Chapter Nineteen

It had gone smoothly for Bahr, everything had gone smoothly during the weeks while the continent was torn, hammered and smelted into a space industry under his ruthless reform. There had been enough work to tax even Bahr's e-normous reserves, and exhaustion gave him occasional stretches of dreamless sleep. On his desk was the report from White Sands announcing the first successful pilot model of the new atomic drive, and he was pleased, vastly pleased, until the memo came into his hands—an innocuous enough note except that it came in under a special code heading that guaranteed it would come to his personal attention.

He read the memo, and threw his office door open, bellowing for Walters, from whom the memo had come. "What does this thing mean?" he roared, waving the memo sheet under Walters' nose.

"Just what it says," Walters told him. "She took the child back."

"What do you mean, she took the child back? Who said she could take the child back?"

Walters showed him the papers. The whole matter was perfectly legal and straightforward, and much as he wanted to, Bahr could find nothing out of order. An attorney representing Libby Allison had paid a quiet visit to the authorities at the Bordentown Playschool. He had made the proper identification in Libby's behalf, and presented satisfactory evidence of her desire and ability to support the child properly. She had a sufficiently good job, and a suitable standing account in a Canadian bank. The paperwork had been carried through, and Tim had been released in her care.

The last Bahr had heard directly from Libby, she had been dispossessed from her New York apartment. After that, there had been too much demand on his time, too many things to do, and not enough of his personal staff to handle the load. Now he alerted four of his men and ordered them to make an investigative pounce.

They found her apartment in Boston in ten hours flat, but Libby Allison was gone, permanently. Her forwarding address was in Quebec, Canada. A check with the Border Guard Intelligence gave the tantalizing information that Libby had driven into Canada with a permanent residence passport the previous day.

The boy had been with her.

The very audacity of it infuriated Bahr even more than the fact itself. A conference with Braelow, his personal attorney, and he laid it on the line. "I want that boy back here. I don't care how, I don't even care whether he's dead or alive, I just want him back!"

Braelow studied the situation, and came back with empty hands. The DIA team that Bahr had sent to Canada for surveillance returned with a report as detailed as it was useless. Libby had a job; she left Tim in a nursery during the day, and took him home to an apartment a few blocks away at night. Her Canadian job was actually a civil service job. Bahr saw an opening wedge there, and put pressure on various people to get her fired, so that she would be unable to manage support, but something or somebody seemed to be exerting equal pressure on the other side, and Libby was not fired from her job. . . .

He had Braelow contact Libby indirectly, delicately suggesting certain material advantages that would accrue if Bahr were permitted to adopt the boy, and certain unpleasant consequences if she continued her ridiculous attempt to thwart him; but Libby made a scene, and chased the contact man out. Bahr listened to the tape recording, and seethed, driving his fist into his palm until his arm was numb to the elbow.

He tried diplomatic channels then, demanding to have Libby extradited on certain legal and political charges, but this curiously came a cropper, and the Legation, in a huff, returned him a sharp warning against trying to violate political sanctuary. By this time Bahr was boiling.

Then he received a personal letter from Libby, through her attorneys. Bahr read it, and tore it into shreds, and shortly thereafter planned the kidnapping.

His DIA men did not return at the appointed time; in
fact, they did not return at all, so he did not know exactly
what had gone wrong. But not only did the kidnapping mis-
sion fail, the incident hit the newspapers, and the Canadian
police found out somehow that there was a DIA linkage in
the kidnapping attempt. Although it was only rumor and
completely unconfirmed by Canadian officials, the European
news nets played the story up as fact. Quite suddenly Bahr
found the devoted public of Federation America catching
the scent of scandal and looking to him confidently for ex-
planation. BURINF handled the cover story very skillfully,
but still there was a stir, an unpleasant aftertaste, and Bahr
was beyond reason. ^

He faced Braelow in private conference. "I want that boy back," he said furiously. "If she hasn't had enough yet, then I'll give her enough. I'll break her into little pieces. I want that boy, and I don't care what it costs you to get him. Just get him."

