"Get them on the air. Tell the country this man is vital to global security. Find him, Sellors."
"Better than that. You'll _find_ him. If he doesn't turn up within eight hours, shift the tracer to world-wide. He might be anywhere--and he has to be found!"
Walton blanked the screen and avoided the next caller. He called his secretary and said, "Will you instruct everyone now calling me to refer their business downstairs to Assistant Administrator Eglin. If they don't want to do that, tell them to put it in writing and send it to me. I can't accept any more calls just now." Then he added, "Oh, put me through to Eglin myself before you let any of those calls reach him."
Eglin's face appeared on the private screen that linked the two offices. The small man looked dark-browed and harried. "This is a hell of a job, Roy," he sighed.
"So is mine," Walton said. "Look, I've got a ton of calls on the wire, and I'm transferring them all down to you. Throw as many as you can down to the subordinates. It's the only way to keep your sanity."
"Thanks. Thanks loads, Roy. All I need now is some more calls."
"Can't be helped. Who'd you pick for your replacement as director of field agents?" Walton asked.
"Lassen. I sent his dossier to you hours ago."
"Haven't read it yet. Is he on the job already?"
"Sure. He's been there since I moved up here," Eglin said. "What--"
"Never mind," said Walton. He hung up and called Lassen, the new director of field agents.
Lassen was a boyish-looking young man with stiff sandy hair and a sternly efficient manner. Walton said, "Lassen, I want you to do a job for me. Get one of your men to make up a list of the hundred biggest private estates still unequalized. I want the names of their owners, location of the estates, acreage, and things like that. Got it?"
"Right. When will you want it, Mr. Walton?"
"Immediately. But I don't want it to be a sloppy job. This is top important, double."
Lassen nodded. Walton grinned at him--the boy seemed to be in good control of himself--and clicked off.
He realized that he'd been engaged in half a dozen high-power conversations without a break, over a span of perhaps twenty minutes. His heart was pounding; his feet felt numb.
He popped a benzolurethrin into his mouth and kept on going. He would need to act fast, now that the wheels were turning. McLeod arriving the next day to report the results of the faster-than-light expedition, Lamarre missing, Fred at large and working for a conspiracy of landowners--Walton foresaw that he would be on a steady diet of tranquilizers for the next few days.