The Winds of Limbo

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

IT took time to get to see Sandai. It took over a day. By the time they walked into his office they were looking very tired indeed. So was Sandai.

"If you've come to tell me that the Fireclown's innocent of these outrages," he said, wiping his olive forehead, "I'm not interested."

Alan stood over the seated police chief, his hands resting on the man's desk.

"That's part of it, Chief Sandai. But that's not all. I have heard the man responsible confess his guilt to me!"

"You've what?" Sandai looked up, astonished.

"The man responsible for framing the Fireclown, for setting off the bombs and causing the fires in Britain, is a man named Bias."

"Bias? Francois Bias? He's suspected head of the arms syndicate." Sandai looked thoughtful. "It's a possibility, Mr. Powys. But what proof have you? How did you find out?"

"I heard that Bias had his headquarters in Mayfair. I went there and discovered he was running an organization calling itself the Sons of the Fireclown."

"So Bias is working for the Fireclown?"

"No. The thing was definitely spurious. Bias was using it for his own ends.

Later I broke into Bias's apartment and confronted him with what I knew and what I suspected. He denied nothing. He told me to prove it-which I couldn't do. I then brought him and another man back to the capital…"

"Who was the other man?"

"Junnar, my grandfather's secretary."

"You mean you suspect he's been working against Minister Powys? That's fantastic-if it's true."

"He's been working with Powys," Alan said firmly. "Bias and my grandfather are hand-in-glove-they plan to use the war scare they've created and the fear of the Fireclown to hold the Earth to ransom. You heard yesterday's announcement-about Powys having to buy bombs from the syndicate. It's a set-up, Chief Sandai!"

"Young man, you're evidently deranged." Sandai stood up and patted Alan's arm sympathetically.

"Listen to him!" Helen said urgently. "Listen, Chief Sandai. It sounds impossible, but it's a fact."

"And the proof?" Sandai said gently.

"As circumstantial as that against the Fireclown," Alan pointed out.

"But the Fireclown is a renegade-your grandfather is virtually the leader of the Solar System. That's the difference, Mr. Powys. I'm sorry, but your defense of the Fireclown doesn't hold up. Why don't you admit that and work with the rest of us to avert the menace?"

"It's the truth," Alan said. He felt the energy go out of his body, his shoulders slump.

"I'm very busy," Sandai said. "You'd better leave now."

As they crossed the sunny gardens of the Top, Helen said to him: "That didn't work. What do we do now, Alan?"

"Watch the world die," he said hopelessly.

"The whole lot of them deserve death for what they're doing," she said cautiously.

"Maybe. But the law banished the death sentence over a hundred years ago. We want to preserve the law, Helen, not demolish it further!"

"If only we could contact the Fireclown. Maybe he could help us."

"He's journeying off somewhere in that ship of his, conducting his experiment.

There's no hope there, anyway. He's not interested in Earth's problems, you know that."

They reached the elevator cone and entered it with a dozen others.

As they descended a man stared hard at Helen.

"Aren't you Helen Curtis?" he said roughly.

"I am."

The man spat in her face.

Alan jumped at him, punching savagely. The attendant shouted for them to stop.

Hands grabbed Alan. The man punched him in the stomach and then in the head.

"Stinking fire-bug!"

Alan felt bile in his throat. Then he passed out.

He came to in a few seconds. The lift was still going down. Helen was bending over him. The lift stopped. "You'd better get out, both of you," the attendant said.

Alan got to his feet.

"Why?" he grunted.

"You're making trouble, that's why."

"We didn't start it."

"Come on, Alan," Helen said, taking his arm. "We'll walk."

He was weak with pain as they stumbled into the corridor. Also he was insensately angry.

She helped him on to the fastway and supported his weight until his strength returned.

"That shows you how much anything we say is worth," she said quietly. "Hatred and violence are everywhere. What harm would a little more do? The good would outweigh the bad, Alan."

"No," he gasped. "No, Helen. Simon Powys sold his principles. I'm not selling mine."

"So," she said when they were back in her apartment, "what do we do? Just wait here and watch the world collapse?"

"Switch on the set so we've got a good view," he said. She went over and turned on the laservid.

