Live, Love, and Cry

by George B Mair

  ‘That I want to know everything about PENTER 15 and in particular I want to know whether or not there are any supplies in Britain or anywhere else.’

  Grant shook his head. ‘Carpenter dropped several tons into Edinburgh’s water supply. No other supplies have been discovered.’

  Zero eyed him carefully. ‘You told me in Edinburgh that a sample had been given to your own department.’

  ‘A few c.c.s only. Not enough to analyse properly.’

  ‘But you failed to mention it.’

  Grant’s mouth became dry. ‘I had already told you.’

  Zero looked towards Tony, who was sitting nursing his Biretta deep in a bucket seat nearby. ‘Bring that container.’ He turned again to Grant. ‘You don’t seem to understand that lies and inaccuracies are not allowed. Perhaps we had better start work on Miss Carpenter.’

  A steward delivered coffee and glanced at Deirdre. ‘Black or white?’

  The girl spoke automatically. ‘Black.’ And then she stared aft from where Tony and the other steward were carrying an aluminium cylinder towards the cabin. It was just over six feet long and shaped like a cigar. Her lips trembled. ‘What is that?’

  Zero shrugged his shoulders. ‘Finish your coffee.’ He pointed to Tony. ‘Leave it there and open Carpenter’s door. Make sure the man can hear us.’

  Grant froze in his chair as Zero raised his voice. The cylinder was a hollow container large enough to take a man. If Carpenter failed to write out everything he knew about PENTER 15 the girl would be sealed inside it and the thing would be attached to a bomb-carrier which could be loaded from inside the fuselage. She would be kept there for a few hours and if Carpenter still failed to talk the cylinder would later be dropped from twenty-five thousand feet somewhere over the Med or Red Sea.

  Carpenter’s voice rumbled out from his cabin. He sounded tired. ‘I’ll see you in hell first.’

  Zero nodded to Deirdre. ‘You may have a last cigarette and even a second cup of coffee. But then you will go inside that thing knowing that you have no one to blame but your father.’

  The girl’s hand was steady as she raised her cup, but she looked helplessly at Grant. ‘What can I do? For heaven’s sake, David, surely you’re not going to sit there and let them do this to me?’

  Her voice rose almost to a scream and Tony grinned as Carpenter’s voice again rumbled out. ‘I can’t, Deirdre. I can’t write it all down. Too technical. I don’t remember some of the details.’

  ‘Surely you took his records away,’ said Grant. ‘What more do you want?’

  ‘We took some records,’ said Zero briefly, ‘but they had nothing to do with PENTER 15.’

  ‘Then where are the rest?’ Grant raised his voice. ‘Carpenter, where did you keep your notes?’

  There was a strained laugh, and then: ‘I’m not telling you. They are mine. Do you hear. Mine. I’ll see you all in hell before I say a word.’

  ‘But think of Deirdre, man,’ shouted Grant. ‘They’ll kill her if you don’t talk.’

  The same nervous guffaw echoed through the cabin. ‘Prove it. All I can hear is a voice. It could be anybody. Someone imitating her. What would Deirdre do here?’

  ‘Let him see her,’ said Grant coldly. ‘Let him have proof and maybe he’ll talk.’

  The man hesitated and turned towards Tony. ‘Take her down there and let them both know the worst.’

  The younger man jerked the girl to her feet. ‘This way.’

  Grant watched them reach the door and saw Deirdre’s hand leap to her mouth. ‘Oh, David! You should see what they’ve done to him!’

  Carpenter’s voice suddenly roared through the cabin. ‘Why bring a girl into this!’ And then he grunted as Grant heard the crack of Tony’s hand lashing across his face. There was a gasp of agony and Deirdre broke loose. Grant heard the noise of another heavy blow. And then Tony struggled out of the cabin with Deirdre fighting like a wildcat. He broke loose, stepped back a pace and clipped her on the side of the jaw. She fell unconscious and he knelt down beside her. ‘What now, Chief?’

  Her lips were bleeding, but three deep scratches ran down the side of Tony’s cheeks.

