Atlas Shrugged

Three of the four men who entered were muscular figures in military uniforms, each with two guns on his hips, with broad faces devoid of shape and eyes untouched by perception. The fourth, their leader, was a frail civilian with an expensive overcoat, a neat mustache, pale blue eyes and the manner of an intellectual of the public-relations species.

He blinked at Galt, at the room, made a step forward, stopped, made another step and stopped.

"Yes?" said Galt.

"Are . . . are you John Galt?" he asked too loudly.

"That's my name."

"Are you the John Galt?"

"Which one?"

"Did you speak on the radio?"

"When?"

"Don't let him fool you." The metallic voice was Dagny's and it was addressed to the leader. "He—is—John—Galt. I shall report the proof to headquarters. You may proceed."

Galt turned to her as to a stranger. "Will you tell me now just who you are and what it was that you wanted here?"

Her face was as blank as the faces of the soldiers. "My name is Dagny Taggart. I wanted to convince myself that you are the man whom the country is seeking,"

He turned to the leader. "All right," he said. "I am John Galt—but if you want me to answer you at all, keep your stool pigeon"—he pointed at Dagny—"away from me."

"Mr. Galt!" cried the leader with the sound of an enormous joviality.

"It is an honor to meet you, an honor and a privilege! Please, Mr. Galt, don't misunderstand us—we're ready to grant you your wishes—no, of course, you don't have to deal with Miss Taggart, if you prefer not to —Miss Taggart was only trying to do her patriotic duty, but—"

"I said keep her away from me."

"We're not your enemies, Mr. Galt, I assure you we're not your enemies." He turned to Dagny. "Miss Taggart, you have performed an invaluable service to the people. You have earned the highest form of public gratitude. Permit us to take over from here on." The soothing motions of his hands were urging her to stand back, to keep out of Galt's sight.

"Now what do you want?" asked Galt.

"The nation is waiting for you, Mr. Galt. All we want is a chance to dispel misapprehensions. Just a chance to co-operate with you." His gloved hand was waving a signal to his three men; the floorboards creaked, as the men proceeded silently to the task of opening drawers and closets; they were searching the room. "The spirit of the nation will revive tomorrow morning, Mr. Galt, when they hear that you have been found."

"What do you want?"

"Just to greet you in the name of the people."

"Am I under arrest?"

"Why think in such old-fashioned terms? Our job is only to escort you safely to the top councils of the national leadership, where your presence is urgently needed." He paused, but got no answer. "The country's top leaders desire to confer with you—just to confer and to reach a friendly understanding."

The soldiers were finding nothing but garments and kitchen utensils; there were no letters, no books, not even a newspaper, as if the room were the habitation of an illiterate.

"Our objective is only to assist you to assume your rightful place in society, Mr. Galt. You do not seem to realize your own public value."

"I do."

"We are here only to protect you."

"Locked!" declared a soldier, banging his fist against the laboratory door.

The leader assumed an ingratiating smile. "What is behind that door, Mr. Galt?"

"Private property."

"Would you open it, please?"

"No."

The leader spread his hands out in a gesture of pained helplessness.

"Unfortunately, my hands are tied. Orders, you know. We have to enter that room."

"Enter it."

"It's only a formality, a mere formality. There's no reason why things should not be handled amicably. Won't you please co-operate?"

"I said, no."

"I'm sure you wouldn't want us to resort to any . . . unnecessary means." He got no answer. "We have the authority to break that door down, you know—but, of course, we wouldn't want to do it." He waited, but got no answer. "Force that lock!" he snapped to the soldier.

Dagny glanced at Galt's face. He stood impassively, his head held level, she saw the undisturbed lines of his profile, his eyes directed at the door. The lock was a small, square plate of polished copper, without keyhole or fixtures.

The silence and the sudden immobility of the three brutes were involuntary, while the burglar's tools in the hands of the fourth went grating cautiously against the wood of the door.

The wood gave way easily, and small chips fell down, their thuds magnified by the silence into the rattle of a distant gun. When the burglar's jimmy attacked the copper plate, they heard a faint rustle behind the door, no louder than the sigh of a weary mind. In another minute, the lock fell out and the door shuddered forward the width of an inch.

The soldier jumped back. The leader approached, his steps irregular like hiccoughs, and threw the door open. They faced a black hole of unknown content and unrelieved darkness.

They glanced at one another and at Galt; he did not move; he stood looking at the darkness.