Assassination Brigade

Sixteen

“Dumplink,” Elsa greeted me as she walked through the door of her room a short while later. “I didn’t hear you come back.”

I had changed my clothes. As far as she could tell, I looked no worse for wear.

“I just got in a few minutes ago.”

“I have the most marvelous surprise for you, Dumplink,” she laughed, twirling. She was wearing a pink, ruffled negligee. She turned lightly on her toes, pointed to the open door of her room, and called.

Through the door came the other two Von Alder sisters, followed by their mother, Ursie. Both sisters were wearing pink negligees identical to the one Elsa — or was it Elsa? — was wearing. Ursie had on a quilted housecoat. Looking at the three sisters standing side by side was like looking into three mirrors reflecting the same image.

One of the girls laughed and said, “You were a naughty boy, running away with Elsa. Did you really think you could escape the rest of us that easily? Now you’ll pay for that, because we won’t tell you which of us is which.”

“Since you’re all equally beautiful and charming,” I replied, “it doesn’t matter. My pleasure has increased three-fold.”

It was all good-humored and, of course, the kind of thing the Von Alders would delight in doing. But I couldn’t help wondering if it was only a prank that had brought them here to Berne, or if it was because I was so close to the spa and they either wanted to find a way to keep me away or a way to get me into the place. Time would tell.

The Von Alders decided that I had to take them to dinner in the diningroom of the chalet, which, they told me, was famous for its excellent cuisine. I agreed, and the four women disappeared through the door, bolting it behind them. I could hear them laughing. Was it because they had tricked me?

Later, when the five of us went down to the diningroom, I discovered what a popular place the chalet was. The diningroom was crowded with guests and the local citizens. Of course, the Von Alders were soon surrounded by men they knew, as almost always happened whenever they appeared in public. Our table of five quickly grew to a table of a dozen or more. I was introduced to each of the new arrivals, most of them members of foreign embassies or such. The Von Alders didn’t associate with the common folk.

About midway through the meal, there was a sudden, abrupt break in the chatter and laughter, and every male head in the room, including mine, turned to look at a most beautiful girl who entered and sat alone at a table by the window. She was a striking, willowy redhead in a low-cut gown that clung to her superbly shaped body as if it had been painted on with a brush.

One of the men at our table gave a discreet whistle. “Who is she?”

One of the triplets sniffed and said, “Oh, she’s just an employee at the health spa. I’ve seen her around when we’ve been there.”

The Von Alder women were too experienced to allow male attention to wander away from them for long, and soon I noticed that the men crowded around our table were ignoring the redhead, except for an occasional glance in her direction. I, however, glanced frequently. I thought she would be joined by an escort, but she continued her meal alone.

Just as we finished our dinner, one of the men at our table invited everyone to a large party being given at one of the embassies that evening. The Von Alders were delighted and accepted, and so did the others at die table. I excused myself, saying that I had some work to catch up on and that I would remain at the chalet. Actually, I wanted to do some more thinking about the spa, and I was even considering the possibility of trying to sneak up there. It would certainly be easier for me to work with the Von Alders otherwise occupied. The triplets and their mother were eager to go on to the party, so we said goodnight.

I ordered another cognac. When the waiter brought the liqueur, he handed me a note and pointed to the redhead still sitting alone. I was surprised. In the confusion of the departure of the other guests at our table, I had completely forgotten the girl who had earlier caught my eye.

I opened the note and read, WON’T YOU PLEASE JOIN ME? IT’S URGENT THAT I SPEAK WITH YOU. I wondered why the word URGENT was underlined. I looked over and saw that die girl was watching me gravely, and nodded.

“Mr. Dawes,” the girl said in a soft, throaty voice, offering me a slim, shapely hand, “I’m Suzanne Henley.” She had an accent that was hard to place — they call it mid-Atlantic, but I detected a very strong British tone. She paused until the waiter had gone and I was seated and then added in an undertone, “Please don’t misunderstand, I’m not used to picking up men. But there’s an important matter that I must discuss with you.” She looked around the diningroom searchingly and then back at me. “We can’t discuss it here. I don’t know who might be watching. Is there some place we can talk in private?”

“Well, there’s my room upstairs,” I suggested. “It should be private enough, if it won’t bother you.”

“I’m sure you’re a gentleman, Mr. Dawes,” she answered. “Yes, your room will be fine. You go up and after a few minutes I’ll follow you.”

I told her my room number and stood up to leave. As the waiter came toward the table again to pull my chair back, she offered me her hand and said, “So nice to see you again, and I will give you a call if I’m ever in the States.”

I went upstairs to my room, wondering what this latest turn of events could mean. Ten or fifteen minutes passed before there was a light tap on my door. I opened it, and Suzanne Henley stepped quickly inside. I closed and locked the door. She seemed nervous and ill at ease for the first few moments. She prowled the room restlessly, looked out the window, and saw the spa, its lights gleaming in the night.

“Oh, there’s where I work,” she exclaimed. She spotted the binoculars on the windowsill, picked them up, and focused on the complex of buildings. “You have a very good view of the spa from here,” she said as she put the binoculars down and turned toward me again.

“Miss Henley, what’s this all about? And won’t you please sit down.”

