Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine Annual, No. 3, 1973

The Secret Weapon by Max Van Derveer

Vibrant, desirable, she had everything to live for. Yet before that night of horror ended she must keep her strange tryst — as the bride of a wraith named Death!

The phone rang. Desiree Fleming was instantly suspicious. All of the calls were supposed to be completed. They had heard from Blue and Gray early in the day. Red had checked in about four o’clock. And ho more than ten minutes had passed since Yellow had been on the line.

Frowning, Desiree crossed the main room of the hotel suite to sweep the receiver against her flat stomach. She reached out and cracked the closed bedroom door. Blue-striped, male pajamas, a dark blue robe and slippers were laid out on one of two single beds in the room. She pushed the door wide, looked at the closed bath door.

She had a hunch the bath door was locked securely. From behind it came the sound of rushing shower water and the animalistic grunts of a man who might be dying — or who had suddenly closed the hot water tap of the shower. Doctor Samuel Herchenfelder, scientist extraordinary, was completing his shower and had not heard the phone ring.

Desiree Fleming put the receiver against her ear. “Yes?”

“I gotta talk to Doctor Herchenfelder.” The voice was coarse, impatient and guarded. “It’s important, Mrs. Herchenfelder. I gotta—”

“This is Doctor Herchenfelder,” said Desiree on inspiration.

The man on the line seemed to gag. He stuttered briefly, then grunted, “Huh?”

“Doctor Samantha Herchenfelder.”

There was silence in Desiree’s ear.

“Samantha. Sam,” she pressed.

The coarse voice came back. “You kiddin’?”

“I think, sir, that you are wasting my time.”

“No! Hey, don’t hang up! Cool it a sec — cool it.” Desiree heard an indrawn breath that rattled. “Doc Sam, I gotta see yuh!”

“Who is this, please?”

“Never mind. Yuh wanna live?”

“I prefer to.”

“Then I gotta see yuh pronto!”

“Please—”

“Some people are gonna make a hit on you!”

“What!”

“I’m on the other side, Doc. I been on the other side, but I’m cuttin’, yuh know?”

“No, I don’t know.”

“Doc, I ain’t got time to lay it all out for yuh. I got me a bum deal today, I got me a — Never mind. I’ve been on the Commie coaster and I’m gettin’ off. Yuh understand that much?”

“Yes,” Desiree said slowly, making it sound as if she was not sure she did understand.

“Okay,” said the coarse voice, “so I’m returning a favor to some rats. I’m squealing. Some people are gonna make a hit on yuh. If yuh wanna know when and how you be at eighth and Crowly in thirty minutes. Yuh can make it from there.”

“Tell me now!”

“Not on the horn, doll. It’s complicated.”

The line went dead. Desiree put the phone together slowly. It was quiet in the suite. She became conscious of the silence. She cocked her head. There was no sound of rushing water, no grunts. She stepped into the bedroom. “Sam?”

“Doctor Herchenfelder, Miss Fleming,” the deep voice behind the closed bath door clipped. “And please vacate my bedroom. Yours is—”

“I’m going out, Sam.”

“Excellent. And while you are out perhaps you will have the decency to take another suite?”

“Now is that any way to talk to a wife?”

“If I wanted a wife, Miss Fleming, I’d have taken one five years ago. Washington is going to hear about this.”

“Washington made the reservation, remember?”

“Miss Fleming, please! I’m sure there has been a misunderstanding. Surely your superiors don’t expect—”

“My superiors often expect the impossible, Sam.”

“Doctor Herchenfelder!”

“I’m toddling off, but you stay put. Okay? You won’t leave the suite? Promise?”

“Miss Fleming, I am retiring!”

“Do just that.”

Desiree left the suite and locked the door. She looked up and down the empty corridor. Uncertainty was high in her. Vibrant, tousled, twenty-three, in blouse, pink Capris, short coat and gun, her new assignment from Washington’s most secreted bureau suddenly seemed stuffed with hazards and she was not positive that she was doing the right thing in leaving Doctor Samuel Herchenfelder.

She had been told to protect Doctor Herchenfelder at any cost. The call could have been a ruse to lure her from the suite. It could have been designed to clear a path to the scientist. What would a more experienced agent do?

Desiree rode the elevator down to the vast lobby. She knew three things about the caller. He had a coarse voice, he had information he was not suppose to have, and he did not know Doctor Sam Herchenfelder was a man.

She got out of the cab at 9th and Crowly to walk the final block. The city shimmered in lake fog and she was now filled with the sensation that she had been duped. Desiree’s inclination was to return to the hotel as quickly as possible, but the cab was gone.

She hunched deeper inside the short coat and walked on quick steps. Motorists and pedestrians had bowed to the fog. A single car crawled along the shrouded street and disappeared and she did not meet anyone on foot. The heels of her loafers seemed to click unusually loud against the silence of the night.

She traveled the block quickly, to stand just outside the dull light of an intersection street lamp. She looked around. She attempted to pierce the mist. She seemed alone.

“Doctor?”

The high-pitched voice came out of the whitish swirl to her left. Reflexively, she whirled and went down to the concrete fast. A gun boomed against the wet night. Desiree heard the whistle of the slug. She rolled, her right hand digging for the tiny gun in the shoulder holster under the short coat.

The big gun boomed again and this time the slug chewed concrete near her head. She rolled into a wall and cried out. In the fog, she’d rolled in the wrong direction.

She’d meant to roll into the gutter, into a storm sewer with luck, anywhere to gain an ounce of protection. But now she was plastered against a wall and exposed. She thought herself a huge target and she desperately fired a shot wildly from the tiny gun. She expected a return shot, a slug crashing into the top of her skull.

The lone sound was the pounding of fleeing footsteps.

A rattle escaped Desiree. She came off the wall and sat up on the wet sidewalk. The night was abruptly quiet again, but she knew that within seconds the intersection would become cluttered. Someone somewhere had heard the shots, and someone somewhere would call the police.

