CHAPTER 4

AUGUST 11, 1988

ATLANTIC CITY, NEW JERSEY

     "Twenty-one!" said the dealer, "another winner."
     Cord, immaculately dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit dragged a huge hand across the green felt of the blackjack table, collecting his chips and adding them to several large, color-coordinated stacks before him. 
     A woman of quite remarkable beauty seated next to him ran a well-manicured hand through his thick black hair. Leaning over so her breasts brushed his shoulder, she whispered in his ear, "How do you do that, Sugar? You've been winnin' all evenin', non-stop. I'd sure like to know your secret..."
     Her voice was Southern sweet, plantation bred. Her breath was hot, moist, and provocative. Any other night, the combination would have been all the invitation Sebastian Cord needed. Tonight, he just wasn't in the mood.
     "Count the cards, play the odds, and winning is easy," he replied curtly. "If only life were as simple.
     "I'll be cashing in now," he said to the dealer, who looked relieved at the news. "Thanks for the diversion."
     Cord pushed back from the table, tossing a $100 chip to the dealer, who caught it in mid-air with the practiced ease of a man who had enacted this scene a hundred times before -- which, in fact, he had. Cord uncurled his 6'4" frame and stood, towering over the red-headed southern belle who tried to take his arm.
     "You're really quite lovely," he said, but I'm afraid I wouldn't be particularly good company right now. Sorry. Maybe some other time."
     He pulled away from her, reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a jack of spades and a pen. Scribbling a phone number on the back of the card, he said, "Call."
     Turning his back on the red-head, Cord headed for the restaurant. He hadn't made it three steps before he felt a hand clamp down on each of his shoulders. He spun, more quickly than a man his size should be able to move, and had his assailant in a discreet armlock before anyone in the casino noticed.
     Cord now saw that he had subdued a distinguished-looking man, Spanish, perhaps, or Latin American, wearing a tuxedo, with thick, slicked-back, black hair and a pencil-thin moustache. All in all, the man looked like a throwback to an earlier time, a would-be Valentino.
     The would-be assailant spoke quickly, then."You will please take your hands off me, my hot-headed friend. Can this be the same Sebastian Cord I have known for the last five years? Surely not . . . You have his reactions, and strength, but not his judgement. Assaulting an old friend after walking away from a lovely lady...well, I just do not know..."
     "You! I didn't recognize you with that hair. And that moustache!" Cord was doing his best to suppress his laughter, and failing in the attempt. Softly, so no one would hear, he asked, "What are you calling yourself these days?"
     "I am back to the Great Rodrigo," the assailant replied, somewhat hurt by Cord's amusement at his expense, " magician extraordinaire You may call me Rodrigo. The Great will be assumed."
     "Well, Rodrigo is certainly better than the last name you used. We were in...Istanbul, wasn't it? And you were calling yourself Presto Merlini, as I recall."
     "A memorable, if somewhat silly name, you must admit," said Rodrigo. "But tell me, what brings you here -- pleasure or . . . business?"
     "Neither. I'm on enforced vacation. Mr. Jahn thought I'd gone off the deep end after my last job. Needed some R&R. This is my home away from home -- didn't know where else to go. And you?"
     "Ah, I appear in the Cadillac Lounge, three shows a night, for the next week, but a triumphal European tour begins in two week's time." He looked around cautiously. "Covers must be maintained. And the Foundation hardly pays freelancers, like myself, enough to live in the style to which I have become accustomed."
     By this time, the two had crossed the nearly deserted casino floor. They found the restaurant empty.
     Jake Rabinowitz, better known as Jack Robin, the General Manager of the Golden Eagle hotel and casino in Atlantic City watched with concern as Sebastian Cord and Rodrigo approached. Ordinarily, Cord was one of his favorite customers -- a big tipper, a class act, most of the time, and an all-around nice guy. He kept the staff happy, and Jake just liked talking to the guy.
