Chapter 7

So I admit, old man, that I haven't treated you fairly."

Mark sat on the edge of his bed smoking a cigarette. Dr. Sanders paced the floor of the cabin trying to hide the agitation within him after the manner of a true English gentleman. Mark had planned a painting trip into the hills next day, in the general direction of Kelp territory. He'd gone to sleep with this in mind and been awakened by a tapping on his door sometime later.

The time proved to be 2 a.m., the caller Dr. Sanders. The Englishman backed into the reason for his visit in true English-gentleman fashion. Now, here it was.

"Then I assume you're going to tell me the truth."

"Yes, and ask you to accompany me on a burglering expedition."

"Sounds exciting," Mark said sourly.

"They're holding something over my head," Sanders blurted out.

"Interesting."

Having finally taken the plunge, Sanders seemed to have an easier time of it. "Blackmail-pure and simple."

"Pornographic material?"

"Yes. Difficult as it is to admit, I have had my weak moments."

"Haven't we all?"

"Nice of you, old man. Anyhow, I was up here one evening about a year ago it was. Everything was very nice. Hostesses serving food and drinks-and a mellow atmosphere in general.

"But after I got a few under my belt, the rosy atmosphere prevailed so to speak. One of the nymphs did a dance as I remember. Then Welch disappeared. Also the other two chaps who attended the affair-can't recall their names. I was along with two of the nymphs. A few more drinks and-well, all my inhibitions vanished-"

"Somebody took pictures?"

"Quite."

"How did you find out?"

"I didn't for quite a while. Then later, when I objected to the whip lashes on the backs of one of the girls I was called on to treat, Welch trotted out the pictures and laid it on the line."

"Whip lashes? On one of the girls?"

"Nasty red slashes that made me boil."

Mark considered. "Have you treated many of the girls?"

"You might call me the house physician."

Mark recalled his earlier contact with Sanders. He tried to find discrepancies in his earlier story. "I begin to see it now. Your sense of outrage is as strong as ever, but your fears of personal exposure kept you from being entirely truthful. You were trying to ease me into the picture while still keeping clear yourself."

"That's about the size of it."

"Then showing me the pornography cache was pretty daring on your part."

Sanders shrugged. "I didn't realize they'd be on the alert to that extent.

"I understand ... now about the burglering bit."

"I think I know where they keep the blackmail material."

"In the main building?"

"In a small vault behind Welch's office."

A tangent though struck Mark. "Why do you suppose they keep the pornography in that cave so far from the Haven?"

"Quite simple. It's a commercial product. It requires picking up, delivering, shipment. They don't want all that activity here at the Haven."

This was logical, Mark conceded. His first idea had been that the isolated storage place protected the Haven from implication, even if it were discovered. But that wasn't true. The stuff could be traced back by merely examining it and comparing faces.

"The blackmail material must be in a safe. We could conceivably get to it, but could we open it?"

"I think I know the combination. Several times over the past few months, I've been in Welch's office while he opened the vault. I memorized the turns. If they haven't been changed I can work the combination."

"Do you have free access to the main building?"

"Not at two o'clock in the morning, old man."

"Then you propose we slip in and remove the damaging evidence?"

"Exactly."

Mark made up his mind instantly. "Okay, we'll give it a try."

"Good man!" Sanders said heartily. "Good show."

"We'll wait and see how good a show it is," Mark replied grimly....

One of the small windows Linda had described came up easily after the hook was broken, and both men managed to squeeze in. They dropped to a cement-floored corridor, and Sanders snapped on a pencil flash. It revealed a door and a stairway that gave onto the first floor and Sanders knew where he was.

Then, as he silently indicated a turn to the left, a sudden, high-pitched scream-the scream of a woman-froze them in their tracks. Mark was the first to react. The scream had come from the opposite direction. As he turned, it was repeated. Then the ripping, nerve-tearing sound dwindled off into muffled silence as though the woman had been throttled.

"I'm going to see about this," Mark said. "I'm damned if I'll stand by any longer and-"

Sander grabbed him fratically by the arm. "Hanes-you're out of your mind! Don't spoil everything."

"That's what I told myself yesterday while I watched them abuse another girl. The hell with it! I'm dealing myself in!"