Desiree Fleming scrambled to her feet and ran. She had passed an alley entrance midway back in the block. She wanted that alley.

A wide-shouldered citizen loomed out of the fog ahead of her and jerked to a stop. “Hey, lady, I heard—”

It was all he got out before Desiree shoved him aside, out of her path. She heard a string of oaths as he spun out toward the street.

The alley was a black cavern when she turned into it. The fog seemed thicker. It pressed in. Desiree stopped, then moved deeper into the blackness cautiously She had no desire to tumble over a trash barrel; she didn’t want noise. A faint glow of light ahead lifted her. She dog-trotted toward it, found it to be a middle-of-the-block street lamp that ordinarily would have illuminated the intersecting alleys.

The light became her salvation. She caught the glimmer in the corner of her eye and knew it was reflection from metal. An iron ladder dangled invitingly from the tiers of the fire escape on the side of the building.

She leaped up, caught the bottom rung of the ladder and hoisted herself until she had a foothold. She went up fast to the first tier and crouched. There was only the fog. She couldn’t see the alley. But she heard the wail of a siren and she went on up the tiers, past the lighted windows to roll over the parapet of the building and onto the roof. She crouched. She couldn’t afford police interference. Her eyes searched. Nothing moved. She heard the siren die. Finally she let out a long breath and attempted to relax. There was only one course of action left for her now. Desiree had to get word to her boss Holly in Washington. The Bureau chief would be upset and he would demand that the meeting of the great minds be cancelled.

“Six men,” he had said in briefing her and the other five agents. “Three egghead scientists and three of this country’s most brilliant military minds. Each of you has been assigned to a man. You’ll be incognito, of course, and you have just one assignment — keep your man alive at any cost.”

“What’s the pitch?” one of the agents had asked.

“A project known as TX. It’s a new weapon. That’s all I can tell you. The eggheads, each skilled in a phase of the weapon, have been working on this thing for four years. They’ve worked separately, in three different sections of the country, with only an occasional meeting to coordinate their progress. Now the project is completed and to be put before the military. Thus, the meeting of the minds. It’s top secret.”

“And where is this powwow to be held?” another agent had asked.

“Sixty-six,” Holly had said, using the code number of a northern city. I don’t know exactly when, but within the week. Doctor Herchenfelder is the coordinator, and your man, Desiree. He’s here in Washington. You’ll travel with him as his wife.

“Each of the minds will go to Sixty-Six on his own with one of you people as a sidekick. Each has a code color. Herchenfelder is Black, the other two eggheads Blue and Gray. The military men are Red, Orange and Yellow. In Sixty-Six, they’ll check in with Herchenfelder. He’ll set up the exact time and place for the meeting.”

Then Holly had repeated his warning: “This will be a collection of great minds, ladies and gentlemen. The loss of even one would be a tremendous blow to the United States. The outside dangers, of course, are Moscow, Peking, Hanoi — you name it. The entire Red bloc.”

“My understanding is the TX project, put into use, could bring a quick end to the Vietnam scrap and prevent others from flaring. Desiree, your man will be double trouble. Herchenfelder doesn’t like the idea of us being assigned. He especially doesn’t like the notion of suddenly acquiring a wife.”

The attractive girl agent had found Doctor Samuel Herchenfelder to be a remarkably ordinary-looking man somewhere in his mid-thirties, a man totally dedicated to his work and holding complete disdain for her presence.

“Cloak and dagger, Miss Fleming,” he had snorted, “is for writers, not for scientists. What kind of a person are you?”

“A girl,” she had said simply because she had not been sure he had noticed. “And equally dedicated, bud, to keeping you healthy.”

“Phooie!”

But he had tolerated her because he had had no choice, and they had arrived in Sixty-Six by train and had claimed the reservation at the midtown hotel. Desiree Fleming had been surprised at the size and the luxury of the suite, and she had noticed immediately that someone had been discreet in selecting a suite with bedrooms at the opposite ends of the main room. The discretion had amused her and had brought Doctor Herchenfelder to a crossroad.

“Your choice, Miss Fleming,” he had said stiffly as he stood surveying the main room. “Right or left?”

Desiree had taken the bedroom on the left.

“You too?” she had asked, unable to curb the barb:

He had colored slightly, but he had maintained his dignity and had turned into the bedroom to his right. She had laughed softly. He had closed his door.

And then the calls had come in and the meeting had been scheduled for two the following afternoon in the Herchenfelder suite.

Doctor Herchenfelder had gone into a shower. She had sat curled in a deep chair in the main room, sipping a weak highball she had finally managed to talk him into preparing. And a sixth call had come in. The voice on the line had been coarse. The voice that had called to her out of the fog on a deserted street corner had been shrill. It had been her only warning. And now...

Doctor Samuel Herchenfelder was the epitome of indignation and disbelief when Desiree awakened him. He clamped a top sheet tight against his Adam’s apple.

“You!” he burst. “What are you doing in my bedroom?”

She rammed his black-rimmed glasses on his nose. He snapped his head away. Then it snapped back, and he goggled. “What — happened to you?”

“I thought you might see things differently with your glasses, Sam.”

“Please, Miss Fleming—”

She left the edge of the bed and went to a dresser mirror.

“Don’t push me,” she snapped. “I’ve had a bad hour and it’s beginning to catch up with me.”

She inventoried her reflection. She had left the coat in the main room. Her short, black hair, normally worn unkempt, was a rat’s nest now, her gold-coated lips smeared. The knees and thighs of her Capri pants were wet and black with grime. She put her back to the mirror, looked over her shoulder. Same thing.

She glanced at her palms. They were gritty. One gold-coated fingernail had been broken. She wiped her palms on the Capri legs. The Capris were ruined anyway. Then Desiree took the tiny gun from the shoulder holster and hefted it at the scientist.

