Chapter 11
I opened my eyes and blearily stared around me. I wasn't in the bedroom under The Hideaway. I felt as if I had been on a big drunk. I tried to get off the bed. The room spun around. The last thing I remember was crashing on the floor.
The wind was roaring around me. Leaves of every color swirling around me. And there was a blue mist everywhere.
For a moment the wind died down and the blue mist faded. I felt a sharp jab.
"She'll be okay in a little while," someone said.
And then black fog floated in over me.
Once more I opened my eyes. I sat up. I felt like I did the time that a truck driver gave me one of the pills he took to keep awake. Everything was too bright and too sharp. Even the light in the room seemed to glare.
I was in a huge bedroom. The bed was a four-poster with a canopy over it. For a moment I thought I had been transported back to Colonial days.
I slid from the bed and stood up. I started forward. It felt as if I were ten feet tall. But otherwise I felt fine.
And then I realized something else. I was as naked as the day I was born.
I went over to the window framed by heavy brocade drapes. I stared out into the blackness.
I heard a door open. I turned around. Eddie stood there in the opening.
He slowly closed the door and stood there staring at me. I stared back.
"Welcome to Valhalla," he said.
"Yeah, I'll bet it is."
"I told you, you had no choice."
"You'll find out," I told him.
"You either do as we say, or you'll die. And I don't mean the clean fast kind, either. The boss has many ways for one to die. And all of them are long and slow and you will finally beg us to kill you."
When a rat is cornered it turns and fights against any odds. But I was no rat. I was a human being with a brain. And, if I wanted to live, I had better use that brain and use it well.
So as I stood there staring at him, I quickly figured my odds. They were a million to one against me, possibly more. If I wanted to live, I had better go along with them and wait my chance. To paraphrase the old saying, it is better to live and to have lost than never to have lived at all. I might lose. But I would die trying to live.
"Have you got a cigarette?" I asked.
He nodded and came over to me. He shook one up from his pack and I took it. I leaned toward his lighter and blew smoke in his face.
"So what do you want from me?"
"The boss will tell you."
"When?"
"I don't know. He's a busy man. But you're not going anywhere."
I glanced toward the window. He laughed.
"You're four floors up. This side of the house is built on the edge of a cliff. It's at least five-hundred feet down from this window. So you won't do much running if you jump out of there."
I sucked on my cigarette, trying to look like Mata Hari just before her execution. But it is damned hard to stay cold and aloof on the outside when you're shaking on the inside.
He turned and started toward the door.
"How about leaving me your pack of cigarettes?" I said.
He opened the door and looked back. "Sure, if you want to chew them. But if you think I'm leaving any matches for you...."
He went out and closed the door. I heard the lock click. He was a damn fool. I still had a lighted cigarette.
I looked around the room. If I set the room afire, what would it buy me? The walls and floor might be fireproof. And they would leave me in there to fry.
So it was best that I nurse my cigarette and make it last as long as possible. I again went over to the window and stared out of it. Although I could see nothing, at least I was looking beyond the walls of my prison.
This was a nightmare. It had to be. I would probably wake up shaking and screaming in my bedroom, with all the bedding on the floor.
And then I realized that the first thing I had to face was that this was for real. It might be a nightmare, but I was not asleep.
But how had I gotten into this mess?
Sharon Michaels. She had told me about The Hideaway. She had given me the idea of going there and trying to get in touch with foreign agents.
Why?
And why had I listened to her? Hell, I would have been better off in jail, sleeping with Lila. At least I would have a fighting chance of coming out of it alive after my trial. But this way....
Was Sharon tied in with these foreign agents or whoever they were? How had she known I might find them at The Hideaway?
Sharon was one of them. It had to be that way.
I wondered where Tim was and what he was doing. Probably out looking for me.
The door opened again. I whirled around. Eddie stood there.
"The boss wants to see you," he said. "Come on."
I started toward him. He shoved his hand under the left lapel of his jacket. It came out gripping a revolver.
He aimed it at me. He thumbed back the hammer with an ominous click.
"Try anything funny," he warned me, "and you'll have lead poisoning."
He slowly backed away from the doorway. He waved the revolver toward it.
"Get going. Turn to the right."
