Subversive | Page 7

sir. This outfit is possibly openly subversive. Deliberately undermining the economy."
His superior put down the report he was perusing and shifted his bulk backward. "You're sure? We seldom run into such extremes."
"I know, I know, but this could be it. Possibly a deliberate program. I've taken the initiative to have Miss Sandell summon my team."
"Now, see here, Frank--" The bureau head looked at him anxiously.
Tracy said, impatience there, "Chief, you're going to have to let your field men use their discretion. I tell you, this thing is a potential snowball. I'll play it cool. Arrange things so that there'll be no scandal for the telly-reporters. But we've got to chill this one quickly, or it'll be on a coast to coast basis before the year is out. They're even talking about going into automobiles."
The Chief winced, then said unhappily, "All right, Tracy. However, mind what I said. Curb those roughnecks of yours."
* * *
It proved considerably easier than Frank Tracy had hoped for. Adam Moncure's national headquarters turned out to be in a sparsely settled area not far from Woodstock, Illinois. The house, in the pass�� ranch style, must have once been a millionaire's baby, what with an artificial fishing lake in the back, a kidney shaped swimming pool, extensive gardens and an imposing approach up a corridor of trees.
"Right up to the front door," Tracy growled to the operative driving the first hover-car of their two-vehicle expedition. "The quicker we move, the better." He turned his head to the men in the rear seat. "We five will go in together. I don't expect trouble, they'll have had no advance warning. I made sure of that. Jerry has equipment in his car to blanket any radio sending. We'll take care of phones in the house. No rough stuff, we want to talk to these people."
One of the men growled, "Suppose they start shooting?"
Tracy snorted. "Then shoot back, of course. But just don't you start it. I shouldn't have to tell you these things."
"Got it," one of the others said. He shifted his shoulders to loosen the .38 Recoilless in its holster.
At the ornate doorway, the cars, which had been moving fast, a foot or so off the ground, came to a quick halt, settled, and the men disgorged, guns in hand.
Tracy called to the occupants of the other vehicle, "On the double. Surround the house. Don't let anybody leave. Come on, boys."
They scurried down the flagstone walk, banged on the door. It was opened by a houseman who stared at them uncomprehendingly.
"The occupants of this establishment are under arrest," Tracy snapped. He flashed a gold badge. "Take me to Adam Moncure." He turned to his men and gestured with his head. "Take over, boys. Jerry, you come with me."
The houseman was terrified, but not to the point of being unable to lead them to a gigantic former living room, now converted to offices.
There was an older man, and four assistants. All in shirt sleeves in concession to the mid-western summer, none armed from all Tracy could see. They looked up in surprise, rather than dismay. The older man snapped, "What is the meaning of this intrusion?"
Jerry chuckled sourly.
Frank Tracy said, "You're all under arrest. Jerry, herd these clerks, or whatever they are, into some other room. Get any other occupants of the house together, too. And watch them carefully, confound it. Don't underestimate these people. And make a search for secret rooms, cellars, that sort of thing."
"Right," Jerry growled.
The older of the five Freer Enterprises men was on his feet now. He was a thin, angry faced type, gray of hair and somewhere in his sixties. "I want to know the meaning of this!" he roared.
"Adam Moncure?" Tracy said crisply.
"That is correct. And to what do I owe this cavalier intrusion into my home and place of business?"
Jerry, at pistol point, was herding the four assistants from the room, taking the houseman along with them.
Tracy looked at Moncure, speculatively, then dipped into his pockets for pipe and tobacco. He gestured to a chair with his head. "Sit down, Mr. Moncure. The jig is up."
"The jig?" the other blurted in a fine rage. "I insist--"
"O.K., O.K., you'll get your explanation." Tracy sat down on a couch himself and sized up the older man, even as he lit his pipe.
Moncure, still breathing heavily in his indignation, took control of himself well enough to be seated. "Well, sir?" he bit out.
Tracy said curtly, "Frank Tracy, Bureau of Economic Subversion."
"Bureau of Economic Subversion!" Moncure said indignantly. "What in the name of all that's holy is the Bureau of Economic Subversion?"
Tracy pointed at him with the pipe stem. "I'll ask a few questions first, please. How many branches of your nefarious outfit are presently under operation?"
The other glared at him, but Tracy merely returned the