He popped up in the bed. The sheet was dropped and suddenly forgotten. He gaped.

“Shut up,” said Desiree, “or I may be forced to use this gun to drive some common sense into that egg head of yours, Sam.” She holstered the gun. “And that’s the way it’s going to be from now on, understand? Sam and Desiree. I’m tired of mouthing your last name. It’s too much handle. And I don’t like to be called Miss Fleming. It makes me sound as if I’m a debutante coming out. I’m not. I’m an agent for a bureau of the United States government. I’m the casual type. I’m uninhibited. I’m— Damnit, Sam, quit gawking at me as if you’ve never seen an angry female before!”

“Miss... Miss...”

“Desiree!”

“Desiree—” He gulped, stared, then he seemed to gather himself and he thundered, “Desiree, what the devil happened to you? Where have you been? You look as if you’ve been — been in a fight! You look as if—”

He left the bed, wrapped himself in the blue robe, belted it securely at his middle, slid his feet into the slippers.

“Thank God,” Desiree breathed. “Suddenly you’re human. Come on out here, Sam, and mix us a highball. And make it a decent highball this time. You aren’t going to like what I have to tell you, not one bit.”

She went into the main room. He trailed her. She shrugged out of the shoulder rig and took it and her coat into the other bedroom. When she returned, she watched him pour bourbon from a bottle into glasses without measuring. He dropped in ice cubes, poured water from a pitcher.

The drink he handed her was a brown color. She was satisfied. She dropped on a couch, kicked off a loafer and curled a leg under her. He sat on the edge of a deep chair opposite her.

“Now,” Desiree said, “I’m going to explain some facts of life, Sam, and I want you to listen.”

His immediate reaction to her recount of the last hour was, continued disbelief. He sat shaking his head, his eyes hung on some unseen object on the thick carpeting. Desiree kicked off the other loafer and wiggled toes with gold-painted nails as she drank appreciatively from the glass.

“What all this boils down to, Sam, is tomorrow afternoon’s meeting is off.”

He surprised her. He said softly, “Isn’t that exactly what someone wants, Miss... er, Desiree?”

She frowned.

“The way I see it,” he continued, “we play straight into the hands of these people, whoever they are, if I postpone tomorrow. You said it yourself: sprawled there on the sidewalk, you were a perfect close range target. You could have easily been killed, but you were not. Doesn’t that suggest that these people merely are trying to frighten us off?”

“It suggests I am living with a rabbit’s foot in my pocket and that someone was a darn poor shot.”

“Perhaps. But I’m not going to be swayed, Desiree. I think the intent was to frighten.”

“What if I’d gone out and not returned tonight?”

“Well, naturally I’d be disturbed.”

“Thanks a bushel,”

“What I mean, Miss Fleming, is, I’m not totally oblivious to the fact that you are a human being and, well, female.”

“Watch it, Sam. Something hidden in you is beginning to seep out.”

He said nothing. He drank.

Desiree pressed, “If I had disappeared wouldn’t that have told you and yours to vamoose, get out of town?”

“No.”

Desiree exploded, “Sam, the man on the phone wanted you! He wanted Doctor Samuel Herchenfelder! His only trouble was he didn’t know you! He didn’t know whether you were male or female! I admit that female bit threw him off stride, but he bought it! And, point, Sam — the man wanted to warn you about a plot against your life!”

“You said the man who shot at you was not the man who called. How do you explain that, young lady?”

“I suspicion that your friend was somehow discovered. I have a hunch he now is dead. I think a substitute was sent to Eighth and Crowly. I think the substitute was supposed to kill me.

“Sam, the hierarchy of our foe is not stupid. The hierarchy knows you, knows you are a man. Only the henchmen might be uninformed, might make the mistake your friend did. But not the hierarchy. And the hierarchy, in this case, attempted to make a good hand out of a bad hand. A card had been put face up on the table. They were forced to call the hand. They did. They sent someone else to meet me, knowing damned well who I am. If the gunman had been successful it would have left you a sitting duck.”

“Imaginative,” Sam breathed in wonder.

“Imaginative? The guy who shot at me wasn’t imaginary!”

“Miss Fleming,” he said, suddenly turning serious, “do you actually want me to believe that some unknown persons intend to kill me?”

“It’s exactly what I want you to believe!”

“Why now? Why has there never before been an attempt to—”

“Because,” she said, forcing patience, “these people probably just discovered what you and your pals are up to.”

“I can’t believe that. No one really knows what we have.”

“No one has to. All they have to know is that you do have something.”

He pushed at his glasses. “We weren’t sure ourselves until ten days ago.”

“Sam, the word gets around. Don’t be naive. Look at Holly, my boss. He doesn’t know what you have, yet he knows that you have something. He knows that it is a new weapon. He knows the name of the project is TX.”

“He was told.”

“All right. Look at me. See how much I know? See how much the other agents know? Two days ago we didn’t. Today we do. Because Holly passed the information along to us. The same information can get bandied around until it reaches other people, too.

“They don’t have to know anything. All they need is a hint that something big is in the wind. All they need is a name dropped here and there, a name of someone who is a part of this big something that could be disastrous to them.”

“But this is all very hush-hush.”

“Was,” Desiree corrected.

“Only fifteen, perhaps sixteen, people know anything! We who have worked on TX, the military, your man Holly, you agents, the Secretary of—”

“Enough,” said Desiree flatly. “Enough people to have the word get out. Sam, you’ve got to call this thing off. You and probably some of the others are in personal danger.”

“No,” he said bluntly.

Desiree stared at him. Suddenly she left the couch and went to the telephone. Sam was with her instantly. He clamped a firm hand on hers, forced the receiver back into the hook.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Holly has to know.”

“No.”

Again he surprised her. He took her shoulders and he sent her stumbling across the room. She swelled. “Sam, I’m warning you. I can take you so fast you’ll think you’ve been hit by an army.”

