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high-and-mighty Yale name. It goes to show there are still special rules

and laws for those with pull and power."

"Look, Harry . . ."

"No, hear me out! What I'm doing, Nim, is serving notice that if I have

clear evidence in any case in the future, no matter who it is, no one is

going to stop me from bringing it out in the open and doing what has to be

done."

"Okay, okay," Nim said. "If there's clear evidence, I'll fight it with you.

And now we've settled that, please go, and let me get some work done."

When he was alone, Nim regretted having vented his bad humor on Harry

London. Most of what London had said, about the resignation statement being

a lie and part of a cover-up, bad already occurred to Nim, and troubled him

last night, when he slept only fitfully. Were there degrees of lying? Nim

didn't believe so. As be saw it, a lie was a lie. Period. In which case,

wasn't GSP & L-in the persons of Eric Humphrey, who authorized a public

falsehood, and Nim, who endorsed it by his silence-equally culpable as Paul

Sherman Yale?

There could be only one answer: Yes.

He was still thinking about it when his secretary, Vicki Davis, buzzed and

told him, "The chairman would like to see you immediately."

J. Eric Humphrey, Nim could tell at once, was unusuallv perturbed.

When Nim came in, the chairman was moving restlessly around his

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office, something he rarely did. He continued standing as he talked and

Nim listened,

"T'here is something I wish to say to you, Nim, and shortly I will ex-

plain why," the chairman said. "Recently I have been ashamed and

disgusted at certain events which have happened in this compariv. I do

not like to feel ashamed of the organization which pays me a salary and

which I head."

Humphrey paused, and Nim remained silent, wondering what was coming next.

"One matter for shame," the chairman continued, "has been dealt with

within the past twenty-four hours. But there is another, larger issue

which persists-the outrageous attacks upon the lives and property of this

company."

"The FBI and police . Nim began.

"Have accomplished nothing," Humphrey snapped. "Absolutely nothing!"

"T'hey have Birdsong in jail," Nim pointed out.

"Yes-and why? Because one intelligent, determined woman reporter was more

resourceful than a veritable army of professional law enforcers. Remember

also that it was information from the same young woman which resulted in

those other blackguards at that Crocker Street house being shot and

killed-tbeir just deserts."

Only J. Eric Humphrey, Nim thought, would use words like "blackguards"

and "just deserts." All the same, Nim bad seldom seen Humphrey so openly

emotional. He suspected that what was being said now had been bottled up

inside the chairman for a long time.

"Consider this," Humphrey resumed. "For more than a year we have suffered

the indignity of having our installations, even this headquarters, bombed

by a ragtag, small-time band of terrorists. Worse still, it has cost the

lives of nine of our own good people, not including Mr. Romeo A,-bo died

at the Christopher Columbus Hotel. And that is something else! I am

deeply ashamed that while we were the host city, the host company, to the

NEI convention, that terrible episode was allowed to happen."

"I really don't believe, Eric," Nim said, "that anyone could, or does,

blame GSP & L for what occurred at the Columbus."

"I blame us, and I blame myself, for not having been more insistent,

earlier, that the law enforcement agencies do something. Even now, that

vile man, the leader, Arcbambault, is still at large." Humphrey's voice

bad risen in pitch. "An entire week has gone by. Where is be? Why have

the law enforcement agencies failed to find him?"

"I understand," Nim said, "that they're still searching, and they believe

he's somewhere in the North Cas~le area."

"Where be is doubtless plotting to kill or maim more of our people, and

do our company more injury! Nim, I want that villain found. If necessary

I want us-GSP & L~to find him."

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Nim was about to point out that a public utility was not equipped to

perform police work, then had second thoughts. He asked instead, "Eric,

what do you have in mind?"

"I have in mind that we are an organization employing many high caliber

people with an abundance of brainpower. judging by results, the law

enforcement agencies lack both. Therefore, Nim, these are my instructions

to you: Bring your own brain and those of others to bear on this problem.

Call on whoever you require to help you; you have my authority. But I

want results. For the sake of our people who were killed, for their

families, and for the rest of us who take pride in GSP & L, I want that

despicable person, Archambault, caught and brought to justice."

The chairman stopped, his face flushed, then said tersely, "That's all."

It was a coincidence in timing, Nim thought, after his encounter with

Eric Humphrey, that he, too, had been thinking about brainpower.

Four months ago, largely because of skepticism by Mr. justice Yale, Nim

had abandoned the "think group" approach to the problem of terrorist

attacks by the so-called "Friends of Freedom."

Following Paul Yale's criticism that they had "pushed suppositionpure

conjecture, unsubstantiated-to the limits and beyond," Nim had summoned

no further "think meetings" between himself, Oscar O'Brien, Teresa Van

Buren and Harry London. And yet, reviewing what was now known, the

quartet's ideas and guesswork had been uncannily close to the truth.

