The Invaders Plan by Ron Hubbard

Fleet rolls. He could be made to disappear without a trace and no questions asked. No, Jettero Heller was not smart in the dirty world of espionage and covert technology. In fact, (bleeping) dumb. Lombar would be proud of me. I had just wiped out the kidnapping. We could wipe out Heller. And I freely confess that at that moment I fully intended to drain off all the personal credit from it I could.
    I headed for the Fleet Officers' Club to pick up his kit.
Chapter 6
    My elation was very short-lived.
    The officers' club lay quietly in the warm daylight of a beautiful afternoon. The mountains around it gazed down benignly. Shrubs and flowers perfumed the gentle air.
    It was a trap!
    My driver parked the airbus before the main entrance. I trotted up the wide ramp with its inset views of beautiful females.
    The huge lobby was deserted except for one uniformed cleaner casually mopping up some spilled drinks. I went directly to the office counter and rapped my stick upon it. I am not a member, of course, and the gray-headed clerk, probably a retired enlisted man, went on pottering with his entry books.
    My gray General Services uniform was not likely to get much attention in this place. So I slapped my stick even harder against the counter. "Here, here, snap to attention," I said. He just went on working, I thought he must be deaf. And it was there I made my near-fatal error. I can't stand insolent underlings.
    "If you cannot give me some service," I yelled at him, "I shall have no choice but to report you!" No attention. So I shouted even louder, "I am here to pick up the baggage of Jettero Heller!" That got attention. He got right up, came right over. I thought for a moment that that was more like it. But he had his head down and was lifting his eyes at me in a peculiar way. In a voice fully as loud as I had used – and believe me these old spacemen can be heard a mile – he bawled, "Did you say you were here for the baggage of Jettero Heller?" And without the slightest pause, went right on. "You look like you are from the 'drunks'!" There was a slight noise in the lobby. I looked around. The equipment of the uniformed cleaner was still on the floor but the cleaner himself was gone.
    In a perfectly normal quiet voice, the clerk said, "Please fill out this form." He fiddled around under the counter and came up with some forms. He read some titles of them to himself. Bent down to look for some more. Brought those up and looked over their titles. My success so far this day must have curdled my wits.
    Despite all my training and experience in the Apparatus I did not recognize the routine ploy of just plain stalling.
    It was the breathing that alerted me. It was behind me.
    I whirled.
    Three young officers were standing there! One was in a bathrobe, another in swimming trunks, a third in a sport driver's helmet. And even as I faced them, five more officers came speeding in through various doors. That (bleeped) cleaner was rounding them up!
    I have seen glaring faces in my time but these topped it. Another young officer rushed down some stairs, carrying a sports club!
    The biggest of them, three feet from me, barked a command, "Get him!" They train you well in the Apparatus. In an instant, I wasn't there to get! I sprang up and back to the top of the counter. I threw the register straight in the first face!
    I was over the counter, behind it, driven by the hurricane of roaring fury from those young officers. Arms clawed for me. I threw a chair!
    They came over the counter like a tidal wave.
    A door on the right. I rushed through it. I was back into the main lobby. I measured my chances to get out the main entrance. But more officers were pouring in from the sports field!
    I will say this. I fought a valiant strategic withdrawal. I pitched plates and tables at them. I raced around chairs and spilled them in their way. I even threw vases, flowers and all! I only lasted as long as I did because there were so many trying to catch me! They