over 60% of the resurrections in the field,” said Rose. “You take most of the risks and he pays you a mere 120,000 pounds.”
“There’s not all that much risk, Rose. After all, resurrection is something I’ve always been quite keen on. I’m honored in a way that Sandman picked me to be his second in command.”
“His patsy, you mean. His sitting duck.” Rose pounded some piano keys with a plump fist. “Furthermore, Tommy, half of his people have been led to believe you yourself are Sandman.”
Smiling a thin smile, Guthrie said, “That does no real harm, Rose. It’s rather a clever subterfuge in fact.”
“If you get nabbed you can’t even blow the whistle on him. You don’t even know where the man is.”
“One doesn’t blow the whistle on one’s associates, Rose,” said the lean scientist. “I do have some notion where he’s at, by the way.”
“You haven’t mentioned it to me.”
“You aren’t always in the mood for confidences.”
“Where is Sandman then?”
“I’ve learned Sandman’s base headquarters are somewhere under Los Angeles.”
“That’s not a very specific address.”
“There’s a partially abandoned underground transportation and living system in the Greater Los Angeles area of California South,” explained Guthrie. “I’ve found out, by subtle and roundabout means, our Mr. Sandman is down under there someplace.”
“So he has to live underground, too?”
“When he’s not somewhere in the world performing a resurrection.”
Conger nodded to himself and left the Victorian-style living room. As he climbed toward the trapdoor he heard Rose say, “Ho hum.”
CHAPTER 19
Angelica walked in during the briefing and Conger missed the next several minutes of it. She was wearing a simple tan daydress, her hair pulled back and tied with a paisley ribbon. She nodded at Conger, smiling quickly, then sat down by the big blond NSO agent across the room.
Conger watched her for a moment more before returning his attention to the Greater Los Angeles Police inspector up on the dais.
“… then down on Level Three we have the off-track betting parlors, the legalized—excuse me, Miss Abril—prostitution cribs and the indoor dog tracks.” Inspector Knerr of GLAP was saying. “About 75% of this level is still functioning. The dog track operations have been suspended because of repeated malfunctions of the mechanical rabbits which the dogs are supposed to chase. As I …”
“Excuse me, inspector,” said Rowland Gull, the slight pale young man who’d been introduced as the Press Secretary of the governor of California South. “But Mad Governor Yerkzes has asked me to read this statement in the event any of his Underground Life System was criticized. The statement begins: ‘My fellow Californians, good evening …’ Well, we’ll modify that to good morning, since it still lacks a few minutes of midday. ‘My fellow Californians, good morning …’ “
“We can skip the statement, Rowland,” the short wide inspector told him. “We’ve got a killer to catch here.”
“Wait a mo,” said Linn Learmann, the big blond NSO agent. He was sitting now with his arm on the back of Angelica’s chair. “Technically Sandman isn’t a killer, inspector. All our info indicates the opposite. He brings people back to life, is what he does.”
“Whether he kills them or revives them,” said Inspector Knerr, “we want to catch him. Am I correct in assuming that?”
“Sure thing,” said Learmann, smiling. “It’s simply that I like to keep the record straight.”
“I think you ought to let me read this statement,” said the governor’s press secretary. “Mad Governor Yerkzes gets angry if he’s thwarted in any way. I hate to go back to the state capital in Burbank and have him rip down all the drapes in his executive chambers again, or eat all the artificial flowers.”
“I’ll have it put into the minutes you read the statement and it was well received,
“There’s not all that much risk, Rose. After all, resurrection is something I’ve always been quite keen on. I’m honored in a way that Sandman picked me to be his second in command.”
“His patsy, you mean. His sitting duck.” Rose pounded some piano keys with a plump fist. “Furthermore, Tommy, half of his people have been led to believe you yourself are Sandman.”
Smiling a thin smile, Guthrie said, “That does no real harm, Rose. It’s rather a clever subterfuge in fact.”
“If you get nabbed you can’t even blow the whistle on him. You don’t even know where the man is.”
“One doesn’t blow the whistle on one’s associates, Rose,” said the lean scientist. “I do have some notion where he’s at, by the way.”
“You haven’t mentioned it to me.”
“You aren’t always in the mood for confidences.”
“Where is Sandman then?”
“I’ve learned Sandman’s base headquarters are somewhere under Los Angeles.”
“That’s not a very specific address.”
“There’s a partially abandoned underground transportation and living system in the Greater Los Angeles area of California South,” explained Guthrie. “I’ve found out, by subtle and roundabout means, our Mr. Sandman is down under there someplace.”
“So he has to live underground, too?”
“When he’s not somewhere in the world performing a resurrection.”
Conger nodded to himself and left the Victorian-style living room. As he climbed toward the trapdoor he heard Rose say, “Ho hum.”
CHAPTER 19
Angelica walked in during the briefing and Conger missed the next several minutes of it. She was wearing a simple tan daydress, her hair pulled back and tied with a paisley ribbon. She nodded at Conger, smiling quickly, then sat down by the big blond NSO agent across the room.
Conger watched her for a moment more before returning his attention to the Greater Los Angeles Police inspector up on the dais.
“… then down on Level Three we have the off-track betting parlors, the legalized—excuse me, Miss Abril—prostitution cribs and the indoor dog tracks.” Inspector Knerr of GLAP was saying. “About 75% of this level is still functioning. The dog track operations have been suspended because of repeated malfunctions of the mechanical rabbits which the dogs are supposed to chase. As I …”
“Excuse me, inspector,” said Rowland Gull, the slight pale young man who’d been introduced as the Press Secretary of the governor of California South. “But Mad Governor Yerkzes has asked me to read this statement in the event any of his Underground Life System was criticized. The statement begins: ‘My fellow Californians, good evening …’ Well, we’ll modify that to good morning, since it still lacks a few minutes of midday. ‘My fellow Californians, good morning …’ “
“We can skip the statement, Rowland,” the short wide inspector told him. “We’ve got a killer to catch here.”
“Wait a mo,” said Linn Learmann, the big blond NSO agent. He was sitting now with his arm on the back of Angelica’s chair. “Technically Sandman isn’t a killer, inspector. All our info indicates the opposite. He brings people back to life, is what he does.”
“Whether he kills them or revives them,” said Inspector Knerr, “we want to catch him. Am I correct in assuming that?”
“Sure thing,” said Learmann, smiling. “It’s simply that I like to keep the record straight.”
“I think you ought to let me read this statement,” said the governor’s press secretary. “Mad Governor Yerkzes gets angry if he’s thwarted in any way. I hate to go back to the state capital in Burbank and have him rip down all the drapes in his executive chambers again, or eat all the artificial flowers.”
“I’ll have it put into the minutes you read the statement and it was well received,
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