Hellstrom's Hive

“This is really a plum of a case we’re handing to Carlos,” Merrivale said. He touched his upper lip, brushing an imaginary mustache.

Carr, who was seated slightly behind Depeaux and facing Merrivale, noted the flush of sudden red at Depeaux’s neck. He didn’t like that obvious, pandering statement. The morning sun was shining in the window to Merrivale’s right, reflecting off the desk with a yellow brown underlight which imparted a saturnine cast to the operations director’s face.

“That movie-company front has got Peruge’s wind up, I must say,” Merrivale said. (Depeaux actually shuddered.)

Carr coughed to conceal a sudden hysterical desire to laugh aloud.

“Under the circumstances, we don’t dare go in and root them out, as I’m sure you can understand,” Merrivale said. “Not enough evidence in our kip. Your job, that. This movie front does offer one of our most promising points of entry, however.”

“What’s the subject matter of this film?” Janvert asked.

They all turned to look at him and Carr wondered why Eddie had interrupted. He seldom did that sort of thing casually. Was he fishing for some of the information behind Merrivale’s briefing?

“I thought I said,” Merrivale said. “Insects! They’re making a film about bloody insects. A bit of a surprise, that, when Peruge first mentioned it. I confess my own first guess was that they were making unsavory sex films and—ahhh, blackmailing someone in a sensitive position.”

Depeaux, sweating under a profound aversion to Merrivale’s bogus accent and manner, squirmed in his chair, resenting the interruption. Get on with it! he thought.

“I’m not sure I understand the sensitive conditions around Hellstrom’s operation,” Janvert said. “I’d thought the film would supply a clue.”

Merrivale sighed. Bloody nitpicker! He said, “Hellstrom is something of a madman on the subject of ecology. I’m sure you know how politically sensitive that subject is. There’s also the fact that he is employed as a consultant by several, I repeat, several persons of extremely powerful influence. I could name one senator and at least three congressmen. If we were to move frontally against Hellstrom, I’m sure the repercussions would be severe.”

“Ecology, eh,” Depeaux said, trying to get Merrivale back on track.

“Yes, ecology!” Merrivale made the word sound as though he wanted it to rhyme with sodomy. “The man has access to considerable sums of money, too, and we’d like to know about that.”

Depeaux nodded, said, “Let’s get back to that valley.”

“Yes, yes indeed,” Merrivale agreed. “You’ve all seen the map. This little valley’s been in Hellstrom’s family since his grandmother’s day. Trova Hellstrom, pioneer, widow, that sort of thing.”

Janvert rubbed a hand across his eyes. He was sure from Merrivale’s description of Trova Hellstrom that the intended picture was of a tiny “widow woman” fighting off attacking redskins from a blazing log cabin, her brats passing a bucket brigade behind her. The man was unbelievable.

“Here’s the map,” Merrivale said, extracting it from the papers on his desk. “Southeastern Oregon, right here.” He touched the map with a finger. “Guarded Valley. The closest civilization is this town here with the unlikely appellation of Fosterville.”

Carr wondered: Why an unlikely name? She glanced covertly at Janvert, but he was examining the palm of his right hand as though he had just found something fascinating in it.

“And they do all of their filming in this valley?” Depeaux asked.

“Oh, no!” Merrivale protested. “My God, Carlos. Didn’t you read enclosures R through W?”

“There were no such enclosures in my file,” Depeaux said.

“Bloody hell!” Merrivale said. “Sometimes, I wonder how we ever get anything done correctly in this establishment. Very well. I’ll give you mine. Briefly, Hellstrom and his camera crews and whatnot have been all over the bloody world: Kenya, Brazil, Southeast Asia, India—it’s all in here.” He tapped the papers on his desk. “You can see for yourself later.”

“And this Project 40?” Depeaux asked.

“That’s what attracted our attention,” Merrivale explained. “The pertinent papers were copied and the originals returned to where they were found. The Hellstrom aide subsequently returned for his papers, found them where he expected, took them, and departed. Their significance was not understood at the time. Purely routine. Our man on the library staff was curious, no more, but the curiosity became increasingly intense as the papers were bounced upstairs. Unfortunately, we’ve not had the opportunity to observe this particular Hellstrom aide since that moment. He apparently is keeping to the farm. It is our belief, however, that Hellstrom is unaware that we know about his little project.”