     Only now, it was obvious that Cord wasn't himself. He'd seen the little altercation on the casino floor. That wasn't like Cord. And now that the pair approached, he noticed Cord's eyes -- they had that glassy look that said he'd been gambling too long. Jake noted the extra pounds on Cord's already huge frame -- he had a paunch. Bad signs.
     "Hello, Paul," Jake said to Rodrigo. "And what can I do for you, Mr. Cord? You do much winning tonight?" Rabinowitz already knew the answer, as he knew everything that happened on the casino floor, but this was a part of their regular banter.
     "You tell me what night it is and I'll tell you, if I've been winning, Jake." 
     "It's Thursday, Mr. Cord, Thursday," Jake said laughing.
     "Then I've been winning. Now, how about a table, and a waitress, and a bottle of your best...seltzer."
     "Right away, Mr. Cord," Jake said, leading Cord and Rodrigo to a corner table away from the few other diners.
     A moment later, Hildy, the waitress, appeared and, after the usual mild flirtation (which had never gone beyond flirtation, though not for lack of trying on Cord's part), she left with an order for rillettes, salmon chowder, tossed salad, Beef Wellington with three vegetables, homemade bread, and trifle for dessert.
     "You should not eat so much, Sebastian. Look at you -- you must weigh . . . 40, maybe 50, pounds more than when last we met. Continue in this way and you will soon give yourself a heart attack. In any event, it is three in the morning, and you will suffer indigestion from such a meal."
     "Weight and indigestion are the least of my worries," Cord said, shaking his head.
     "Perhaps you would do well to share your troubles?" Rodrigo said. 
     "Yes, perhaps I would, though I don't expect you'll believe me any more than anyone else at the office did. I wouldn't have believed it myself if it hadn't happened to me."
     Rodrigo twisted a large ring on his finger and said, "Wait, my friend, let us make sure your words go no further than you intend." He passed his hand and the ring inconspicuously across the table and along the walls behind them.
     "You may speak freely," he said, holding up the ring, "Osskarsen in G4 assures me this device can uncover the most subtle of listening devices. Now, what troubles you. Though only a freelancer, I am, as you know, cleared for nearly any Foundation-related matters."
     At this point, the waitress brought Cord's Rilletes of Duck. When she was gone, Cord began to speak, his voice a hoarse whisper.
     "You know, I'm 45, and the muckety-mucks at Orion want to ease me out of field work -- get me into ops planning and team management."
     "I had heard something of the sort, yes. The word is out on you, I am afraid."
     "Yes, well, Jahn called me into his office about four months ago and tried to pull me from the operations roster. I argued. He gave in -- I'm not sure why -- but he said I'd never have another plum 
assignment as long as I lived. Threatened to give me every cockamamie job that came down the pike."
     Cord paused to down his rilletes, savoring each bite of the thick pate.
     "Cockamamie job number one came up a few days later," he continued. "It was a job fit for a neophyte. A bodyguard job in Germany. An East German Web environmental scientist -- Manfred Zabo -- wanted out. Pokrzwynicki, out of Eastern Bloc pulled the job and delivered Zabo to me. All I had to do was see Zabo safely to the rendezvous point and wait for the submarine boys to pick him up. A couple of hours later, he'd be starting a new life in the States. Nothing to it. Yeah, nothing at all."
     "Yes, and what happened?"
     "Official version first, okay?"
     "I am all ears, Sebastian."
     Over Beef Wellington, Cord repeated the story Jahn had told him -- the Foundation's reconstruction of events.
     "They say I fell asleep and while I was out, the Web came along and snatched Zabo up. When the pick-up  crew arrived, they found me -- alone -- flat on my back in the grass. Can you believe that? In 20 years with Orion I've never botched a job, and they say I fell asleep!"
     "It is hard to believe, my friend, but perhaps age and a, eh, strenuous lifestyle has taken its toll."