Braelow spread his hands. "There isn't any way but a court fight," he said. "She's deliberately turning this into a dirty mess. It's impossible . . ."

It was the wrong thing to say. "I said I wanted the boy back," Bahr grated. "Set up any kind of case you have to, but get him back."

"You mean you'd let it go into court?"

"My God, are you deaf? No common, low-grade whore is going to . . ." Bahr broke off, incoherent. "You heard what I said. Now you do it!"

Braelow and his staff mounted the case.

Julian Bahr tried every conceivable device to keep the affair out of the courts, but after the kidnapping failed it was evident that he was not going to succeed. Libby would not meet with him or his attorneys directly. She left all negotations in the hands of her counsel, who were, collectively, the best legal firm in Canada. With no other alternative at his disposal, Bahr bent every effort toward a quick, quiet settlement before a Canadian judge, confident that BURINF could do a neat job of coverup for him on the American side.

Consequently, he received a bad jolt when he walked into the courtroom with Braelow at his elbow, and found himself facing a battery of 3-V cameras and microphones, with the press-box packed with the most eloquent journalists on five continents waiting patiently for the fun to begin.

He caught Braelow's arm. "What are those cameras doing in here?" he whispered furiously. "Those newsmen . . . This is my fight, my personal, private fight."

"You don't have anything personal or private any more," Braelow told him coldly. "You might as well get that through your head. We're on thin ice out here, and it's out of our control. The cameras were the judge's option, and he insisted on having them here so there wouldn't be any kickback later."

"All right, then, get my men to work jamming any broadcast," Bahr said.

"They've tried it already, and they can't. Radio Budapest is getting through, and so are half a dozen other foreign nets." Braelow shrugged. "According to Intelligence, most of the population is following the news, one way or another."

Bahr cursed. "How is this thing going to go?"

"Maybe not too bad," Braelow said. "In fact, I don't see how we can miss. We have evidence of immoral conduct, the men involved will give us perfect testimony if we need it."

"They'd better."

"And we have a terrific edge on the support aspect. The woman's job here will hardly clothe and feed the child, much less educate him. That's plainly one of our best cards."

"You play the cards, don't bother me with them," Bahr said tightly. "Just so we win."

"Relax," Braelow said.

"But those damned cameras—"

"You've always liked cameras," Braelow said. "Cool off. We're going to win this."

In another room in the courthouse, Libby turned to Harvey Alexander, her face drawn of color, lips trembling. "I'm afraid," she said. "I don't know if I can face him."

"Well," Alexander said, "this is a fine time to tell me." He put his hand on her shoulder. Her whole body was shaking. "Look," he said, more kindly. "We've led him down the garden path, so far. The minute he sees me out there, he'll know that something fishy is going on. He won't be worrying about you then. I'll be doing the court fighting, and either you have confidence in me, or you don't. . . ."

"It isn't that," Libby said miserably. "It's the whole idea. The thing we're going to do to him. It's a brutal thing to do."

"I know it."

"And it's a lie . . ."

Alexander shrugged. "I wouldn't do it if I knew any other way to make him break. But it doesn't matter now whether we like it or not. I've shown you the BRINT reports."

"I know, I know," Libby said. "I know we have to get

Julian out now. But what if you do knock him down? What will it do to him? He hits bottom when things go against him and hell fight. But if he's really finished, hell just go to pieces. That happened after his court-martial. He turned into a drunk." She looked helplessly at Alexander. "I hate him, believe me I hate him. But what will happen to him? And what if it doesn't work? What if we're wrong?"

"If it doesn't work, we've got nothing to lose anyway," Alexander said wearily. "He'll expand into Canada, and then Europe, and nothing you nor I can do then will make the slightest difference. We have to get him now, before he's entrenched so diat he can never be shaken loose. Look, Libby, you're the one who has to decide. You've got to have die strength and will to do it, or we're through."

She was silent for so long, and looked so frightened and uncertain that suddenly he was frightened himself. Maybe he had given her too much rope, but he knew that at the heart of it she had to make up her own mind.

