Hellstrom's Hive

Janvert did not bring up the subject of their companions in this project until they were on the plane headed west. He had chosen seats for Clovis and himself well forward of the others and on the left side. The window beside him gave a good view of a sensational sunset over the left wing, but he ignored it.

As expected, he and Clovis had been ordered to assume teen-age guise, and Nick Myerlie, whom both of them considered to be an ineffectual ass, had been named to cover as their father. What none of them had expected was that Janvert would be selected for the number-two spot.

He and Clovis held their heads close together, speaking in barely audible whispers.

“I don’t like it,” Janvert said. “Peruge will hit the ceiling and choose someone else in the field.”

“What good would that do him?”

“I don’t know, but you wait and see. Tomorrow at the latest.”

“It could be recognition of your sterling qualities.”

“Shit!”

“Don’t you want the second spot?”

“Not on this merry-go-round.” His lips set in a stubborn line. “This one’s a nasty.”

“You think they’re looking for a scapegoat?”

“Don’t you?”

“It’s possible. How do you get along with Peruge?”

“Not badly, considering.”

“Considering what?”

“The fact that he doesn’t trust me.”

“Eddie!”

One of their teammates took this moment to wander past, headed for the forward toilets. The teammate was an ex-door gunner from the Vietnam War (he called it “Nam”) named Daniel Thomas Alden, and everyone called him DT. Janvert remained silent while DT passed, noting the hard, youthful face, the square and deeply tanned line of jaw. There was a white scar in the shape of an inverted V at the bridge of his nose, and he affected a flight cap with transparent green visor which imparted a dark green cast to his face. Janvert suspected DT of being a spy for the brass. Rumor had it he was shacking up with Tymiena, and Janvert found himself suddenly wondering what the younger man must be thinking now.

As he passed, DT glanced at them, but there was no sign he recognized them or even noticed them.

When he had passed, Janvert whispered, “Do you suppose DT enjoys this work?”

“Why?”

“You’d think he would find it a bit more constraining than an actual war; not as many chances to kill people.”

“Sometimes, you’re too damned bitter.”

“And you shouldn’t be in this business at all, honey,” Janvert said. “Why didn’t you beg off sick or something?”

“I thought you might need someone to defend you.”

“The way you did last night?”

She ignored him and said, “Have you heard the talk about DT and Tymiena?”

“Yes. I almost feel sorry for him.”

“You think she’s—”

“I don’t want to think about it, but yes, I do.”

“But why? Couldn’t they all just be—”

“You can smell it in a case like this one. They were the shock troops. You expect casualties with shock troops.”

“What are we then?”

“With Peruge along, I don’t know. I’ll tell you when I find out how he deploys us.”

“Front line or rear.”

“Right.”

“Aren’t they going to serve dinner on this flight?” she asked.

“Those stewardi are too interested in getting our elders drunk.”

“That’s one of the things I hate about playing this kiddy role,” she whispered. “I can’t ask for a drink.”

“I hate the makeup,” he said. “I’ll bet they don’t feed us before Nebraska.”

“This is a bean-and-cod special,” she said. “They’ll give us fish balls and haricot. Are you still feeling low?”

“Honey, forget some of the things I said last night. I was feeling like the very end.”

“To be strictly accurate, there were two of us in that mood. It’s probably the phase of the moon.”

“I still don’t know a good reason why I was named number two on this case, do you?”

“None I’m sure of.” And almost as an afterthought, “The others are pretty old.”

“All the more reason—I mean, why would they want a younger agent in command?”

“Youth must have its day,” she whispered, and she bent close to nibble his ear. “Knock it off, darling. The old goat right behind me is trying to eavesdrop.”

Janvert knew better than to glance back at once, but he straightened presently and glanced around at the crowded aircraft. The lights were on now and it was dark outside, each window a patch of black with occasional stars. The white-haired old man behind Clovis had his light on and was reading Time magazine while drinking a whiskey over ice. He looked up as Janvert turned around, but immediately went back to his magazine and drink. Janvert could not recall ever having seen the old man before, but you never knew in this business. He could be someone sent to keep tabs on them.

Angrily, Janvert sank back into his seat, bent close to Clovis. “Honey, we’ve got to break away from this racket. We’ve just got to. There must be a country somewhere that would be safe for us. There must be someplace where the Agency can’t reach us.”

“The other side?”

“You know what that’d be—more of the same only in a foreign language. No—we need a nice tidy little foreign country where we can blend into the population without being noticed. It has to exist somewhere on this dirty planet.”

“You’re thinking about DT and Tymiena.”

“I’m thinking about you and me.”

“He’s listening again,” she whispered.

Janvert folded his arms and sank into sullen silence. It was going to be a bitch of a flight all the way to Portland. He resigned himself to it.

Later, when Nick Myerlie came past and bent over them to ask, “You kids getting along okay?” Janvert just growled at him.