bloc,” Darro interrupted. “I’ve gotten the same message from the other governments.” He permitted himself the slight bend of his mouth that served as a smile. “Which makes me certain you’ll cooperate in every way, no matter what I ask. You have no choice.”
He turned and walked away, back to his staff. Culwait glared after him angrily. No wonder Darro had been chosen to head up so many national and international projects. He had a personality like a sledgehammer—and about as much in the way of diplomacy. A man like that had to be honest to stay alive.
9
T he London cab cruised along the country road at a modest speed, and Questor’s head never seemed to stop moving as he took in the scenery. Jerry sat in a corner of the wide back seat, glumly staring out at the green hedges and meadows at the roadside. The cabbie had more important things to watch . . . oncoming drivers and a meter that read over thirty-two pounds and was still climbing. He glanced back at the two men and cleared his throat nervously.
“It’s a bit of a bill you’re runnin’ up, gentlemen.”
“Our journey will terminate in precisely three-tenths of a mile.”
The cab driver nodded dubiously. That did not answer the question of whether or not they could pay the tab, but they seemed to know where they were going. Presumably, they also anticipated the size of the bill.
Jerry leaned over to Questor confidentially. “What do we ask for when we get where we’re going?”
“C.”
Jerry blinked. “ ‘C’?”
“This entire portion of my creator’s records was cryptographically encoded to resemble casual social notes.”
“Code?” Jerry hissed. “What kind of business did he do with this C?”
“Principally information exchange on international matters.”
“Questor, we can’t just knock at a door and ask for a code name which . . .” He trailed off as he noticed the private drive the cab was traversing.
A long, tree-lined drive threaded its way through a cleft in natural rock and then burst out into an open expanse of lawn that was dotted with carefully planned flower beds. The house that rose at the end of the drive was vast, classic in style, ancient stone only lightly touched by modern architects on the outside. This was the first genuine stately mansion Jerry had ever seen.
“Questor,” he said weakly, “especially not on the door of that house.”
The cabbie pulled up before the massive main door and stopped. Jerry stepped out, still taking in the immensity of the house, the obviously expensive setting. He turned back to find Questor handing a thick wad of pound notes to the driver. “Wait, Questor. We may need him.”
Questor ignored him and nodded to the cabbie. “You may go now.”
The driver ran a finger through the stack of bills and figured out the large tip. “That’s very generous, gov’nor. Thank ya kindly.” He drove away, and Questor turned to Jerry.
“I am convinced you will not fail me, Mr. Robinson.”
Jerry had no answer for that kind of remark. He and Questor approached the heavy door, and Jerry lifted and dropped the ornate knocker almost timidly. Questor’s eyes flicked around the entrance area and stopped on what appeared to be an ornamentally carved projection in the architecture.
“Curious. It appears we are being scanned by an electronic camera device.”
Jerry frowned doubtfully. “I don’t see anything. How can you tell?”
Questor promptly reached up to the projection, twisted, and revealed the end of a closed-circuit television camera aimed at where they were standing. Jerry waggled a hand anxiously.
“Put it back . . . quick!”
Questor complied, just getting the decorative cover back on the lens as the door opened. A formally attired butler stared out at them inquiringly.
Jerry looked at Questor, but Questor waited for him. “Ah . . . tell your . . . uh, master, that . . .”
The butler started to close the door. Questor still made no move, and Jerry jumped
He turned and walked away, back to his staff. Culwait glared after him angrily. No wonder Darro had been chosen to head up so many national and international projects. He had a personality like a sledgehammer—and about as much in the way of diplomacy. A man like that had to be honest to stay alive.
9
T he London cab cruised along the country road at a modest speed, and Questor’s head never seemed to stop moving as he took in the scenery. Jerry sat in a corner of the wide back seat, glumly staring out at the green hedges and meadows at the roadside. The cabbie had more important things to watch . . . oncoming drivers and a meter that read over thirty-two pounds and was still climbing. He glanced back at the two men and cleared his throat nervously.
“It’s a bit of a bill you’re runnin’ up, gentlemen.”
“Our journey will terminate in precisely three-tenths of a mile.”
The cab driver nodded dubiously. That did not answer the question of whether or not they could pay the tab, but they seemed to know where they were going. Presumably, they also anticipated the size of the bill.
Jerry leaned over to Questor confidentially. “What do we ask for when we get where we’re going?”
“C.”
Jerry blinked. “ ‘C’?”
“This entire portion of my creator’s records was cryptographically encoded to resemble casual social notes.”
“Code?” Jerry hissed. “What kind of business did he do with this C?”
“Principally information exchange on international matters.”
“Questor, we can’t just knock at a door and ask for a code name which . . .” He trailed off as he noticed the private drive the cab was traversing.
A long, tree-lined drive threaded its way through a cleft in natural rock and then burst out into an open expanse of lawn that was dotted with carefully planned flower beds. The house that rose at the end of the drive was vast, classic in style, ancient stone only lightly touched by modern architects on the outside. This was the first genuine stately mansion Jerry had ever seen.
“Questor,” he said weakly, “especially not on the door of that house.”
The cabbie pulled up before the massive main door and stopped. Jerry stepped out, still taking in the immensity of the house, the obviously expensive setting. He turned back to find Questor handing a thick wad of pound notes to the driver. “Wait, Questor. We may need him.”
Questor ignored him and nodded to the cabbie. “You may go now.”
The driver ran a finger through the stack of bills and figured out the large tip. “That’s very generous, gov’nor. Thank ya kindly.” He drove away, and Questor turned to Jerry.
“I am convinced you will not fail me, Mr. Robinson.”
Jerry had no answer for that kind of remark. He and Questor approached the heavy door, and Jerry lifted and dropped the ornate knocker almost timidly. Questor’s eyes flicked around the entrance area and stopped on what appeared to be an ornamentally carved projection in the architecture.
“Curious. It appears we are being scanned by an electronic camera device.”
Jerry frowned doubtfully. “I don’t see anything. How can you tell?”
Questor promptly reached up to the projection, twisted, and revealed the end of a closed-circuit television camera aimed at where they were standing. Jerry waggled a hand anxiously.
“Put it back . . . quick!”
Questor complied, just getting the decorative cover back on the lens as the door opened. A formally attired butler stared out at them inquiringly.
Jerry looked at Questor, but Questor waited for him. “Ah . . . tell your . . . uh, master, that . . .”
The butler started to close the door. Questor still made no move, and Jerry jumped
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