Watching her, he thought with a sudden pang of BJ, and wondered if he would ever see her again. He knew from a BRINT checkthrough that she was alive, under constant DIA surveillance ever since he had slipped the hounds that night at Wildwood. Now he realized what drew him to Libby: she was so much, very much like BJ, and he wondered if BJ would have the strength to do what he was asking Libby to do now.

"We got Tim out of the Playschool and into Canada like clockwork," he said, trying to sound confident. "BRINT folded up the kidnapping attempt without a hitch. So far we've blocked him at every turn. You must have known what you were doing then; now we've reached the critical point. Are you going to throw up your hands and give up now, just because Bahr may call you a couple of dirty names in public?"

"It's not that. I don't want Tim hurt."

"Don't duck the issue. You either want to fight Bahr, for what he's done to you and the things you believe in, or you want to give up, let him take you like he's always taken

»

you.

Libby flushed, and her eyes blazed with anger.

"No," she said. "Hell never do that again. I'll fight him."

A clerk opened the door, and nodded to them. Alexander squeezed her hand, and she stepped to the door. A moment later they were walking down the hall and into the courtroom.

There was a hushed murmur across the room as she appeared, and the cameras of two continents swung toward her as she walked toward the long table near the front of the room. She saw Bahr's eyes meet hers, contemptuously, and then widen. His face turned a sudden angry red and he almost leaped to his feet when he saw that her counsel for the trial was a lean, bronzed Harvey Alexander, in the uniform of a General in U.S. Army Intelligence, complete with combat braid and decorations.

Alexander took the opening advantage by putting Bahr on the defensive about the kidnapping.

First he asked Bahr's attorney a few routine questions about why Bahr wanted the adoption, for which very reasonable and logical answers were presented. Then Alexander said, "And what was Mr. Bahr's reaction to the attempted kidnapping of Miss Allison's child?"

The attorney turned to Bahr, who indicated that he would answer without taking the witness chair. "I was naturally concerned," Bahr said, "and I would like to add that I am exceedingly grateful to the Canadian authorities, who were alert enough to prevent what might have been an anxious ... or even tragic . . . incident."

"Can you think of any reason why someone should have wanted to carry out this kidnapping, Mr. Bahr?" Alexander asked, persistently ignoring Bahr'*title.

"I cannot, unless they knew he was my son and intended to bilk me for ransom. Certainly a ransom attempt would have been aimed at me," he added, "because Miss Allison has no money at all."

"Then someone must have been aware of your earlier attempt to negotiate with Miss Allison?"

Bahr reddened. "That's possible. It was a domestic matter, I made no attempt at secrecy."

Alexander's voice was smooth. "Then possibly some over-zealous people attempted the kidnapping, thinking they were acting in your interests."

"I think not," Bahr said sharply. "My people know I don't operate that way . . . and they are completely loyal."

Alexander let that remark sink home; then he thrust the knife. "In that case, I'm sure you can explain," he said, "why every member of the kidnapping group was an agent in the New York division of your own DIA."

During the recess Bahr had a background check run on Alexander, on a crash priority, intent on discrediting him as an imposter. Alexander was a passed-over major in the Army, a deserter, and wanted by the DIA for stability check and alien contact. A General! Bahr snorted.

The background check altered his plans. The Army records were complete and perfect. Alexander, they said, had been on special CI assignment since the Wildwood raid; his promotion had been reconsidered, and he had been spot-promoted to General after directing a raid on Chinese Intelligence headquarters in Hong Kong two weeks before when an attempt had been made to blow up the White Sands rocket installation. Bahr remembered seeing the report on that raid, carried out with terrific daring and precision in Hong Kong and well publicized. He had even commended it publicly himself, though the names of the participants had not been noted. Bahr did not like it. It put Alexander in too strong a position, a military hero.

The escape from Kelley was no help, since Alexander had been registered there under a John Smith label, for Bahr's convenience. As far as the records were concerned, the incident had never happened, and Alexander was legally scot-free. The recess was short, but by the time he went back into court Bahr was certain that some forgery and conniving had been carried out with the Army files. He smelled a rat, but he didn't know what to do about it at that time.