  The girl was writhing on the floor. The two stewards were covering him with guns and Zero was white with temper. ‘Gag her and tie her up. Later she goes into the bomb-bay. But we want her to know what is going on and we want Carpenter to see that we mean business.’ He turned to Grant. ‘So now, Doctor, suppose you think again. But this time more carefully, and tell me what the governments of Britain and America expect to do with this chemical, supposing, of course, that they do succeed in analysing it.’

  Grant crossed his legs and checked that his heels were within reach. Gas was the only way out. But how did one handle gas in a four-engine jet? It was almost eighteen years since he had last flown solo. And there wasn’t a hope of his taking a kite like this down. ‘Assuming they do get the formula they’ll use it to control population explosion and probably concentrate on Asia or South America.’

  ‘And what are the prospects of developing a counter-agent?’

  Grant shook his head. ‘It is a theoretical possibility.’

  ‘But would you agree that Carpenter is the most likely man to do this?’

  Grant nodded. ‘But only given time.’

  Zero sipped his coffee. The Rhine was edging below and Grant could see the distant smoke of Cologne. ‘Why won’t you believe that we know nothing?’ he said at last.

  ‘You all know something,’ said Zero grimly. ‘And I mean to add all the somethings together until they make sense.’

  Deirdre was writhing on the floor with Tony watching impassively, and the door to Carpenter’s cabin was wide open. ‘Do it there so that the Professor can see what is going on.’ Zero’s voice was still edged with temper and Grant tensed as the cylinder was tilted sideways while the two stewards eased the girl feet first inside. She was breathing fast and Grant saw her breasts cut against the thin edge as she dropped. She whimpered with pain and a roar from Carpenter was cut short as someone thrust a gag into his mouth.

  ‘In good time, Professor,’ said Zero. ‘But you’ll think better knowing that one touch of a button will release this thing and drop her into Germany.’

  A trapdoor on the floor was lifted and a short flight of steps led to the bomb-bay. Tony eased the gleaming container into the depths and Grant was near enough to see the stewards fix it in the number two compartment.

  They closed the trapdoor and replaced a panel of plastic. ‘So now, Professor,’ said Zero, ‘you will be given some blank paper. Fill it with the essential formulae and instructions for manufacturing PENTER 15. And remember that we have notes covering at least a few angles on this work. So we have a crosscheck. And if you don’t give us stuff which makes sense your daughter will later be released over the eastern Mediterranean.’

  Chapter Fifteen – ‘This time it’s for keeps.’

  Grant watched Zero light another cigarette. The man was tense. His knuckles still blanched and his lips were tautly drawn. ‘What do you expect to make out of Carpenter’s discovery when both Britain and America already know as much as you do?’

  The man stared with eyes which were cold as a striking krait. ‘This machine has been modified to carry a heavy bomb load. Given enough PENTER 15 I can saturate the water supplies of any country I want. Sheer panic alone would then bring any government to its knees. But now,’ he added grimly, ‘if we get in first with an antidote we can make real money.’

  Grant played it cool. ‘Where did you have in mind?’

  ‘India is overpopulated. She could use an empty Pakistan without starting a world war. And the Soviets want Afghanistan. I don’t see UNO interfering even if Russia occupied Kabul. And South Africa is another melting-pot. Think what the blacks would do with a monopoly of PENTER 15 and the knowledge of how to use it.’

  ‘But time is everything?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then why antagonise the Professor? Why kill
his only daughter?’

  ‘Because we want the precise formulae. And I can shock him into talking.’ Zero’s confidence was shattering.

  ‘But why was the girl so upset when she saw him?’

  ‘Because,’ said Zero slowly, ‘he has lost an eye; his face has been messed up by Tony and he has a broken arm. In fact,’ he added, ‘he looks much the same as you are going to do in an hour or so unless you wise me up on every fact relating to your own department. A change of subject, but ADSAD has become a nuisance and I intend to remove its key men. So let’s start with the list of names. A side issue from PENTER 15 but important.’

  Grant shook his head and again crossed his legs. The toe of his right foot was flush against the left heel. He could swivel the thing at a touch. But only if he was willing to pay the price. Juin’s nerve gas would knock everyone out in seconds and the rest would be up to him. The aircraft was flat out at nearly six four zero m.p.h. ground speed and it would be one helluva job getting her under control when the pilot flaked out. ‘Not me,’ he drawled. ‘ADSAD is still one of NATO’s secret weapons.’