“If we don’t meet tomorrow, we will on a later day,” he said. “Where and when doesn’t matter. If our enemies know now, they’ll know then. We’re all here now. We’re assembled. The meeting is set. We can have it finished in an hour. That’s all, Miss Fleming. One hour.

“The military will buy or they won’t. If they do, no one is going to kill all six of us. Attempts may be made, but some of us will escape. If the military doesn’t buy, myself and my two scientists counterparts are expendable anyway.”

“Holly has to know!”

Desiree waited for his leap at her. But he stood his ground, protecting the telephone. He used a stiff forefinger to poke the black-rimmed glasses back up his nose. Desiree took a step toward him.

“Hold it, Desiree—”

“Sam?”

The threats hung in the room. Then suddenly he seemed to concede. His shoulders sagged. He looked down at the carpeting, he shuffled and he moved away from the telephone.

“All right,” he said in a subdued voice, “you win.”

Desiree Fleming stood rooted in surprise for a moment, and then she leaped for the telephone. He was behind her. She began to dial the special Washington number. She had dialed the fourth digit when she heard the hiss of indrawn breath. She looked over her shoulder. She had just enough time to see the extended hand, the chopped blow sweeping down to her neck — then there was only blackness.

When Desiree came awake, she had a pounding headache and the sensation that her wrists were bound. She twisted up on her side. At least her feet were free and she knew that she was on a bed. She stretched her neck and looked over her head. What looked like severed lamp cords held her wrists against the bedposts. Desiree struggled.

“Useless, Miss Fleming,” said a remarkably satisfied voice to her right.

Desiree snapped her head, stared at Doctor Samuel Herchenfelder. He was seated in a wing chair across the bedroom. His legs were crossed, he was smoking a cigarette, and he looked comfortable.

“I learned my karate at the YMCA,” he said casually. “You?”

“The YWCA,” Desiree Fleming snapped.

He nodded. “I had the impression you recognized the blow. What belt do you cherish?”

“Let me up from here, you fool!”

“Careful, Miss Fleming. Anger will reap no harvest.”

“Holly has to know!”

Sam seemed to settle lower in the wing chair. Desiree fumed. He smoked. “I have been sitting here, Miss Fleming, and I have been thinking.” He drew on the cigarette, blew out smoke. “I have also reached a couple of conclusions. A scientist’s prerogative, you know. I’ve concluded that in addition to being attractive you are a very imaginative young lady.

“I’ve concluded that because of this imagination and because you are new in your work — you must be new, you are not old enough to be experienced in anything — you tend to allow this imagination to sway decisions.

“Now, long ago, I learned to appreciate imagination, but I also, through years and experience, have learned to examine its product guardedly. Thus I am inclined to be cautious when another person’s imagination is designed to have a direct effect on me.”

Desiree struggled fiercely against the cord shackles. “Let me free, you fool!”

He considered her. “Only if you promise to settle down. Only if you promise not to telephone your superior. You have failed to discover one thing about me, Miss Fleming. I may be an egghead, but it does not necessarily follow that I am a coward. Nor are my colleagues.

“My entire scientific life has been in the field of weaponry. Ditto for Blue and Gray. And we are not totally naive men, as you seem to think. We are aware that because of the nature of our work there always has existed, and does exist, an element of personal danger.

“We are aware that there are other governments deeply interested in our findings, that some of these governments will go to almost any means to pick our brains, or to keep this nation from reaping the fruits. On the other hand—”

Desiree broke in, “Very fancy words! So you guys don’t run scared.”

He nodded. “In a nutshell. In spite of your sarcasm, Miss Fleming — precisely.”

“And that’s supposed to fill me with relief? That’s supposed to make Holly wonder why he even bothered to send his people out here in the first place?”

“A point I attempted — and failed — to make with your Mr. Holly several days ago.”

“A lot of people have a stake in what you have stored inside your head, Sam. Take a look at a big chunk of the world. These people live free lives, for the most part, because of men like you. They depend on you to keep them alive and free. They depend on your mind and this minds of others. They don’t want the man or the mind destroyed.

“And that’s Holly’s job. That’s my job. To keep you alive and healthy and thinking. If you had been, you and I would be on a train or a bus or a plane or a go-cart, anything, and heading back into Washington this very instant.

“Come on; cut me loose. My arms are beginning to tingle and I have a monstrous headache. I’m not going to run, Sam. I’m not going to scream. If you think we can ride this thing out sans bloodshed, I’ll be a fool and go along, against my better judgment.”

He left the chair and untied the knots in the cords. “I suppose I’ll now have to pay the hotel for a pair of lamps.”

“You can always tell them that someone broke in here and attempted to electrocute you.”

“Knock it, Miss Fleming.”

She stopped rubbing her wrists and looked up at him in surprise. “Why, Sam! I do believe you have become domineering.”

“I can be. Can I trust you?”

“Can you?”

They stared at each other for several seconds without moving. They allowed their eyes to talk. Desiree kept the challenge in hers. He probed. Finally he stood erect. “I’m going to bed, Miss Fleming. Tomorrow already has all the earmarks of a tiring day.” He left her bedroom.

Desiree knew a pinch of satisfaction. She was gaining ground on Doctor Samuel Herchenfelder. He had not closed her door when he had left the bedroom. She watched him cross the main room, enter his bedroom. He also left that door ajar.

Desiree found aspirin in her purse and spent fifteen minutes in her bath. She knew a tremendous urge to loll in the tub of hot water, watch the water pink the natural tan of her skin, but she also was aware of the danger.

She toweled quickly and returned to the bedroom, and put on fresh clothing. She examined her reflection in a mirror. She liked the fit of the yellow Capris. They should give Doctor Samuel Herchenfelder something to think about in the morning now that his eyes were slightly open. Something other than weaponry, that is.