After the recess, the unpleasantness of the opening session intensified. Bahr presented his claims for the boy. Alexander parried every inference against Libby's character and qualifications, but felt that he was losing ground nevertheless. Bahr's confidence was returning; he nodded to his counsel, and they began the long string of male witnesses testifying to Libby's immoral conduct during the past weeks. Alexander appeared confused as the picture developed inexorably. Finally, as though at a loss, he put Libby herself on the stand.

She tensed herself for the ordeal, to do what she had to do. "I could deny what these men have been saying, but I can't see what difference their testimony could make in this matter anyway," she said sharply. "When DEPCO was closed down my apartment was looted, my bank account frozen, and I was turned out on the street and hustled around by the police for vagrancy. My education kept me out of low-skill jobs, and my red security card, a present from Mr. Bahr, kept me out of highly skilled jobs. When the currency was changed . . . well, show me one person in Federation America who didn't go through hell during that changeover. . . ."

She saw Bahr's face go red with anger, saw him lean over to whisper to Braelow, saw the camera eyes watching her from four angles across the room, and she went on. Her voice was low before; now she raised it so it carried clearly across the courtroom. "But we're not talking about me, we're talking about this man's claim on my son, and there's one thing I'd like to make clear, and it just makes me furious. I've been insulted, and attacked, and my private life has been put under the spotlight, all on the strength of sanctimonious claims that Julian Bahr wants to do the right thing by his son and take him away ffgjn my evil influence. Well, I would like to ask Mr. Bahr if he has one shred of proof, even a single scrap of paper, that will prove that he is the father of my child."

There was a stunned silence. Then Bahr was on his feet. "This is ridiculous," he roared. "There are the paternity papers . . ." And then he broke off suddenly, staring at the cameras, his mouth still open.

He remembered then.

There were no paternity papers.

The judge adjourned for the day, to quiet the courtroom and give Bahr time to re-form his case.

The following day, a barrage of evidence: blood typing, flesh and hair tests, fingerprint whorls, eye color. Alexander dismissed it all, pleasantly but firmly. "Hundreds of men could have produced a child with these characteristics," he said. "This is not conclusive evidence; it isn't even evidence at all."

More testimony, not in especially good taste, but Bahr was desperate. He was committed now, he would not turn back. He would not lose a public battle to that red-headed slut. He was Julian Bahr, he had dragged himself up from nothing to the leadership of a continent, and she was nothing more than a common whore, like ... A wave of anger shut his mind against the past. That didn't matter now. All that mattered was that he was going to win.

He verified the skiing vacation they took when Libby had become pregnant. Witnesses testified that they shared the same room.

Libby shook her head. "What difference does that make?" she asked Braelow. "All you're proving is immorality, not paternity."

"You admit you went on weekends with Mr. Bahr?" "Certainly."

"That he was intimate with you?" "You mean that he slept with me?"

"That's what I mean," Braelow said, beginning to color.

"So have other men," Libby said, "according to you. You ran a regiment through this courtroom to prove it. Who was in bed with me doesn't matter. What matters is who got me pregnant. It was not Bahr."

Braelow turned back to the table, confused. "All right," Bahr said angrily, "you've messed around long enough." He stood up and strode to the center of the room, glaring at Libby, raising his head to the cameras. He knew the eyes that were watching him, now, but he didn't care any longer; all he could see was her face, her eyes watching him with hatred; all he could feel now was the violent, overpowering urgency to break her, to beat her down and pound her into the ground. He didn't care if all the world was watching, she couldn't do what she was doing to him and get away with it. "Now," he said, his voice thick with repressed anger, "let's straighten out a few simple facts. I know what you've turned into in the last few weeks—that's why I'm involved in this filthy affair—but just for the record let's talk about the year 2022. That is when you became pregnant, right?" "In March, to be exact," Libby said.

"And you recall I was on a special assignment in California during most of that month?" "Yes, I recall."

"You recall that I phoned you every night, from California?"