I padded into the hall and to the right.
"I'm right behind you. There's an elevator on your right just down the hall. That's as far as you go."
I reached the elevator and stood still.
"Push the button," he ordered.
I did.
We stood there in the silence, and I stared at the elevator door. It soon slid back. I stepped into the cage. He sidled in around me and went to the rear.
"Push I," he said.
I did.
Again we stood there in the silence, as the cage swiftly dropped. The door rolled back.
"Out and to your left," he told me.
I went down the deserted hall, wondering where we were headed.
"Hold it right there."
I stopped. He went to a door on the right and opened it. "Inside."
A short fat Buddha of a man sat behind a desk. His head was as bald as an egg. He had bushy black eyebrows and the eyes of a pig. His lips were puffy and his mouth was cruel.
I was shoved up to the desk. He stared at me and I stared back.
"Why do you make trouble for us?" he asked. "I've made no trouble. I didn't ask to be brought here."
"But we need you. We need you desperately."
"Why?" I asked.
He reached into a box and pulled out a cigar. He unwrapped it and held it to his nose and sniffed it. Satisfied, he stuck it in his mouth and rolled it around between his thick lips. Then he reached for a lighter.
"Let's just say we have an important assignment. All our other personnel are busy."
"Even Sharon Michaels?"
He chuckled. "I wondered if you'd ask that. Yes, she's very busy. She's one of our most valuable key persons. She called me this morning and said to be on the lookout for you."
"Just who are you, anyway?"
He gave me a grin. It looked like a gasping fish.
"Let's just say that I am part of an important organization. We're always in need of new recruits. That's why Sharon sent you to me."
"So if I'm to be a recruit, why am I treated like this? Why can't I sit down and have a cigarette and be treated decently?"
He stared at me for a moment. "You are quite right. Please forgive my rudeness. Eddie, push up a chair."
A chair was shoved up in front of the desk. I sat down. Eddie offered me a cigarette and lit it. He went back over to the door.
"So what's your proposition?"
He began rocking back and forth and lit his cigar. From the depths of a cloud of gray smoke he said, "We have many activities. We try to place a person in the activity that suits them best. But all our personnel have one quality in common-they have no emotion. That way they don't panic or run. They keep their heads. So they are better able to carry out an assignment."
He continued rocking back and forth. I said nothing and let the silence hang.
"So every new recruit has the same assignment. They have to kill cold-bloodedly and without flinching. If they can't, they are of no value to us."
I stared at him, trying to keep my face passive. I wondered if he was mad or if he were an inhuman monster.
"Most of our personnel are like you. They had no choice but to join us. But after indoctrination, they always see the value of our work and gladly help us carry it on. And I'm sure that you will, too."
Don't make book on it, Buster, I thought.
"After your indoctrination," he went on, "we have a very important assignment for you. It has to be a woman. And you are ideally suited for it, since you are a barber. We will get you into a certain shop. Nobody will know of your affiliation with us. This man loves beautiful women. You'll give him the Big Hello smile. He'll soon be coming to you. And while you have him laid back, under a hot towel, you'll jab a needle into his neck. It's perfectly painless. He won't suffer. And every doctor will swear he had a heart attack."
"But why do it that way?" I asked.
"Simple. While he's in your chair, he'll have two bodyguards sitting a few feet away. So that's the only way I know to get to him."
I nodded, and sat there dragging on my cigarette as though pondering his offer.
"And another thing. We'll get you cleared of murdering Johnny Blake."
"How?" I asked.
"Simple. Because you didn't do it."
"I know that. But no one will believe me." He pulled up to the desk and opened a drawer. He pulled out a paper.
"Here's a statement by Sammy Longdon just before he died. He and Millie Padgett were having an affair. She was waiting for him in the woods. She heard your screams and moans. Like a typical woman, she tried to break it up. She grabbed a rock and hit him in the head." He slapped a fat hand on the paper. "It's all there."
"So why did he have to die?"
"Because he was going to the police. If he had, you wouldn't have come to us. So, just for insurance, we made him give a statement. And after you finish your assignment, we will see to it that it reaches the state authorities. And we'll see to it that you are cleared."
"I may be clear with the law," I told him, "but you'H still have me hooked after killing that man in the chair."
