“Where did you learn to dress chest wounds?” the doctor asked.
“I read too much. Is he going to be OK?”
Williams held out his hand and Curt took it.
“Thanks, Jenson ,” he said weakly. “Get that girl…and yourself… out of this… . Dangerous.”
Curt shook his hand but said nothing. He asked Hawkins, “Is there anything else I can do?”
“I’ll have to get him to a hospital, but I’ll have all the help I’ll need. If you want to talk with him further, I’d suggest you wait until later.”
“Thanks, Doc. I’ll call later. I’ve got to get back to Albuquerque fast.”
Williams stirred himself once more.
“Burke won’t go back… blew cover… .”
“Take care of him, Doc. I’ll be in touch.”
On the way south, he tried to fit the new pieces in the puzzle together. What did Ronald Aikens’ machine have to do with all this – or more exactly – what was his machine to begin with? Why were KGB agents involved? And why such incompetent ones at that? To be sure, now that there was at last a more plausible reason for all of the shenanigans than just Charles Aikens’ wealth, how did Sheila and he fit into it all? Could it be that some of his shadows were San Francisco PI’s while others were in the spy game? Added to this, the FBI’s were following the KGB’s. Damn, he thought, it gets more complicated by the minute. Then he remembered the events in Baca’s cave. Did the KGB set that up? Why? What could a poor sheepherder know or have that would fit into international politics? And even more mystery. Were the voices Sheila heard like the one he heard in the cave? What connections could Elizabeth Aikens have with Alfredo Baca? It just didn’t fit together. Moreover, instead of finding answers, Curt reflected gloomily, he was finding questions.
Eve though it was late and he was exhausted, he stopped at a service station with a pay phone and dialed Myers. In answer to his question about the Hoover residence, there was a click as he was put on hold and several minutes passed before Myers came to the line.
“You’re late.”
“Sorry, Myers, but there have been too many developments. I’ve got to have help in sorting them out. I haven’t organized the details well, but I think I can get everything in. Is your recorder on?”
With a grunt, Myers turned his recorder on and said nothing while Curt related the events and the semi-conclusions he had reached about the day’s activities. There was a long silence after he finished.
“Williams say how Baca figured in on all this?”
“No, but he did mention a machine Ronald Aikens had built or invented as the reason Burke was following me. Burke must have figured I knew something about it.”
“How do you figure that voice was rigged?”
“Don’t know. I searched that cave inside out and didn’t find anything. If I hadn’t spooked Burke, I might have been able to beat it out of him, that is, if he had anything to do with it. Speaking of Burke…”
“Don’t worry. Rodriguez would have followed him and I’ll bet the FBI has him right now. Want me to check?”
“Would they tell us anything?”
“Probably not. But it couldn’t hurt to poke around a little.”
“One last thing Myers. The voice in the cave could be like the voices in the Sheila Cavanaugh house. What connection is there between Aikens and the people up here?”
“That’s another strange part of the whole business. We picked Baca out of the air – just trying to find a missing person cover for you. Thinking back on it, we almost chose a case in Las Cruces, but settled for Baca because his daughter was here in San Francisco. If Baca and Aikens are connected, it’s the wildest coincidence. We didn’t plan it that way.”
“Can you dig up information on Ronald Aikens for me? It seems that there is no direct way to get at what happened to Elizabeth. All of the clues and evidence seem to point to other people.”
“Will do – but before you hang up, I think you ought to consider your position in all this mess. I think you won’t earn any brownie points with the FBI just because you saved one of their agents. They’ll get on you if you’ve stepped into one of their cases. If Williams is right, and you’re in a dangerous situation, maybe you ought to see them and try to clear things up. After all, Charles Aikens wouldn’t want his niece involved in counter espionage and all that.”
“Right – I’ll see them as soon as possible. I don’t want to get involved, either. I’ll call the local agent tomorrow – I mean today. It’s 1:00 a.m. already.”
“Watch yourself, Curt. You’re in too deep to back out easily, so be careful you don’t get hurt.”
He rang off, and leaned back against the wall of the booth. God! He was tired. Too much had happened too fast – he hadn’t had time to think about, to absorb, to understand, and the night wasn’t over.
CHAPTER FOUR
AS HE PULLED INTO A parking place on Silver Avenue, Curt could see that the lights were still on at 1214. After the heart thumping excitement at Baca’s hill and the run-in with the now suddenly dangerous agents on his tail, he finally had time to think about Sheila – and thinking about her was pleasant indeed.
There had been women in his life – many women. Somehow, though, it seemed as if his relationships with them had been controlled by some sort of formula, or game plan that was decided by some unknown lawmaker. On first date – this – on second date – that – on third and so on. In fact, before he had left San Francisco, Diane, after completing all the requirements, was going to move in with him. Had that happened, he was expected, after a suitable time, to marry her. Thinking about it, though, he really didn’t know how she felt about him or vice-versa. They had said all the right things, and had expressed undying something or other, but when he got down to it, he hadn’t thought about her since he started on this case. He doubted that she had thought about him, either.
