Metzger's Dog Read Online Free PDF Page B

young man studying mass psychological reactions as historical phenomena. As his work became more theoretical it also became more speculative.”
    “What sort of mass psychological reactions?” asked Porterfield.
    “Social alienation of particular subgroups, in some of his milder research. In other instances it’s economic panics, political upheavals, mass hysteria—fear of earthquakes, floods, volcanoes, and so on. He attracted attention when he started working out systems for quantifying the forces at work in these phenomena. Once he had a way of working out equations for a particular area, he seems to have turned to the empiricist’s test, comparing his assessments with later events.”
    Porterfield nodded. “He started predicting.”
    “Precisely,” said the Director, his face still inclined toward the blotter on his desk, his eyes lifting in their sockets to fix on Porterfield. “He also learned to refine his equations when the quotients didn’t come to fruition in facts. Porterfield,” said the Director, “this man actually has a grid, a kind of flow chart that he calls ‘The Terror Index.’ He’s on record as receiving NRF grant money to perfect it by developing a blueprint for the destruction of Mexico.”
    Porterfield smiled. “It’s easy enough to fix. The first step is to get him off the National Research Foundation’s books, and Morrison’s already done that. Welby told me on the telephone you had someone rewriting the reports, so that’s covered too. We can be sure there’s no future connection between him and the government. If you’d like, we can stop him from doing his research at all.”
    The Director drummed his fingers on the desk without taking his eyes off Porterfield. “For heaven’s sake, Porterfield. So heavy handed. I don’t want to destroy the man.”
    “Then what do you want?”
    “I want to protect the Company.”
    “Is that all?”
    “I want to protect the Company,” repeated the Director.
    Porterfield stood up. “And Donahue knows how to make the bogeyman come out in the daytime. He’s part of the Company. Has anything been done?”
    “I’m sending a man now. He should be in Los Angeles tomorrow to begin the security survey.”

6                   
Chinese Gordon pulled the car over to the curb in front of an old white stucco apartment house with a high, narrow, wooden door. Wrought-iron grillwork covered the glass of the windows on the first floor. The flower boxes on the sills had potted azaleas sitting in them.
    Kepler said, “If this is it, I’ll stay with the car. That building belongs in Hollywood. They probably stole it.”
    “Don’t be silly,” said Chinese Gordon. “The car is safer here than in the parking lot at the Federal Building.”
    “It’s your car,” said Immelmann.
    At the steps they could see that the lintel over the door was once inscribed “The Mont St. Michel,” but the letters had been plastered over with clean white cement. Chinese Gordon rang the bell and there was a buzz to unlock the door. Kepler and Immelmann hung back to let Chinese Gordon enter first.
    Inside was a tiny foyer decorated with pots and baskets, a pair of horns from a longhorn bull, and a few yellowing photographs of old
caballeros
with drooping moustaches. There was an open door with a brass plate engraved “Grijalvas Enterprises.”
    The receptionist at the desk said, “May I help you?”
    Chinese Gordon said, “Mr. Gordon to see Mr. Grijalvas. These gentlemen are my colleagues, Mr. Kepler and Mr. Immelmann.”
    “Please be seated and I’ll let him know you’re here. He’s in a conference at the moment.” She walked around the corner and they could hear the sound of her spike heels for a distance of thirty or forty feet before a door opened.
    Kepler stood up and paced around the room, looking at plaques, framed newspaper clippings, photographs. “Look at this,” he hissed, and the others joined him before a frame that held a