  ‘I expected you to say that.’ Zero turned to Tony. ‘Bring the box.’

  Grant knew that this was the final cross-roads. There was a look of satisfaction about the man which showed that he held all the trumps, but before he could move stewards had grasped each ankle and fixed them to the bottom of his seat while Tony returned from a forward cupboard carrying a box with two dangling leads. One of them slit open his trousers to expose the front of his thigh and Zero strapped a flat lead into position against the skin while Tony fixed another to his forehead. Both went to eicndc thbhxoe which now lay on the floor beside the coffee-table.

  ‘This,’ said Zero, ‘is a polarisation machine developed by a certain Dr. Joseph Redfearn and it has sometimes been called the “happiness box”. The leads will conduct a low-voltage electric current through your brain. The positive has been fixed to your forehead and the negative to your leg.’ He switched a lever. ‘Soon you will begin to feel extremely relaxed and before night you will be ready to tell us anything we want.’

  Grant’s face was grim. ‘Why, then, didn’t you use it against Carpenter?’

  The man’s eyes hardened. ‘We did,’ he said, ‘and he reacted well. But polarisation is still in its infancy, so we must still have a double check. Which is why the girl will suffer unless he also gives us what we want when he is in complete possession of all his senses.’

  ‘And, of course, the same would apply to myself?’ Grant was already beginning to feel light-headed as an odd feeling of well-being slowly spread over him.

  ‘Exactly. We would need a double check.’ The man smiled slightly. ‘But I see it is working. You are beginning to lose the tense lines round your mouth.’

  The aircraft lurched downwards and Zero lost balance. Grant felt the box on the floor pull against one lead and the plaster strip was wrenched from his thigh as a steward helped Zero back to the deep bucket seat. The man re-fastened his safety-belt. ‘A whisky-soda,’ he snapped.

  The door opened from the cockpit and the navigator fumbled his way down the heaving cabin. ‘Running into freak weather, sir. Electrical storms ahead. Force nine winds even at twenty thousand feet over all south-east Europe.’

  Flickers of lightning were darting on the horizon and Grant could no longer see the ground. The sky was almost violet in colour and banking clouds of cumulo-nimbus were soaring all around.

  ‘Then get out of it.’

  ‘Easier said than done, sir. At least not without going far off course.’

  ‘And are you worried?’

  The man shook his head. He might have been from any Semitic nation and was finely chiselled with a small dark moustache and rippling black hair. ‘But the captain says we can’t fly over the top. And if we go round it means a long detour.’

  ‘Then carry on by the normal route,’ snapped Zero, ‘and don’t bother me with unnecessary questions.’

  The navigator saluted. ‘Understood, sir. But the captain also says that seat-belts must be kept fastened.’

  The aircraft again dropped several hundred feet and slipped to port. The jets were whining mercilessly and Grant sensed the power which was forcing the machine to stabilise as it suddenly nosed upwards against a fierce headwind.

  Zero measured out a dose of snuff. Grant’s sensation of lightheadedness was fading and he felt the box again slither sideways as the aircraft once more dropped like a stone.

  Crockery was rattling in the galley and lights had been switched on. Swirling clouds were piling even more thickly and particles of mist racing past the thick glass windows.

  Zero sneezed once, adjusted his belt and glanced at Tony. ‘Watch Grant.’

  But the man suddenly swayed forward and his gun dropped to the floor, slipping aft as four bucking jets shuddered the fuselage.

  The two stewards had flopped on their seats and fastened belts. The noose at each ankle was still taut, but Grant felt the ties loosen around his chest and his arms were still free. He shivered as he tried to imagine how Deirdre was feeling. With every lurch she must believe that the container which held her like a living bomb had been released.

  Another flash of lightning seemed to burst beside the aircraft and a peal of thunder almost deafened them. The clouds were now murky yellow, and swirling ochre-coloured mist was eddying round the windows.

