by John Creasey
It was warm and well lit like the rest of the mountain city; and there was no stir of wind.
The door opened.
A man came in; it was Doggett. He went across to the television screen on the right, pressed a button, and made it glow. He was testing it; and it worked both ways. He tried the other. He hardly looked at Banister, hardly seemed to know that he was in the room. His lank hair needed cutting, and he looked sour and surly.
He switched off the second screen, then dropped a small screw.
He bent down to pick it up.
“Both screens will be off for ten minutes starting at four o’clock,” he whispered. “No tricks, quite safe, say what you like.”
He went out.
Palfrey came in.
Palfrey moved very slowly. His eyes were different from what they had been in the other room; dazed, shadowed. He walked more slowly. At first, Banister thought that they had been torturing him already, but there was no outward sign of injury, and his clothes were quite unruffled; so was his hair. It was so silky and curly and fair, like the golden hair of a child.
He looked at Banister, nodded but didn’t speak, dropped into a chair, and sat back.
The door closed.
The two television screens were beginning to glow, but no shapes appeared on them, it simply meant that they were being watched.
“Sap,” Banister began, awkwardly.
Palfrey didn’t speak.
“Palfrey—”
“I know,” Palfrey said, very quietly. “Just keep quiet a minute, will you? I’ve seen—some horrors. Have you heard about this Age of Destruction?”
“Only today.”
“Odd thing,” Palfrey said, and his lips twisted as if he were in pain. “I hadn’t heard of it before, either. A nice thought on the part of Great God Anak. We’ve had the Stone Age, the Iron Age, the Water Age, the Bronze Age, the Ages of Steam, Electricity and Atomic Energy. Anak has a pretty notion – that all these are steps in the evolution of the perfect human species, but before perfection becomes universal, there must be an Age of Destruction. You saw—London?”
“Yes,” said Banister; the word seemed to stick in his throat.
“He can do it. No reasonable doubt. He’s much more powerful than I thought—than you thought. Thing is, I don’t see how to stop him.”
That explained the dark horrors in Palfrey’s eyes.
Banister said: “I don’t think you can. What brought you here, Sap? Why did you have to sacrifice yourself?”
Palfrey looked up sharply.
“I told Anak.”
“Yes, I know, to fool him.”
“Oh, no,” Palfrey said softly. “I told him the truth. I thought the time had come to force terms. I thought he would be ready when he knew that we could find him. I hoped I’d find a way to fool him, but he’s too strong. And you think so, too – you don’t see how to stop him, either.”
This was the kind of talk Anak would want to hear, surely; it was safe to keep it up.
“No,” Banister said gustily. “He’s too strong. He’s everywhere. Look at the way he blew up your aircraft! There wasn’t a shot, not even a guided missile, just a ray which disintegrated it. I suppose it’s the same thing as he plans to use for the Age of Destruction.”
Palfrey said slowly: “Yes. Probably.”
“Come to terms,” Banister urged, fiercely. “At least we’ll get part of what we want that way. I’m not sure what he’s really after, but I think you’ll find that he wants to select the best humans, physically and mentally, and build them up into—perfection. Has he told you about his three grades?”
“He’s shown me them,” Palfrey said. “He’s Grade One, with Rita and Klim and others, just a ruling class. Scientists and what they call Project Leaders are Grade Two. Below that, there are the ordinary work-people, Grade Three. Then – the slaves.”
So he had seen those old men and old women.
“Listen,” Palfrey burst out, “I can’t compromise with a man who’s capable of doing this.”
“If you don’t, what will happen?” Banister tried to sound rational. He kept glancing at his watch, and was conscious of the unseen eyes watching him through the television screen; if he looked at it too often, he might be suspected. “Universal destruction, no one will have any chance. Sap, you must work with him.”
Palfrey didn’t answer.
It was two minutes to four.
“How did you get here?” Banister asked, as if it were a casual question, just an odd item of incidental information that hardly mattered.
Palfrey’s lips twisted.
“I followed Morris-Jones.”
“Oh, that—” Banister shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, if you don’t want to tell me—”
“But I did follow Morris-Jones. I had him followed from the Cotswolds to the field where the helicopter he was taking off in was waiting. I had the helicopter trailed, by a form of radar, to the valley in the Pyrenees, where the other craft was waiting. I didn’t know about the other craft until the helicopter landed. I knew from what had happened before that at some stage there would be faster-than-sound aircraft, and so one was hovering round above the helicopter. In spite of what Anak thinks, we have made some progress down below. We traced you a long way, too.”
Banister looked at his watch; it was half a minute to four. He would have at most ten minutes to use; how could he use them best?
“So a faster-than-sound machine was waiting, equipped with cameras in the nose, everywhere, and it flew at a greater height than the ‘plane they took Morris-Jones off in,” Palfrey said. “We had plenty of pictures, and could pin-point the spot. That’s the simple truth, and—”
The light at the screens flickered; and died.
As the glow faded on the screens, Banister moved forward, gripped Palfrey’s arms and said in a voice so low pitched that for a moment he was afraid that Palfrey would not understand: “We’re alone for ten minutes. They can’t see or hear. Did you really follow Morris-Jones?”
