The Fear In Yesterday's rings m-10

by George C. Chesbro

  He wasn't going to bother denying it. He was staring very intently at the lobox, which was staring very intently at me. I wondered if Luther was considering giving the lobox an order to kill-an order I had no doubt the creature would respond to immediately. Instead, Luther said in a soft voice, "What you can't appreciate, Frederickson, because you've never seen it, is its tenacity in tracking a given subject. That tenacity seems to be a genetic trait that couldn't have been predicted. It seems that once this creature has taken it into its head to kill a particular subject, it won't be stopped by anything but its own death; it will eat and drink only sparingly while tracking spoor, refuse to return, and continue to stalk indefinitely until it has found its target. They are elusive, and far more intelligent than any other animal I've ever worked with. I'm not sure how much you knew before you came here, or what you've guessed, but I will tell you that the lobox is a creature from the past, in a manner of speaking. Before my father went to work on the problem, using a variety of reverse breeding techniques, this animal did not exist any longer anywhere on earth."

  "Do tell. The families of the men you targeted to train and test these animals might not agree that the deaths of their fathers and husbands was no great loss. Why did you have to kill so many, Luther? Why string the whole thing out for almost two years? You knew just what you had after the first killing."

  He dismissed my suggestion and questions with an impatient wave of his hand. "I think you already knew what I just told you, Frederickson. I think you know a lot of things."

  "Some things aren't all that difficult to figure out. You chose the Great Plains of the United States as an area in which to field-test that thing because of the wide-open spaces, and you bought a midsize circus because it seemed a perfect cover-it gave you an excuse to move around, and you could keep the lobox breeding stock with all the other animals. You were probably telling the truth about the performers' countries of origin. Eastern bloc countries provided you with serious circus artists who wouldn't ask any questions because their families were being held hostage; in return, those governments would get the chance to purchase your new weapon. They want a piece of the action. I also have to wonder if people in our own government might not be involved somehow, maybe by making sure nobody inspects this circus too closely, in exchange for the right to bid on the finished product."

  "You're a fool, Frederickson," Luther said softly. "You're a fool for even allowing yourself to think such thoughts, much less to utter them aloud."

  "Why? What difference does it make? Some of the nastier power players in this country and I have been dancing with each other for a long time. What bothers me the most is that right now it looks like you're getting ready to sic this lobox on the man who was wearing that safari jacket, wherever he might be. You're the monster, Luther, not the lobox. The lobox is just doing what comes naturally-and what you've taught it to do in order to survive."

  "You consider me a monster because you have a romantic, overblown notion of the value of human life, Frederickson," Luther said in the same soft tone. "Politicians and professional soldiers certainly don't; people in charge of developing and manufacturing weapons don't. Governments, including the United States, have been testing the effects of weapons systems on their own civilian populations for some time; the politicians and the Army sent soldiers into radioactive areas of the Nevada Proving Grounds to test the effect of radiation on human tissue; the CIA once tested a bacteria-laden aerosol spray in the New York City subway. Of course, you wouldn't consider the wholesale slaughter of whales, porpoises, rhinos, and elephants as outrageous, would you?"

  "Hey, Luther, I'll match my contributions to the Audubon Society and Save the Whales against yours anytime. We're talking something different here."

  "It's only different in your mind. I have been forced to use human test subjects-but I, at least, have chosen them discriminately. I have loosed loboxes to hunt men who are themselves hunters and pride themselves on it. I chose my subjects carefully and haven't inflicted harm on a whole population. You know, there's a school of thought that says the real reason atomic bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki was not to win the war, which was already won, but simply to see what would happen. The scientists who'd built the weapon, and the politicians who'd approved the vast sums to finance it, couldn't bear the thought of not seeing, in the real situation for which it was intended, just what they had wrought. Not only did the CIA test sprays in New York City, but they secretly financed so-called researchers who doped up unsuspecting psychological patients with LSD and other mind-altering drugs. The list goes on and on. Hundreds of weapons research programs are going on at any given moment, all over the world, and any number of civilians will die as a result of that testing. So spare me your naivete and outrage."

  "You seem to be implying that you're working under the auspices of the United States government, or think you are, maybe under the wing of the CIA. Is that the story, Luther?"

  "I'm saying that you're a fool if you think this is some rogue operation run by mad scientists. There are very powerful interests, in this country and around the world, which have always been keenly interested in research projects like this one."

  "Luther, just how much are you and your daddy going to charge your killer customers for one of these damn things?"

  Luther stiffened. "What do you know about my father? How do you know?"

  "It's not enough to own one, though, is it? Somebody's going to have to handle the damn thing and then carefully prime it for a specific assassination victim. Are your services part of the sales package with each lobox?"

  There was the loud click of a gun being cocked somewhere in the darkness behind me. The lobox reacted, getting up off its haunches, backing away a step. Growling.