"But Hanes-"

At that moment a door opened farther down the corridor. Both Mark and Sanders instinctively pressed themselves against the wall. A few moments later, a figure appeared. The dim light revealed little by way of detail except that it was a woman or a girl. Also, she seemed exhausted. She stood for a few moments with her head thrown back and an arm across her forehead as her body swayed from either weariness or high emotion.

Then as she turned to move away they saw, with horror, that she was dragging a whip behind her. She moved on down the corridor and disappeared through another doorway.

Mark pulled his arm out of Sander's grasp and followed her as far as the room from which she'd emerged. He stooped, wiped his finger across the floor, and shoved it under Sanders' nose.

"Blood."

"Right you are," Sanders said. He led the way into the room, but Mark was close behind and the sight hit them simultaneously. They froze.

The girl hung naked from an overhead beam, the feet an inch from the floor. Leather thongs cut into her wrists. Her body turned gently, the wrist thongs blending into a single strand fastened to the beam.

Sanders, the physician in him predominating, moved forward instantly but Mark stood flat footed muttering, "My God My God!" The girl's condition was enough to turn the strongest stomach.

She had been mercilessly whipped. The red gashes across her back were netted into a red skein by the little vertical rivulets of blood. The blood, after making its pattern formed a small river in the hollow of her spine and ran down between her graceful buttocks, dripping down her legs to the floor.

But that was not enough. Several vicious lashes had been applied across her breasts and belly. Blood from these had converged into her groin, giving her body a ghastly appearance.

Staring through a complete revolution of the beautiful body, Mark raised his eyes to her face. His eyes widened and the sheer horror of it struck him full blast.

"Linda! What in God's name have they done to you?" He sprang forward.

Sanders, swiftly checking the physical damage, threw a look of annoyance at Mark. "Will you stop your hysterics? It isn't doing her a bit of good. Help me cut her down."

Mark threw his arms around her. "Linda! Say something! Are you still alive?"

Sander pushed him roughly away. "Keep your hands off, man! Do you want to do more damage? She must be handled as gently as possible."

"Sorry," Mark mumbled as he tried desperately to regain some semblance of composure.

"Grasp her by the thighs," Sanders said. "Gently. Lift her now, while I cut the thong-right-that's it."

Mark functioned automatically, disregarding the blood that stained his arms and his shirt. "Baby-" he muttered. "Who did this to you?"

"Shut up!" Sanders said curtly. "This is no time for your blasted emotionalism. Help me carry her to that cot over there."

They moved slowly across the torture chamber, supporting Linda's slashed body as gently as possible.

"Lay her on her stomach-that's it."

Sanders straightened up. His face was cold and grim. He surveyed the damage for a few moments and then turned to Mark. "There's a first aid kit in Welch's office. I'm going to get it. I want you to stay here and keep your emotions in check. There'll be time enough for that sort of thing later. Don't touch her or talk to her, just wait until I get back."

Sanders left the room and Mark's respect for him rose sharply. Whatever he was as a man-weak, uncertain-he more than made up for as a doctor.

Mark bent over the still form of Linda Barnes. He felt his emotions taking over again and turned resolutely away, his mind seething. Who had done this terrible thing? And for what reason?

One of those ungraspable mental things nagged him again-the feeling he'd missed something he should not have missed. To this was now added the feeling that the shadowy form in the hall was someone he knew or had known. But whom? His quick impression had not been clear enough to say. Still, he felt that he should know. There was some chain of logic here that kept escaping him.

Sanders returned with a first aid kit. He walked to the cot as impersonally as a bank teller going to his-cage, and opened the metal case. Without taking his eyes off the job of work that lay before him, he said, "You'd better not watch this. Go over in the corner and smoke a cigarette. When she moans, ignore it."

Mark obeyed and as he took a deep drag off his cigarette he made another concession to Sanders. He was very perceptive. At a glance he'd realized Mark's attachment to the tortured girl, and acted accordingly.

Linda moaned. Mark doubled his fist, pressed it hard against the wall and vowed vengeance. He castigated himself for his earlier timidity. If he had moved resolutely at the time of Patience White's rape,, this might not have happened. No more of this stupid nonsense! Things were going to start happening now, and they would happen fast....

Mark turned at the touch of a hand on his shoulder. Sanders had finished. A little of the grimness had left his face. She'll be all right, old man. Some scars I'm afraid, but there appears to be no injury to any vital organ."

Mark's emotionalism welled up again, in the form of gratitude to Sanders. "Thanks-thanks a lot."

