Or the World Will Die

X

On the seventh day I walked into the hotel lobby at twenty minutes after two. Alice was, as usual, in the far corner. She wasn’t reading, her book folded and forgotten by her side. She stood up as I approached.

“He phoned. L went by at two.”

We walked out together. She crossed the street and walked down the other side, headed for the cafe where she could see the entrance to The Hut. I walked to The Hut and changed a dollar into nickels when I saw that one of the two pinball machines was unoccupied at the moment.

It was a machine where the object was to hit certain bumpers which would illuminate the letters of various girl’s names on the back-board. When one name was completed and you managed to send one of the balls through a slot at the bottom of the board on which that name was printed, you received varying amounts of free replays. With the play on the first nickel I developed a little habit of watching the ball come down with my head tilted to one side. In that way I was able to keep the magazine rack under constant observation.

There is a code among players of pinball machines that you never step in and take over a machine when the player is getting more nickels. You must wait until he indicates that he has no more urge to squander his funds.

Very few people stopped by the magazine rack. Whenever one did, and I was forced to take my eyes away from him for a few seconds. I waited until he had gone and then walked up to the cash register and purchased more nickels. In that way, as I returned to the machine, evidently counting my change, I could take a quick look at the fragment of thread over the magazines that had attracted Lessault. I had given up the idea of looking for any alteration on the cover of the magazines. Other than a corner bent sharply over, any alteration would have been invisible not only to me, but also to Lessault. If any device was used, it had to be the thread, and I was more doubtful each moment about the correctness of our guesses.

If I had attempted to merely loaf in the place, I would have become conspicuous. But the playing of pinball machines is said to be a mania bordering on an actual psychosis. As an avid and tireless player, I attracted no attention whatsoever. A true pinball machine fanatic who. happens to be playing when a fire breaks out, must be blindfolded and led quietly out into the street and restrained from dashing back in to finish his current nickel’s worth.

After seventy or eighty plays I began to get the necessary skill so that I began to win replays, thus cutting the expense. But I had to be careful not to be too skillful or too lucky or I would pile up a reserve bank of free replays which would have made it impossible for me to logically go and obtain change, thus inspecting the magazine rack as I walked by.

As the hours went by, I became more and more convinced of the absurdity of our reasoning, more and more certain that we had banked too much on Lessault’s appearance of being unworried.

There was a slow and constant stream of customers for liquor, cigarettes, magazines. By the time I was seven dollars in the hole, Karl wandered in. We had agreed that he had better speak to me, as there was a good possibility that we had been seen together. He put his hand on my shoulder and said, “He’ll be out in a half hour.” I nodded and he walked back out of the place.

Two men stopped by the magazine stand during the next few minutes. They both took magazines out, looked at them for a time and shoved them back onto the rack. One was a small rancher type, elderly, with a seamed tanned face. The other was tall, young, bulky, with an upturned nose that the sun had blistered.

When the second one had left, I went and procured more nickels from the clerk at the cash register. As I turned back toward the machine I saw that the thread was gone. I dropped a nickel and it rolled up close to the rack. I stooped and picked it up, stood by the rack apparently looking at the change in the palm of my hand. Actually I was examining the lengths of wire spring to see if the thread had been moved. It was nowhere on the rack. I walked to the machine and began to play again. Rancher and Rednose. One or the other. It could still be a coincidence that the thread was gone, but the timing of it reduced the odds. The timing was too good. My doubts began to fade away. I played the machine and kept an eye on the rack as well as I could.

Fifteen minutes went by. I glanced over. Rednose was by the rack again. We were in. He had a magazine in his hand. I caught a glimpse of the distinctive cover. He slid it back into the rack and, as he did so, his thick fingers brushed the wire spring. I shot the last three balls in the machine at once, turned to a pimply kid who had been my spectator for the last hour and said, “That finishes me. I can’t win on this thing.” He grinned and slid around toward the slot, his nickel ready in his hand. I strolled over to the liquor counter and leaned against it.

We had made alternate plans. One was going to be easy, the other difficult. Rednose sighed and moved slowly back into the store. He had picked the tough plan for us. Ten minutes before Lessault would get out of the show.