“The speculation seems a little like science fiction, more than a little fantastic,” Depeaux said.

Janvert nodded his agreement. Were those explicit suspicions the real reason the Agency was prying into Hellstrom’s affairs? Or was it possible that Hellstrom was merely developing a product that threatened one of the groups that actually paid most of the Agency’s expenses? You never knew in this business.

“Haven’t I heard of this Hellstrom before?” Carr asked. “Isn’t he the entomologist who came out against DDT when—”

“That’s the chap!” Merrivale said. “Pure fanatic. Now, here’s the farmstead plan, Carlos.”

So much for my question, Carr thought. She curled her legs under her in the wing chair, glanced openly at Janvert, who returned her stare with a grin. He’s just been playing with Merrivale, she realized, and he thinks I’m in the game.

Merrivale had a blueprint map on his desk now, unfolding it, indicating features on it with his long, sensitive fingers. “Barn here - outbuildings—main house. We have every reason to believe, as those reports indicate, that the barn is Hellstrom’s studio. Curious concrete structure here near the entrance gate. Can’t say what purpose it serves. Your job to find out.”

“And you don’t want us to go right in, nose around,” Depeaux said. He frowned at the blueprint map. This decision puzzled him. “The young woman who tried to get away—”

“Yes, that was March 20 last,” Merrivale said. “Porter saw her run from the barn. She got as far as the north gate here when she was apprehended by two men who came upon her from beyond the fence. Their point of origin was not determined. They did, however, return her to the barn-studio.”

“Porter’s account says these people weren’t wearing any clothes,” Depeaux said. “It seems to me that a report to the authorities giving a description of—”

“And we’d have had to explain why we were there, send our one man up against numerous Hellstrom accomplices, all of this in the presence of the new morality that permeates this society.”

You damned hypocrite! Carr thought. You know how the Agency uses sex for its own purposes.

Janvert leaned forward in his chair and said, “Merrivale, you’re holding something back in this case. I want to know what it is. We have Porter’s report, but he’s not here to amplify it. Is Porter available?” He sat back. “A simple yes or no will suffice.”

That’s a dangerous tack to take, Eddie, Carr thought. She watched Merrivale intently to measure his response.

“I can’t say I care for your tone, Shorty,” Merrivale said.

Depeaux leaned back, put a hand over his eyes.

“And I can’t say I care for your secrecy,” Janvert said. “We would like to know the things that are not in these reports.”

Depeaux dropped his hand, nodded. Yes, there were some things about this case . . .

“Impatience is not seemly in good agents,” Merrivale said. “However, I can understand your curiosity, and the need-to-know rule has not been applied in this case. Peruge was specific on that. What has our wind up, as it were, is not just this Project 40 thing, but the accumulation of items, the indications that Hellstrom’s film activities are actually (he pronounced it exshooly, and once more for emphasis)—actually a cover for serious and highly subversive political activities.”

Bullshit! Janvert thought.

“How serious?” Carr asked.

“Well—Hellstrom has been nosing around the Nevada atomic-testing area. He conducts entomological researches, as well, you see. His films are offered under the guise of documentary productions. He has had atomic materials for his so-called researches and—”

“Why so-called?” Janvert asked. “Isn’t it possible he’s just what he—”

“Impossible!” Merrivale snorted. “Look, it’s really all in the reports here. Observe especially the indications that Hellstrom and his people may be interested in forming some sort of new communal society. It’s quite provocative. He and his film crew live that sort of life wherever they go—off to themselves, clubby—and their preoccupation with the emerging African nations, the numerous visits to the Nevada testing area, the ecology thing with its highly inflammatory nature, the—”

“Communist?” Carr interrupted.

“It’s—ahhh—possible.”

Janvert said, “Where’s Porter?”

“That - ahh—” Merrivale pulled at his chin. “That’s a bit sticky. I’m sure you understand the delicacy of our position in all of—”

“I don’t understand it,” Janvert said. “What’s happened to Porter?”

“That’s one of the things we hope Carlos can ascertain,” Merrivale said.

Depeaux turned a speculative look on Janvert, returned his attention to Merrivale, who had sunk back into apparent concentration on the blueprint map.

“Porter’s missing?” Depeaux asked.

“Somewhere around this farm,” Merrivale said. He looked up as though just noticing Depeaux. “Presumably.”