They watched glumly as the announcer reported another explosion in the Pacific, two more in Central Africa, killing a large number of people who lived in small communities in the blast area. Work was under way on the defense project. Simon Powys was directing the preparations.

"They don't need to bother with the farce of electing him," Helen said. "He's as good as President now!"

"You mean Bias is," Alan told her. "He's the one pulling the strings."

Helen reached over to the laser and pressed out a number.

"Who are you calling?"

"My brother," she said. "Denholm's about the only person who can help us now."

Her brother's face came on the screen. "Hello, Helen, I'm rather busy-is it important?"

"Very important, Denholm. Could you come over?"

"If ifs another defense of the Fireclown…"

"It is not."

Her brother's expression changed as he stared at her image. "Very well. Give me an hour-all right?"

"Okay," she said.

"How can Denholm help us?" Alan said. "What's the point?"

"We'll tell him all we know. The more people of importance who are told about it, the better chance we have."

Denholm came in, placed his gaudy hat on a chair arm and sat down.

"Alan," Helen said, "tell Denholm everything-from the time we went to see the Fireclown until our interview with Sandai."

He told Denholm Curtis everything.

When he had finished, Curtis frowned at him. "Alan," he said, "I think I believe you. Uncle Simon's been behaving a trifle mysteriously in some ways. The alacrity with which he managed to contact the dealers when the government finally decided to buy the arms was astonishing. It could mean that he's abused his position as chairman of the One Hundred Committee f "What do you mean?"

"Supposing in some way he had got hold of a list of the dealers and the location of their caches? Supposing he held on to it without letting the other committee members know, contacted Bias and concocted this scheme? Suppose then they worked out a plan to take advantage of the Fireclown, get Simon Powys elected as President, and then run the world as they wanted to run it? Powys might have got in touch with Bias originally with a view to smashing the syndicate. But Bias might have proposed the whole idea. We all know how much Uncle Simon hates the Fireclown. It would have been the perfect means of getting rid of him.

"Maybe he intended to capture the Fireclown. Maybe the original deal was simply over a few bombs. But Bias has provided the Fireclown with the means of producing a super-ship, and he was fairly certain that the Fireclown would escape when the chips were down. He did. The war scare started, aided by the police tampering with the flame-machines. Simon Powys couldn't back out-and Bias had him where he wanted him."

"That sounds logical," Alan agreed.

"But all this needs proof to back it up." Denholm Curtis pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"It comes back to that every time." Helen sighed.

"There'd be only one way. To find the man who was Powys' original contact with Bias, and get him to confess."

"But how?" Alan asked. "Where do we look?"

"We check the files of the One Hundred Committee-that was probably how Powys found his contact. You're still secretary, Helen. Where are the files?"

"Right here. In the safe."

"Get them."

She got them-dozens of spools of microfilm. They fitted them into the projector.

It was more than six hours before they found what they were looking for. A reference to one Nils Benedict, suspected of trying to sell arms to a super-reactionary Crespignite splinter group. They had turned him over to the police. The police had been unable to find any evidence against him. Simon Powys had interviewed him while in custody and reported that, in his opinion, the man was innocent. Simon Powys had been, apart from the police, the only man to question Benedict. Benedict had a Brussels address.

"Do you think that's him?" Alan said, rubbing his eyes.

"It's the only one it could possibly be. What do we do now?"

"Pay Nils Benedict a visit, I suppose," Helen suggested.

A smaller, less complex version of the City of Switzerland, Brussels had an altogether different character. Every inch of stonework was.embellished with red lacquer, and over this bright designs had been laid. Gilt predominated.

The structure rose fourteen levels above the ground, five below, covering an area of five square miles. The roof landing space was limited so that they were forced to land outside the city and take a mono-rocket which let them off on the tenth level. Benedict lived on level eight.

They reached his apartment. They had already decided that Denholm would do the talking, since he was less likely to be suspect than the other two.

"Nils Benedict," he said to the blank "door, "this is Denholm Curtis. I've got some good news for you."

The door opened. A tall, rangy man in a dressing gown of green silk stared curiously at Curtis.

"Are you from Powys?" he asked as the door closed behind them.

