Rebel in Time

Chapter 6

Nigger! Colonel McCulloch said as the door closed behind Lieutenant Harmon's back. He breathed the word so quietly that it could not have been heard a foot away, but there was still a terrible viciousness to its sound.

I almost called him that, he thought, almost said it out loud. But I didn't — and that's what counts. He irritated me, that's what he did, got under my skin. The bastard couldn't have bugged me more if he had been doing it on purpose…

He stopped, frozen at the thought, then turned to the window. Watching the lieutenant emerge from the building and climb into his jeep. Was there any chance — any slight chance — that it could have been done on purpose? Were they finally on to him? Twice in the last two weeks he had suspected that he was being followed, but neither time had he been able to make sure. Each time that he had driven away from his normal route the car that he had spotted behind his had turned off. But that meant nothing. Two or three cars in radio contact could easily leapfrog one another and trail him without his knowledge, And his house — when was it — four days ago, when he had had the feeling that someone had been there, that papers had been moved. No real evidence; just the sensation that things had been taken out and put back. All three of the matchsticks had been in place, in the front and back doors, and the one into the garage. Yet he had still felt that someone had been there.

Or was he getting just a little bit paranoid with the deadline so close? No, he had better be paranoid, that was the only way to stay ahead in any matter involving security. Believe that the worst was going to happen — then take every precaution to see that it didn't.

So — what if someone had been in his house? What if he had been followed and they now knew he had been buying gold? What would their next step be? The answer to that one was very obvious; he had been involved in this sort of operation often enough himself. The normal procedure would be to initiate an in-depth investigation of the suspect. And to have an operative meet him under some excuse or another. There was a chillness on the back of his neck at the thought; he rubbed it unconsciously. Could this jig lieutenant have been the one? Could the investigation of Chucho just have been a front for the real reason — which was getting into this office, getting to talk to him? Well, why not? Maybe the black boy was smarter than he had looked.

But it doesn't matter, he said to himself, it doesn't matter at all. He was just going to have to forget that it had ever happened. Even if his suspicions were true there was nothing at all he could do about it. He had to act normal, he must follow routine. There were only a few days to go now. He must not do a thing to draw any further attention to himself. He had to make a positive effort not to vary his lifestyle in any way. It was almost time and he was not going to let any hitches occur at this late date. If all that they had were suspicions, why fine, let them have them. As long as they could be kept at bay until it was too late for them to do a thing.

McCulloch turned sharply away from the window and sat down at his desk. He had a dinner date this evening and he was going to keep it, whether he felt like it or not. But he was going to make one improvement; he smiled at the thought while he dialled the number.

'Marianne, is that you? Right, Wes here. All set for dinner this evening? How's the appetite? It is? Best news ever. Listen, instead of knockwurst at the Old Europe one more time, what do you say to a decent steak at The Jockey Club? You say yes? I thought you would. And I liked that squeak of joy. Of course it's expensive — but have I ever denied you a thing? I'll call now for reservations. Seven on the dot. If I don't call you back it's all set. See you there. In the bar.'

He made the reservations, then spent the rest of the afternoon doing mind-numbing paperwork, keeping doggedly at it until exactly six o'clock. Discipline, that's what made all of the difference. Plus the fact that staying at work filled his mind and prevented him from worrying.

As he went through the offices checking that the lights were all turned off, he saw that most of the staff had gone home. One of the typewriters had been left uncovered, and he called out to the girls who were just going out the door.

'Whose machine is this?'

The three of them turned around, looking at him silently, until Daisy finally spoke up.

'That's mine, that one there.'

That moronic little bitch. 'Haven't I spoken to you before about leaving the machines uncovered at night?'

'Yeah. So I forgot.'

'Did you? In that case there will be five dollars docked from your next pay envelope for causing excessive wear and tear on government property, by permitting it to be exposed to overnight dust. Do you think that will help you remember?'

'You can't do that!' she squealed.

'I've just done it.'

That might make some impression on her dim little brain. She would complain to the union about it, but that wouldn't be his problem. He watched them leave, then turned off the lights and locked up. He hummed to himself as he drove back to the District.

He was just sipping on a second drink when Marianne came in. He signalled to the bartender.

'Another one of these for the lady.'

'Bombay martini on the rocks with a twist. On the way, sir.'

Marianne swept up, smiling, wearing something long and silky, cut fascinatingly low in the front. She put her cheek against his, she knew how he hated the taste and feel of lipstick, then made a kissing sound in the air.

'You look a million in that dress,' he said. 'Something new?'

'No. But this is my super-special, only once-a-year dress. Your call really knocked me over. The Jockey Club, wow! I checked out early and went home, to change. A special occasion, special dress.' They clinked glasses and she took a deep swig from hers and laughed. 'Honestly, Wes, I don't think I'll ever figure you out.'

'Then don't try.'

'We go out, have fun, no complaints. But then all of a sudden out of left field you come up with this.' She waved her hand in a circle. 'And this must be the most expensive place in town.'

'One of them. Don't worry. It goes on the credit card.' He burst out laughing at that, for no reason that she could tell, but she smiled and laughed along with him. This was going to be an evening to remember.