I walked slowly up to the magazine stand, saw the familiar thread fastened in a new place, fastened where the bulky one’s fingers had brushed the wire. I pulled out the top magazine from behind the wire. I looked at the cover and then turned to the inside page and read the table of contents. Still reading it, I blundered over to the counter and laid down five nickels, turned to the door and walked out.

I folded the magazine and walked quickly down the dark sidewalk. There were lots of people on the street, walking slowly, the tall tanned women from the valley, the soft-spoken men. I walked quickly. An alley cut off the right, a half block from The Hut. I turned into it and leaned against the near wall, in the deep shadow. In seconds Rednose appeared in the alley entrance, peering uncertainly into the gloom. As his eyes adjusted, he moved closer to me. He said, “Mister, you just buy a magazine?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I was looking at it. I figure maybe I left a letter in it by accident. Let me see it a second.”

I stepped back as he reached for the folded magazine. He was off balance. I slashed him hard, under the ear, with the back edge of my hand, caught him as he fell and pulled him further into the shadows. Possibly five minutes left. He had a small automatic in an armpit holster. I pulled it out and threw it underhand about forty feet down the alley. I stepped leisurely into the lighter area of the sidewalk and walked as rapidly as I dared into a drugstore between the alley and The Hut. I sat at the counter and ordered a coke. The subscription blank in the back of the magazine had been torn out and wedged back into place. I pulled it free and looked at it.

On the reverse side, in faint pencil, were the words, in French, “All is well. Courage.”

I erased the faint words and substituted, “Great danger! Must see you. Follow guide. Help him.”

I shoved the card into my pocket, left the magazine on the counter and walked out. I walked quickly up to The Hut, slowed my pace as I walked in. Karl had taken the chance that we had estimated. The Buick was parked a few feet from the entrance, two cars closer than the government car. He had backed it in against the curb, left the motor running. He was behind the wheel.

Lessault was at the magazine rack, the beefy guard leaning in his familiar spot against the counter, sleepy and alert. Before I could get closer to the rack, Lessault pulled out one of the magazines from under the wire, turned and reached into his pocket for the money. I reached into my pocket and took out the folded subscription card, concealing it in my palm. As I walked by Lessault I let the card flutter to the floor. It was a dangerous move, but our timing had been off. I had wasted too much time with Rednose. Lessault saw the pink card flutter down and we both bent over to pick it up at the same moment. When our heads were close together I whispered in his language, “Read it now!”

I had to admire his nerve. His face showed no change whatsoever. I got the card and handed it to him as we both stood up. He said, “Thank you, monsieur,” and flicked his eyes across the card as he turned toward the counter. Anyone who hadn’t been looking for it wouldn’t have noticed the fraction of a second of complete stillness, complete pause, that struck him. It was as though he had ceased to breathe, as though his heart had ceased to beat. It lasted barely long enough for me to notice. He put his money on the counter had turned slowly toward the door, the guard at his heels.

I walked out behind the guard, smiling casually at him as he threw me a sharp look over his shoulder. Something in the procedure had alerted him, had caused him to smell danger. I saw it in his eyes, in the sudden deepness of the lines around his mouth. The chance was now so great, that for a moment I considered discarding the plan, waiting until the following week when we could give Lessault more detailed instructions. But Rednose had seen me. We could no longer work in the open. The entire opposition would be alerted. The direct action had prejudiced our security. All these thoughts passed through my mind as Lessault and the guard walked the few feet from the entrance of The Hut to our waiting car.

As I jumped the guard, he sensed the attack and half turned. My knuckles missed the nerve center at the base of his skull and glanced harmlessly off the side of his thick neck. I heard the slap of his right hand hit the worn leather holster and the knowledge of danger gave me new strength. He shouted hoarsely and behind us a woman screamed. I had no choice. I drove my knee into his groin, grabbed the gun wrist with my left hand, and, as he doubled over in agony, I straightened him up with a right uppercut that sent needles of pain all the way up my arm to the shoulder. His gun clattered metallically on the sidewalk as he fell. The door of the Buick was open. I shoved Lessault toward it, wrestling him in, climbing in after him. The car was under way before I could slam the door. Karl roared out into the traffic. Over the noise of the motor I heard the shouts behind us. Karl screamed the tires as he turned off the main street to the right. He kept it in second gear. Beside me I could hear the hoarse breathing of Lessault. Karl yanked the car around another corner and clicked the lights on. He dropped it into high gear as we straightened out and let it climb up to seventy. At the south edge of town he slammed on the brakes, cut the lights and knifed into a dark parking space between two trucks. He cut the motor and we sat in silence. There were no pedestrians in that part of town. I heard a siren, growing louder and then fading away. We were safe for a time.