  Zero blinked and pulled a revolver from his own pocket. ‘Not one flicker of movement, Grant.’

  The ‘No Smoking’ notice was flashing and Grant once again felt the surge of sixty-four thousand horse power fighting for altitude against the seething turbulence. ‘I think not,’ he said slowly. ‘Unless you want to blow us up. Too many petrol fumes.’

  He watched Zero hesitate. His neck pulse was running at ninety plus and his fingers tapping restlessly against his thigh.

  ‘Have you a good pilot?’

  Grant’s words sent the pulses racing as Zero flushed and turned to a steward. ‘Bring the navigator.’

  The man returned licking his lips. ‘Sorry, sir. The captain says he must stay in the cockpit. They are in direct touch with Zagreb and navigating by instruments.’

  ‘Bring him to me at once,’ said Zero, ‘and that’s an order.’

  The steward flushed. ‘The captain has forbidden me to enter the cockpit, sir. He says that turbulence might throw me against the switches. Everyone is banned until weather conditions improve.’

  There was a split-second gap in the clouds and Grant glimpsed snow-covered peaks. A swirl of mist swept below and he saw the pilot’s hand tighten on the stick. The machine righted itself, but Grant felt his stomach hit his chest as flames suddenly leapt from the number four engine.

  Another flash of lightning spat into the ochre clouds and Zero’s words were lost in the crash of thunder. His pistol was flung to the floor and the aircraft bucked like a Texan bronco.

  The man’s eyes were bright with fear and Tony’s jaw clenched as they watched flames streak over their port wing and lose themselves in billowing cloud.

  Grant struggled to keep his balance, flopped forwards and deliberately twisted the heel of his left shoe. He knew that the nerve gas would be curling round the centre of the cabin even as he loosened the ropes and unclipped his belt. Now everything depended on getting to the cockpit before the gas, which was already strangling men beside him.

  Zero was clutching frantically at his neck. Tony had gone limp in his seat and the stewards were staring with mouths wide open as they gasped for breath.

  Grant fought his way forward. The cockpit door was wide open and the captain scowled as he saw him balance against the lurching machine. ‘Leaking oil-pipe,’ he snapped. ‘Tell the boss oil lead to number four turbo bearings struck by lightning.’

  And then Grant saw his eyes glaze as his hand slumped forward and the aircraft quivered as engine power dropped. Grant fought like a maniac to free the captain and heaved him from his seat as the cockpit door sw
ung open behind. Pushing desperately, he eased the unconscious man into the cabin and forced his way to the controls—and to his seat-belt. The ‘feel’ of the stick was strange and instrument lights had multiplied since he had last flown solo, but already critical dials were flashing red.

  Behind, in the fuselage, he could hear noises as heavy weights seemed to crash about, but the door was jammed shut and he guessed that it was the pilot bouncing along the floor.

  Air speed had dropped to ninety-three per cent of max, but the altimeter was registering just over eighteen thousand. He pulled back the stick and cautiously opened the throttles.

  ‘For crissake,’ he gasped. The altimeter was still dropping.

  He glanced at the artificial horizon installed in every jet.

  He was still climbing.

  More engine speed. More lift.

  He could see flames reflecting in the swirling clouds and switched off fuel to his number four engine.

  The instrument panel was a nightmare. More dials than a typewriter had buttons!

  And then as the machine again dropped he found it, the switch for the fire extinguisher.

  But they were losing height fast.

  He suddenly remembered Deirdre hanging in the belly and realised what would happen if he touched the wrong button. Sweat had broken on his brow and his hands were clammy damp as he saw that they were losing height at over a hundred feet per second. Altitude was now less than fifteen thousand and still dropping. Ground was invisible but the stick was well back and the nose up.

  It was crazy!

  Or was it?

  Another quick glance at the altimeter.

  There was only one answer.

  The aircraft had flipped on to her back either when lightning had temporarily blinded the pilot or else when she was in the heart of the electrical cumulo-nimbus.

  Artificial horizon still showed ascent.

  But the altimeter registered rapid loss.

  And the stick was back.

  Everything had gone into reverse and he recalled his trainer showing him this very thing when they were flying blind over the high Rockies.