Alan took the lead. "We want to contact Bias in a hurry. Can you arrange it?"

"Sure. But why? I thought he was in direct contact nowadays."

That was enough. Now they knew for certain.

"Oh, he is," Alan said. "But we thought it would be nice for you and Simon Powys to meet again after all this time."

Benedict had been uncommonly slow, he thought, for a man who was supposed to live by his wits. The man seemed gradually to realize that something was wrong.

He backed into his living room. They followed.

The answer was there. Benedict was an addict. The stink of mescaline was in the room; nightmarish murals covered the walls. He was a mescamas who got his kicks from descending into his own psychological hell.

Helen said in a strained voice: "I'll wait outside."

"Come on, Benedict," Denholm said roughly.

"I have rights, you know," Benedict said thickly. "Why does Powys want to see me?",

"Are you scared of Powys?"

"He told me I'd be killed if I ever got in touch with him again."

"There's not a chance of that, I promise," Alan said.

Benedict was still wary. Alan suddenly hit him under the jaw. He collapsed.

"Let's get him dressed," Denholm said. "It wouldn't be proper for him to go out without his correct clothes on."

They had surprisingly little difficulty getting Benedict to Helen's apartment.

Organization of the usual kind seemed to have gone to pieces during the fake emergency.

While Helen tried to revive Benedict and Denholm tied his hands, the laser began to flash. Alan answered it. Chief Sandai looked out at him.

"You're not the only madman in the system, it seems," he said. "I thought about what you told me and thought I couldn't do any harm to assign a few men to go undercover to Mayfair and check your story. It held up. We found Bias and Junnar there. We're holding them, under the emergency laws which Simon Powys insisted we make, as suspects in an arson plot. We got one of the Sons of the Fireclown, too. But we're going to need more proof-and I'm still not convinced that your tale about Simon Powys is true!"

Alan stepped aside so Sandai could see Benedict.

"Recognize this man, Chief?"

"I've got a feeling I do, but I can't place him. Who is he?"

"He's Simon Powys' original contact with Bias. He's a mescamas. If we withhold his supply for a short time he should tell us everything he knows."

"If it's true, you've had a big stroke of luck, young man."

"It'll be the first we've had," Alan said dryly. "Can you come over and pick us up? It might be wise to have an escort."

Sandai nodded. The screen blanked.

Bias alone remained seemingly at ease. Benedict was slumped hopelessly in his chair, perhaps even enjoying the experience of defeat. Junnar had his back to them, staring out of the window over the mountains. The police prison had a wonderful view.

Bias said: "Chief Sandai, what evidence do you have for these fantastic charges?

Confront Simon Powys with them. He will laugh at you!"

Sandai turned to Denholm Curtis. "Where's Powys now? You've convinced me."

"He's at a special meeting in the Solar House. Members are asking him questions on his war policy. He's bound to answer since we still retain a vestige of democracy."

"What are you going to do, Chief?" Alan asked. "Something spectacular," Sandai said. "It's probably the only thing we can do now to break Powys' power in front of the assembly. Otherwise it may be too late."

"After what I've been through in the last day or so," Helen said grimly. "I'm beginning to doubt that anyone can topple Uncle Simon!"

Standing nobly before the mighty assembly of Solar Representatives, Simon Powys answered their questions in a grave and sonorous voice. He was the image of the visionary and man of action. The weight of responsibility seemed to rest heavily upon his broad shoulders, but he bore it manfully, not to say hypocritically.

Alan watched him on the screen outside the main entrance to the Assembly Chamber itself. He, Denholm and Helen stood in a group to one side. Chief Sandai, four policemen and the fettered trio of Junnar, Bias and the slobbering Benedict stood to the other.

They choose their moment well, when a member for Afghanistan asked Simon Powys what the police were doing in the Fireclown investigation.

Sandai pushed the button operating the double doors. The doors swept open and the party pushed forward.

"The police," Sandai called, "have caught most of the men responsible for the present situation." He gestured dramatically towards the shackled men. "Here they are- there is only one man missing P'

Alan saw that Simon Powys' face bore an expression similar to the look he'd had on the night he'd accused him.

But he held up well, Alan decided, considering everything.