"Very clearly."

"Specifically, did you not plead with me to come back to New York, because you were . . . lonesome?"

"I didn't use those exact words," Libby said.

"Did you arrange to meet me at the ski resort in Sun Valley, and did you not fly out there?"

"Yes."

"We were together for two week ends?" "Yes."

"And it was during this time that you became pregnant?"

"Well, a woman has to calculate backwards, but I'm certain I became pregnant during that ten days in Sun Valley."

"Then it couldn't have been anybody but me," Bahr said, and stepped back triumphantly.

Libby's answer was mocking laughter. "So I led you to believe . . ."

"You slut!" Bahr screamed, and smashed his hand across her face. She fell out of the chair, and Bahr reached down, grabbed her by the shoulder, drawing his fist back savagely.

Someone seized his wrist, twisted it and threw him off balance, and he was glaring into Alexander's face. Suddenly Bahr remembered the cameras. He gripped the table edge. "You're a dead man," he said to Alexander, in a voice so low only Alexander could hear. Then he shrugged loose from Alexander's grip and turned back to Libby. The 3-V lens caught a closeup of his face, hideous with the anger of death, facing Libby's scornful mask.

Then Libby was turning to the judge, speaking in a voice that carried to the farthest corner of the courtroom, to every person there, to every microphone. "He could never have been the father of my child." She looked around the room, drawing full attention, and then looked at Bahr, and made a slow, deliberate gesture. There was a gasp from the courtroom; as Libby spoke, facing directly into the 3-V lenses, her mouth twisted in contempt.

"He is a fraud," she said, "a magnificent fake. Julian Bahr is impotent."

 

EPILOGUE . . .

It had been predictable, and yet unpredictable; he had headed for the border, and then, abruptly, the BRINT patrol had lost him, and it was almost an hour before they realized that he had doubled back, that he had never intended to go to the border at all.

Emergency Director Harvey Alexander arrived in his Volta just as the BRINT men were breaking down the door to Libby's apartment. "The guard," he groaned, "my god, didn't she even have a guard?"

"She did have," MacKenzie told him. "The guard was killed by a silent stunner. A couple of DIA men who were still loyal to him blocked our way up here for fifteen minutes." The BRINT man put a hand on Alexander's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said. "We thought Bahr would try to get across the border when he slipped away from our patrol."

In the dark hallway the axe-blows on the door shredded the silence, and finally the door crashed in. Two BRINT men pushed through inside, stunners ready. Alexander tore away from the aides who tried to restrain him, and followed them in.

They were too late. Alexander saw her on the floor, and he turned white, and closed his eyes with a sudden dizzy feeling of pain and loss.

Her face had been beaten to jelly, the flesh and bones mashed beyond recognition as if some blunt heavy maul had been used. She was naked, until they put a sheet over her. Even in death her body was twisted in agony.

Julian Bahr sat in darkness in the next room. The BRINT men surrounded him with drawn guns, but it was a needless gesture. He sat dull and silent, staring at the floor, and his hands were broken and swollen and bloody.

Later, as they were strapping Bahr onto a stretcher, Alexander half listened to the aide speaking into his ear. ". . . rounded up most of the top DIA men, except those who got to the Southern Continent. No question about your confirmation in the appointment. The engineering people at White Sands have pledged loyalty."

He nodded, but he was not hearing. He knew that presently he would have to think about it. There was so much work to be done. The frontier had been reopened; gradually, the pace would have to be slowed, the starvation economy improved, Project Tiger converted from a crash war operation to a long-range program of progress that would ultimately take men out to the stars. He would not have to do it alone; he would have able hands helping him. There was MacKenzie and a dozen, a hundred, men like MacKenzie.

There were other details, and soon he would have to begin thinking about them, but now he could think only of Julian Bahr, and Libby Allison. Bahr was there, but Bahr did not see him. He did not see Alexander weeping silently and alone over Libby's body, nor turning back to the world and the overwhelming task he had undertaken—to hold the reins of power in firm and dedicated hands.

Julian Bahr would not see the great spaceships rise, months