“You took a great risk, monsieur,” Lessault said, his voice tight and frightened.

“There is a great deal at stake.” I said.

“But of course. What is the danger spoken of? I do not remember seeing you, monsieur. Who are you?”

“I was sent to help,” I said. “These with me. They are also new.” Karl and Alice, as instructed, remained silent. Karl sat behind the wheel. Alice sat on the other side of Lessault.

He asked again, “What is the danger?”

“It concerns Irene,” I said.

His lean fingers dug into my arm. “What has happened?” he gasped.

“That must be discussed later.”

“Take me to her!” he demanded.

I said to Karl, “Have we a blind-hold for monsieur?”

Karl flicked open the glove compartment. Lessault said angrily, “Do not waste the time. A blindfold is ridiculous. Am I not one of you?”

“Reasons of security,” I said smoothly. “If you do not know where Irene is kept, you will not be able to tell.”

“But I do know and I have not told,” he said hotly.

“Do you mean that the stupid pigs gave you that information? I do not believe it. Prove it to me and we will not take the time to blindfold you and drive over a confusing route.”

He said, “Old Ingram. Cross the bridge and go up the hill. Take the second right and the ranch is at the end of the dirt road.”

“He seems to know,” I said with surprise.

“Stop talking and let us go,” he demanded.

Karl started the motor, backed out and drove slowly back the way we had come, heading out the road to Ingram. Lessault didn’t speak again and I didn’t wish to arouse his suspicions with indirect questions. At Ingram we turned left, went through the town of Old Ingram, crossed the low concrete bridge and went up the hill, taking the second right. It was a narrow dirt road about a mile long. At last the headlights hit a stout gate across the road. Under any other circumstances I would have planned more carefully, but the time factor had made it necessary to add an element of recklessness to our plans. Our hope was to find the girl inadequately guarded and to take her back with us and with Lessault. With his daughter restored to him, he would no longer have an excuse to keep from working. It was a blind chance, but, as I saw it, our only one.

Karl drove the car boldly up to the gate. A man behind the gate blinked into the headlights, opened one side of the gate and walked out to the car. He held a gun in his hand. The headlights glinted on it.

He stopped ten feet from the window at Karl’s elbow and said, “Who is it?”

“We brought Lessault,” Karl said in a bored tone.

“Wait a minute. Nobody told me that...”

“Come take a look and get those damn gates open.”

The man stepped closer to the car, yanking a flashlight out of his pants pocket. He flashed the beam into the car, across Karl’s face and then into the back seat. The beam paused for a second on Alice’s face and then swiveled over to Lessault’s. The man stepped the necessary two feel closer and the light disappeared abruptly as Karl sapped him. The man bounced off the side of the car as he fell, and, next to me, Lessault stiffened. He said, “What was...”

“Shut up,” I said. I clamped my fingers over his lean wrist and patted his clothes. No weapon. Karl jumped out, swung the gates wide and kicked the man out of the way. He slid under the wheel again and we drove slowly up the narrow lane to the small ranch house. It was long and low with a rough rock face. The lights shining through the windows made cheerful orange rectangles against the night.

Karl swung around in the yard and pulled on the brake, leaving the car pointed toward the gate. He handed me the 38 special from the glove compartment. He left the motor running. I saw the silhouette of Lessault’s profile against the house lights. I slapped his jaw with the barrel of the 38 and he started to slide off onto the floor. I shoved him over onto the seat and climbed out. Alice sat behind the wheel, a little 32 automatic in her lap, ready to start the car rolling. I walked to the front door of the ranch house while Karl stood in the shadows and covered me.

I wrapped smartly on the door, stepped back a bit as I heard footsteps coming toward me, through the house.

