you tell us you've captured something that is a little more dangerous to America than even your rotten organization. But our patience is wearing thin. We suspect a bluff, in spite of those green hairs you sent us. Make a deal while you can."
"The chemical and physical analysis of the hair must have shown your experts something very interesting," Billig murmured with a reflective smile. "Like you say, Mr. Greeley, we have something you can't do without. Something worth roughly—shall we say a third of a nation? It seems to me that we are letting you off very cheaply. Consider what the Russkies might be willing to pay. So I'm afraid the witnesses are an essential part of the exchange. In fact, I'm certain."
"I'm warning you," Greeley flared, "that I'm in full charge of Project Kitty under Emmet and that I've advised Emmet and the president to break off the deal and raid if you insist on that condition."
"You've advised," Billig replied, "and you're under Emmet. I'm only interested in what Barnes and Emmet have advised."
Greeley looked as if he wished he were deaf and dumb. His hands clenched and slowly unclenched. He set himself to speak.
Just then a phone-light blinked. Moe Brimstine snatched it up, obviously prepared to roar out a rebuke and slam it down. Instead he listened silently, and kept on listening. Greeley watched him intently.
At that moment, Phil heard the soft kiss of a door slitting open and faint footsteps drabber in quality than the binaural richness of the stuff he'd been listening to. He looked down the straight dark corridor on his side of the panel. Some forty feet down it, where it ended in a T, light now flooded across. Then Phil saw Dr. Romadka cross the corridor at that point. The analyst was still carrying his black bag. In the other hand was a gun. He disappeared from sight.
"You better take this, Mr. Billig."
Phil switched around just in time to see Billig grab the phone from Brimstine with a glare. "Three of them?" Billig's words were staccato. "And a fourth man and a girl, they said? And what did they tell you the fourth man wanted? I don't care if it sounds silly! What?"
Holding the phone, Billig spared Greeley a glance. "We're going to have to delay making final arrangements for a few minutes," he said curtly. "Dora will entertain you."
"You can't delay," Greeley assured him with a sudden note of triumph. "The raid starts in ten minutes unless I return. Besides, there's only one thing important enough to make you interrupt this interview. You've lost the green cat, or you're afraid you have."
"I know Emmet would allow more time than that, even if he didn't tell you," Billig snapped back at him. "Put Benson in charge of him, Brimstine. Then come back."
"Let me contact Emmet," Greeley said quickly. "We'll cooperate with you fully in finding the cat. You have my word the indictments will be quashed."
"Word! Take him out," Billig said sharply.
Greeley, lifting his elbow contemptuously away from Brimstine's hand, started with him out of the room. Dora accompanied them. Greeley pointedly edged away from her.
"Don't be frightened, lambie," the violet blonde told him, "I'm just bound for the little girl's room."
Billig lifted the phone. But before he'd quite got it to his ear and mouth, the skin around his eyes contracted with sudden suspicion and he gazed toward Phil, or rather toward a point near Phil, so sharply that the latter would have sprinted off, except he could not decide for a second which way.
Then the spread two first fingers of Billig's right hand struck like a serpent's fangs at two buttons.
Lights flared around Phil, everything was suddenly very still, and Phil saw himself in a bright mirror that hid Billig and halved the length of the room. His reflection, although fully clothed, had the expression of a man caught naked in public. He hesitated for another desperate second, frozen by the thought that the mirror was one great eye, then ran down the straight corridor. He came to the T and whisked around the corner in the direction Romadka had gone, until he heard footsteps ahead and pounding toward him. He darted back the way Romadka had come and found himself in a brightly lit room chiefly occupied by a heavy copper cage with less than an inch between the bars.
But one corner of the cage had been neatly sliced off and rested on the floor beside it like a little three-sided orange tent. Phil looked around for a way out and saw nothing but bright white wall marred only by a deep cut in the same plane as the slice through the cage. His circling look ended at the door through which he'd come. Mr. Billig and Moe Brimstine were standing in it. Brimstine held a stun-gun, Mr. Billig a larger weapon which, while pointing it at Phil, he held carefully out from his side.
"All right," Billig said, "what have you done with the green cat?”