 POWER
by Hugh Raymond
(Author of "The Last Viking," "Rebirth of Tomorrow," etc.)
Anna Campbell knew the answer to the chaos that was sweeping the nation. The 
problem was: how could it be applied?



THE WINDOW opposite our table in the main dining room of the Hotel Astor misted 
slowly. Outside it was beginning to snow. The street noises came distorted 
through the solid walls.
I held Anna's hands between my own.
"They're getting noisier," she said, paling a little as a burst of rifle fire 
sounded from somewhere near the south end of Times Square.
"Don't worry, darling, please. Nothing can harm us here. At least, until it gets 
in. Are you cold?"
She nodded, responding to my smile with one of her own, a stubby chub of a smile 
that reminded me of low hills and fleecy clouds. I threw my heavy scarf about 
her shoulders, protected only by dainty decolletage. It was difficult, then, to 
imagine her working with test tubes and wires and screw drivers and pliers and 
collecting dirt on her hands and under her fingernails.
When I first met Anna Campbell she had been flat on her back under an old Ford 
truck that had broken down in the hills outside of Bear Mountain. She wielded a 
heavy Stillson wrench as though it were a nail buffer. When I offered to help 
she declined with thanks--and a smile.
Decolletage became her, more than rough slacks and a heavy shirt, though I loved 
her that way. And lipstick judiciously applied was quite as entrancing as a 
smear of grease across her cheek. The double brandy she had consumed only a 
moment before lit her cheeks like the glow of a spring sunset.
Spring? I laughed. Outside there was cold and turmoil and upheaval. Outside, the 
people of New York and everywhere in the United States were showing their 
dissatisfaction with a social system that had brought them to the verge of 
starvation. I had only to lean forward a few inches to see the swarms being 
herded in all directions by desperate mounted police. Things like this were 
going on all over the nation. In Chicago. In San Francisco. In tiny villages in 
the Sierra Nevadas. In Mexico. And in the vast reaches of Canada. Clearly a 
change was in the air. But what? It was the great question of the day, posed by 
newspapers and radio commentators who spoke clipped and precise English, and 
television actors who gave short and uproarious skits at the expense of a weary 
and uninterested government.
The upheaval was reaching into every phase of the country's national life. 
Latent political forces long dormant under the force of repression began to 
appear. Many and varied were the appeals to this or that platform. Long and 
winded were the speeches of this and that demagogue and zealot. Power was in the 
process of dissolution in the hands of those who had hitherto controlled it, and 
more power was needed to direct it into channels propounded by a dozen political 
parties and a thousand ideologies.
I looked at Anna as she nibbled on a cheese cracker. Power! That was the crux of 
the matter. Someone--many men--needed inexorable, unconquerable power to impose 
their will. And in the brain of the woman sitting opposite me at a small table 
was the secret of that power.
"Darling," I said suddenly, "sometimes I wish it hadn't been you who discovered 
the secret of atomic power. It makes you seem utterly precious and above 
men--and so much like a goddess."
"Hush, Karl," she admonished. "You know as well as I that the secret of my 
discovery must remain secret. These walls undoubtedly develop ears in times like 
these. And seriously," she continued, "do you really think those things matter 
to me? I fell in love with Karl Brecker, not a cold mass of machinery. All my 
life I've had a drive to do something--to create. I wanted to work with my hands 
as a little girl. I remember how your father always tells about my escapades 
when our families were neighbors for a while and you were at military school? 
Homemade wagons and electric motors and then college and then more and more of 
that drive to some end--and suddenly that end came--and you came too."
I slipped a cordial slowly.
"But you're always in danger as long as the possibility exists of the discovery 
becoming public knowledge."
"It must become public knowledge," she cried, her eyes wide and frightened, "but 
only when I am sure that it can be entrusted to safe hands." A sudden practical 
look gleamed in her eyes. "But don't worry. For the past quarter-century, at 
least one claim has been made for the discovery of atomic power per year. I 
think I'm safe. The newspaper boys think I'm a crackpot. Remember the article in 
the Times: 'Pulchritudinous Scientist Claims Discovery of Pulverizing Power'?" 