He gave me his gasping fish grin again. "Exactly. But you won't mind. By then you'll see it our way."
I nodded and said nothing. I wanted to heave.
"Okay," I finally said, "I guess I have no choice."
"Oh, it's not so bad," he told me. "You can go right on living your life as you had before. And you won't have to worry about finances. Your first assignment will pay you ten-thousand dollars. Future assignments will pay according to how important they are. So you'll have a good life."
"So what's next?" I asked.
He shoved back from the desk and stood up. He was barely five feet tall. He waddled around the desk and toward the door.
"Come on," he told me. "You'll start your indoctrination." He looked at Eddie. "Keep your gun on her. We're going down to the courtroom."
Eddie nodded. Fatso went out the door and turned right. I was sandwiched between him and Eddie.
We went down a flight of stairs to a landing and then left. There was another flight of stairs to the basement floor.
It was gloomy and damp down there. Our footsteps echoed as if we were in a tomb.
Eddie suddenly ran up beside me. He was holding his revolver by the barrel. His hand went up and over. The butt of the gun smashed down on Fatso's head. Eddie caught him as he fell.
"Quick," Eddie told me, "get that window open over there."
I ran to the window and yanked. It was locked. I had to jump to unlock it. "Hurry."
I got the window up. I turned and saw him dragging Fatso over to it.
"Help me," he panted.
I grabbed Fatso's feet and lifted them. Together we struggled over to the window. Eddie gave him a shove.
He teetered for a moment on the window sill. Then he tilted forward and downward and disappeared into the blackness of the night.
Eddie reached up to close the window. The hall exploded and Eddie grabbed his middle. His revolver clattered to the floor.
I grabbed it up and whirled. A tall swarthy guy with his left eye glued shut stood there, and I was staring down the barrel of his revolver.
"Put down the gun," he ordered.
There was a racket at the far end of the hall. He glanced toward it. That was good enough for me.
My finger clamped. The roar bounced back and forth between the walls. He suddenly sprouted a third eye and a waterfall of blood tumbled down over his face. He stood there for a moment at a crazy angle and then fell flat on his face.
I got my hands under Eddie's arms, I tried to lift him. "I can't carry you," I teW Mm. "You'we got to help me."
Me wobbled to Ins feet. I got an arm around him. I knew we couldn't go for any hike.
"Where can we hide?" I asked.
"We've got to make it to that door down there."
I half-dragged him down the hall. I grabbed the doorknob and swung the door back. We staggered through the opening and I closed it behind me. We were in anothher hall.
"Through that first door on the right," he gasped. We zig-zagged toward it. I threw it back and we went through it. He reached out and flipped a switch. "Close the door," he said. I did.
We were in a small room.
"We'll be trapped in here," I said.
"Keep on going," he said.
We went to the end of the room. He staggered over to the corner on the right. And then we stood there, clinging together.
"Now what?" I asked.
Just then we slowly began to sink through the floor. I felt like Alice in Wonderland.
We suddenly stopped with a jolt. Eddie reached out and fumbled around. A light came on. He stepped off the platform, still hanging onto me.
The platform snapped back up again. We were in an underground room.
"I won't be leaving here," he gasped. He pointed to two switches on the wall. "The one on the left turns on the lights. The one of the right will bring that platform down."
"Don't they know about it?"
"No. And when the platform snaps back up, the light goes off upstairs."
"Clever. How did you find it?"
"I haven't got time to tell you. Get me over there on that cot."
I practically had to carry him. Red froth was beginning to bubble from his lips.
I set him down on the cot and he lay back with a sigh. I grabbed his feet and put them on the cot.
"There's a loose brick over there in that wall. Find it."
I went over to where he was pointing. I fumbled around.
"More to your left," he said.
My scrabbling fingers found the brick and pulled it out. "Reach in and get my diary. Bring it to me." I reached in and pulled out a small book. I took it over to him.
"Somehow, you've got to get this out of here."
"But who do I give it to?"
"It's written on the last page. And now get out my billfold. I want you to take it, too."
I reached into his hip pocket. But there was more than a billfold.
There was a leather folder. I opened it. It was an ID. He was a Fed.