  "Don't say any more, Luther." It was the elder Zelezian's deep, rich baritone. "You've already said quite enough. I do believe you're looking for Dr. Frederickson's respect. You're wasting your time. It was you who mentioned my reverse breeding program. Stop giving him information."

  Luther flushed slightly, stepped back a pace. Arlen Zelezian moved forward into the dim light, a few feet off to my left. He was still wearing his suit, and still looked like an actor ready to step on some stage as Abraham Lincoln, always on call. He too held a cocked Magnum aimed in the general direction of the lobox, but he seemed less attentive to the animal than Luther- probably because he knew his son was on guard for him.

  "You've somehow gained a great deal of information about me and my operations, Frederickson," he said, staring at me intently with his coal-black eyes. His deep voice echoed slightly in the empty tent. I stared back into the eyes, which I now noticed were curiously blank, with less life in them than in the golden eyes of the creature he had conjured up from the past. "Considering your reputation, I suppose that shouldn't surprise me. In your tenaciousness, there is much of the lobox in you. How did you discover that Luther and I are father and son? Who are you working for?"

  I said nothing, desperately trying to think, to calculate whether it was to my advantage or disadvantage for Arlen Zelezian to think I had been tracking him, or for him to know how much I actually knew or was merely guessing at. I couldn't come up with an answer, and I found it depressing to think that it probably didn't make a difference anyway. Harper and I had some serious trouble, and I couldn't see how any amount of fast talking was going to get us out of it. Still, I knew I was going to have to try; I figured I had about as much chance of surviving hand-to-claw combat with a lobox as I did of catching a bullet between my teeth.

  Arlen Zelezian continued, "Why did you tip your hand by showing up here earlier, Frederickson? Who else knows, or suspects, what we're doing?"

  Plan A.

  "Look, Zelezian, your boy here said you'd just about finished your field tests and are ready to close up shop and go home with your pets. This 'werewolf killings' thing has to be wearing a bit thin. No matter whose auspices you're working under, sooner or later somebody else besides Nate Button a
nd me is going to tumble to the fact that the reason the werewolf can't be found is that it's sleeping and traveling with your circus. Kill us, and you're likely to find there's more heat coming down on you than you can handle. Maybe you should close up shop right now- tonight-and get back home to Switzerland while you can. Let Harper go, and keep me as a hostage to ensure her silence while you're packing and en route. Then I'll tell you what you want to know."

  "Don't be silly, Frederickson. We can't do that."

  "Try this one, Mr. Zelezian," Harper said tersely. "Keep me as a hostage to ensure Robby's silence until you're away."

  Zelezian ignored her. "Who are you working for, Frederick-son? Who is it that seeks to interfere with my business?"

  Plan B.

  "Let's negotiate."

  "But you have nothing with which to negotiate."

  "Wrong. You want to know what I'm doing here, where I got my information, who I may have been reporting to, and why my hypothetical employer should want to know your business. You may think nothing of using human beings as test victims in your experiments, but somehow I don't think you're into killing for the sake of killing-especially if it could be bad for business. I guarantee you that killing us will be bad for business. Miss Rhys-Whitney is a member of a very wealthy and influential family, and I'm not exactly your average midwestern farmer. You and I both find ourselves in what might be described as an uncomfortable situation, but I say we can make an arrangement."

  "What kind of an. . arrangement?"

  "First, you've already determined that a lobox can be trained, with deadly consistency, to do what you want it to do. There's no need for any more testing-and I still can't understand why you've kept at it so long. So pass on Nate Button-the man who was wearing that safari jacket."

  "That may not be possible," Arlen Zelezian said carefully.

  "Because he made the link between the lobox and the circus and came snooping around? So what? He's been touting the case for a lobox from day one, and nobody's taken him seriously. How much more evidence could he have had than the hair and saliva samples? Did he actually see something here? The man is considered a crackpot, even in academic circles. Nobody will pay the slightest attention to anything he has to say. I don't know whether you've already got him on ice somewhere, or simply know where to find him, but there's no need to kill him. There's no reason now to kill Harper and me. We have no proof of anything, and we'll keep silent about what we know-as long as you take yourself and this whole insane operation out of the country."

  The elder Zelezian's thin lips curled back in a sneer of contempt. "You'll say nothing?"

  "You have my word on it."

  "I agree," Harper said evenly, squeezing my arm in what I took to be a gesture of encouragement.

  "You expect me to believe that?"

  "Why not? If you know so much about me, then you know that I keep my word. It may piss me off to see you murderers get away, but I have to live with a lot of things that piss me off, and it's a bargain I'm forced into in order to save our lives. Bear in mind also that the value of this particular bioweapon decreases radically in proportion to the amount of information that leaks out about it. Kill us, and I guarantee that lots of people are going to be on your ass, trying to find out things. You really have no choice but to take my word that no leaks will come from us. You'll be other people's problem."

  Zelezian thought about it, finally shook his head. "No. Afterward, you might decide that breaking your word is something you can live with also."

