“Oh, yeah.” Gallegher used the televisor. A secretary was willing but unable to give much useful information.
Devices Unlimited was the name of a holding company, of a sort. It had connections all over the world. When a client wanted a job done, DU, through its agents, got in touch with the right person and finagled the deal. The trick was that DU supplied the money, financing operations and working on a percentage basis. It sounded fantastically intricate, and Gallegher was left in the dark.
“Any record of my name in your files? Oh—Well, can you tell me who J. W. is?”
“J. W.? I’m sorry, sir. I’ll need the full name—”
“I don’t have it. And this is important.” Gallegher argued. At last he got his way. The only DU man whose initials were J. W. was someone named Jackson Wardell, who was on Callisto at the moment.
“How long has he been there?”
“He was born there,” said the secretary unhelpfully. “He’s never been to Earth in his life. I’m sure Mr. War-dell can’t be your man.”
Gallegher agreed. There was no use asking for Fatty, he decided, and broke the beam with a faint sigh. Well, what now?
The visor shrilled. On the screen appeared the face of a plump-cheeked, bald, pudgy man who was frowning worriedly. He broke into a relieved chuckle at sight of the scientist.
“Oh, there you are, Mr. Gallegher,” he said. “I’ve been trying to reach you for an hour. Something’s wrong with the beam. My goodness, I thought I’d certainly hear from you before this!”