It came to Lawrence Woolford that his superior had achieved to his prominent office not through any fluke. He knew what he was talking about.
The Boss wound it up. “If there was such an organization as this Movement, then this department would know about it. You don't keep a revolutionary movement secret. It doesn't make sense to even try. Even if it is forced underground, it makes as much noise as it can.”
His trouble shooter cleared his throat. “I suppose you're right, sir.” He added hesitantly. “We could always give Susan Self a few drops of Scop-Serum, sir.”
The Boss scowled disapprovingly. “You know how the Supreme Court ruled on that, Lawrence. And particularly since the medics revealed its effect on reducing sexual inhibitions. No, Mr. Hackett and Secret Service will have to get the truth out of the girl by some other means. At any rate, it is out of our hands.”
Larry came to his feet. “Well, then, I'll resume my vacation, eh?”
His chief took up a report from his desk an frowned at it, his attention already passing to other matters. He grunted, “Clear it with LaVerne, please. Tell her I said to take another week to make up for our intruding on you in this manner.”
In the back of his head, Larry Woolford had misgivings. For one thing, where had the kid, who on the face of her performance was no great brain even as sixteen or seventeen old's go, picked up such ideas as the fact that people developed prejudices against words like revolution and propaganda?
However, he was clear of it now. Let Steve Hackett and his people take over. He, Lawrence Woolford, was due for a quick return to Astor, Florida [pg 021] and the bass fishing on the St. John's River.
He stopped at LaVerne's desk and gave her his address to be, now that his vacation was resumed.