The door opened and a tall man with glasses, thin, fiftyish, stood in the doorway and looked at me with a confused expression. I showed him the gun and he stepped back in alarm.

“Back up slowly and quietly. I’m coming in,” I said in a half whisper.

He held his hands the same way a dog holds its paws when it sits up. He licked his lips and backed into the hallway. I heard Karl’s footsteps as he approached the door. I stood in the hall and held the gun on the thin man while Karl took a quick look into the room to the left of the hallway. He crossed behind me and flattened out against the wall. He gestured with his head toward the room on the right. There was a closed door at the far end of the hallway.

I said to the thin man, “Walk into that room and cross quickly to the far wall. Stand with your back to it and your palms against your thighs. Quick!”

He turned and practically ran into the room, with me close behind him. Karl was covering me from the doorway. A man sat at a desk set at the far end of the narrow, paneled room.

He was a small man with short black hair and the round pink face of a cherub. His eyes were baby blue, and he wore a sport shirt which matched his eyes. His lips were full, pouting. His knuckles were dimpled and the black hair grew thickly on his round white forearms. I held the gun on him and saw his eyes widen a fraction of an inch and then return to normal. He smiled with a look of condescention, as though we were children playing cops and robbers.

I said, “Keep your hands flat on the top of the desk.”

He said, with a marked accent, “I was afraid you would interfere, Mr. Grews.”

As always, my face showed nothing, but I felt the alarm deep inside me, knotting my throat. “You know me.”

“For many years, Crews. The man who killed Quinn was reprimanded. With a knowledge of your... your psychology, it was my thought that Quinn would be unsuccessful in trying to employ you. But something was gained. Quinn’s replacement is, shall I say, a bit more to our liking.”

My mind raced over the fragmentary descriptions of the men who, during the years before the war had turned political and military espionage into a fine art. The accent was French. Guizot!

“This is the first time I have had the pleasure of meeting you, Monsieur Guizot.”

He showed no flicker of surprise. “Once we almost met, you and I, Crews. During the occupation of Paris.”

“The pleasure has been long delayed. It would be pleasant to reminisce, but we are here on business. I want Madamoiselle Lessault.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Indeed! And for what purpose?”

He was trying to delay and I felt a tingling sensation in the back of my neck that told me it was unhealthy to delay.

He continued, “And if I should refuse?”

I took a step toward him. I heard glass tinkle behind me. I spun as two shots sounded, deafening in the small room. Karl turned toward me and he had a small, shy grin on his wide, homely face. He reached up to his throat, touching his fingers to the blood that spouted in a thick red stream. He went heavily over onto his face, his gun spinning as it slid across the floor.

There was a smashing pain in my right forearm, and a shoulder hit me, driving me back toward the wall. By the time I recovered my balance, Guizot, who had come from behind the desk with incredible rapidity, stood holding the gun I had dropped. His thick lips still wore the same sweet smile. The night was hot, but his pale blue shirt was untouched with sweat.

“That was rather clumsy, Crews. Be so kind as to sit in that chair and lock your fingers at the nape of your neck.” He stepped quickly over and picked up Karl’s gun, handed it to the thin man who took it with nerveless and fumbling fingers.

A man appeared in the doorway. Rednose. He held a gun in his hand. He looked down at Karl’s body and then looked over at me. He said to Guizot, “I had to make it for keeps. The guy was too fast with that gun he had. I felt the wind from his shot. And sweetheart over there on the chair is the one who popped me in the alley.”

“How about their car?” Guizot asked.

“There was a babe in it and the doc was sleeping it off in the back. Sam took the girl and now he’s waking up the doc.”

I sat and thought that nothing else could possibly go wrong, and at the same time I prayed that they would keep Alice outside, that they wouldn’t let her walk in and see Karl’s body on the floor, the blood spreading across the boards. Yet, she had heard the shots, and she would know, somehow...

Rednose walked over and perched a fat haunch on the corner of the desk. He smiled amiably at me. Lessault appeared in the doorway, his face white as death, holding onto the doorframe for support. The mark of my pistol barrel was a livid welt across his jaw. His eyes flamed as he saw me.

He looked down at Karl, swallowed visibly and stepped carefully around the body. He slumped into a chair near where the thin man was standing, holding Karl’s gun awkwardly. Lessault looked up at the thin man and said, “Hello, Wing.”

