"Nothing like that," said Wales. "He just wants to know, why the devil are Evacuation schedules falling behind?"
Bourreau drained his cup, set it down, and wiped his mouth. "Listen," he said, "you don't want to talk to me."
"I don't?"
"No, I'm the Port Coordinator, that's all. I've passed millions of people through here. Evacuation Authority sends them in here, from the marshalling point over in New York. Good people, not-so-good people, and people that aren't worth saving. But to me, they're all just units. They reach here, I shoot them out. That's all. The man you want to talk to is John Fairlie."
"The regional Evacuation Marshal?"
"Yes. Talk to him, over in New York. I've got a car and driver ready for you."
Wales stood up. It was obvious that Bourreau had been all ready for him, and was not going to take a rap for anybody. It was equally obvious that he'd learn nothing about Kendrick's disappearance from this man.
"All right," he said. "I'll see Fairlie first."
The driver of the car, a UN private, turned off on a side road almost as soon as they left the spaceport.