It was, in every way. When she couldn't make up her mind between the steak and the lobster he ordered her a surf-and-turf, then a bottle of French champagne which, as he explained, was the only wine that could possibly go with both dishes. She had a quick look at the price of the wine and couldn't believe it. Maybe she had been wrong about Wes, that he really did like her more than just as a fun date. Stranger things had happened in Washington before. When the crêpes suzette were served she was so full that she could only peck at hers, but watching them being made was exciting, with all the brandy burning and everything.

'Happy?' he asked as he lit one of the black cheroots he had been smoking of late. She laughed and reached out and squeezed his hand.

'That's too tiny a word for it. I don't think I ever enjoyed a meal more. Not since I've been in Washington.'

'Didn't you eat this well back in St Louis?'

'Are you kidding? In St Louis if it's not a steak as big as a manhole cover, why then it's not a meal. I was almost a vegetarian by the time I got here six months ago. No, honestly, this has just been too much.'

'Good, you deserve it. What about dancing afterwards, work off some of the calories?'

'What about working them off at your place instead?'

She held his hand ever harder when she said this, then slowly licked her full red lips with the tip of her tongue. He responded to the excitement of the invitation. She was a sensual woman and there was an open promise in her words that he knew she would fulfil.

'Wicked girl,' he said and she smiled in return and nodded enthusiastically. 'But have an armagnac first while I finish my cigar. Anticipation is many times the better part of pleasure.'

She leaned her head against his shoulder when they drove away. He found some light music on the radio and she sang along with it. At his place he drove into the garage as they always did. He turned off the burglar alarm and unlocked the house door before he came around and opened the car door for her. She never noticed the sideways glance he gave to see if the matchstick was still in place.

'Drink?'

'Yes, please. Some more of that heavenly cognac, whatever you called it.'

'Armagnac. Which is brandy from Armagnac, just as cognac is brandy from Cognac. Only this is better.'

'I never argue with the experts.'

Marianne knew that she was a little bit tipsy — and she liked it that way. It made it easier to keep the mood going. Which mood was really an incredibly wonderful one. How long had she known Wes? Almost four months now. An occasional date, dinner, theatre sometimes, dancing, then to his place and to bed. Not that she really minded this very much. Except that she always had the feeling that this was all part of the package deal. No sex, no date. He had never said this in so many words, or even hinted at it. It was just a feeling that she had. A feeling she might have been very wrong about. Oh, how she hoped so.

And it was good tonight, better than ever. So natural and wonderful. They were on the couch and he had said something funny and she had laughed, then he had kissed her. And it was different, like the first time. Then, when he had let his hand slide gently onto her breasts she had actually gasped with pleasure. Even more so when he had cupped them to his mouth, his lips on her nipples.

It had happened then, on the couch, her clothes crumpled in all directions, like it was the first time happening all over again. Only later did he carry her, her warm naked body held close to his, up to the bedroom. Again, and still again. Sensations possessed her that she had never experienced before.

Then she screamed, he had hurt her, bit into her flesh, but he kissed and hushed her and she soon forgot it. He was just strong, too strong, but it was really all right.

For the first time ever she had actually dozed off after their passionate lovemaking. Everything was so different. She blinked her eyes awake as she felt him get out of bed and go into the bathroom. Marianne heard the sound of the shower running, like it always did after they had been in bed, but this time it lulled her to sleep again. She awoke suddenly with the bedside light in her eyes. He was standing over her, wearing his robe now, his hair still wet from the shower.

'More armagnac?'

'God, no. I have the strong feeling that it would simply destroy me.'

'Whatever you say. Gin and tonic like always?'

She nodded, watching him leave, her thoughts, emotions, wheeling around and around. The little routines were still the same. The shower to wash away the lovemaking, the drink, then the drive home. But tonight had been so different. She reached down for the robe he always left on the foot of the bed, but it wasn't there.

Had he forgotten — or were things really going to be different? She refused to let herself hope. It was the old joke, all the single girls streaming into Washington from all over the country. Work in the office, meet the boss, get acquainted with a handsome officer, romance, marriage, then back to Peoria or Macon — or even St Louis! — the envy of every girl who had stayed at home. But a joke, a dream that rarely worked out that way. Yet she still hummed as she kicked back the covers and went to the closet. You never knew, you just never knew. The air was cool; she liked the long woolly bathrobe of his that went right down to the ground. She pulled at it and it fell from the hanger and slipped to the floor. When she bent to pick it up she saw that it had fallen over a pair of saddlebags, the kind motorcyclists used. One of the bags was open and some papers were sticking out, blueprints, the identification clear on the corner.

She straightened and put the robe on and was back in bed when he returned to the room.

'Thanks,' she said when he handed over her drink. 'Yum, good.'

He put his glass down on the bedside table and went to turn off the bathroom light. 'Those bags in the closet,' she said. 'I didn't know you were riding a motorcycle now.'

His back was turned to her so she could not see his sudden hesitation, the quick widening, then the narrowing of his eyes. He threw the switch and turned back to face her.

'What about the bags?' he asked, working very hard to keep the cold anger from his voice.