I almost started in surprise. I should have known. Wing, the missing one. Then I realized that even if I had known, there was nothing I could have done. The gun in his hand was evidence that he wasn’t being held against his will. I remembered his blonde dipso of a wife, and saw why the bellhop had thought them mis-mated.

Alice came through the doorway. She stood and looked steadily down at Karl. His body had settled against the floor in that peculiar limpness that tells of death. Flaccid, inert, forever still.

She merely looked down at him, motionless, and when the man who came through the door behind her pushed her gently, she continued on into the room. She held her head high and a thin line of blood ran down from the lip she had bitten quite through as she had stared at him. I guessed that the second man was the one called Sam. He had sharply aquiline features and a wary alertness about him. I recognized him as the one who had talked to the cab driver while I watched from the nearby corner, a hundred years ago and a million miles away.

Lessault said, in a rapid spurt of nasal French, “Where is my daughter, Guizot?”

“Up in her room.”

“Get her, please. I wish to see that she is unharmed.”

“Why would she be harmed?” Guizot asked languidly. He turned to Sam. “Get Irene,” he said in English. Sam went quietly out into the hall.

She came back with him and she was as Alice had described her, a female edition of her father, with something indescribably feline about her. Her mouth was formed by damp lipstick into a geometric rectangle.

She stepped around Karl’s body and said, “This is exceedingly nasty.” She nodded casually at her father and smiled at Guizot. Wing coughed nervously. Guizot walked back and sat behind his desk. Sam leaned against the door frame. Rednose stayed perched on the edge of the desk. My chair was off to the right of the desk. Irene Lessault sat not far from me. Alice stood near the wall a few feet from Wing. Lessault sat the other side of Wing and carefully refrained from looking toward Karl’s body in the doorway.

Guizot said, “We have a small problem here which we must face. How did this happen, Lessault?”

Lessault told them as much as he knew. Added to Rednose’s story, Guizot had the entire picture. He turned to me and said, “Just the three of you?”

“There are others,” I said quietly.

I looked at Alice. She had the expression of a sleepwalker. Guizot put his elbows on the desk and balanced his chin on his fists. He stared steadily at me. Then he shrugged and turned to Lessault. “The two of them must be killed,” he said quietly, “and buried with the body of the other. Tonight. Then we must find a new base from which to operate.” Alice didn’t move. I don’t believe she heard. The Lessault girl gasped.

Dr. Wing said, in a rusty voice, “Is that necessary?”

“Quite,” Guizot said.

“For the country,” Lessault said.

France! I couldn’t believe it. My mind raced. Surely not France. If so, it was evident that Lessault had been seduced by delusions of patriotism, and that his daughter had played along for the sake of the excitement. And possibly something else, judging by the way she looked at Guizot.

There was no mistaking the finality in Guizot’s tone. I had to take a small chance. I smiled at Lessault. I spoke rapidly in French. “For what country, monsieur? Surely you know that Guizot is a traitor to France, that he hates France, that he helped the Germans during the occupation, betraying your brave countrymen?”

Lessault started violently and Guizot said calmly, “All lies, my friend.”

I could see by Lessault’s face that I had rattled him. “He lies nicely, monsieur. I hope you are not inadvertently betraying France by helping him. After the war, this cow, Guizot, fled to Spain and joined the remnants of the German General Staff. He plans that he can delay your work here until Spain is ready to rule the world.”

Lessault jumped up and walked toward the desk. Guizot said sharply, “Control yourself, Lessault!”

Unexpected aid came from the daughter. She said, “Papa, what difference would it make? France is degenerate. Spain will provide our new life.” Guizot would never have betrayed that I had made an amazingly accurate guess. He had made the mistake of confiding his dreams to Irene Lessault.

I laughed loudly and Alice turned her head slowly and looked at me with dull eyes. I said, “Two great physicists! One a traitor to his country and the other a murderer of his wife.”

Wing turned startled eyes on me. He gasped, “No!”

“Who killed your little blonde drunken wife if you didn’t, Dr. Wing.”

He stammered, “But this! I did this to get money for her! I couldn’t tell her about it. She would have gotten drunk and told someone. With the money she can be cured!”

