Pardeau came to his feet. His fist slammed down on the table. "I shall not arrest him—ever. When the time comes, I shall personally shoot him down in the street like a dog. There will come a day, gentlemen, when you will witness this act of vengeance—when I shall make such an example of Lenster-Hillerman as the resistance will not forget—a morale-crumbling example, I promise you."
"—in which Lenster and his ilk are forever crushed and beaten," the speaker said.
Blanchard took the floor. "Gentlemen—I move a vote of thanks and confidence for our colleague, Neal Pardeau."
The Director of Public Security stood at attention and assayed a sharp, military bow. It was a moment of rare triumph. "Thank you, gentlemen," he said.
An hour later, Lenster-Pardeau was alone in his apartments. He stripped off his uniform with an air of grim satisfaction. While he undressed, he thought of the martyrs to the Cause; the men who had died. He thought of Wyckoff and wished Wyckoff could have had the pleasure of knowing who had usurped the body of Neal Pardeau—Pardeau the Butcher—the infamous Pardeau.
From the speaker came the third and final rebroadcast of Cargill's speech:
"—a clean and wholesome land—"
"A clean and wholesome land," Lenster murmured, and the tone of his voice was a prayer.
THE END