Diane was very attractive, if not beautiful, terribly chic- and like all the women he had known since arriving in the Bay Area, terribly interested in sex. They all followed the rules, did the correct things, and used the correct vocabulary with each other, except “love” was more often used as a verb rather than a descriptive word of condition. Indeed, new sexual techniques seemed to be the major topic of conversation. Until yesterday, when he and Sheila had made love in Elizabeth’s bed, he had never understood how subordinate the act of sex was to a real relationship. Up ‘til now, he thought, my relationship revolved around the sex act – I had sex partners, not lovers.
But Sheila brightened the world. Colors were sharper, sounds were more intense, and the positive parts of life seemed to jump out at him wherever he looked. He was in good, old fashioned love for the first time in his life.
As he walked around his car towards Sheila’s house, he was stopped by a large man who stepped suddenly out of the shadows.
“Mr. Jenson?” It was Miller, whom Curt had almost forgotten about.
“What is it?” he answered.
“The agents all followed you when you left for Santa Fe. The area’s clear; no one’s here.”
“Thank you. Have you heard from Rodriguez?”
“He called on his cell when he passed through Albuquerque chasing that gunman from Santa Fe. Said he would tail him until the cops stopped them – so I called El Paso and told them what happened. The guy’s probably trying to make the Mexican border. They’ll get him – we got his license, description and so forth.”
“Has anyone snooped around the house,” Curt said, pointing to 1214.
“Naw. She came home around ll:30 and no one has come or gone since.”
“Well, I’ll take over now, you can go home – and thanks Miller – you did a good job.”
Curt turned wearily toward the house, climbed the steps and rang the bell. There was the usual short bark from Roscoe
, or George, and Sheila opened the door. His fatigue disappeared immediately, for he noted that something was wrong. Sheila leaned against the door after closing it and said, with only a trace of a smile, “I’m so glad you’re back.”
He approached her and she slipped her arms under his and held him tightly to her. As he put his arms around her, he could feel the tension in her body.
“The voices were here again,” she said, not releasing him, “and this time, I could make out some of the things they said.”
Curt said nothing. He could only wait until Sheila recovered and continued.
“What upsets me the most is that I’ve been waiting for them to return – I’ve even stayed awake waiting for them – but when they finally did – I was frightened and confused. The only intelligent thing I did was to rush upstairs, get my portable recorder, and record the last few minutes of their visit.”
Remembering the panic he had felt in the cave, he made soothing sounds and held her tightly. “You won’t have to meet them alone again,” he said. “You’re getting out of this place.”
“But I want to find out just what this is all about!” she said, recovering.
Curt led her to the sofa and sat down beside her.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked.
“All right,” she said, “I’ll begin at the beginning. I returned home after the reception at about ll:20 or ll:25 and got into my nightclothes to wait for you. I was sitting where you are when I heard the door open. I looked immediately, but the door was closed and I could see no one in the room.”
“What did Roscoe, or George do?”
“That’s the strange part of it. He slept through the entire visit!”
“Well, what happened next?”
“I heard two people talking – two men – just as before, but this time I could make out some of the words. It was strange – the voices would rise and fall in intelligibility – at one time just a disconnected rumble – then a faint, clear moment, then faint intelligibility again. I caught some parts – but I couldn’t understand the rest.”
“Were they located at the same places as before?”
“Yes. One was at the bar and the other seemed to be walking back and forth in front of the fireplace.”
“Were they threatening you?”
“That’s another strange part of it, Curt. It was as if I weren’t there. I think they were not aware of me.”
“What did they say?”
“Once, when the soother at the bar had been rumbling for a while, I caught the phrase, ‘Don’t do this…’ and then other words I couldn’t make out. Then the pleader, the one over here, said…he said… .”
“We can skip this, Sheila. There’s no need… ”
“But there is a need! Because, you see, the pleader said almost in agony, ‘You’ve got to help me!’ Oh Curt, he was in pain and was crying for help!”
He put his arm around her shoulders protectively and she leaned against him momentarily.
“That’s when I finally thought about recording it. Here,” she said, picking up a portable recorder on the coffee table.
“This should have the last part of their communication on it.”
Curt re-wound the tape in the recorder and pushed the “Play” lever. For six minutes, both listened to a blank tape. Both sat in silence after he turned the machine off.
“Maybe the tape recorder was not sensitive enough,” he suggested.
“Or maybe it was all in my head.”
“It couldn’t be. Elizabeth heard them, and, as I’ll tell you later, I did too.”
They sat in silence for several minutes.
“Curt,” Sheila said with an air of finality. “This has been one of the most exciting, wonderful, frightening and exhausting days of my life, but I’m too tired to think and now that you’re here – I feel as I might be able to get some rest.”
“I agree,” he said rising, as if to go.
“Oh no you don’t,” she said, rising also. “You’re not leaving me alone. You can sleep in Elizabeth’s room, tonight at least.”
