Firechild by Jack Williamson Page A

stood scowling until the guard was gone.
    “You’re late!” he snapped at her then. “Have you got the files?”
    “I’ve tried everything.” She sank into a chair. “I’m afraid we’ll never get them.”
    “Fail, and you’ll regret it.”
    “The world will regret it.”
    “Forget the dramatics,” he advised her sourly. “You aren’t playing Chekhov.”
    She was fumbling into her bag. “At least I have one more report from Scorpio.”
    “On your person?” Anger edged his voice. “The Americans already suspect me, and your own status here is barely legitimate. They are well enough aware that Roman was a friend of the USSR. These offices are probably under surveillance. At any time, either of us could be seized and searched.”
    “We take risks.”
    “We also expect results. Can’t you deal with this Carboni?”
    “We’ve lost him.” His harshness had turned her half defiant. “He was to meet us last night in a bar near the Chicago safe house. Scorpio waited there with me till three this morning. That’s why I’m late—that and the panicky mobs at O’Hare.
    “I thought we had a deal. Scorpio had promised him photos and letters from the three dissidents assuring him that we had arranged their safe release. In return, he was to give us the key to an airport locker where we would find the films. I had the letters with me.
    “Professional forgeries, complete with doctored snapshots of the old rogue Alyoshka and his women. The letters confirm his joy at discovering that he has a son and the happiness of the whole family in being liberated. But”—her breath went out—”Carboni never came.”
    “He didn’t die in the Enfield disaster?”
    She shook her head. “An odd thing. You know he was our only good source at EnGene. Scorpio thinks he must have learned that it was about to happen. Previously, they had arranged to meet that night at his Enfield apartment to finalize plans for the exchange. Carboni called on very short notice to change the meeting place to a Kansas City motel—he said he suspected that the CIA had bugged his place.
    “Scorpio says that Kansas City meeting saved both their lives.” •
    “Let’s get to the point.” His voice sharpened impatiently. “What happened to the Belcraft files?”
    “Who knows?” A baffled shrug. “Scorpio hates me. Recently he has been difficult. Demanding more money. He seems afraid of his work since the disaster, and I hate to trust him. As for Carboni—I’ve never even seen him. Scorpio says the FBI and the CIA have been collecting dossiers on all the EnGene employees. He and Carboni are both on the list, subject to interrogation if they can be captured. Carboni may have simply gone into hiding.” Her voice sank. “I just don’t know.”
    “Find out!” Shuvalov turned shrill. “I don’t risk my neck for nothing.”
    “Operations are getting sticky.” Her brow furrowed. “The Americans are desperate. They apparently know even less than we do about what hit their city. They suspect nobody and everybody. As you say, they may strike at us.” A weary shrug. “Anyhow, here’s something for you.” She dug into her bag. “Scorpio did deliver another report.”
    “If you’ve lost Carboni and the films, what’s left to report?”
    “Scraps of fact that Carboni kept offering to justify his arrogant demands. Scorpio carried a hidden tape recorder and later dictated his own report of each encounter. I have transcribed the tapes—Scorpio refuses to put anything on paper.”
    “But you are bolder?” He turned sardonic. “You risk us both?”
    “Read it.” She produced a thick envelope. “Evidence enough that EnGene was in fact working to create a biological super-weapon. The effort was based largely on Belcraft’s work, but never with his cooperation. He was bitterly opposed to all military research, and he had remained at the laboratory only because he was allowed to use the facilities for a project of his own—a strange