"Yes. Would you like to see my eyes?" Rair Brashnikov asked hopefully.
Chapter 30
Randal Rumpp learned that he was riding the largest elevator ever built straight to the center of the earth, as he was happily channel-hopping in the security of his Rumpp Tower office.
The electricity was back on. Lights shone, computers hummed, faxes spooled out unimportant transmissions, and the telephones rang and jangled insistently.
Everybody, it seemed, wanted to talk to Randal Rumpp. Just like in the long-ago eighties.
Best of all, the TV sets were working.
The early reports indicated that the Rumpp Regis had become "spectralized." Every channel was using the word, another source of pride.
"Gotta have it trademarked," Rumpp chuckled, "and charge those chumps for using it. This is great! I'm getting ink again. By Christmas, I should be a Barney's display."
It was so great, in fact, that he didn't pay any attention to the furious pounding on the creditor-control doors throughout the twenty-fourth floor.
What the hell are they using? Rumpp wondered. Their thick heads?
An American Networking Conglomerate news report answered the question, when Rumpp paused to check out the local ANC affiliate broadcast.
"At this hour," a reporter was saying, "the Rumpp Tower has been completely evacuated, except for the bankrupted developer himself, whom authorities believe is holed up on the twenty-fourth floor. Police spokesmen tell us that attempts are being made to batter down the doors. Meanwhile, a grand jury has handed down a seventeen-count indictment against Randal Tiberius Rumpp for criminal fraud."
Randal Rumpp jumped up from his chair, shouting.
"Fraud? Is that the best those jerks can come up with? Fraud! I can beat that crummy rap without my law firm. I didn't defraud anyone. I just exaggerated my involvement here and there. The worst they can nail me with is malicious mischief."
The reporter went on. "Adding to the sense of urgency is the bizarre fact that the Rumpp Tower appears to be settling."
"Settling!"
A live shot of the Rumpp Tower facade replaced the reporter's stern face. The brass lintel on which Randal Rumpp's name had been cast in gleaming letters was now at sidewalk level. The lower edges of the bold brass letters were bent and mangled from contact with the too-solid sidewalk.
Rumpp's astonished mouth imploded in an uncomprehending pucker.
"Settling?" he exploded. "I'm sinking! I'm headed straight for China!"
A voice-over added, "Scientists are unable to account for this latest phenomenon, but estimate that if it continues to settle at this present speed, the Rumpp Tower may be entirely underground by Thursday."
Randal Rumpp sat stupefied.
The pounding continued throughout the twenty-fourth floor.
The phone rang. Woodenly, Randal Rumpp picked it up.
"Yeah?" he said dully.
"Dahling . . ."
"Igoria?"
"Dahling, I am watching the news, and I see you are about to be arrested. How droll. Be sure to pack your toothbrush, and an extra set of those snug little monogrammed shorts."
"Igoria!" Rumpp bit out. "What do you want?"
"I was calling because I have a wonderful business opportunity for you, my pet."
Randal Rumpp blinked. Momentarily, he was caught off-guard. His better judgment invariably shut down when he smelled a deal in the air.
He made his voice sound disinterested. "Yeah. What?"
"Well, it seems there are these unhappy little S ou could pick up for a song."
"Yeah?"
"You could buy them all up and weld them into a superbank all your own."
Randal Rumpp perked up. "I could be my own bank. Make loans to myself. Interest-free loans. Duck payments when it suits me."
"Yes. And you could call them all BankRumpps. Because that's what you are, dahling." Tinkling laughter broke through the earpiece.
"Igoria," Randal Rumpp hissed, "you were only a trophy wife. You hear me? Just a trophy wife. I should have had you stuffed and mounted after the honeymoon!"
"Ta-ta, dahling. Give my best to Leona."
Rumpp hung up angrily. Down the hall, the pounding went on and on.
He stood up. Outside the window, a few blocks away, the ornate mass of masonry that was the Rumpp Regis looked the same as it always did. On the other hand the silvery skyscraper across the street, only a day before a single floor shorter than the Rumpp Tower, was now at least a head taller.
For the man who prided himself on being the biggest, boldest, and best at everything he did, it was a crushing blow to the outsized ego of Randal T. Rumpp.
"I'm ruined! I'm not only ruined, I'm sunk! Literally sunk!"
Rair Brashnikov listened to the American with the dead eyes. The American was not interested in seeing his Georgian face. This was unfortunate. It represented an opportunity for escape lost. For in order to remove the velcroseals of his helmet, they would have to release his hands. Long enough to reengage the vibration suit.
"Listen, you know how to stop the Rumpp Tower from sinking?" the American asked.
"I am not sure," Brashnikov said carefully, thinking perhaps a new opportunity was presenting itself.
"Then we have no further use for you," snapped the Oriental.
Brashnikov brightened. "Sinking? Of course I can help. But I must speak with Randal Rumpp first."
"Got a number for him?"
Brashnikov indicated the phone with an eager nod of his head. "Yes. Give me phone. I will happily make call."