"Don't mention it. And now-let's get on with the business of the evening."

The words came as kind of a shock to Mark. The original business of the evening had gone up in smoke so far as he was concerned. He'd expected interruption at any moment during the last half hour. It seemed incredible that Welch or an acolyte had not come to see to the wounded victim of someone's wrath. Could they be so callous as to allow Linda to hang there indefinitely?

"We'd better forget the blackmail material," he said. "There's too much else to be done. We've got to get out of here and get help."

"Hold it, old man. Just where do you plan to go for help?"

"To the legal authorities-the police-the state troopers."

"What makes you think you'll get any action?"

Wrath boiled up inside Mark. "Look here-are you at it again? Stalling? Blocking me?"

"No," Sanders replied with a heat of his own. "You know damned well I'm not. I've gone too far to back down now. But there's no reason we shouldn't use our heads."

"If you-"

"Shut up and listen. You can claim I'm trying to protect my own skirts in wanting to get my hands on the blackmail material-you've got a perfect right to-but what better weapon could we have if we want action in high places? What would block us in this matter? People frightened to act because of what may be in that vault. So getting the material into our hands is the wisest thing we can do in any case."

Though it irked him to admit it, Mark realized that what Sanders said made sense. "All right. Let's get with it. Where is the place?"

Sanders carefully opened the door. "This way, old man."

"And let's hope they're as callous or stupid around here as they appear to be. Personally, I doubt it."

"We can only try...."

They made Welch's office without trouble, something Mark did not expect to do. As they entered, his sense of unreality heightened. How could these people-with so much to protect-be so careless?

Sanders went to the vault and dropped to his knees. The pencil flash glowed and Mark heard the tumblers in the vault door turn.

Suddenly they heard the sound of approaching footsteps. "This is it," Mark whispered. "What shall we do-jump him as he comes in?"

"He's got to be stopped somehow," Sanders answered. "That's your problem. Get a weapon. Find something-quick."

Marked picked up a standing ash tray. It was heavy and unwieldly, but it would have to dp.

The steps grew louder. Mark crouched beside the door, drew back his cudgel.

But the door did not open. The footsteps clumped on by and diminished. A moment later there came a shout which was answered farther away by a second shout.

"What's going on out there?" Sanders asked.

"I think they're looking for us," Mark said. "They must have spotted us in the other room and then lost track of us when we left."

"None of it seems to make much sense," Sanders muttered. Then the tumblers clicked into place, he grunted in triumph as he opened the vault door.

Mark followed him inside. There were ledgers and account books on a rear shelf, the other two walls of the vault were given over to rows of drawers.

Sanders began opening them one after another, closing them when they proved unrewarding. "Try the other side," he said.

The drawers were not locked and slid open soundlessly. Mark went through half a dozen with no more success. Then, just as he was about to close the seventh one, a name on a small, white-wrapper package caught his eye. He jerked the drawer open and stared. Could it be possible?

He snatched the package out and tore off the wrappings. It contained a series of snapshots-no doubt motion-picture stills blown up into card-sized glossies. The one in his hand showed a man and two women. All were naked. The man lay on his back while the women jointly performed an act of indescribable obscenity upon him. The most horrible aspect of the photo, however, was the expression on ..the man's face. Expertly angled and completely clear, the male face in the picture wore a look of bestial satisfaction. The eyes were strained far open; the mouth was twisted into a leer of obscene delight.

Silently, Mark turned to Sanders-touched his shoulder-held the picture before his eyes. In the overhead light which had gone on automatically with the opening of the door, the photo was starkly outlined. Sanders gasped. "Even-" He was about to pronounce the name but he stopped. "Even that high?" Good lord. Now you can see what would have happened

"You're quite right," Mark said. "The rest of the stuff is on this side, I think."

He went through the adjacent drawers until they had a pile of white packages on a shelf. When he came to the one marked Dr. Sanders, he handed it over without looking at it.

"Thanks, old man," Sanders said a trifle huskily, and put the package in his pocket.

"Why don't you burn it," Mark asked.

"I will-you can rest assured that I will."

"Why don't you burn it now? We might not get out, you know. They are looking for us."

"Good idea," Sanders muttered. "Wasn't thinking quite clearly. As Mark read the distinguished names on the other packets he heard the scratch of a match and caught the odor of burning paper and celluloid.