Desiree opened her bedroom door wide. The main room was dark now, but she noticed that the bedroom door at the opposite end remained ajar. All seemed quiet and normal. She repaired her broken fingernail, put a fresh coating of gold on her lips, then took the gun from its holster and snapped put the light.

Waiting until her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, she crossed the main room on silent bare feet and stood outside the other bedroom door. The telephone was on the stand near her left hand. It was inviting. All she had to do was close the door before her, pick up the receiver and dial the Washington number.

On the other hand, the dedicated man who was now snoring softly in the bedroom was also displaying a trust in her. To shatter that trust would make an enemy, and, she admitted ruefully, she didn’t want Doctor Samuel Herchenfelder an enemy. Underneath all of that science veneer he was a nice lunk. He might show a girl a good time in Washington sometime.

Desiree pushed the bedroom door wide open, stood looking on the huddled shadow in the bed for a few moments, then turned from the temptation of the telephone. She found a straight-back chair and drew it up to the couch. She put the gun on the seat of the chair, propped two pillows and stretched out on the couch.

The door to the suite was in her side vision. A bedroom was straight ahead. The gun was within a sweep of her hand. No one was going to enter the suite, by door or window, and kill Sam.

But, Desiree Fleming wondered, as she lay with her arms cradled against the back of her head, who was the adversary in their camp. Someone among them — one of the scientists, one of the military men, one of the agents, Holly — had tipped the other side. No one else had known just what hotel suite the Herchenfelders were to occupy and yet there had been a telephone call from a would-be defector in the enemy garrison.

The following morning, Desiree had coffee brought up to the suite while Sam shaved, then she had a second thought. She told the white-jacketed boy to wait and she poked her head into the bedroom. The bath door was closed tight.

“Hey,” she called out.

“What?” The bath door did not open.

“I’m going to order breakfast sent up. What’s your meat?”

“We can go down to the dining room later.”

“Sent up,” she said firmly. “I’m running this end of the show. Order.”

There was hesitation behind the door, then an order issued in clipped words. She repeated the order to the boy and added, “The same for me.” She closed the bedroom door.

Doctor Samuel Herchenfelder wanted to be peeved when he finally joined her in the main room. She was in the middle of her morning exercise. Her bare feet were spread and she was doing eagle bends, the gold tips of her right hand touching the gold tips of her left toes and vice versa, when he came from the bedroom.

Desiree looked at him from the upside down position and between her legs, and she saw the set of his jaw. He stopped. His eyes behind the black-rimmed glasses changed. She wanted to laugh, but she straightened and turned on him, taking satisfaction in the knowledge that she had been correct about the yellow Capris. They put him off balance. She wanted him that way. He would be easier to manage.

Desiree said brightly, “I exercise every morning. Don’t you?”

His eyes had found the chair at the couch, the propped pillows. He frowned. She took the gun from behind the pillows. “I hid the gun when the boy came with the coffee. I didn’t think he’d understand.”

“You slept there?”

“I repeat, Sam, my job is to keep you alive.” She took the gun into the bedroom, returned. He was pouring coffee from the pot into the two cups.

“Will you allow me to govern our day — at least, until after this afternoon’s meeting?” she asked seriously.

“It appears,” he said, “that I’ve already conceded.”

“It won’t be that bad, Sam. I promise. We can always send a boy out to buy us a Scrabble game.”

His glance scorched her. He passed her a cup on a saucer. She turned to the couch, forgetting the straight-back chair. She curved back from the chair. The coffee spilled from the cup, splashed against her thighs. Desiree cried out and danced across the room, then stood with the cup and saucer in hand, struggling to stem the oaths as she looked down on her stained legs.

Desiree went into the bedroom, slammed the door behind her. There were no more Capris in the suitcase. She removed a skirt, hesitated, knew fresh anger. She had a religion against wearing loafers with skirts, yet the only garter belt she had brought along was the special belt issued by the Bureau. The belt was a weapon.

She mumbled an oath at the thought of wearing a weapon when she was attempting to influence a man. On the other hand, he would not see the weapon.

She put on the belt and skirt, slid hose onto her legs, found spiked-heel shoes. And Doctor Samuel Herchenfelder surprised her again when she reentered the main room. She thought she saw more approval in his eyes for the skirt than she had seen for the yellow Capris.

He had cleansed her saucer and refilled her cup. She sipped the coffee. There was the knock on the door.

“Yes?” she called out.

“Breakfast, ma’am.”

As she hesitated, the lock clicked and the door opened.

A middle-aged man, neat in a business suit and hat, stood on the threshold. The man held a large gun in his left hand. The muzzle of the gun was pointed straight at her middle. The man smiled briefly, touched the brim of his hat.

“Well, hello!” He entered the suite, moving Desiree back. His eyes swung to the scientist. The muzzle of the gun swung to the scientist. The man grinned. “Hi, Doc.”

Desiree waited for the boom of the large gun. She wanted to scream. But the boom did not come. The man said, “Easy, folks. Nobody gets hurt. We’re going to take a little ride, that’s all. My name is Gerald.”

He gave Desiree a crooked grin. “You, sister. Face the wall. Hands against the plaster. Lean. There’s a couple of things I want to check.”

She obeyed. Gerald examined her thoroughly with his free hand. She suffered through the indignities.

“Okay, Miss Fleming,” he finally said with a chuckle. “Stand free. I wish we had some like you on our side.” The chuckle took on brief stature.

And that’s when Sam made his move. Desiree saw him telegraph it. He took time to swell before stepping toward Gerald. Gerald’s move was quick as lightning. He lashed out with his free hand and the back of that hand slammed against Sam’s ear, sending the scientist reeling. Sam fell to his knees at the couch. Desiree drew a breath, but Gerald hissed at her, “Don’t!”

She stood her ground.

Gerald snapped, “The two of you listen good. We’re walking out of here. We’re going downstairs nice and easy like. We’re leaving the hotel. There’s a waiting car. It can be done with or without bloodshed. Take your choice. Let’s move.”

