Sleep evaded Martin Black again that night.... There was no doubt that Lawrence had a great idea.
Lawrence held forty-five percent of the company's stock. He wanted control. In fact, he wanted outright ownership, but this was not possible because the other major stockholders, holding forty-five percent, seemed to be perfectly satisfied with their lucrative investment. Cautious inquiries had failed to disclose any inclination on their respective parts to sell.
There were, however, enough independent shares outstanding to give Lawrence control if they were added to his own. The thing to do was to figure a way to buy them. The problem was that no matter how secret his operations, news or rumors of them would certainly leak out. The shares would then undoubtedly jump to outrageous highs. Lawrence couldn't risk that. He'd not be able to buy sufficient shares if the price rose.
His corporation had completed Quijotoa City and had built Mojave City and Sanup Plateau City, had through applied atomics created verdant and lovely places out of wasteland and desert. It still owned the atomic piles that provided power for the cities and the profits therefrom were enormous.
Lawrence was progressive. He was at heart a humanitarian. He wanted to develop other areas more from the humanitarian view than the profit motive. He had learned long ago that the profits would take care of themselves.
In probing the man's mind, Black sensed Lawrence's great desire for adulation, his great desire to be remembered as a public benefactor.
Now if only he, Martin J. Black, could benefit financially from this new deal—if he could corner enough of those independent shares, he could and certainly would vote them Lawrence's way. Then, perhaps the possibility of making the thirty percent he needed would approach probability, would reach it. With Lawrence's Midas touch the corporation would also realize millions in profits if the deal went through.
Figures revolved in Black's mind. If Lawrence—or if he—could corner six percent of the stock.... Could some of the independents be persuaded to sell, psionically persuaded? Or one of the other major stockholders? No, that would be unethical and the strongest part of a psi's training was a fine code of ethics.
Black began to doze—and felt something ever so softly probing at his mind. A probe! Probably a service psi checking on him. Why? Just the usual check? No, it wasn't due.
He knew what to do. He had been probed before. Probing was part of the training at psi school but he had never revealed—and his tutors had never guessed—that he could create a block that could not be sensed by the prober. A block which could close off whatever thoughts he wished to conceal.
He blocked his thoughts of Lawrence and the deal now, and opened freely that part of his mind which held the routine thoughts of the law offices. He felt that feather of thought brushing lightly through his brain, then it was gone as quickly as it had come.
There was a cold sweat over him but he knew that he had passed the test. Why the probe? Perhaps a BEB psi had wind of Lawrence's deal and by probing Lawrence's mind—or the mind of someone in the West Coast realty outfit—had somehow learned of Black's association with the industrialist. If that were the case there would be more probes. One time or another a probe might come at a moment of nervous tension or stress and the information would be gleaned from his mind before he could block!
He must work fast.
He arose and went to the visiphone, placed a person-to-person call to Los Angeles.
"Dick Joyce?" he asked before the visual contact was complete, and only his voice went out.
The face that came in sync on the screen was round, jovial. "Well, hello, Marty!"
Lawrence must have called him, or else he plucked the name from my mind. But he didn't probe—or did he?
"Dick, do you register?" With the mind now—cautiously!
"Yes, Marty."
Pretend you're my personal friend, Dick. There's no psi on us but we may be wiretapped by BEB—lots of law offices are and trainees connected with them. Can a definite date be set for the picking-up of the options?
"It's good to see you again, Marty! When will you be coming out for another visit?" Yes, the options are in the bag. My agents have them all lined up. Confidentially, they couldn't miss. The only trouble they ran into was that some of the landowners thought they were insane to be interested in the property and one of them actually suffered a sprained wrist from the hand-shaking of an overly thankful owner.
"Soon. That's why I called you. Thought we should get together after all these years." What's the latest date for signing?
Tomorrow night.
Tomorrow night! That doesn't give much time! Since I'm acting for Lawrence I have to see what we're getting.
Well, Lawrence told us to work fast. But I agree that it's a good idea that you see the properties. "How about this weekend?" His voice was casual.
Tomorrow evening local time it is then. But where will we make psi-contact?
A mental picture of a map. Desolation.... Oklahoma....
"Okay, Dick. See you then. Regards to the family!"
"Goodbye, Marty."
He rang off.
He was tired. He went to bed and sought sleep, praying that the block his fatigued mind had set would remain firm.