Retief - Retief of the CDT Part 15

"And I was dreaming of feathers in my cap," Magnan moaned as the car braked to a halt before the imposing facade of the Terrestrial Emba.s.sy. "I'll be fortunate to salvage my cap from this fiasco-or my head, for that matter. How will I ever tell Amba.s.sador Grossblunder I've misplaced his pet project?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll be able to pa.s.s the incident off with your usual savoir-faire," Retief soothed, as they stepped out into the drizzle. The Squalian doorman, loosely packed in a regulation CDT-issue coverall, nodded a cl.u.s.ter of writhing violet-hued filaments at the Terrans as they came up.

"Jowdy, hents," he said as the door whooshed open. "Rice nain, eh?"

"What's so rice about it?" Magnan inquired acidly. "Harvey-has His Excellency gone in?"

"Men tinutes ago-in a masty nude. Didn't even hey sello."

Inside, Magnan put a hand to his brow. "Retief-I seem to have just come down with a splitting headache. Why don't you nip along and mention this development just casually to the Amba.s.sador. Possibly you could play it down a trifle. No need to upset him unduly, eh?"

"Good idea, Mr. Magnan," Retief said, handing his weather cape into the check room. "I'll hint that it's all a publicity trick you dreamed up to publicize the grand opening."

"Excellent notion! And if you could subtly plant the idea that you'll have it back in place in time for the festivities..." Magnan looked hopefully at Retief.

"Since I just arrived fifteen minutes ago, I think that would be rather pushy of me. Then, too, he might want to know why you were lying down at such a critical moment in Terran/Squalian relations."

Magnan groaned again, resignedly.

"Let's hurry along, gentlemen," a short, black-eyebrowed man in uniform called from the open elevator door across the lobby. "We're holding the car for you."

Magnan straightened his narrow shoulders. "Coming, Colonel Otherday," he croaked. "Remember, Retief," he added in an undertone, "we'll behave as though it were the most natural thing in the world for a ten-million-credit building to vanish between breakfast and lunch."

"Did I hear someone mention lunch?" a portly diplomat inquired from the back of the car.

"You just ate, Lester," a lean Commercial Attache said. "As for you, Mr. Retief, you picked an inauspicious moment to put in an appearance; I gather the Amba.s.sador's in a towering pet this evening."

Magnan glanced nervously at Retief. "Ah-any idea what's troubling His Excellency...?" he inquired of the car in general.

"Who knows?" the Attache shrugged. "Last time it was a deteriorating man/bean ratio in the Emba.s.sy snack bar."

"This time it's even bigger than the bean crisis," Colonel Otherday stated flatly. "I have a feeling this time heads will roll."

"Does it have anything to do with, ah, anything that might be, er, missing?" Magnan inquired with an attempt at casualness.

"Ah-hah!" the lean Attache pounced. "He knows something, gentlemen!"

"Come on, Magnan," the portly First Secretary urged. "Let us in on it."

"How is it you always have the word first?" the Colonel inquired plaintively.

"Well, as to that," Magnan started-

"Mr. Magnan is under oath to reveal nothing, gentlemen," Retief cut in smoothly as the car halted and the doors slid back on a wide, deep-carpeted conference room.

A long, polished table occupied the center of the floor, unadorned but for long yellow pads and pencils to match at each place. A few seconds of un.o.btrusive scuffling ensued as the diplomats, all veteran campaigners, vied for choice positions, balancing the prestige of juxtaposition to the Amba.s.sadorial chair against nonconspicuousness in the event of scapegoat selection.

All hands stood as the inner door was flung wide; the stern-visaged, multichinned figure of Amba.s.sador Grossblunder entered the room under full sail. He scanned the a.s.sembled bureaucrats without visible approval, seated himself in the chair the Agricultural Attache leaped to pull out, shot a piercing glance along the table, cleared his throat.

"Lock the doors," he said. "Gentlemen, be seated. I have solemn news for you." He paused impressively. "We," he concluded solemnly, "have been robbed!"

A sigh pa.s.sed along the table; all eyes swiveled to Magnan.

