The Final Circle of Paradise

"I can't ever remember a situation," he said, "when Ivan was pleased with everything. But conspiracy is the foundation of our business… Take a chair and sit down, both of you. You, Oscar, had no right to be maimed, and you, Ivan, had no right to be arrested. That's how you should regard it. And what have you got here?" he said, taking off his dark glasses to look at the slugs, "Taking up radio as a hobby in between your work? Laudable, laudable!"

It was evident that they didn't know a thing. Oscar was leafing through his notebook, where everything was encrypted in his own personal code, and was apparently preparing himself to make a report, while Matia scanned over the slugs with his fleshy nose, holding the glasses aloft in his hand. There was something symbolic in this spectacle.

"And so, agent Zhilin is enriching his leisure with radio technology," continued Matia, restoring his glasses and leaning back in his chair. "He has lots of free time, he has switched to a four-hour day… And bow do you stand on the question of the meaning of life, agent Zhilin? It appears you may have found it. I hope it won't be necessary to take you away like agent Rimeyer?"

"It won't be required," I said. "I had not enough time to become addicted. Did Rimeyer tell you anything?"

"But of course not," he said with vast sarcasm. "Why should he do that? He was ordered to find the drug, and he did, and he used it, and now he apparently considers his duty discharged. He became an addict himself, don't you see. He is silent. He is loaded with this brew up to his ears, and it's useless to talk to him! He raves that he has murdered you and constantly asks for his radio." Matia stopped short and gazed at the radios. "Strange," he said and looked at me. "However, I like orderliness. Oscar got here first, and he has certain deductions both about the goodies and the conduct of the operation. Let's begin with him."

I looked at Oscar.

"About what operation?"

"The devil knows," said Matia. "The raiding of the center. You haven't located the center yet?"

The hunt is on, I thought, and said, "No, I didn't. A center I haven't latched on to. But -"

"All in good order, in proper order," said Matia severely and banged the table with the flat of his hand. "Oscar, you may begin, and as for you, Ivan, you listen attentively and make your deductions. If you are still capable, that is."

Oscar began. Obviously he was a good worker. He moved fast, energetically, and purposefully. True, Rimeyer had twisted him around his finger as well as he had me.

Nevertheless, Oscar had been able to grasp much in spite of it.

He understood that the sought-for "goodies" were known locally as "slug." Very rapidly he had grasped the connection between slug and Devon. He divined that neither the Fishers, nor the Perches, nor the Sorrowers had any relation to our problem. He had deduced with superb insight that in this town it was practically impossible to hide any secret. He had even been able to insinuate himself into the confidence of the Intels, and had established beyond any doubt that there were only two truly secret societies – the Art Patrons and the Intels. Since the Art Patrons could be eliminated, that left only the Intels…

"It was not contrary to the conviction which I had formed," said Oscar, "that the only people with access to laboratories and capable of conducting scientific or quasi-scientific research were the students and professors in the university. It's true that the factories in the city also have laboratories. There are only four of them, and I have investigated them all. These laboratories are stringently specialized and are loaded to the limit with ongoing work. As the factories work around the clock, there is no basis whatsoever to postulate that the industrial labs could become centers of slug manufacture. On the other hand, out of the seven university labs, two are obviously surrounded with an atmosphere of mystery. I was unable to determine what goes on in them, but I spotted three students, who, I believe, should know for sure…"

I listened to him intently, amazed at how much he had been able to accomplish here, but it was already all too clear to me where his main error lay. I could see he was following a false trail, and alongside of that, there grew within me a vague feeling of an even more significant error, of a most important error, the error in the underlying premises of the Council.

"I arrived at the visualization," he continued, "of a gangsterlike organization of the vertical type with rigorously separated functions in decentralized sections. The production section is involved in the manufacture and perfection of the slug… I should inform you that slug, whatever it may be, is being perfected: I was able to establish that in the beginning.