A glint of understanding sparkled in Palfrey’s eyes.
“Yes,” he said, and went on very quickly, urgently: “Things are bad at home. You saw that London picture. Several small towns have collapsed like that. India, South America and Europe. Anak just said: ‘If you don’t do it my way, I’ll do this to big cities.’ We don’t know exactly what he wants, yet, but—” Palfrey paused, gripped Banister’s arm, and went on tensely: “Can we break him? Is there a chance? I came to find out, to see you.”
“There’s a group planning escape.”
“Escape?” Palfrey echoed. “Oh, no. We’ve got to stay here, smash Anak, smash—”
“This is one of a dozen cities,” Banister said. “It isn’t the only one.”
Palfrey didn’t speak, but new horror crept into his eyes. That was the last thing he had expected; seemed to kill his fleeting hope.
Banister stirred himself to speak.
“We can try to organise, but need time. Take my advice, tell Anak that you’ll go back and intercede with the Governments. His one big weakness is vanity. He’s convinced that he can convert you and me and everyone, can’t believe that anyone could possibly withstand his vile Perfection.”
Palfrey watched, as if trying to see beyond the actual words.
The screen was still dull. The door was still closed.
“I’ll try,” Palfrey said. “Listen, Neil. Your job now – to find out what he uses, try to destroy it before it can be used—anywhere else.”
“Right, yes.”
“Try to destroy his supplies of fatalis.”
“Right.”
“I’ll stall,” Palfrey said. “I—”
“Not for too long. He won’t be patient – no megalomaniac ever is. Do what he asks
.”
“All right – I’ll try to stall until you can act on the destructive agent and the fatalis. Also, find out how many spies he has down below.”
“I will.”
“Locations of the other cities, too,” Palfrey said. “Vital.”
“I know.”
“I think that’s all.” Palfrey’s voice was pitched as low as Banister’s. He had the same kind of desperate eagerness. Hope had come back to each of them – born out of faith, out of a conviction that the destruction which Anak planned could never really take place. “Wonderful. Neil. Marion sends her love.”
Banister didn’t speak.
There was a flicker on the screen.
Banister said gruffly: “Well, all right, if you really followed Morris-Jones, I suppose he’ll believe you. You can’t hide anything from him, it’s—uncanny. The only word.” He passed a hand in front of his eyes. The screens were bright again now; Banister didn’t think they had been off for ten minutes, but that didn’t matter. “If you followed Morris-Jones that way—”
“I did,” Palfrey said.
Images appeared on the screen; Klim’s first, and then Anak’s.
“We shall find out,” Anak said.
Banister was alone in a room; he didn’t know where the room was. He did not know how long he had been here. He could not think – not really think. He was a creature of emotions and sensations, he could feel, he could experience pain and fear, horror and dread, but could not really think – although somewhere, deep in his mind, there was the capacity to reason – there was the realisation that he would never have withstood the onslaught had he not believed that Palfrey had followed Morris-Jones.
He was stark naked.
He stood upright, without any wall to lean on, without any support, except a cord tied to his wrists above his head, and fastened to the ceiling. He was secured to the floor by a ring tied to his ankles.
He croaked words: “Stop—it—now—stop—it—”
A voice came: “How did Palfrey find us, Banister?”
Banister’s voice was just a voice, drained of everything but empty sound.
“He trailed Morris-Jones. He—”
“Don’t lie. How did he find us, Banister?”
“He followed—”
Banister felt himself turning round; it had happened before. He wanted to scream, beg, pray for mercy. He was standing on a small turn-table, which would whirl him round faster and faster. He could not stop it. He felt the speed quickening.
He screamed: “Don’t do it, don’t do it!”
Faster, faster . . .
He felt himself falling; he never did fall, but he felt himself falling. Wind rushed past his body. He was held down by his feet, but the cord above was slack. He was going round and round as if he were caught up in a gigantic whirlpool. Round and round, his body falling lower and lower, round and round, lower and lower, faster and faster.
He screamed.
His body screamed through the air.
He felt sudden torment; as if a million red-hot needles were sticking into him; at his eyes, his nose, his mouth, his tongue, the roof of his mouth – pins and needles, pins and needles, red hot pins and needles, red hot needles, stabbing in and out, in and out, needles stabbing in and out, burning, tearing him to pieces, blinding him, stabbing at the root of his tongue.
Round and round, faster and faster, stabbing, burning, tearing . . .
The motion began to slacken, although at first he was hardly aware of it. He felt pain, but had no conscious thought. The pain eased. At last he knew that he was moving much more slowly. He felt himself pulled upright. He found himself standing upright, with his wrists tied together above his head, and the cord which tied them fastened to the ceiling.
Sweat poured off his body.
“How did Palfrey find us, Banister?”
“He followed Morris-Jones. He—”
They thrashed him with the cat.
“How did Palfrey find us, Banister?”
