LaVerne looked up into his face. “The Boss and Mr. Foster, too, are boiling about your authorizing that Distelmayer man to bill this department for information he gave you. The Boss hit the roof. Something about the Senate Appropriations Committee getting down on him if it came out that we bought information from professional espionage agents.”
Larry said, “It was information we needed, and Foster gave me the go ahead on locating Frol Eivazov. Maybe I'd better see the Boss.”
LaVerne said, “I don't think he wants to see you, Larry. They're up to their ears in this Movement thing. It's in the papers now and nobody knows what to do next. The President is going to make a speech on TriD, and the Boss has to supply the information. His orders are for you to resume your vacation. To take a month off and then see him when you get back.”
Larry sank down into a chair. “I see,” he said, “And at that time he'll probably transfer me to janitor service.”
“Larry,” LaVerne said, almost impatiently, “why in the world didn't you take that job Walt Foster has now when the Boss offered it to you?”
“Because I'm stupid, I suppose,” Larry said bitterly. “I thought I could do more working alone than at an administrative post tangled in red tape and bureaucratic routine.”
She said, “Sorry, Larry.” She sounded as though she meant it.
Larry stood up. “Well, tonight I'm going to hang one on, and tomorrow it's back to Florida.” He said in a rush, “Look LaVerne, how about that date we've been talking about for six months or more?”
She looked up at him. “I can't stand vodka martinis.”
“Neither can I,” he said glumly.