Desiree fell in beside Sam in the corridor. He had a hand cupped against his ear and every few seconds he shook his head. “Bells?” asked Desiree.

Sam said nothing. Gerald walked slightly behind them. Desiree glanced at him. He was smiling confidently. The gun was out of sight. “Just keep walking nice and easy, Miss Fleming.”

Desiree was puzzled. Why hadn’t Gerald killed both of them?

They rode the elevator down and started across the lobby. People cluttered the huge open area. No one seemed to pay any particular attention to them. Desiree wondered if Gerald would kill her in public. She veered off to her left. Gerald again showed deftness.

He flicked a foot between her ankles, sent her sprawling. She doubted if anyone in the entire lobby saw that foot upend her, but she was sprawled and Gerald was squatted on one side of her while Sam hovered on the other side.

“Desiree, are you hurt?” Sam seemed genuinely concerned and she took some consolation in that.

Then Gerald was hissing in her ear, “That was a foolish move, Miss Fleming.” She felt fingers at the back of her neck. The fingers belonged to an expert. The fingers were against nerves. The fingers squeezed.

She didn’t pass out, but she was numbed. She couldn’t move. The two men helped her to her feet and she was conscious of the curious faces crowding around them. Then she heard Gerald placating the faces.

“It’s all right, folks. The little lady had a dizzy spell. Some fresh air will fix her up just fine. Now if you folks right here will just let us through, please. That’s it. Thank you, thank you—”

They left the hotel lobby, crossed a crowded sidewalk that was bathed in brilliant sunshine and Desiree was put into the back seat of a new sedan. Gerald told Sam to get in up front beside the driver, an olive-colored man with sharp features and the wire of a hearing aid dangling from his left ear. Then Gerald joined Desiree. He no longer was smiling. “Sister, you should be dead. Roll, Frank.”

Desiree Fleming wondered why she wasn’t. Both she and Sam. Why they were not deeply puzzled her.

They were taken to a plush motel near an edge of the city. Gerald escorted them into a large unit. Desiree heard the sedan move away. She inventoried the expensive furnishings. She listened hard. She would have accepted almost any sound.

She had expected to be greeted by people. Gerald’s friends. But there seemed to be no one. Two open doors ahead of her showed off bedrooms. There was a third door. To her left. It was closed.

Behind Desiree, Gerald called out, “Marnie?”

The closed door opened. A woman stood framed. She looked any age between forty and fifty-five, a preserved woman with a good figure. Her hair was blue rinse and piled high on top of her head. Her skin was smooth, contained a pinkish tint. Her face had been made up by an expert. A tiny smile played at the corners of her painted lips. She looked like a woman who never frowned.

Finally she said, “Hello.” Her voice was low-pitched, modulated. Her eyes flicked to Sam. “Doctor,” she said in greeting. The eyes danced back to Desiree and examined thoroughly. She laughed softly. It was a bubbly sound. She looked at Gerald, continued to be amused. “Mr. Holly is training them young these days, it seems.”

“Doesn’t it?” Gerald said.

“Quite attractive.”

“Amen.”

“You’ve examined her?”

“She’s clean.”

“And Doctor Herchenfelder?”

Gerald said nothing. Desiree heard the shuffle of his feet. The woman’s eyes were briefly cold, briefly brilliant and hard, but the smile remained on her lips, and the eyes abruptly became soft again.

“You blundered, Gerald,” she admonished.

“But he’s an egghead.”

“Examine him, please.”

Gerald went over Sam with his hands. Sam started to protest. “Hey, what the devil—”

Gerald slammed a fist into Sam’s middle, doubling the scientist, then he straightened Sam again.

“Stand quiet,” Gerald ordered. He finished his examination, turned on the woman. “Nothing. Only a money belt. He’s wearing a money belt.”

“Examine it,” said the woman.

Gerald ripped the shirt bottom from the top of Sam’s trousers, removed the belt. Sam started to reach, then seemed to reconsider. He dropped his arm and stood rooted. His breathing was harsh, his eyes behind the black-rimmed glasses a bit glossy. Desiree caught his eyes, shook her head, attempted to tell him to remain quiet.

Gerald went through the money belt, pitched it to the woman. She examined it, pitched it back. Gerald stuffed it in the scientist’s coat pocket.

“All right. Put them in the middle bedroom, Gerald,” the woman said.

Gerald escorted them. He stood in the doorway.

“Look out the window,” he said.

Desiree looked, saw the sedan. The hood was up and the olive-colored man with the hearing aid was bent over the motor.

“Frank there?” asked Gerald.

“He’s there,” said Desiree.

“He’ll be there. As long as you don’t raise hell, you’re free to roam the room. If you try anything foolish, if you make a lot of racket, you’ve had it. Understand?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He backed from the bedroom and closed the door quietly. Desiree listened for the snap of a lock and heard nothing.

Sam burst then, “My God, who are these people? What’s going on? Why are we here? Why—”

“Easy.” Desiree interrupted. She went to the large double bed, sat on the edge, crossed her knees. “We should be dead, but we’re not, so we’ve still got a chance.” Reflexively, she thumbed a garter strap under her skirt and along the top of her thigh. She had been minutely searched, but she still had the single weapon.

“Who are these people?” Sam repeated.

Desiree went to the window and it was as if the man outside felt her presence. He looked up from the motor, his narrow face blank, dark eyes hard. He didn’t move. She turned back.

“You can wager the last dollar in your money belt they don’t represent the United States Government. And put your shirttail in. I want the man I’m going to die with to be neat in appearance.”

He gasped. Then he wrapped the money belt around his middle, stuffed the shirttail into his trouser top. “Desiree, are these people agents of another government?”

“Now you’re with it, boy.”

