Status Quo Read online

  Status Quo

  by Dallas McCord Reynolds

  Illustrated by John Schoenherr

  Analog Science Fact & Fiction

  August 1961

  [Transcriber's Note: This text was produced from Analog Science Fact &Fiction August 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence thatthe U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

  In his income bracket and in the suburb in which he lived, governmentemployees in the twenty-five to thirty-five age group were currentlywearing tweeds. Tweeds were in. Not to wear tweeds was Non-U.

  Lawrence Woolford wore tweeds. His suit, this morning, had first seen thelight of day on a hand loom in Donegal. It had been cut by a Swede widelypatronized by serious young career men in Lawrence Woolford's statusgroup; English tailors were out currently and Italians unheard of.

  Woolford sauntered down the walk before his auto-bungalow, scowling at thesportscar at the curb--wrong year, wrong make. He'd have to trade it in ona new model. Which was a shame in a way, he liked the car. However, he hadno desire to get a reputation as a weird among colleagues and friends.What was it Senator Carey MacArthur had said the other day? Show me aweird and I'll show you a person who has taken the first step toward beinga Commie.

  Woolford slid under the wheel, dropped the lift lever, depressed gentlythe thrust pedal and took off for downtown Greater Washington.Theoretically, he had another four days of vacation coming to him. Hewondered what the Boss wanted. That was the trouble in being one of theBoss' favorite trouble shooters, when trouble arose you wound up in themiddle of it. Lawrence Woolford was to the point where he was thinking interms of graduating out of field work and taking on a desk job which meantpromotion in status and pay.

  He turned over his car to a parker at the departmental parking lot andmade his way through the entrance utilized by second-grade departmentalofficials. In another year, he told himself, he'd be using that otherdoor.

  The Boss' reception secretary looked up when Lawrence Woolford entered theanteroom where she presided. "Hello, Larry," she said. "Hear they calledyour vacation short. Darn shame."

  LaVerne Polk was a cute little whizz of efficiency. Like Napoleon and hisarmy, she knew the name of every member of the department and was on afirst-name basis with all. However, she was definitely a weird. Forinstance, styles might come and styles might go, but LaVerne dressed forcomfort, did her hair the way she thought it looked best, and worelow-heeled walking shoes on the job. In fact, she was ready and willing tosnarl at anyone, no matter how kindly intentioned, who even hinted thather nonconformity didn't help her promotion prospects.

  Woolford said, "Hi, LaVerne. I think the Boss is expecting me."

  "That he is. Go right in, Larry."

  She looked after him when he turned and left her desk. Lawrence Woolfordcut a pleasant figure as thirty year old bachelors go.

  The Boss looked up from some report on his desk which he'd been frowningat, nodded to his field man and said, "Sit down, Lawrence. I'll be withyou in a minute. Please take a look at this while you're waiting." Hehanded over a banknote.

  Larry Woolford took it and found himself a comfortable chair. He examinedthe bill, front and back. It was a fifty dollar note, almost new.

  Finally the Boss, a stocky but impeccable career bureaucrat of theultra-latest school, scribbled his initials on the report and tossed itinto an Out chute. He said to Woolford, "I am sorry to cut short yourvacation, Lawrence. I considered giving Walter Foster the assignment, butI think you're the better choice."

  Larry decided the faint praise routine was the best tactic, said earnestlyabout his closest rival. "Walt's a good man, sir." And then, "What's thecrisis?"

  "What do you think of that fifty?"

  His trouble shooter looked down at it. "What is there to think about it?"

  The Boss grunted, slid open a desk drawer and brought forth another bill."Here, look at this, please."

  It was another fifty. Larry Woolford frowned at it, not getting whateverwas going on.

  "Observe the serial numbers," the Boss said impatiently.

  They were identical.

  Woolford looked up. "Counterfeit. Which one is the bad one?"

  "That is exactly what we would like to know," the Boss said.

  Larry Woolford stared at his superior, blinked and then examined the billsagain. "A beautiful job," he said, "but what's it got to do with us, sir?This is Secret Service jurisdiction, counterfeiting."

  "They called us in on it. They think it might have internationalramifications."

  Now they were getting somewhere. Larry Woolford put the two bills on theBoss' desk and leaned back in his chair, waiting.

  His superior said, "Remember the Nazis turning out American and Britishbanknotes during the Second War?"

  "I was just a kid."

  "I thought you might have read about it. At any rate, obviously agovernment--with all its resources--could counterfeit perfectly any currencyin the world. It would have the skills, the equipment, the funds toaccomplish the task. The Germans turned out hundreds of millions ofdollars and pounds with the idea of confounding the Allied financialbasics."

  "And why didn't it work?"

  "The difficulty of getting it into circulation, for one thing. However,they did actually use a quantity. For a time our people were so alarmedthat they wouldn't allow any bills to come into this country from Mexicoexcept two-dollar denomination--the one denomination the Germans hadn'tbothered to duplicate. Oh, they had the Secret Service in a dither for atime."

  Woolford was frowning. "What's this got to do with our current situation?"

  The Boss said, "It is only a conjecture. One of those bills is counterfeitbut such an excellent reproduction that the skill involved is beyond theresources of any known counterfeiter. Secret Service wants to know if itmight be coming from abroad, and, if so, from where. If it's agovernmental project, particularly a Soviet Complex one, then it comesinto the ken of our particular cloak-and-dagger department."

  "Yes, sir." Woolford said. He got up and examined the two bills again."How'd they ever detect that one was bad?"

  "Pure fortune. A bank clerk with an all but eidetic memory was goingthrough a batch of fifties. It's not too commonly used a denomination, youknow. Coincidence was involved since in that same sheaf the serial numberwas duplicated."

  "And then?"

  "The reproduction was so perfect that Secret Service was in an immediateuproar. Short of the Nazi effort, there has never been anything like it. Aperfect duplication of engraving and paper identically the same. Thecounterfeiters have even evidently gone to the extent of putting a certainamount of artificial wear on the bills before putting them intocirculation."

  Larry Woolford said, "This is out of my line. How were they able to checkfurther, and how many more did they turn up?"

  "The new I.B.M. sorters help. Secret Service checked every fifty dollarbill in every institution in town both banking and governmental. Thus far,they have located ten bills in all."

  "And other cities?"

  "None. They've all been passed in Greater Washington, which is suspiciousin itself. The amount of expense that has gone into the manufacture ofthese bills does not allow for only a handful of them being passed. Theyshould be turning up in number. Lawrence, this reproduction is such that apusher could walk into a bank and have his false currency changed by anyclerk."

  "Wow," Larry whistled.

  "Indeed."

  "So you want me to work with Secret Service on this on the off chance thatthe Soviet Complex is doing us deliberate dirt."

  "That is exactly the idea, Lawrence. Get to work, please, and keep intouch with me. If you
need support, I can assign Walter Foster or some ofthe other operatives to assist you. This might have endlessramifications."

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  Back in the anteroom, Woolford said to the Boss' receptionist, "I'm on alocal job, LaVerne, how about assigning me a girl?"

  "Can do," she said.

  "And, look, tell her to get hold of every available work on counterfeitingand pile it on my desk."

  "Right. Thinking of going into business, Larry?"

  He grinned down at her. "That's the idea. Keeping up with the Jones clanin this man's town costs roughly twice my income."

  LaVerne said disapprovingly, "Then why not give it up? With theclassification