Sander's relief reflected in his voice when he said, "It seems stupid to put the negatives and positives in the same package. Not very smart, really."

"How do you figure people of this sort? There aren't any rules. What will we do with the rest of this stuff?"

"We can't burn it all. And, as you say, we might not get out with it."

"Let's put it back where we found it."

"But Hanes! Those poor devils!"

"Knowing where the stuff is can be our weapon. Some of the men listed on those packages are powerful enough to move in here and take over if they can be assured of getting what they come for. And if we can leave this place as we found it, Welch needn't know we got into the vault."

"What if they come looking for my package?"

"We'll give them no cause to. Even if they do, and find is missing they'd attribute it to some error."

Ten minutes later they were in the hallway. The tread of heavy feet echoed from somewhere in the building but the direction was questionable.

Mark said, "Let's separate. If we're taken together they might decide we've seen too much."

"That's ridiculous. They wouldn't actually hold us."

"How do we know what they'll do? We'll split. You go out as we came and I'll try to make a window in front. If we both get away-fine. If only one of us makes it, he goes into action immediately to blow the lid off this cesspool."

"Very well."

Mark waited until the doctor faded into the gloom. He wondered, if they were searching for intruders, why they didn't turn on the lights. It was as though his thoughts fathered the act, for at that moment the corridor lights blazed up. He saw Sanders duck into a cross corridor, then was suddenly occupied with his own affairs. Two acolytes came out of a cross corridor, saw him, and charged forward.

Mark ran in the other direction, then skidded to a halt as another white gown loomed up to block his path. He backed against the wall, an animal at bay. Though he fought savagely, they subdued him quickly.

It was a silent battle, no words being spoken. The acolytes dragged him to a doorway and through it into a room. Then, quite expertly, the began stripping him.

Silently Mark renewed his struggle to break away, but he was helpless in the hands of the three experts. While two of them held him by either arm, a third stripped off his shorts. Now he was naked except for his socks and shoes.

He felt his wrists pulled roughly together. The leather thongs were bound into place, his arms were raised over his head. They did not raise him off the floor, allowed him to stand as comfortably as could be expected under the circumstances on his own two feet.

Their job completed, the three acolytes looked it over briefly and seemed satisfied. Two of them turned toward the door, but the third, in a quick vicious gesture, avenged the kick he'd received from Mark by smashing a doubled fist into his body just above the crotch.

Mark squawked in sudden pain. His eyes bulged and his mouth flew open. His legs flew apart as they left the floor and his body jerked grotesquely in reaction to the abuse.

The acolyte laughed. The other two turned and scowled their annoyance, much as adults would scowl at the antics of a child. Then the three of them-left.

Mark hung suspended for almost half an hour. When the flame in his groin subsided, he was able to concentrate on his situation. What would happen to him next in Peace Haven! Perhaps he was slightly hysterical; the irony of the name struck him, and he giggled. The sound coming from his throat was enough to snap him back to normality, he wondered if Sanders had gotten away.

He had a short time to wonder. The door opened and two women appeared. They would have had to be classed as beautiful, but there was a maturity about them that set them apart from the rank and file of Peace Haven faithful. Also, a hardness that was not apparent in most of the others.

They looked at Mark, glanced knowingly at each other, and approached him. He reddened with embarrassment. "Would you please have the decency to leave?" he asked desperately.

One of the women, a tall, deeply tanned brunette, laughed. "He has inhibitions. Isn't that a shame?" The other, an amply breasted blonde, inspected Mark critically. "He shows a lot of possibility."

If such a thing were possible, Mark's sense of unreality would have sky-rocketed. But it was already in Never-Never Land and could go no further. "Who's behind this madhouse?" he blurted out." Who's running this insane asylum? I want to talk to him!"

This brought a gale of laughter from the two women and Mark realized for the first time that both were drunk.

"He wants somebody to talk to," the brunette giggled.

The other shrugged comically. "Who wants to talk?" They moved away together, their arms around each other, seemed to have forgotten Mark by the time they reached the door.

He furiously jerked at the leather thong. It did no good, the leather held. Exhausted, he hung for a while.

Then the door opened again. He raised his head and all his weariness, all anger, all embarrassment vanished in sheer shock and amazement.

"You-he blurted out.

The girl in the doorway smiled. "Whom did you expect, handsome?...."