"What does this interruption mean, Chief Sandai?"

Sandai spoke laconically. "Using the emergency powers vested in me by the government of the Solar System I am holding under arrest the three men you see there-Francois Bias, suspected arms dealer, Nils Benedict, a contact for the arms syndicate-and Eugene Junnar, personal assistant to Minister Simon Powys.

All the men admit to being implicated in a plot, instigated by Minister Powys, to frame the Fireclown, start a war scare by means of nuclear bomb explosions and incendiaries, and thus assure Minister Powys of full political power as President of the Solar System!"

Bias said: "He's lying, Minister Powys."

But Nils Benedict, not of Bias's caliber, continued the theme. "We didn't admit anything, sir! I haven't said a word about the deal!"

Simon Powys thundered: "Be quiet! You have abused your powers, Sandai. I demand that you leave the hall immediately!"

But the hubbub from the rest of the representatives drowned out anything else he might have wished to say.

Alan walked swiftly down to the central platform and mounted it.

"We have witnesses, now, Grandfather! We have the proof you told us to get!"

Benjosef rose from his seat.

"What's the meaning of this, Mr. Powys?"

"My grandfather, sir, has betrayed every trust you and the system have ever put in him." Briefly, Alan outlined the facts.

Benjosef turned to Simon Powys who stood rigidly, as if petrified, in his place.

"Is this true, Powys?"

"No!" Powys came alive, his face desperate-wretched. "No! Can't you see this is the work of the Fireclown's supporters, an attempt to disgrace me and confuse us in our hour of peril? My grandson is lying!*'

But Simon Powys had lost all self-control. His wild denial had convinced the assembly of his guilt. He knew it. He stared around him, his breathing irregular, his eyes wide. He advanced toward Benjosef.

"I run the Solar System now, Benjosef-not you! You can't do anything. The people are with me!"

"Possibly," Benjosef said mildly, with a slight air of triumph, "but evidently this assembly is not." Benjosef seemed pleased at his would-be successor's downfall. "I was aware, Minister, that you wished to oust me as President- but I did not expect you to take quite so much trouble." He gestured to the police chief. "Sandai-I'm afraid you had better arrest Minister Powys."

Simon Powys leapt from the dais, stumbled and fell. He got up, evidently in pain, and stood there panting as Sandai stepped cautiously towards him.

"You fool! I could have made the world a better place. I knew it was going soft.

I could have stopped the rot! You are under my orders, Sandai-don't listen to Benjosef."

Sandai slipped a pair of electrogyves from his belt.

"No!" Simon Powys was sobbing now. "The Fireclown will destroy us! He will destroy you all-as he destroyed my daughter!"

Alan looked up in surprise. So his grandfather had known all along that the Fireclown was his father! That explained, even further, his insensate hatred of the Fireclown.

He went up to the old man, pitying him now.

"Grandfather, I know you have suffered, but…"

Old Simon Powys turned his great head and looked into Alan's eyes. His expression was that of a bewildered, tearful child.

"It was for her sake," he said brokenly. "For hers and yours, Alan."

The gyves hummed and curled about Powys' wrists. His head bowed, his seamed face now tear-streaked, he allowed Sandai to lead him out of the assembly hall.

Benjosef stepped from the platform and touched Alan's arm. "I’m sorry you had to do what you did, my boy. I must admit I never liked your grandfather-always thought him, well, somewhat weak, I suppose. That was why I, and many members of the party, never promoted him to a more prominent position; why he had never, until now, been nominated as a Presidential candidate. Evidently I was right, at least." He turned to Helen Curtis. "The world is going to be grateful to you both, I suspect. The climate of opinion is going to take yet another reversal before the elections are finally held. I hope you make a good President, Miss Curtis."

"Thank you, sir," said Helen, looking worriedly at Alan.

Alan ran a hand across his face. He swallowed with difficulty and glowered at the ground. Then he shook Benjosef s hand off his arm.

"I'm glad you're all proved right," he said bitterly. "I'm bloody glad about the happy ending."

And he walked straight up the aisle and out of the Solar Hall, his pace fast as he crossed the lawns. His heart pounding, his eyes warm, his fists clenched and his mind in a mess.