She laughed heartily at the memory. "I came in for quite a beating there. Lucky 
I didn't make a comeback. They might have believed me."
ACROSS THE crowded room a televisor began to blare.
"It is reported by officials in the State of California that riots have broken 
out in a dozen cities. Power lines are down and San Francisco is in the hands of 
a self-appointed Citizens Committee for Public Safety." The smooth, honeyed 
voice went on to relate the details of endlessly similar occurrences throughout 
the country.
I almost enjoyed it, watching the dancers and diners writhe. Most of them were 
rich wastrels whose whole livelihood depended upon the pacification of just the 
people who were conducting the rioting. Heavily upholstered dowagers sniffed 
uneasily as the voice continued to flow into the great room. Young things in 
slinky evening dress glanced apprehensively toward the windows where the noises 
of the street fighting were rising in a slow but steady crescendo.
The voice ceased. An orchestra from New Orleans began playing to us three 
thousand miles away. Faces brightened. Bravado mounted. Soon the wholesale 
quaffing of champagne continued.
A waiter approached.
"Will you have dinner now, sir?" he asked timidly. He was used to Anna's and my 
own idiosyncrasies, such as omitting the cocktail before dinner and substituting 
for it a sweet cordial.
I gave the waiter my order. He was about to go, when suddenly he turned again to 
us and said apologetically, "l'd almost forgotten, sir. There's a Mr. Bittsworth 
who would like to see you. He's over at the door, sir." And Tiffins pointed 
across the dimly lit room to a tall and portly figure leaning against the door 
leading to the hotel lobby.
"Expecting anybody?" I asked Anna.
She shook her head in the negative.
"Don't know anybody," she said archly, and we both laughed.
I looked up at Tiffins.
"Send him over. But be sure that you call us both to the telephone if he stays 
more than ten minutes."
Presently, the figure began to move in our direction. Although he was wearing a 
dinner jacket, he had obviously been heavily clad and but recently, as thick 
snow still clustered in the nooks and crannies of his heavy shoes.
"I'm Bittsworth," he announced, looming up beside our table. "You're Miss Anna 
Campbell. And you're Karl Brecker. Good evening. May I sit down?"
Slightly startled at this sudden access of information, I reached over to an 
unoccupied table and yanked a chair closer.
He had a business-like face with a small moustache and a ruddy complexion. I 
guessed him to be habitually well-to-do. He wore his clothes like a veteran.
"And now that we've been introduced, Mr. Bittsworth, before we go into 
business--whatever it is--will you join us at supper? We were just about to 
eat." Turning my head, I winked at Tiffins who was watching anxiously from the 
kitchen doorway. That meant that he was to disregard all previous instructions.
Bittsworth declined. He asked if we might permit a cigar.
Anna smiled at him sweetly.
"Oh, do, Mr. Bittsworth, I just love the smell of a good cigar."
Behind my face, I laughed outright. Anna, for all her being a good sport, 
couldn't even stand my pipe.
He folded his hands on the table and drew his face into a serious mien.
"I suppose you know who I am. No? Well, I'd better begin by telling you that I 
am George Bittsworth, the Bittsworth, head of the Conservative Party. Now don't 
get frightened. I'm not here to solicit votes. I'm here for something infinitely 
more important." He paused a bit and shifted his cigar. "I suppose," he 
continued, "that you're both patriotic citizens. I take that for granted. And 
you want to see your country at peace. You want to see the people happy and 
well-fed. You want to see that," he looked significantly to the window," 
stopped. Do you not?"
We both waggled our heads in assent.
Just then, Tiffins came up with dinner. Bittsworth leaned back while we partook 
of the food.
I'M A POLITICIAN Miss Campbell," he began, "I know things. I control a large 
party--the largest in the country. It's a good solid party and it knows what it 
is doing. But things are getting a little out of hand," again he indicated the 
window, "we'd like to stop all that. We'd like to put food into the mouths of 
those hungry people and take murder out of their hearts. But we can't do it now. 
