CHAPTER 18

Police barricades on both the Seventh and Eighth Avenue sides of Forty-third Street blocked all access to the New York Times Building. After a brief discussion, in which she assured Elliot it was unlikely she could be recognized, Lorimer volunteered to ask the police what was happening while Elliot waited across the street.

Upon her return a little later, she told him, "They say there's been a bomb threat."

"Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant."

"You think it's a news blackout."

Elliot nodded, starting to walk briskly back to Forty-second Street; Lorimer struggled to keep up. "Where are we going?"

"Phones."

They found one at the comer of Forty-second. Elliot inserted a vendy, punching in the number he had used to call the Cadre. He received a busy signal. "Everybody's probably calling in," Lorimer said.

"I wonder." Elliot redeposited his vendy, punching "O" for the operator. Busy. He called 411. Also busy. He called the telephone in his family's abandoned apartment. Harsh, repeating squawks. "Tomorrow," he told Lorimer, "they'll probably announce the central switching office was captured by terrorists."

They crossed over to a newsstand not far from the Rabelais Bookstore; the newsdealer--a grizzled old man--had magazines out but no newspapers; his radio played music loudly from the booth. The old man shook his head. "Sold outa last night's papers, and that was it. Nothin' delivered today."

"Have you heard any news on your radio?" Lorimer asked.

"Not even a hockey score. Been switchin' stations all day. WOR is all music, WCBS is off the air. Can't even find no call-in shows."

"The phones are out," said Elliot.

"That wouldn't stop none a them ratchetjaws. They can talk ta themselves fer hours. If ya ask me, I tink it's a war, and they ain't figured out how ta tell us yet."

"They've always figured out before."

He answered softly, drawing them close for a revelation. "Yeah, but this time it's gonna be nukuler, ya know? This time it's gonna be nukuler. Ya just tell me if I'm right."

"I'll be the first one," said Elliot. He turned to Lorimer. "We'd better figure this out."

They went into McDonald's next door, Elliot buying two hot cocoas at the counter, then carting them over to a table at the window. "Okay," he practically whispered to Lorimer. "Newspapers are stopped. Radio is under tight censorship--I think we can assume the same for TV. Phones are dead, wire services are out--"

"Wire services?"

"If OPI--the Oracle--is out, then the rest are out."

"Oh," said Lorimer. "You forgot public transit."

"That's been out for weeks."

"It's still a datum."

"Possibly. This might have been planned weeks-- maybe months--ago. But what does it add up to? First off, do you have any ideas who's behind this?"

"Well, not the New York police alone. They're probably cooperating with federal and state authorities. Possibly Civil Defense."

"You're assuming it's the government?" She nodded. "Why not our--uh--friends?"

"You can rule them out, as far as I'm concerned."

"Not capable of it?" Elliot asked.

"Oh, certainly they are -- or at least my father thinks so. But it would require a massive amount of property violations--coercion. Our friends are opposed to that sort of thing on principle."

"Isn't that a little naive?"

"You can think so if you want. I don't."

"Okay, I'll put that idea on the back burner for the time being. What about a foreign power?" he asked.

"Can you see the New York cops taking orders from Russia?"

"Uh--point granted. If it's a coup, it's being run from the top down. Which brings up another point. Military junta?"

"What difference would it make? The effect is the same whether it's coming from the Joint Chiefs or the Kremlin or the White House. Believe me, they're all playing the same game; the rules simply change to match the terrain."

"Okay. Then what you're saying is that we have a domestic dictatorship on our hands."

Lorimer considered this for a moment. "Umm--let's go back to basic theory."

"I knew I couldn't avoid the lecture," said Elliot.

She smiled. "Battleground training," she said. "We're told we have a government by popular consent. At least in one sense that's true. Every government always exercises the maximum amount of power its rulers feel the people will stand for without revolting. If this government--or an element within it--is drastically increasing its use of power, then the leaders either feel they have the popular support--or apathy--to get away with it, or they're taking desperate chances because they're being pressed to the wall."

"According to my father," said Elliot, "the government has been increasingly 'pressed to the wall' for the past quarter century by fiscal realities. And if you can judge by last week's demonstrations, there's little popular support. "

"Then you've just answered your own question."

"I see. You're telling me that the government at the moment is like a wounded rhino starting to charge anything in its path. Maybe we'd better get out of it."

"How much more out of it do you want to get?"

"That, my dear, is the sixty-four-million-dollar question. What's Montreal like this time of year?"

"Cold," Lorimer said.

"Then maybe we'd better think about buying long underwear. "

"I thought you had business here?"

"All the advantages of working out of New York have been neutralized. Montreal could work just as well for what I have to do. Besides, I'm beginning to think Durand was right. There's probably only one outfit that can handle this--when they decide they're ready--and we can hang out damn near anywhere as far as they're concerned. "

"But how would we get there? Even if we had all the papers--which we don't--we can't assume there'll be any means out. If they've seized communications, they're almost certainly controlling commercial transport, too."

"We can make arrangements through our friends," Elliot said.

"How? No phones."

"I can think of several ways even if phones aren't restored -- which they probably will be in a day or two."

"Yes, but why run away?" Lorimer asked. "What are we, brownies? The minute trouble comes, you head for the hills with your rifle and survival foods?"