“She’s dead, Dr. Wing,” I said soberly. “Probably Guizot had her killed so that there would be no danger of her talking. The New Orleans police said her white throat was slashed from ear to ear.”

Wing gave me an embarrassed smile. He had been pointing Karl’s gun toward the floor. He turned it toward the desk, lifting it. Guizot shouted in a shrill voice. The man by the door slammed a shot at Wing. Wing stumbled and fell, landing on both knees. He lifted the gun again, Karl’s automatic, holding it in both thin white hands, his eyes shut, pumping on the trigger as the shattering series of explosions ripped the room. I rolled off the chair.

Wing caught the second slug in the back of the head and went violently over onto his face with the impact, hitting the floor heavily. Karl’s gun skidded under the desk.

Rednose stood by the desk and then slowly lowered himself to the floor, a spreading stain on his shirt. From my position on the floor I glanced up at Irene Lessault. She still sat on the chair, but she was hunched over, coughing violently. With each cough, bright bubbles of blood broke on her lips and her eyes protruded. One cough, more violent than the rest, toppled her off the chair and she lay on her side on the floor, still coughing, but the sounds grew weaker each second.

Lessault dropped heavily on his knees beside her. I sat up and looked at Guizot. He sat behind the desk, a small smile on his thick lips, his blue eyes alert. His dimpled fingers were on the desk blotter, touching the butt of the gun he had taken from me. Between his eyes, just above the bridge of his nose was a round dark hole surrounded by a thin pink edge of raw flesh. He sat smiling, looking toward the far wall of the room, looking through the spot where Wing had been standing.

Alice still stood, looking at what had been Karl.

The man called Sam, the one who had worn the green coat in New York, walked into the center of the room. The silence was like a dark blanket. I could hear the insects singing outside. Irene Lessault had stopped coughing.

Sam said, “God!” He looked at Guizot, at Rednose, at Wing and at Lessault kneeling by the body of his daughter. Unconscious of the pathetic inadequacy of his words, he said, again, “God!” A man in a thick trance, the gun with which he had killed Wing still in his hand. The room was sharp with the smell of powder, of blood.

But when I made a try for the gun near Guizot’s dead fingers. Sam came out of the trance and motioned me back against the wall. Lessault turned a streaked face to me and said, in a tone of utter surprise, “She’s dead!”

“Shut up,” Sam snarled, his hand tight on the gun. He scooped up my gun from the desk and slipped it into the side pocket of his light jacket. As though thinking aloud, he said, “You seen me kill Wing. Two famous guys I’ve knocked off. Brinker and Wing. Charlie there missed when he tried to kill Hurz.” He looked pale. “Mister, I got to give it to you too. I got to!” It was as though he was apologizing to me. I could see that fear made him more dangerous in his way than Guizot had been.

He was close to me. I said, “Don’t kill the girl and I can give you a break. In a few minutes... Let me check the time.” I lowered my right hand toward the chain which disappeared into my watch pocket. He didn’t stop me. I pulled the miniature Kolibri out and pumped two shots into his face and throat as I fell sideways. The little gun made a noise like a cap pistol. A heavy shot from his gun slammed into the wall where I had been standing. I rolled across the floor, scrambling to confuse his aim. There was no need. He took two quick steps toward the wall, pressed his face against it and slid quietly down it.

It was like leaving with two people in a deep dream. Lessault hung back and I had to yank him along. Alice walked as erect and silent as an ivory statue. I got them into the car, Lessault in the back and Alice in front. I bent over the man in the dirt by the gate. Karl had hit him too enthusiastically. The bones in his temple moved under my fingertips. I threw him over my shoulder and trotted back to the house with him.

I stopped the car for a moment at the brink of the hill before we crossed the bridge. I glanced back. The night sky was crimsoned with the light of the burning ranch house. Alice said Karl’s name softly.

We parked outside Junction and I talked to Lessault, trying to make him understand. He came out of his lethargy long enough to admit that he had been a fool, to admit that he could make up for betraying everything in the world that he loved by continuing his work. He hated himself, but he hated the dead Guizot more. He promised and I believed him. I let him out at the foot of the road going in toward the Project Area, watched him walk away into the night.