We're not in power. Most of us were turned out at the last election." He paused.
"But what has that to do with Karl and me?" Anna asked. "Certainly we are as 
helpless as you. We cannot stop that rioting just as you have no power to stop 
it."
"Bittsworth interrupted her with a gesture.
"You have that power, Miss Campbell. I think you know what I mean. Possibly I'm 
wrong, but I believed you when you claimed to have discovered the control of 
atomic energy. The newspaper ridiculed your claim, but certain information I 
possess leads me to believe that you had something. I know, furthermore, that 
this new power of yours is cheap, portable and infinite...."
Anna put her fork down with a bang. "How do you know?" she interrupted sharply.
"I'm not at liberty to divulge that information. You may depend upon it, 
however, that dishonesty on the part of certain individuals had a part in my 
knowing what I do know."
Both Anna's and my eyes swung into line immediately. "De Saynter, of course!" A 
rascally assistant who had disappeared after having been discovered going 
through some extremely important notes Anna had made on the final aspects of the 
invention.
"You have never," she said, "been in touch with a certain August De Saynter, I 
suppose."
Bittsworth shrugged.
"Whether I have or not is of no importance whatsoever. The point is that I know 
that you, Miss Campbell, hold it within your power to turn this country back to 
the path of peace and plenty."
"What, precisely, do you want?" she said.
He relaxed a little before replying and crushed out his cigar, although it was 
but half smoked.
"The plans and specifications of the entire Campbell process for the release and 
control of atomic power."
I looked at Anna.
"But you can't have them," she answered swiftly, as I knew she would, and then 
reached for her wine glass. "No one is going to get this invention but the 
entire people, and if you imagine for a moment that I don't know the use to 
which you would put it, you're daft."
Bittsworth smiled blandly.
"Of course. But isn't it better that we get this power than, say, Gunther 
Westhoff, for instance?"
"What makes you think anyone is going to get it?" I broke in brusquely.
"Because they need it," he replied quietly. "I repeat. The balance of power 
rests with only two parties, my own and Westhoff's. All other parties are either 
appendages or unimportant. They cannot affect the situation. We can and will. 
But we need immediate and limitless power to do so. A country such as this with 
its complicated social and economic system cannot be controlled except by a 
power greater than itself. That power is atomic power. A dictatorship, yes. I 
grant you that is true. But only for a while until we can turn events into the 
proper democratic path."
I watched Anna's mouth and knew that neither Bittsworth nor any other politician 
would find out anything more from her.
"Well?" he asked, folding his hands before him.
"Sorry!" she snapped. "It's no good. I'm afraid politics loses this time."
Bittsworth got to his feet. "I won't waste any more of your time," he said 
softly. "Good night. I hope you do not regret your decision.
He turned and started across the floor.
Anna looked sternly at me. "Darling, did you ever vote Conservative?" she asked 
tautly. "Or for the Westhoff crowd!"
"Do I look like a banker or a Nazi?" I asked, laughing.
"Let's finish eating and go home," she said.
"How about dessert?"
"I've got some apple strudel in the pantry. That is, if your father hasn't eaten 
it all." We both smiled.
Tiffins brought our coats.
"Come on, darling."
We had reached the middle of the room when suddenly a terrific explosion shook 
the building and the lights went out. Simultaneously, a small figure darted past 
me and grabbed Anna by the forearm and pulled.
I swung with my right fist. It contacted solid flesh. The little figure grunted 
and fell and Anna screamed. Then immediately we were surrounded by many figures 
and the last thing I saw in the glow from the Wrigley sign across Broadway was 
the room crowded with a great screaming mob, fighting to reach the doors.
CONSCIOUSNESS CAME back painfully and suddenly.
Anna's cool hand was on my forehead. She smiled wanly down at me.
"They wouldn't give me any water to bathe your head with, sweetheart."
"Who wouldn't?" I demanded.