"Consider that if the government cut off food to Manhattan it would begin starving in three days. Bread riots on the sixth."

"One. I don't believe they could do it; half the food on this island comes in countereconomically as it is. Two, I don't believe it's politically tenable. And three, I can't imagine what the higher circles--the ruling elite--could see themselves gaining by such a plan."

"All right, let's keep it on a more personal basis, then. Have you thought about what they'll do to us if we get picked up even for jaywalking?"

She nodded. "But if anything, the odds just got a lot better for us. Unfortunately, though, worse for some others. "

"What?"

"Think it through. Yesterday the two of us were singled out by the government as public enemies. Today there are thousands more people on their enemies list. The statists' resources are just as limited as ever, but they're spreading them even further. Statistically there's less of a chance they'll hit on us."

"Tell me that again," said Elliot, "when the tanks start rolling down Broadway."

Lorimer shrugged. "A show of force, at best. If anything, an occupying army would only increase countereconomic activity. There's no way a domestic army can be prevented from fraternizing during off hours without rioting themselves." At that instant, a couple sat down at the empty table next to theirs. Elliot and Lorimer nodded at each other, then got up to leave.

On their way out the door, they ran into a skinny man with a mustache on his way in; Elliot did a double take, then realized it was the clerk from the Rabelais Bookstore who had told him to beat it the previous week. Elliot intended to ignore him, but the man recognized Elliot and said, "You the kid who was in last week?" Elliot nodded. "Well, in case you still wanna see your friend, he got back."

Elliot froze an instant. All his doubts about Al returned. Still, his father had trusted him, and he was possibly a Cadre ally. Elliot asked. "He's in the bookstore now?"

The clerk shook his head. "He don't ever come in before four."

"Uh--thanks." The clerk continued in, and Elliot led Lorimer out.

"What was that all about?" she asked.

"A man I have to see. My father was using him as a stash." Elliot checked his watch; it was one fifty. "We have a bit over two hours. Might as well use the time to good advantage."

They crossed over to a discount drugstore where Elliot found his hair dye and Lorimer a tube of shampoo. Approaching the cashier, Elliot put the merchandise on the counter with a eurofranc on top. The cashier, a pudgy matron, looked at Elliot like a stem schoolteacher. "Young man, do you know the penalty for offering illegal foreign money? Or accepting it?"

"I have a feeling you're going to tell me."

"Five years in federal prison and a one-hundred-thousand- dollar fine."

"Well, I wouldn't like the prison term, but the fine sounds like a bargain."

"Get out of here."

Elliot reached for his eurofranc. The cashier snatched it away.

"I'm confiscating this for the police," she said.

Elliot shrugged. "Fair enough," he replied, taking the shampoo and hair dye. "I'm confiscating this merchandise as evidence of violating the federal Food, Drug, and Cosmetic Act of 1938. Good day."

Elliot took Lorimer's arm, and they walked calmly out.

Lorimer asked, "What was that violation?"

"How should I know? It's a law we discussed in history. But we'd better get out of here in case she decides to phone the cops."

"The telephones are out, remember?"

Elliot grinned widely. "Who says we live in an unjust universe?"

After brief discussion, Elliot convinced Lorimer that they should risk one more stop. He explained that it might be their last chance for a while: if the government was again switching over to a new currency, there was the possibility they would close all stores temporarily as they had the previous time.

They stepped into a small Forty-second Street clothing shop, Elliot buying two shirts, briefs, socks, and Levis. Lorimer bought another pair of slacks and a turtleneck. There was no difficulty about eurofrancs with the proprietor of this store, an elderly German man who said he was a boy during the Weimar hyperinflation of 1923. Quite the contrary, there was enthusiastic bargaining and a seeming forgetfulness on the man's part to charge sales tax.

Afterward, to remain off the streets, Elliot and Lorimer slipped into a Forty-second Street movie house (payment by vendies) and watched an action-packed musical drama starring Dharmendra, Lion of the Indian Screen. Dharmendra had evolved, during the past few years, into a cult-film hero.

Elliot never found it necessary to use his hair dye.

At four fifteen, he and Lorimer entered the Rabelais Bookstore; once more it was without customers. Again Al was on the stool behind the counter. He looked up, seeing Elliot, and exclaimed, "You! But I thought--But how--?"

"Slow down, slow down," said Elliot. "You seem surprised to see me."

"Surprised? Kid, you couldn't've flattened me more if you come back from the dead. I thought you'd been busted for sure."

Al noticed Lorimer for the first time.

"It's okay," said Elliot. "She's with me. But why'd you think I was arrested?"

"That's what your old man told me, that your old lady, sister, and you--"

Elliot interrupted, shocked and delighted. "My father's alive? You've seen him? How did he get away from the feds?"

"Eh? I don't know what you're talkin' about," said Al. "Your old man was never busted. I just saw him a couple'a hours ago; I been doin' some legwork for him."

"But why didn't you let the Cadre know?"

"What? But how--"

Elliot twirled his gold ring once forward and once back. Al responded with twice forward and once back on his ring.

"Jesus Christ, I never seen such lousy communications," said Al. "Your old man didn't tell me you were an ally. He just said he wanted his business kept private so I didn't tell them anything."

"He didn't know," said Elliot, "because I'm a brand-new ally. But never mind that now. Where's my father?"

"He's been hidin' out at the New York Hilton all week."

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