“He followed Morris-Jones. He—”
They struck and kicked and twisted his arms and legs, and tortured him diabolically, yet did not drive him into unconsciousness, kept him so that he could always suffer more.
They flashed powerful, blinding, burning lights in front of his eyes, and slapped his face, right-left-left-left-right-left.
They stopped.
“How did Palfrey find us, Banister?”
“He followed Morris-Jones.”
They bathed his lacerated back and face, on the first day; and massaged his limbs on the second day; and now, on the beginning of the third, he walked out of the room freely and easily, without any feeling of pain or soreness. But he remembered everything.
He walked slowly towards the main street, which he knew well. A few people recognised and smiled at him, he spoke to several of them. He saw the round-faced American youth hurrying into a shop; the American took no notice of him. It was a library; Banister knew that he would have no excuse to go in there, so he walked on.
He reached the entrance to the house where he knew he should find Rita, and perhaps Klim; possibly Anak.
He hesitated, then went in.
Palfrey was sitting back in an easy-chair, looking as much at home there as he might in his own home. He also looked rested, and free from strain and fear. That was a shock in itself.
Rita was at the desk, with the typewriter pushed to one side, studying some columns of figures. She looked up – she jumped up and came hurrying. Before Banister could move, she had put her arms round him; he felt the warm touch of her lips. He felt the magnetism of her beauty, too; he could not hate her as he knew that he should.
“It’s so good to see you again!” she exclaimed, and stood back.
“Is it?” Banister said.
“Young love,” Palfrey murmured, and took out cigarettes. “I can see what they mean by claiming that this place is perfection.” There was a hint of laughter in his voice; hadn’t he suffered? How could he act; pretend? “You couldn’t have a more perfect welcome than that!”
Banister said: “I suppose not.” He could almost believe that Palfrey had been hypnotised into acceptance of Anak’s mastery.
“You’ll forget all that happened to you,” Rita said, quite lightly. “It’s all over. You won’t have to go through that again. And you must admit that we can heal the body wonderfully.”
“Wonderfully,” Banister echoed, stiffly.
Palfrey said in a sharper voice: “Snap out of it, Neil. You ought to know by now that it’s necessary to have complete obedience, of mind and heart. They had to know how I followed Morris-Jones, and daren’t allow the possibility of any error. How can one blame them? With such a conception as this—”
He spread his hands. He looked dazed; perhaps dazzled was a better word, as if there were a light, a vision, of such power that he could not really see; yet he could comprehend the ineffable beauty which lay on it. Yet when Rita looked away from him his expression changed, as if he were trying to convey a secret, urgent, message.
“It would be crazy to fight against it any longer,” he said. “Anak has all the qualities to make a world leader, all the scientific know-how; everything. Even if we could fight it, we shouldn’t. I’m going down below to present his ultimatum to UNO – and all governments through UNO. Very simple – and of course he’s right – he wants unconditional surrender.”
Banister sat down, abruptly.
“You agree, of course,” Palfrey said brusquely.
Was he serious? His eyes were blank, he seemed to be.
“If—if they hadn’t tortured me,” Banister muttered, “I’d feel happier.”
Palfrey couldn’t believe – could he? Remember Palfrey had seen those slaves; the slave-driver; everything.
/> “They did it to me,” Palfrey said briskly. “It was just one of those things. Forget it. I’m going down below to try to make some of them see sense. Amazing how different things look from up here.” He drew at the cigarette and gazed at the ceiling, as if the vision were still there.
Palfrey – looking, behaving, as if he had really been converted. Was it possible?
“One gets a better perspective, a truer balance,” he said. “One can breathe. Picture the world we’re going to make, Neil, just as soon as we’re ready. Preserving all the best of the world below, in people and in buildings, and just wiping out the rest – painlessly.”
He stood up.
His eyes glowed.
“That’s the beauty of it,” he said, in an exalted voice. “Painlessly. No one need suffer, there will be no pointless destruction, no vandalism. Those who can serve us, will survive, those whose lives are purposeless—” He shrugged.
“But I needn’t tell you!” He laughed, unexpectedly, moved to Rita, hugged her with one arm and kissed her lightly. “You were one of the first to see the truth. Look after Neil, while I’m gone.”
“I’ll do that.” Her voice was gentle, there was a smile in her eyes. “Everything will be all right now.”
The television screen, which had been glowing all the time, grew brighter; a man appeared on it.
“Will Dr. Palfrey report to the Council Chamber, please.”
“This is it,” said Palfrey. He turned towards the screen and pressed a switch. “Coming.” He behaved as if he were part and parcel of High Peak; he took everything for granted, nothing appeared to surprise him. He put his hands on Rita’s shoulder, and kissed her again; less lightly. “I’ll see you soon.” He swung away from her, and put out a hand to Banister. “Au revoir, Neil.”
“Au revoir,” Banister said stiffly.
Palfrey nodded, and went towards the door, and Banister followed him. The figure faded from the screen. Palfrey mouthed words which had no sound, only a great significance.
“Up to you, understand?”
Banister gave an almost imperceptible nod, as Palfrey went out. He kept his expression blank but felt an inexpressible relief.