She squatted against the wall and held her chin between her hands.
"The people who brought us here."
"Where are we?"
"l don't know," she replied pensively. "My head was covered with something for 
about fifteen minutes, I should judge, and we were taken here in a car. Along 
with him." She pointed to a body huddled in a corner.
"Who is he?" I asked, struggling to get up.
"Don't, darling. It's Bittsworth."
"My God!" The leader of the Conservative Party slugged, unconscious! A little 
trickle of blood ran down his forehead. Anne tried to stanch it with his 
handkerchief. I got up and shook him.
"Wake up, man!"
He stirred presently and returned to the land of the living.
"Where am I?" he asked, with great originality.
"Don't try to put anything over on us," I said coldly.
"You did all this."
"And had myself slugged, I suppose," he grunted, sarcastically.
Well, that sounded reasonable.
I looked about the room. It was small, miserable, old-fashioned. We listened. No 
sounds came through the one boarded-up window.
"Well, who did it?" I shouted.
"I think I know," he said in low tones, patting his pate with a handkerchief, 
"Gunther Westhoff."
"The Nazi?"
"Yes. Apparently, he got the same information as I did. And went after it. I'm 
afraid we won't get out of here without some trouble. In some ways he's after my 
hide more than he's after yours. Anyway, all he wants from you two is the energy 
secret. I'll probably be killed."
"Let's not think about getting killed--at least not now," I grumbled. "Let's 
find out where we are."
"That's easy," remarked Bittsworth, exploring his clothes for a cigar. "We're 
undoubtedly in Westhoff's headquarters in Yorkville."
Anna pulled me down on the floor and cradled my head in her lap. She ignored 
Bittsworth.
About an hour passed. Then, the door at one end of the room opened. It swung 
back with a crash.
A tall, compact figure in military uniform strode into the room and saluted Nazi 
fashion.
"Don't bother," I said, from the depths of Anna's lap. "We don't stand on 
dignity."
"Stand up!" barked the figure.
Bittsworth and I stood up. Anna also rose.
"Good evening, Westhoff," remarked Bittsworth cheerfully.
The Nazi grunted something. His smooth-shaven face remained impassive.
"I will get to the point immediately," he spat in his Germanic English. "l want 
the plans and all information relative to your atomic power discovery, Miss 
Campbell. If this information is not forthcoming immediately, I shall be forced 
to talk extreme measures--extreme measures."
"Just what do you intend to do with us!" I asked.
"If the girl refuses you will find out," he said quietly.
"I wouldn't be so direct if I were you, Gunther," said a voice from behind 
Westhoff, suddenly.
A small, rotund man walked into the room between the uniformed guards. Anna 
gasped.
Westhoff grunted again.
"Please do not interrupt, De Saynter."
"Good evening to you all," said the little man in pleasant tones. "And 
especially to you, Miss Campbell." He reached into a side pocket and produced a 
pistol with which he played suggestively. "Gunther, we must be all friends here. 
Good friends. Isn't that so, Mr. Bittsworth?"
"I'll not be a friend to a stinking would-be dictator!" stated the other 
bluntly.
"Then you will have to be an enemy. Gunther, please have this man taken away. He 
is useless."
Westhoff gestured to several of his guards, who led the unprotesting Bittsworth 
away.
"And now, if you please, I will take charge. I am so much more the expert about 
such matters. Am I not, Gunther?"
The other nodded grimly, if reluctantly.
"First," continued De Saynter, "we shall continue this interrogation at Miss 
Campbell's laboratory. It is much more comfortable there and everything which 
might refresh her memory is close at hand. "Second, while in transit to the 
laboratory, the both of you will make no disturbance or a break for liberty. I 
may as well speak frankly. Any such act will simply result in death. We are 
playing for high stakes tonight. And anything goes."
They left us alone for a minute. Westhoff, De Saynter and the guards clanked 
out.
I held Anna close.
"Don't worry," I said, comfortingly, "everything will be all right."
"How do you know?" she asked.
"I know. I know."



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