She sat in a chair opposite me and thought for a moment before she began. “I don’t know what all this means, Mr. Dawes, but I’ve heard rumors about you up at the spa. And I was worried. I really don’t know you, and I don’t know what your interest is in the place, but — well, I just didn’t feel right about things. I thought I’d tell you, that’s all.” She paused and shook her head helplessly.

I said as gently as possible, “You realize, Miss Henley, I really don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.”

She took a deep breath and finally settled back in the chair. “I should have explained,” she said, “that I’ve been working at the spa for several years now. I’m a dietician there. But for a while I haven’t liked the atmosphere. It feels somehow — well — sinister.”

“How do you mean, sinister?” I prodded.

“I don’t really know,” she said. “Just that there’s a lot of whispering and secrecy. And I hear people coming and going in the dead of night. There are security guards all around the place, but the guests don’t know it. The guests think they’re just employees. But they’re very tough-looking men. Day and night I hear whispering, and I picked up your name, Dawes. I guessed there was trouble when five of the security men returned to the spa in a car this afternoon. I just happened to see them. A couple were injured. And I heard your name mentioned again. I phoned around until I located you here. That’s why I came here for dinner. I asked the waiter who Mr. Dawes was, and he pointed you out. I just wanted to warn you to stay away.”

When I questioned her further, her answers seemed straightforward enough, but I didn’t really learn anything that tied into the case, even though we talked for a long while. She could have been on the level, or she could have been a decoy sent to try to discourage me from snooping around.

It was quite late when we finished talking, and she suddenly glanced at her watch and gasped, “Oh, I’m in real trouble now. It’s after midnight. Long past curfew for the employees. I can’t go back there tonight. They’ll demand a detailed explanation of where I’ve been. I’ll have to find a place to stay and slip back in the morning.”

She was on her feet, quite agitated, and moving toward the door. She paused in mid-stride and shuddered. “If anyone from the spa should see me out on the streets, they would pick me up and question me.”

“That place sounds like a prison.”

She nodded her head. “Yes, exactly. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

She had the door open and had started to leave. I grabbed her arm, pulled her back, and shut and locked the door again.

“If it’s that dangerous for you,” I said, “perhaps you should spend the night here. You’ll be safe.”

She looked at me thoughtfully for a long moment, probably considering all the implications of my invitation. I really had no ulterior motive in making the suggestion, except that I wanted to help. But if something else developed.…

“You’re sure it won’t inconvenience you?” she asked.

I shrugged. There were twin beds, as she could plainly see. “You can take one bed,” I said, “and I’ll just stretch out on the other until morning. You’ll be quite safe.” I meant it any way she chose to take it.

“All right,” she said slowly, nodding her head.

She went into the bathroom. I checked the locks on the doors and turned out die lights in the room. Then I took my shoes off and lay down on one of the beds. It was still bright in the room from the reflection of the moon on the snow outside. She came back in a few minutes, wearing only her slip. As she crossed from the bathroom to the bed, her body was outlined in the light from the window, and I could see that she had nothing else on underneath.

She got into bed and pulled the covers over her. “Good night, Mr. Dawes. And thank you.”

“Good night,” I said. “Go to sleep now.”

For a brief while, I’ll admit, the thought of that beautiful body lying so near distracted me from sleep. But she had offered no invitation. I soon drifted off to sleep. I don’t think I had slept for very long when I was awakened by soft cries from her bed.

I sat up and leaned toward the bed. “Suzanne? Miss Henley? Are you okay?”

She continued to cry quietly, and I thought that perhaps she was having a nightmare. I moved over and sat on the side of her bed and shook her lightly by the shoulders.

“It’s all right,” I whispered. “Wake up! It’s all right. You’re only having a bad dream.”

Her arms came up suddenly, encircled my neck, and pulled me to her urgently. Her eyes still shut, she began frantically to cover my face with kisses. “Hold me. Hold me! Love me!”

It was still hard to tell whether she was awake or dreaming, but her hand had moved to my body, fumbling with my pants while she continued to kiss me. I quickly shed my clothing and slid into bed with her.

“Suzanne,” I asked again, “are you awake?”

“Love me, please,” she repeated. I obliged her.

She responded as if she had prepared for the act of love all her life but had never before had an opportunity to actually practice it. Her hunger was enormous, driving her to one erotic stimulation after another until we were both exhausted by repeated climaxes. Never before had I known a woman who responded so fully with every sense, every nerve, of her being. Again and again, her body thrashing wildly on the bed, she turned her head to stifle her cries so that they wouldn’t echo through the whole chalet.

Afterwards, as we lay close, she finally opened her eyes and smiled at me. “At first,” she said softly, “I thought I was only dreaming. But it wasn’t a dream, and it was much nicer.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “It was.”

As I started to roll away from her, I felt her hand brush the inside of my left thigh. She was wearing a ring on her finger and I felt it scratch my flesh lightly. I barely felt die scratch, but almost immediately a warm, soothing sensation spread through my whole body. My first thought was that it was just the after-effect of our pro-longed love-making. The truth hit me a moment later when that feeling changed to one of overwhelming suffocation. It had happened again— I had been drugged. Suzanne Henley had injected some substance into my body from her ring.

I knew this time that it was a potent drug that I would be unable to resist. Darkness closed in rapidly. My brain fled headlong into a black, empty void.