“But that woman out there in the front room! She doesn’t look like an agent! And that man! He looks like any business man you might see on a street!”

“And me?” Desiree asked with a cocked eyebrow.

Sam became flustered. “Well—”

“I’m an agent, too, remember?” she said.

Sam went to the window. “What’s that man doing out there? Hey, he was our driver! Why is he working on—”

“He’s there to make sure we don’t go out the back way, Sam. And those two in the front room are where they are to make sure we don’t—”

“They can’t do this to us!” he exploded.

“You tell them that,” said Desiree. Then she sat on the edge of the bed again. “Look, Sam, something about all of this isn’t right. We should be dead.”

“Can’t you quit talking about dying? I’ve got a meeting to—”

“It’s the part that isn’t right. Why haven’t we been killed? Why didn’t Gerald kill us in the hotel? I don’t like it, Sam.”

“Well, I hope you won’t be offended, Miss Fleming, if I admit aloud that I, for one, am happy to still be alive.”

“Get off the high horse, Sam. We haven’t been killed for a reason. One, it could be because they didn’t want to clutter up the hotel with bodies. Two, it could be they don’t want any bodies left lying around — anywhere. We might be just going to disappear. Or three — Sam, I think I’ve got it!”

“What?”

“How much of the TX project are you carrying around inside your skull?”

He looked confused. Desiree pressed: “If someone was to pick your brain, pick you clean, could you give them enough information so they’d know what the TX project is, how it operates?”

“I could give them one phase, but I won’t.”

“And the other two phases? You don’t know anything at all about the work of Blue and Gray?”

“Well, certainly, I do—”

“What’s been your end of this project? Design? Function? What?”

“Function.”

“It’s your discoveries that will make the TX tick?”

“Yes,” he said slowly.

“And Blue and Gray? They’ve concentrated on design?”

“Design and trajectory.”

“You’ve been briefed on both?”

“Yes.”

“Could you design a TX by yourself?”

“No.”

“But could someone else, let’s say a team skilled in design, trajectory, function, take what you know about the TX shape and components and put together a working facsimile?”

“Well, it’s possible.”

“All right, now let’s reverse it. I assume you have discussed function with Blue and Gray.”

“To a degree.”

“From what you have passed along, could they design and successfully trigger a TX?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You are positive?”

“My work has involved gas, Miss Fleming. It’s—” He paused. His lips thinned. His jaw became set. “I’m not going to say anything more about it, to you or to anyone else.”

“Blue and Gray do not know enough about this gas to—”

“They do not.”

“Then that’s it, Sam. That’s why you and I are here. I don’t know where I’m going to be dumped, but I think you are going for a plane ride.”

He scowled.

“You may find yourself in Hanoi, Moscow, anywhere, in the next few days. Be prepared.”

“I won’t tell them a thing!”

“You may have a change of heart. There are ways to break a man. And in the meantime here’s something else to think about. Someone among us is an informer. Blue, Gray, one of the military people, one of the agents—”

Desiree Fleming explained and he had difficulty believing until she said, “No one else knew what suite the Herchenfelders had, Sam. Yet last night there was an extra call to the room. Today, Gerald hit the right door.”

He suddenly looked defeated. “If you can’t trust your own, what’s the world coming to?”

“You’re building the weapon, Sam.”

The door opened. Gerald came a step into the room, stopped. “Doc?”

Sam stood frozen.

Gerald broke into a grin. “Come on, Doc. It’s just going to hurt a little bit.” And then he looped a fist upward that clipped the point of Doctor Samuel Herchenfelder’s jaw and dropped the scientist to the carpeting.

Desiree shot up from the bed, became mesmerized. The woman was in the doorway behind Gerald. She was smiling. She held a gun in her hand.

“Please?” she said politely.

Desiree folded back down on the edge of the bed. Sam was groaning, twitching on the carpeting. Gerald flipped Sam on his back, hooked hands in Sam’s armpits and pulled him from the room. The woman nodded to Desiree.

“Breathe easy, dear,” and closed the door again.

Desiree had the sinking feeling that she had seen Doctor Samuel Herchenfelder for the last time.

She was wrong. Ninety minutes later, Gerald came for her, took her into the front room. Sam sat stiffly in a deep chair. He looked totally confused, but unharmed. He was dressed. He was neat. The woman stood beside his chair. There was no gun in her hand now. She was smiling. She said, “All right, Gerald; return them to the hotel.”

The sedan was outside, the olive-colored man at the wheel. Gerald put Sam in the front seat again, got into the back seat with Desiree.

“Roll, Frank,” he said.

“Right.”

Desiree jerked, then shuddered. Frank’s voice was high-pitched. She was sure he was the man who had shot at her in the fog the previous night.

At the hotel, Gerald waved them out of the car. They stood together on the sidewalk. The sun was bright. People scurried around them. The sedan rolled away and disappeared in the glut of traffic. Desiree caught Sam’s arm. “Are you all right?”

He drew a breath, looked around. Suddenly he looked down at her. “I don’t understand,” he said. “I just don’t understand.”

“Don’t figure you’ve got a corner on that market, buster.”

“What time is it?”

Desiree looked at her wrist watch without thinking. “Five minutes before two.”

“My meeting!”

Sam crossed the sidewalk. She caught him in the lobby of the hotel, stopped him. “Wait a minute,” she cried out. “What happened to you back there? What did they do to you when they took you from the room?”

He looked briefly confused before he said firmly, “They gave me a shot.”

“A... what?”

“A shot with a needle. They gave me a hypodermic. I slept. In fact, I feel as if I’ve slept for a week. I feel as rested as I’ve felt in months.” He moved off.

“Sam, wait!”

He frowned at her over his shoulder, continued to stride toward the bank of elevators. “I’ve got to make the meeting, Desiree,” he said. “The others will be waiting.”

