Dr. Lawton, who seemed to be Chief Medical Officer for Anzio Clinic, said grimly: "This wasn't an accident. It was planned. The question is, why?"
The expediters had finished driving the rioters out of the clinic itself, and gas guns were rapidly dispersing the few left outside the entrance. At least thirty unconscious forms were scattered around—and one or two that were worse than unconscious.
I said, "Maybe they were hoping to loot the clinic." It wasn't a very good lie. But then, I hadn't had much practice in telling lies to an officer of the Company.
Lawton pursed his lips and ignored the suggestion. "Tell me something, Wills. What were you doing down below?"
I said quickly, "Below? You mean a half an hour ago?"
"That's what I mean." He was gentle, but—well, not exactly suspicious. Curious.
I improvised: "I—I thought I saw someone running down there. One of the rioters. So I chased after her—after him," I corrected, swallowing the word just barely in time.
He nodded. "Find anything?"
It was a tough question. Had I been seen going in or coming out? If it was coming out—Rena had been with me.
I took what we called a "calculated risk"—that is, I got a firm grip on my courage and told a big fat and possibly detectable lie. I said, "Nobody that I could find. But I still think I heard something. The trouble is, I don't know the vaults very well. I was afraid I'd get lost."