er off, and flicked the incoming call in. It was LaVerne Polk.
She seemed to be on the harried side, too.

"Larry," she said, "you better get over here right away."

"What's up, LaVerne?"

"This Movement," she said, "it seems to have started moving! The Boss says
to get over here soonest."

-------------------------------------

The top of his car was retracted. Larry Woolford slammed down the walk of
his auto-bungalow and vaulted over the side and into the seat. He banged
the start button, dropped the lift lever, depressed the thrust pedal and
took off at maximum acceleration.

He took the police level for maximum speed and was in downtown Greater
Washington in flat minutes.

So the Movement had started moving. That could mean almost anything. It
was just enough to keep him stewing until he got to the Boss and found out
what was going on.

He turned his car over to a parker and made his way to the entrance
utilized by the second-grade department officials. In another year, or at
most two, he told himself all over again, he'd be using that other door.
He had an intuitive feeling that if he licked this current assignment it'd
be the opening wedge he needed and he'd wind up in a status bracket unique
for his age.

LaVerne looked up when he hurried into her anteroom. She evidently had two
or three calls going on at once, taking orders from one phone, giving them
in another. Something was obviously erupting. She didn't speak to him,
merely nodded her head at the inner office.

In the Boss' office were six or eight others besides Larry's superior.
Their expressions and attitudes ran from bewilderment to shock. They
weren't the men you'd expect to have such reactions. At least not those
that Larry Woolford recognized. Three of them, Ben Ruthenberg, Bill Fraina
and Dave Moskowitz were F.B.I. men with whom Larry had worked on occasion.
One of the others he recognized as being a supervisor with the C.I.A. Walt
Foster, Larry's rival in the Boss' affections, was also present.

The Boss growled at him, "Where in the heavens have you been, Lawrence?"

"Following our leads on this so-called Movement, sir," Larry told him.
"What's going on?"

Ruthenberg, the Department of Justice man, grunted sour amusement.
"So-called Movement, isn't exactly the correct phrase. It's a Movement,
all right."

The Boss said, "Please dial Records and get your dossier, Lawrence.
That'll be the quickest way to bring you