  "You've got loboxes and the capacity to breed more. We're both aware of what a lobox can do. You've got articles of clothing from both Harper and me. That's your insurance policy. Now, you give Harper's sweater back to her, but you keep my jacket. If I break my word, if you ever have any trouble you think I caused, you can cart one of your loboxes into my neighborhood, prime it with my jacket, and let it loose. If I break my word, I'll know I run the risk of one day walking down the street and having one of those things jump out from some alley to tear my throat out. I know I can't defend myself against a lobox; even if I wanted to put a stop to you, I'd know that the price would be a horrible death. I certainly don't want to be constantly looking over my shoulder for a prehistoric creature that has nothing more on its mind than making a meal out of me. That's your guarantee that I'll keep my mouth shut."

  Zelezian glanced first at the lobox, then at his son. Luther Zelezian, who I somehow suspected might be on our side, nodded to his father. He said, "If I loosed one anywhere in New York City, it would keep stalking, no matter how long it took, until it found and killed him. We know that from the trials. Frederickson seems to have a strong argument."

  "All right," Arlen Zelezian said, looking back at me. "Agreed. Now answer my questions."

  "Ah. Now, how do I know I can trust you to keep your part of the bargain?"

  "Even if you are no longer, as you Americans say, on my case, who else might be?"

  "How do I know I can trust you, Zelezian?"

  "You don't have any choice but to trust me. Now, tell me how you came to know so much about me."

  "Computer," I said, watching the lobox. "The bank that sold you the circus ended up with all its transactions on the public record because they were in financial trouble and under investigation by federal regulatory agencies. That's how I got the name of Battle Eagle Corporation. Then it was just a matter of checking out Battle Eagle with contacts I have in Interpol, the CIA, and the FBI."

  Arlen Zelezian grunted. "What about your brother? Why isn't he out here with you?"

  "My brother's back in New York State working on other matters. He has no part in this. He doesn't even know I'm here."

  The tall, gaunt, bearded man raised a large hand, cocked his index finger, and pointed it in my face. "A lie. The Frederickson brothers always work together. Indeed, if he were to fail to hear from you for any length of time, it's a certainty that he would come looking for you."

  He paused, as if waiting for me to respond to what he'd said, or try to refute it. I remained silent. It seemed he knew as much, or more, about the Fredericksons as I knew about the Zelezians. But then, a lot of people knew about the Fredericksons. It was the price of success-and why we constantly tracked each other.

  Zelezian continued, "Suppose we were to work out some arrangement whereby you and the woman would be free to go in exchange for your promises of silence? How would we manage to keep the other half of Frederickson and Frederickson out of our business?"

  "I'll call him and give him some kind of story about how I've lost interest in the matter. You can listen in on the conversation."

  "Oh, I most assuredly would. Now, you've already told me one lie. Another lie will cost the prying man who wore this jacket his life, so be very careful what you say. I don't bluff. Who else knows about my business here? What individual, private firm, or government agency hired you to check up on me?"

  "I'm not working for anybody but myself, Zelezian. Phil Statler had a breakdown after he lost the circus. I found him a few days ago, sick and dying, an alcoholic who'd been living on the streets of New York City. I feel I owe the man. I figured that if I could find a way to buy back the circus for him, it would give him a reason to live and clean up his act. My first stop was a circus community in Florida to see if I could line up some financial backers, which is how I happen to have Harper with me. Check with your son. He'll tell you I tried to sound him out about buying the circus."

  "I'm aware of that, Frederickson. Luther told you the circus was not for sale. Did you think you could somehow get him to alter that decision by sneaking around here in the middle of the night? I think you had a pretty good idea of what you might find here."

  There was something in his voice and manner I didn't like at all. "Just hold on and listen, Zelezian," I said quickly. "I did have an idea what I might find here, but not because of any official or extensive investigation. Nate Button, the man you're threatening to kill, approached me in Lambeaux, the last town you
were in. He was investigating the killings, which you already know, and he assumed I was in this part of the country to do the same thing. He was the one who said he was convinced it was a lobox doing the killing, and he told me what a lobox was. I didn't pay any attention at the time-the same as nobody is going to pay any attention to him now. It was only after I started thinking of your background, bioweapons, and where a large mammal that would kill over such a large range could remain hidden that I thought of the circus, and then decided that it was my civic duty to check out the situation. Nobody else, with the possible exception of Nate Button, has any notion that World Circus has any business other than making its paying customers happy, and nobody will care what Nate Button thinks. That's it."

  Arlen Zelezian stared at me with his black, dead eyes for a few moments, then slowly shook his head. He turned toward Luther, nodded in the direction of the shredded jacket back in the ring. Luther, who looked uncomfortable, hesitated a moment, but then turned around and walked to the ring. He picked up the torn fabric, slowly walked back.

  The lobox quickly rose off its haunches, and its ears stiffened as it turned and looked at Luther. This was a routine, obviously, with which it was well familiar, and its hide had again begun to quiver.