"Robbed!" Grossblunder repeated, emphasizing the point with a blow of his fist which made the pencils, plus a number of the diplomats, jump. "I have for some time suspected that foul play was afoot; a short time ago my worst fears were confirmed. Gentlemen, there is a thief among us!"

"Among us?" Magnan blurted. "But how-I mean, why-that is to say-Mr. Amba.s.sador-how could one of us have, er, purloined the, ah, loot in question?"

"You may well ask! One might also logically inquire as to why any person connected with this Mission could so far forget himself as to hide the feet that banns him! That is, bite the fan that heeds him. I mean beat the hide that fans him. Confound it, you know what I mean!" Grossblunder grabbed a gla.s.s of water and gulped a swallow. "Been here too long," he muttered. "Losing my grasp of the well-rounded period."

"A thief, you say, sir," Colonel Otherday prompted. "Well, how interesting..."

" 'Interesting' is hardly the word for it," Grossblunder barked. " 'Appalling' is a cut nearer the mark. 'Shocking,' though a trifle flaccid, carries a portion of the connotation. This is a grievous blot on the CDT copybook, gentlemen! A blow struck at the very foundations of Galactic accord!"

A chorus of "Right, Chief's!" and "Well phrased, sir's," and a lone "You said it. Boss," from the Press Attache provided counterpoint to the plenipotentiary's p.r.o.nouncement.

"Now, if anyone here wishes to come forward at this juncture..." Grossblunder's ominous gaze traveled along the table, lingered on Magnan.

"You appear to be the focal point of all eyes, Magnan," the Amba.s.sador accused. "If you've a comment, don't hesitate. Speak up!"

"Why, as a matter of fact, sir," Magnan gulped, "I just wanted to say that, as for myself, I was utterly appalled-that is to say, shocked-when I discovered the loss. Why, you could have knocked me over with the feather in my cap-I mean-"

Grossblunder looked ominous. "You're saying you were already aware of the pilferage, Magnan?"

"Yes, and-"

"And failed to confide this intelligence in me?" the Amba.s.sador glowered.

"I didn't actually know until a few minutes ago," Magnan explained hastily. "Why, gracious, sir, you were positive miles ahead of me! It's just that I'm able to confirm your revelation-not that any confirmation is needed, of course." He paused to gulp.

"Now, there, gentlemen," Grossblunder said with admiration, "is my conception of an alert officer. While the rest of you went about your business oblivious of the light fingers operating to the detriment of this Mission, my Counselor, Mr. Magnan, alone among my subordinates, sensed mischief afoot! Congratulations to you, sir!"

"Why, ah, thank you, Mr. Amba.s.sador," Magnan essayed a fragile smile. "I do try to keep abreast of developments-"

"And since you seem to have the matter in hand, you're appointed Investigative Officer, to get to the bottom of the matter without delay. I'll turn my records over to you without further ado." Grossblunder shot his cuff, allotted a glance to his watch. "As it happens, my VIP copter is at this moment warming up on the roof to whisk me over to the Secretariat, where I expect to be tied up for the remainder of the evening in high-level talks with the Foreign Minister regarding slurb-fruit allocations for the coming fiscal quarter. It seems our Groaci colleagues are out to cut us out of the pattern luxury-tradewise, a consummation hardly to be tolerated on my record." He rose. "You'll accompany me to the helipad, Magnan, for last-minute briefing. As for the rest of you-let Magnan's performance stand as an example. You there-" He pointed at Retief. "You may carry my briefcase."

On the roof-aslosh with rainwater under the perpetually leaden sky-Grossblunder turned to Magnan.

"I expect fast action, Ben. We can't allow this sort of thing to pa.s.s unnoticed, as it were."

"I'll do my best, sir," Magnan chirped. "And I do want to say it's awfully white of you not to hold me personally responsible-not that anyone could actually blame me, of course-"

"You responsible? Hmmm. No, I see no way in which I could benefit from that. Beside which," he added, "you're not an Admin man."

"Admin man, sir? What...?"

"My a.n.a.lysis of the records indicates that a steady trickle over the past two years at the present rate could account for a total discrepancy on the order of sixty-seven gross! Think of that, Magnan!"

"Sixty-seven Bolshoi-type ballet theaters?" Magnan quavered.