The Blackbird

Five

Murray put down his empty brandy glass and made a lazy smile of contentment. “Now,” he said, “that was delicious. Mr. Grofield, you have made me a very happy man. If only all my assignments could be like this one.”

Grofield had refused an after-dinner drink, and was frowning over his third cup of coffee. He had been sullen throughout the meal, a fact Murray had managed somehow totally to ignore. Murray had told funny stories about New York City, he’d made delighted comments about the food, he’d delivered himself of animated monologues about air travel, and through it all Grofield had frowned and sulked, deep in gloomy thought. But now he looked across the table at Murray and said, “It’s in the clothes.”

Startled, Murray looked down at himself. “I did? Where?”

“It’s somewhere in my clothes,” Grofield said. “I knew there had to be an answer, and that’s it.”

Murray squinted at Grofield’s chest. “I don’t see anything.”

“Some kind of radio transmitter,” Grofield said thoughtfully, and looked off into space, thinking about it.

Murray said, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

Grofield focused on him again. “I wasn’t followed,” he said. “I’m absolutely sure of that. From at least the time I left the cab, I wasn’t followed. Nobody trailed me to Grand Central. So how come I was picked up there, that’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.”

Murray laid a finger beside his nose and winked, a Jewish Santa Claus. “We have our methods,” he said.

“You’re damn right you do,” Grofield agreed. “And one of those storm troopers that picked me up offered me a thirty-minute head start, and he didn’t give me the impression he was kidding. So I’ve been sitting here and I’ve been trying to figure out how you people could keep finding me without tailing me, and now I know how it’s done.”

“Very good!” Murray said. He seemed proud of Grofield’s deductive abilities.

“You’ve put some sort of transmitter in my clothes,” Grofield said. “Everything I’m wearing came from you people, except my shoes. With today’s miniaturization, with printed circuits—”

“Painted circuits,” Murray said.

“Painted?”

“Certainly. Metallic paint can be used in place of wiring, it’s in very common practice.”

“So that’s even smaller,” Grofield said. “Somewhere in a lining, in a seam, somewhere in my clothing there’s a tiny transmitter. All you need is two mobile receivers and you can home in on me anywhere.”

“That’s very interesting,” Murray said. He looked and sounded like an unconcerned spectator considering an interesting theory. “But it wouldn’t have to be in your clothing,” he said.

“Where else could it be?”

“Well, you were in the hospital for a few days, I understand.”

“What?” Grofield stared at him in horror. “Inside my body? A transmitter under my skin?”

Murray grinned impishly. “I’m just teasing,” he said. “We wouldn’t do a thing like that.”

“My God!” Grofield said. He felt physically weak. “What a thing even to think about!”

Murray looked thoughtful. “But, you know,” he said slowly, “that isn’t such a bad idea. You take your known Commie, say, or your incorrigible criminal, like you, for instance, you take whoever it might be you’re interested in, you put the little transmitter in them, then any time you wanted to know what they were up to you’d just triangulate on them, see where they were, go on over and check them out.”

“That’s the most evil thing I ever heard in my life,” Grofield said.

“Why?” Murray seemed honestly puzzled. “We wouldn’t use it on good people,” he said. “Just bad people.” He smiled broadly, delighted with himself. “You know what I’m going to do? I’m going to put that in the suggestion box back in the office.”

Grofield looked at him. “I keep having the strong feeling,” he said, “that for the sake of generations unborn I ought to strangle you here and now.”

Murray chuckled, not taking him seriously. “Oh, you,” he said. “You’ve just got a vested interest, that’s all. Being a thief and everything.”

Grofield kept looking at him, but just as Murray was beginning to get uncomfortable Grofield shook his head. “It wouldn’t be any use,” he said. “No army can withstand the strength of an idea whose time has come.”

Murray was interested. “You think so? That’s a nice phrase.”

“They come to me,” Grofield said. “Should we go get the plane?”

Murray looked at his watch. “Right you are!” he said, and began waving his Diners Club card for the check.