Conquest of the Planet of the Apes - Jakes John - Страница 29
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- 29/43
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“But you said he was locked up in a meeting somewhere—”
“We’ll get him out. This is one success for the Agency we’re going to report in person.”
“Good God!” said Jason Breck. “We’ve had him under our noses all the time.”
Inspector Kolp nodded. He was speaking with the governor in a small but lavishly furnished antechamber adjoining a conference room on the twelfth floor of the building that housed the Urban Health Agency. Windows in one wall showed dusk falling on the city, lights beginning to glow in the towers.
Only moments ago, Kolp and Hoskyns had arrived and interrupted the proceedings of the twenty-man committee meeting inside. Now Kolp polished his spectacles, studying the lenses as he said softly, “There’s no doubt about what must be done, Mr. Governor. I’m quite willing to execute the ape immediately, on your verbal order alone.”
Breck’s hard face grew harder still. “I appreciate the loyalty, Inspector. But I’ll make sure you have the order in writing.”
“Thank you, sir. However, one small possible problem has occurred to me—”
“Problem?” Breck’s pronunciation of the word indicated he didn’t like hearing it.
Kolp, though, had scored sufficiently on behalf of the agency—and himself—so that he didn’t need to be cowed by Breck’s intimidating stare. “Yes, sir. Supposing the ape can talk, but won’t.”
“I don’t understand.”
Hoskyns stepped forward. “What the Chief Inspector means, Mr. Governor, is that we’d still be caught in a situation of doubt. If the ape’s mouth stays shut, the case stays open—at least theoretically. We’d very much like to close the file.”
At that, Breck smiled. “You will, gentlemen. I promise you.”
Kolp’s plump cheeks showed sudden spots of color. He would very much enjoy having a hand in forcing the ape to speak—before the execution.
Hoskyns asked, “Is the ape back at your penthouse, sir?”
The governor thought a moment. “He was this noon. But I believe my steward ran out of things for him to do. The ape cleans the place like lightning—and flawlessly. No wonder, is it? Considering what we know now? Caesar—‘a king.’ He picked that name deliberately, I’ll bet. Laughing at us!” Face flushed, Breck returned to the question with effort. “Caes—the ape was sent back for more volunteer duty in the Command Post. I think Mr. MacDonald’s there too. We’ll contact him from one of the offices.”
Following the governor as he walked rapidly from anteroom to corridor and into the first unlocked, lighted office, Inspector Kolp said in a bland tone, “MacDonald really shouldn’t be blamed for failure to locate the animal.”
“I suppose not,” Breck said absently, hurrying through the secretary’s space into the larger, inner room. He flung himself into the office chair, reaching for the intercom panel. “But he certainly won’t get any credit—or commendations—on his record.” As Breck concentrated on the pushbuttons, Hoskyns and Kolp exchanged quick, pleased smirks.
When the building operator answered, Breck said, “This is the governor. I want a priority circuit to the Command Post at Civic Center. Mr. MacDonald. On scrambler.” Then he sat forward on the chair, tapping the desk and staring at Inspector Kolp, who couldn’t remember ever having seen the governor look so pleased.
After 6:00 P.M., the light level in the underground Command Post was gradually lowered to provide a sense of the time of day for those working the late shifts. As a result, the monitors and sequencing lights glowed all the more brightly. The human staff members and ape volunteers moving along the aisles became little more than silhouettes.
MacDonald sat at a plain, functional desk near the center of the huge chamber. A small lamp shed a brilliant cone of light on the summaries he was reading—disturbing reports of steadily growing incidence of ape insubordination . . .
“Mr. MacDonald?”
His head snapped up. A supervisor, little more than a shadow, hovered at his elbow. MacDonald had sensed urgency in the man’s voice.
“The governor’s calling. Priority. You’ll have to take it on Station M because the governor asked for a scrambler.”
MacDonald nodded, shoved his chair back. Scrambler. What emergency now? He ran up the aisle past the sorting station where several apes, including Caesar, were collecting color-tabbed stacks of file material. Reaching another desk, he grabbed the special phone.
“MacDonald speaking, Mr. Governor.” A pause. “What?”
It was as if the familiar surroundings—the glowing screens, the muted voices, the bells and chattering terminals—had suddenly become the fixtures of a nightmare. MacDonald could barely speak.
“You want me to turn Caesar over to Inspector Kolp?”
From the receiver in his sweating hand, squawking sounds issued.
“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to react audibly. But there’s no one in the vicinity—”
Half-turning, he realized it was not true. The apes at the sorting station were within sound of his voice. One had swung around to stare. In the gloom, MacDonald couldn’t tell which one.
“Am I to understand,” he said, “that—the ape in question is now on your Achilles list?”
At once, the squawkings became louder, harsher. MacDonald swallowed, wiped sweat from his chin with his free hand, his mind racing.
“No, sir. No, I’m not questioning the order, but—” He barely paused; his temperament, his heritage, his whole personality pushed him to an instant decision, “—as a matter of fact, the animal is not here. I sent him out on an errand.” He fought to keep his voice steady, continuing, “He should be back momentarily, though. Yes, sir, give me your instructions.”
He listened, then pulled a pad toward him, fumbled for a pen, wrote Urban Building.
“They’re coming directly here? Takes about fifteen minutes, I believe. Yes, I know the route the animal should be taking. I’ll pick him up and meet them on the third level of the Mall of the Nations. No, I don’t think it’ll be necessary for them to bring police off—”
He stopped. The governor had already broken the connection.
Sweat rivered down MacDonald’s face into his collar. He had already lied once—an abrupt, gut reaction. Now he had about fifteen minutes to decide whether to lie again.
The Command Post was no place to make such a decision. Here, he was surrounded; without options . . .
He looked toward the sorting station. Caesar was just returning from the filing room.
MacDonald grabbed the arm of a passing supervisor. “Get me a set of leg shackles right away.”
The supervisor nodded and disappeared. MacDonald remained hunched on a corner of the desk, rubbing the back of his knuckle against his teeth. WHY? That was the tormenting question. Why, without warning, was the chimpanzee to be turned over, not to representatives of Ape Management, but to the police agency? MacDonald almost leaped to a conclusion, but it was so farfetched that he couldn’t bring himself to accept it. He did know one thing. Governor Jason Breck had not confided the reason the ape was going into custody. He had simply barked orders. To MacDonald this indicated a threatening change in his own status.
The supervisor appeared, shackles jingling. MacDonald took them, walked up the aisle to the sorting station just as Caesar picked up his next batch of material. There was apprehension in the chimpanzee’s eyes as MacDonald arrived.
The black pointed to the printouts in Caesar’s hand. “No.”
Caesar cringed and returned the pile to the table. The other apes nearby also cringed at the command—and at the familiar clink of the chains. To Caesar, MacDonald said, “Come.”
His whole nature rebelled at the idea of surrendering the intelligent, docile chimpanzee to Kolp, Hoskyns, and that pack of sadists who staffed State Security. Unhappy, he strode toward the exit stairs, Caesar trotting at his heels.
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