Tsuroak shook his head. He looked imploringly at Deitrich. “The boy is twenty-seven. That’s pretty young, but it isn’t as if he were just a baby.” He declared with unconvincing defensiveness, “I could take care of myself pretty well at his age, and he follows me.”
“Of course,” Deitrich said sympathetically. “I think you are acting very wisely. I’ve been in this business a long time, and I know what happens.”
Tsuroak bobbed his head up and down gratefully. “Thank you,” he murmured.
He stood up, but immediately resumed his seat again, staring at the floor with his sad, helpless expression. He mumbled, “But we thought that something should be done to keep this sort of thing from happening again—to other people’s boys.”
“There are definite regulations,” Deitrich replied. “And I can assure you that the penalties are harsh. The investigation takes some time, but when it is completed they probably will have found the man who made the mistake. If he is suspected of doing it willfully, he will be prosecuted in a criminal court. You wouldn’t want them to convict an innocent man, would you?”
“Oh, I don’t—” Tsuroak sputtered his denial of such a desire.
“Of course you wouldn’t. And please be confident that steps are being taken to prevent its ever happening again.”
Tsuroak left, still protesting his gratitude.
After a moment, Deitrich drew out the little packet that held the departure schedule, the clearance capsule and the control tapes. He pensively studied the symbols on the outside of the packet and considered.
Impulsively he called his secretary. “See if you can get me Sara McGee on the phone,” he ordered. “And then get me a roof cab.”