In fairness, Nim reasoned, he could only blame himself. If he bad

persisted, instead of becoming overawed by Yale, they might have an-

ticipated, possibly even prevented, some of the tragic events which had

since occurred.

Now, armed with Eric Humphrey's instructions, there might still be

something they could do.

Originally, in discussing the then-unknown leader of Friends of Freedom,

the "think group" labeled him 'X" The identity of "X" was now known, and

the man-Georgos Archambault-dangerous, an overhanging threat to GSP & L

and others, was believed to be biding somewhere in the city.

Could intensive thought and probing discussion somehow penetrate that

biding?

Today was Friday. Nim decided that sometime during the weekend, using the

chairman's authority if needed, he would bring the four "thinkers"

together once again.

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9

"As it turned out," Nim said, consulting notes, "we were remarkablv ac-

curate. Let me remind you of )ust how accurate."

He paused to sip the scotch and soda which Oscar O'Brien had poured for

him a few minutes ago, before they started.

It was Sunday afternoon. At the general counsel's invitation, the "think

group" had assembled in his home and was sprawled around an informal

comfortable garden room. The other three had been co-operative when

approached by Nim, even more so when informed of J. Eric Humphrey's

wishes.

The O'Brien house, high above the shoreline and with a beach below,

afforded a magnificent waterfront view which, at the moment, included a

multitude of sailboats, their weekend sailors endlessly beating, reaching

or running, and miraculously avoiding each other, amid a flurry of

whitecaps raised by a stiff westerly breeze.

As on previous occasions when the group bad met, a tape recorder was

running.

"On the basis of the then-available information," Nim continued,

"information which was sketchy at best, we hypothesized that one man

-X-was the leader and brains of Friends of Freedom, that he was strongly

masculine and vain, and that be bad a woman confidante who worke~ closely

with him. We also believed that X personallv murdered those two guards

at Millfield, and that the woman was present at the time. Furthermore,

we concluded the woman might be a source of weakness and prove the

undoing of X-

"I'd forgotten some of that," Teresa Van Buren injected. "By God, we were

right on target!"

The p.r. director, appearing as if she bad come unchanged from a lazy

weekend at home, was wearing a rumpled green caftan over her ample

figure. Her hair, as usual, was untidy, probably because she ran her

fingers through it whenever she was thinking. Her feet were bare; the

pair of dilapidated sandals she had slipped off were beside her chair.

"Yes," Nim acknowledged, "I know. And I'll admit to you all, it was my

fault we failed to continue. I guess I lost faith, and I was wrong." He

decided to say nothing about the influence of Mr. justice Yale, who,

after all, bad done no more than -express an opinion.

-Nim proceeded, "Mow that -we know the identity of 'X,' and a good

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deal more about him, perhaps we can use the same mental process in helping

track him down."

He stopped, conscious that three pairs of eyes were focused on him

intently, then added, "Perhaps not. But the chairman believes we should

try."

Oscar O'Brien grunted and removed from between his thick lips the cigar

be bad been smoking. The air was already thick with smoke, a condition

distasteful to Nim, but it was O'Brien's home and objecting seemed

unreasonable.

"I'm willing to give it a whirl," the lawyer said. "Where do we start?"

He was wearing old gray slacks, loosely beltcd below his bulging belly,

a baggy sweater, and loafers without socks.

"I've prepared a memo," Nim said. Opening a briefcase, be produced copies

and passed them around. The memo contained a summary of all information,

published since the NEI convention, about Friends of Freedom and Georgos

Archambault. The bulk of it was from Nancy Molineaux's reports.

Nim waited until the others had finished reading, then asked, "Is there

anything additional, which any of you know, that isn't in there?"

"I might have an item or two," Harry London volunteered.

The Property Protection chief bad been cool today when meeting Nim,

probably remembering their sharp words two days ago. But his tone was

normal as he said, "I have friends in the law enforcement agencies. As

Nim knows, they sometimes tell me things."

In contrast to the others-including Nim, who was also dressed

casually-London was impeccable in beige slacks with a knife-edge crease,

and a starched bush jacket. He wore socks which matched the ensemble. His

leather shoes were gleaming.

"The newspapers mentioned that Archambault kept a journal," London said,

"and it was found among his other papers. That's in here." He tapped

Nim's memo with a fingernail. "What isn't here, and wasn't let out

because the D.A. hopes to use it in evidence at Archambault's trial, is

what was in the journal."

Van Buren asked, "Have you seen the journal?"

"No. But I was shown a Xerox copy."

As usual, Nim thought, Harry London was moving at his own pedantic pace.

O'Brien asked impatiently, "Okay, what was in the damn thing?"