The Onslaught from Rigel Part 4

"You did. I'm not going."

Ben's eyes narrowed. "Why not?"

"This is the United States of America, young man. I don't recognize that I am under your orders or anyone else's. If you think you are going to get us to accept any such Mussolini dictatorship, you've got another guess coming. As I was saying--" he turned back to Vanderschoof with elaborate unconcern, and Murray took a step toward him, bristling angrily.

"Leave me alone, boys, I can handle this," said Ben, waving the other two back. "Mr. Stevens." The broker looked up with insolent politeness.

"This is not the United States, but the colony of New York. Conditions have changed and the sooner you recognize that the better for all of us.

We are trying to rebuild civilization from the ruins; if you don't share in the work, you shall not share in the benefits."

"And what are you going to do about it?"

"Put you out."

There was a quick flash, and Ben was staring into the business end of a Luger automatic, gripped tightly in the broker's hand. "Oh, no you won't. You forget that you made this anarchy yourself when you refused to have a president. Now get out of here, quick, and let me talk with my friend."

For a moment the air was heavy with tension. Then Vanderschoof smiled--a superior smile. Stevens' eyes blinked, and in that blink Ben charged, and as he moved, Murray and Tholfsen followed. There was a report like a clap of thunder in the narrow room, a tremendous ringing clang as the bullet struck the metal plate of Ben's shoulder and caromed to the ceiling, whirling him around against the desk and to the floor by the force of the impact. Murray leaped across his prostrate body, striking at the gun and knocking it down just in time to send the second shot wild; Tholfsen stumbled and fell across Ben.

Ben was up first, diving for Murray and Stevens, now locked in close grapple, but the chess-player's action was more effective. From his p.r.o.ne position he reached up, grabbed Stevens' legs and pulled them from under him, bringing him down with a crash, just as Ben's added weight made the struggle hopelessly one-sided. In a moment more the dictator of the New York colony was sitting on his subject's chest while Murray held his arms. Vanderschoof, with the instinctive terror of the man of finance for physical violence, sat cowering in his chair.

"Get--some wire," gasped Ben. "Don't think--cloth will hold him."

Tholfsen released his hold on the legs and climbed to his feet. "Watch the other one, Murray," said Ben, his quick eye detecting a movement toward the gun on Vanderschoof's part.

"Now you, listen," he addressed the man beneath him. "We could tie you up and lay you away to pickle until you died for the lack of whatever you need, or we could turn you over to Beeville to cut up as a specimen, and by G.o.d," glaring with a kind of suppressed fury, "I wouldn't hesitate to do it! You're jeopardizing the safety of the whole community."

The grim face beneath him showed neither fear nor contrition. He hesitated a moment.

"If I let you go and give you a car and a couple of batteries, will you promise to clear out and never come back?"

Stevens laughed shortly. "Do you think you can bluff me? No."

"All right, Tholfsen, get his feet first," said Ben, as the chess-player reappeared with a length of light-cord he had wrenched from somewhere.

The feet kicked energetically, but the task was accomplished and the arms secured likewise. "You watch him," said Ben, "while I get a car around."

"What are you going to do?" asked Vanderschoof, speaking for the first time since the scuffle.

"Throw him in the river!" declared Ben, with ruthless emphasis. "Let him get out of that." Stevens took this statement with a calm smile that showed not the slightest trace of strain.

"But you can't do that," protested the steamship man. "It's--it's inhuman."

"Bring him outside boys," said Ben, without deigning to reply to this protest, and clanged out to the car.

They lifted the helpless man into the back seat, and with a man on either side of him, started for Queensboro Bridge. The journey was accomplished in a dead silence.

Halfway down the span, Ben brought the taxi round with a flourish and climbed out, the other two lifting Stevens between them. Murray looked toward his friend, half expecting him to relent at the last moment, but he motioned them wordlessly on, and they set down their burden at the rail.

"Over with him!" said Ben remorselessly. They bent....

"I give up," said Stevens in a strangely husky voice. Murray and Tholfsen paused.

"Did you hear what I said?" said Ben. "Over with him!"

They heaved. "Stop!" screamed the broker. "For G.o.d's sake, I'll give up.

I'll go. Oh-h-h!" The last was a scream, as Ben laid a detaining hand on Murray's arm.

"Let him down, boys," he said quietly. "Now listen, Stevens. I don't want to be hard on you--but we've got to have unanimity. You're done.

Take a car and clear out. If I let you go now, will you promise to stay away?"

"Yes," said the Wall Street man. "Anything, only for G.o.d's sake don't do that!"

"All right," said Ben.

As they were loading the banker in the car for the return trip a thought struck Murray. "By the way, Ben," he remarked, "didn't he nick you with that gun?" "That's right," said Ben, "he did." And gazed down at the long bright scratch in the heavy metal that covered his shoulder joint.

It was uninjured.

CHAPTER IV

Flight!

But when Tholfsen and Murray returned with the coal, Vanderschoof was missing as well as Stevens, and that evening when the car in which Marta Lami had accompanied Roberts on the exploration of the Brooklyn Heights district drew up at the Inst.i.tute, it had only one occupant.

"What happened to Miss Lami?" asked Ben.

Roberts gazed at him, surprised. "Didn't you send them? While we were at the St. George Hotel a car came along with Stevens and two of those new men in it. One was the Greek. They spoke to her for a minute and she said they brought a message from you that she was to go with them."

"M-hm," said Ben. "I see. Well, as long as they don't come back, it's all right."

The car whirled out the Albany Post Road in a silence that was indicative of the rivalry that had already sprung up between Stevens and Vanderschoof. As for Pappagourdas he found himself demoted to the position of a "yes man."

They had provided themselves with a liberal supply of guns and ammunition, and with the foolish conservatism of the very rich, refusing to believe that money was valueless, had raided store after store until they had acquired a considerable supply of currency.

"This is the Bear Mountain Bridge, isn't it?" said the dancer. "Let's stop at West Point and pick up a cadet. They're so ornamental."

Stevens glanced at her sourly from the wheel. "We've got to hurry if we want to get to Albany," he said.

"Still," offered Vanderschoof protectingly, "why not stop at the Point?

We might find some people there. I know Colonel Grayson. Played golf with him there last summer. Ha, ha! When I holed out an eighteen-footer at the seventh, he was so mad, he wouldn't speak to me all the rest of the afternoon. It was the turning point of the battle. Ha, ha!"

Stevens, with a grunt, swung the wheel round and began the ascent of the long bridge ramp. He realized he had been outmaneuvered. To cover his retreat, he remarked, "Isn't that a bird?"

"The high muck-a-muck said something about birds last night," said the dancer, "but he's such a Holy Joe that I didn't pay any attention."