“No! Wait! Something isn’t right! Why would they give you a shot? Why did they bring us back here? Why—”

“We’ll discuss it later,” he said and entered an elevator. She darted in to stand beside him. The elevator was crowded. Neither spoke as they were lifted to the eighth floor. They were the only two to get off on eight. Sam turned down the corridor toward the suite. Desiree caught his arm.

“Sam, think!”

He frowned on her. “I am thinking. I’m thinking you suddenly have become a nuisance. Please let go of my coat.”

“Sam, you can’t go through with the meeting!”

“I... what?”

“I have a feeling, Sam! Don’t ask me what it is! I just have this feeling! It’s as if something is going to blow up in our faces!”

“You’re upset, Desiree. And confused. Nothing turned out as you expected. Nothing—”

“Sam, remember one thing! Remember that someone among us is not on our side!”

He shook her off, continued along the corridor. She dashed after him. They found the door to the suite open. Two men — one in a military uniform and the other in a business suit — lounged in the doorway. But Desiree knew they were lounging with a purpose. They were blocking the entrance.

Desiree immediately recognized both agents. They parted for Sam. He entered the suite. She went after him. The room was crowded. The buzz of idle conversation ended. She scanned the faces, recognized some as other agents.

“Sorry, gentlemen,” Sam said. “I went out for a package of cigarettes and was detained. Doctor Field hasn’t arrived?”

Why had Sam lied, and who was Doctor Field?

Desiree tugged his coat sleeve. His look was the kind he might give an annoying child.

“I have to talk to you,” Desiree pleaded in a voice just above a whisper.

He ignored her. “Gentlemen, we can begin without Doctor Field,” he said to the room. “I will present the initial phase. Doctor Field’s presence is not required for that, so if you other people, you people who are not supposed to be here will now kindly leave the suite, we can—”

“Doctor,” an agent broke in from across the room, “I think we are supposed to hang tight.”

“You can hang tight in the corridor, sir, if you must. What is to be discussed in this room in the next hour is not for general consumption.”

Agents shuffled. Eyes darted. Desiree took it in, then she blurted, “Sam, I must talk to you!”

A heavy silence descended on the room. All eyes turned to her. Sam looked at her, his face flushed, his eyes angry. But he whirled suddenly, caught her arm, marched her into a bedroom, and closed the door. “Young lady, I—”

“Who is Doctor Field?” she interrupted.

“Gray!”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know!”

“Why did you lie to those men out there? Tell them what happened to us, Sam! Tell them! They have a right to know they might be in danger!”

“Danger?” He snorted, yanked open the bedroom door. “Out, Miss Fleming,” he said firmly. “Right on out to the corridor.”

He turned to the main room. “All of you who are not supposed to be here — but! I am in charge now. Please leave, people. Please. Take up a vigil outside our door, if you must, but please leave the room so the rest of us can get on with our business.”

There was a general shuffling. Glances were passed. Then one agent stood and left the room. Others followed. Desiree didn’t move. Sam took her arm, put her in the corridor with her cohorts, closed the door. The agents muttered, mingled, looked at each other.

Finally one said, “All right, what can possibly happen to them in there, all cooped up together like hens in a chicken house?”

And another agent asked Desiree, “What’s the matter with you, chick? What’s bugging you?”

She rattled the whole story out. The agents stood silent, listening, digesting, contemplating. They remained silent when she had finished, then one breathed, “Why a hypodermic?”

Another asked, “And why return him? They had him.”

No one had answers and a third agent finally said, “Well, they’re all snug now. Can you imagine how many governments would like to have ears in that room in the next hour and a half?”

“Can you imagine,” murmured Desiree, “what one bomb in that room right now could do to the United States?”

She stood frozen, the enormity of her own words suddenly swelling her. She squealed and broke. She slammed into the meeting room and screamed, “Everyone out! Everyone out!”

No one moved. An agent burst in from the corridor. “Chick, have you lost your marbles?”

Desiree whipped up her skirt and simultaneously triggered the garter snaps on the front of her thighs. Two tear gas pellets popped from the snaps and burst on the carpeting.

There were shouts of protest, shouts of annoyance, shouts of disbelief. And then there was bedlam as the occupants of the room scrambled toward the open door. Desiree slammed into a wall. She stood plastered there.

She saw Sam staggering toward her, his fists digging into his eyes under his black-rimmed glasses. She pushed off of the wall and rammed her palms against his chest. The blow sent him staggering backward. She saw him go down.

“Sam, Sam—” she murmured in despair; then she whirled and shot for the open door.

The explosion deafened her. She had the sensation she was being lifted and pitched on a hot wind — and then there was nothing.

Desiree came awake in a hospital room. Holly stood beside her bed. She looked around. She was alone with her chief. She attempted to lift her head, found that she could not.

“Hi, kid,” Holly said in a gentle voice. “Don’t fry to move. You got a bum back out of the deal, but you and the others are alive.”

“Sam?” she mumbled. She felt tears brimming her eyes.

Holly remained silent.

“S-Sam, the... the secret weapon,” she quavered.

The thought was ludicrous. She thought she should laugh. She could not.

“From what I’ve been able to piece together,” said Holly, “from what you told the others, Mamie and her pals rigged his money belt while he slept. He was timed to explode.”

“He was a nice guy, Chief. I liked him.”

“We’ve picked up Doctor Field. He was on his way to Buenos Aires with a suitcase full of money. We missed Mamie and her friends, but we’ll get her some day. She and I are ancient adversaries.”

“I liked Sam, Chief.”

“He was dedicated and perceptive. He knew that someday something like this could happen to him. It’s all down on tape, Desiree. Everything Sam had in his head. And there’s only one person in the world who knows where the tape is.”

She stared up at Holly. “When are you going to get it, Chief?”

“When I leave here.”

“Then I think I’ll sleep. I’m very tired.”

“You do that, kid.”

She slept with an image of Doctor Samuel Herchenfelder, scientist extraordinary, alive in her mind.