At 10:00 the next morning Curt was awakened by a knock on the door. Sheila entered without waiting for any response, carrying a tray upon which was a pot of coffee and two cups. Dressed in a housecoat – her hair hastily brushed back from her face and with no makeup – she was about the loveliest person Curt had ever seen.
“Time to get cracking, Jenson,” she said with a smile.
“Right, oh demanding employer!” he said, pushing himself to the head of the bed so as to sit up. As he did so, he felt one of the books in the headboard sticking out further than the rest, so without thinking, he withdrew it and placed it on top of the others. Sheila placed the tray on his legs, sat down on the bed and poured them coffee.
For the rest of the morning, they explored each other’s lives, finding many things in common and delighting over their differences. He told her about Diane, and she told him about Bill Townsend, and neither cared. Their love was young and full of excitement, not to be deterred by anything in either’s past. They discussed the voices she heard and he told her of his experiences with the Baca case, playing down his rescue of Williams – but it was all matter-of-fact, non-exceptional, something that could happen to anyone, anytime.
As they finished the last of the coffee, quite cold by now, Sheila examined the book Curt had replaced.
“I wonder why this account book is not with the others?” she said as she opened it and saw a bundle of papers, loosely stuffed between the pages.
“Oh, I see. These are a record of some of the inquiries Aunt Elizabeth usually made to friends in America.”
“Let me see,” Curt said, taking out the Western Union telegrams. After glancing through them, he remarked. “This one, and this one seem rather odd.”
The first one read:
Frank Burroughs died January, 1961. No other information.
I’ll get to Abrams next.
Ernesto
“Aunt Elizabeth often traced relatives and friends for people she met. These two look like she was too late.”
The second telegram read:
Abrums died six months after Ronald. Maybe a suicide. Am on my way to Escondido.
Ernesto
“These are not Hispanic names” Curt said as he shuffled through the papers, attempting to find out what Ernesto wrote from Escondido. There were no other telegrams from the man.
“Maybe he called long-distance,” she suggested. “You see, Elizabeth also looked for sponsors for people who wanted to come into the United States legally. I know people walk into the U.S. every day – but professional people who want to practice in the United States have to do it right.”
“But Ernesto mentioned Ronald. Do you think he meant Ronald Aikens?”
“Hummm – I don’t’ know.”
“Well, today we’re going to find out all we can about him at the newspaper files in the city library. Myers is compiling a sheet on him, but we might as well do what we can here.”
“How will this help us find Elizabeth?”
“That’s the grating thing about this case, Sheila. The evidence that crops up always seems to point to someone else. I’ll have Rodriguez or Miller try to track down Ernesto, but with only a first name, I think they won’t have much luck. Besides – there’s that machine that Williams said the moles were looking for. Maybe if we find out what kind of machine it was we’ll have something to work on. It could be that these people were hounding Elizabeth about it as much as they’re after us. In a roundabout way, we might find out something about Elizabeth by investigating Ronald.”
“Good,” Sheila said, standing up. “I’ve always been curious about Uncle Ron and Aunt Betty.”
“Betty!” Curt exploded.
> “Oh – the name mentioned in the cave – I forgot,” she said weakly. “We called her Betty because I already had an Aunt Elizabeth.” For a moment they stared at each other.
“No,” she said evenly. “I know what you’re thinking and I won’t buy it. I can’t make myself believe that Uncle Ron is haunting this house. It goes against everything I’ve studied and everything I do. I know I heard those voices and you heard someone calling ‘Betty,’ but I will not accept a supernatural explanation. I’m not even sure there’s a connection between what’s happening here and in Baca’s cave. Why should there be?”
“Spoken like a true scientist,” Curt replied with a smile. “Now you see what investigators go through all the time.”
She looked at him earnestly. “You mean you don’t think…”
“Not a bit,” he replied. “We’re just jumping to conclusions before we have all the evidence. Once we gather the right facts, we’ll probably have too many rational explanations.”
“I guess I’m just reacting too much.” Sheila said, weaving her hands through her hair nervously. “If you only could have heard that plaintive cry for help!”
“I think I know what you mean.” He replied, pulling her back to a sitting position on the bed and placing his arms around her. She snuggled close to him.
“Last night when I heard that voice call for Betty, I understood why old Alfredo Baca wanted to help – I had almost an uncontrollable urge to start looking, running or fighting for her myself. It was as if I felt the emotions in the words.”
“Yes! Yes, that was it. In fact, I believe I felt rather than heard those conversations downstairs. Maybe that’s why the tape recorder couldn’t pick them up, or Roscoe, or George… .”
“Enough of this, young lady,” he said, trying to get up. “Let’s get going on this thing.”
“Do we have to rush into it?” she said, removing her housecoat and snuggling closer.
“No,” he replied, placing the tray, empty cups and coffee pot on the floor. “We don’t have to.”
That afternoon, in the newspaper room of the Albuquerque Public Library, Sheila said “I’ve found it – the wedding announcement.”
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