     "No. I'm not entirely sure what did happen out there, or what became of Zabo, but I know he didn't disappear because I got tired."
     Cord ate in silence for a moment, shaking his head in disbelief from time to time. Not until the waitress had cleared the table and brought dessert did Rodrigo press Cord  to continue.
     "And just how can you be sure of this? Tell me your version of the story."
     Cord described how the Web had been onto him from the start, how he'd fought off two attempts to snatch the Professor. Then, he described the events at the pick-up point.
     "I saw the brightest light I've ever seen descending from the sky -- it was blinding. The sound was deafening, maddening. I didn't know what it was then. Got back to the States and, well, you're never going to believe this. I don't believe it myself."           "If you do not tell me, I cannot believe anything."
     "Sadie Peschkowitz gave me the answer. At least I think it's the answer. It was in one of her damn trash newspapers -- Zabo was snatched by a flying saucer.
     Rodrigo, who had been listening intently, had to fight back laughter.
     "Ah. A flying saucer?"
     "See? I knew you wouldn't believe me. It's crazy. She had this article about a loony convention being held later this month. And there on the front page was a picture of whatever it was got the Professor. I'll tell you the truth, Rodrigo, I don't know what to think anymore. Either I'm crazy and over-the-hill the way they say I am, or I was put out of commission by a flying saucer which stole a Web scientist."
     "Mm hm, and you reported this to Peter Jahn upon your return to the United States?"
     "I reported my suspicions -- and told him I didn't really believe it myself. That was the point at which he 'gave' me six months leave from the Foundation."    Cord produced another jack of spades from his jacket pocket and began worrying it with nimble fingers.
     "My friend, I think it may be time you were put out to pasture. Oh, not because you saw a flying saucer -- everyone has seen some kind of unidentified flying object. No, you should be ashamed of yourself for having reported such events to the Foundation without hard evidence."
     "Then you believe I saw what I saw? You believe that Zabo was kidnapped by UFOs?" Cord asked.
     "I believe nothing beyond the simple fact that we must find  your Professor Zabo and extract from him an explanation concerning his mysterious disappearance, though even this may not be enough to restore your good name.
     I assume Jahn had operatives out looking for Zabo?" Rodrigo continued.
     Cord sheepishly acknowledged that he had no idea, having been all but thrown out of Orion headquarters, and having spent the last three months in an orgy of eating and gambling.
     "It is a great stroke of good fortune that we meet here in this sinful place, Sebastian. You have obvious need of my keen mind. Yours has obviously lost its edge. My work here in Atlantic City will be complete Sunday evening, and my pig dog of an agent has found nothing for me for the next month. So, from Monday morning until the case is solved, I will devote my every effort to uncovering the whereabouts of the mysterious Professor Zabo. What do you propose we do?"
     Cord polished off the last of his meal, patted his ample stomach with a look of disgust, and said, "First, I'll go on a diet," and wistfully, he continued, "no more Beef Wellington for a while."
     "That's the spirit," Rodrigo said, greatly relieved to see his comrade's mood change, "and then what? Quickly now, we must begin sharpening your obvisuly dulled wits even as we tone your flabby muscles."
     "While I'm getting back to my fighting weight, I think I'll do a little organizing -- I'll need all the 
help I can get, in addition to yours, of course, and I doubt Orion is going to be much interested...seems to me there are enough people who owe me favors, though. Time to call in some debts.
     "I've also got to talk to the folks at World-Round News, see what they can tell me about the picture they ran with that article about the flying saucer convention. You know, I think I'll be heading to Wisconsin, learn a little something about UFOs. Jahn couldn't object to that, could he? After all, it's my vacation!"
     "Good!" Rodrigo said, patting Cord on the shoulder, "I will meet you there, and together we will see what we can learn."
     At this point, the waitress came by and asked if she could bring them anything else. Cord answered, "No, I think I'm just fine." And, for the first time in months, he meant it.