“What went wrong?” I asked.
He looked surprised. “Hell, I was going to ask you! All of a sudden you’re taking on the whole damn OFS single-handed. We closed in, of course, in case you needed help; but you seemed to have things under control so we stayed out of sight. Next time, if you decide to tackle the U.S. Army, or Navy, tip us off ahead of time, will you, so we know who the bad guys are.”
I nodded. “Fair enough, but unfortunately I can’t tell you who the bad guys are. So in the future let’s just go by the good guys, and that’s us. Only us. Anybody else, anybody else, assume he’s wearing a black hat and take it from there. I don’t care if J. Edgar Hoover and Wild Bill Donovan come back from whatever paradise, or otherwise, they’re inhabiting now, and claim Mrs. Ellershaw jointly for the FBI and the good old OSS, I don’t care if the CIA gets into the act, or the United Federation of Christian Churches if there is such a thing, or the cop on the corner or the crossing guard at the local elementary school—they don’t get anywhere near the lady, and I want to know they’re coming so I can keep them from getting anywhere near her.”
Jackson said, a bit stiffly, “Sorry. Maybe I’ve just heard too many lectures about interdepartmental cooperation. I saw them arrive, of course, but who can miss the beak on that Bennett character? I figured, if the head of the Office of Federal Security wanted to talk to you, or the woman, it wasn’t my place to interfere.”
“Next time, don’t be so modest. Interfere.”
“I said I was sorry.”
I grinned. “Don’t get mad, amigo. It’s a loused-up mess, and I don’t blame you for being confused. I’m kind of mixed up myself. Any repercussions eastwards?”
Jackson laughed, dismissing his momentary resentment. “Are you kidding? Bennett has blown every microwave relay between here and Washington. A strong protest, to put it mildly. A poor little OFS agent disfigured for life. A personal assault on a top OFS official—the top OFS official. But the word from our side is I’m to congratulate you on your forbearance in not shooting that man Dellenbach, since apparently he had a gun in his hand when he was taken, as did his associate. Counter-protest: armed OFS agents threatening our poor little overworked operatives just doing their poor little overworked jobs. It’s been made clear to the Director of the Office of Federal Security that our people are not, repeat not, required to tolerate interference by his pistol-waving goons and he’d better keep them out of our hair if he doesn’t want to lose them. I’m to instruct you, however, in the interest of intragovernment amity, to maintain your commendable restraint—unless the risk becomes unacceptable, in which case you can count on full support from the head office.”
I laughed. “Hey, it sounds as if he got mad for a change.”
Jackson smiled thinly. “The picture I get is Bennett tried to threaten him with political reprisals, and you know how he loves that. Now you’re to determine whether Mr. Bennett has a special motive for meddling in our business or whether he’s simply hunting publicity in his usual greedy fashion by horning in on the Great CADRE Spy Scandal eight years late.”
I said, “I think I’ve already got an answer to that. Back eight-nine years ago, Bennett was the federal investigating officer on the case.”
Jackson whistled softly. “Interesting! How come we didn’t know that?”
“Very interesting,” I said. “I figure the files in the computer must have been doctored somehow, at least enough to keep his name from being turned up by routine inquiries like ours. I think the matter should be checked out, to learn how it happened and who was behind it, don’t you?”
“I’ll pass your suggestion along.”
I hesitated. “Indications are that, contrary to official expectations, we’ve got an innocent woman on our hands. If there’s trouble, and I’m not available, see that she’s treated accordingly, will you?”
Jackson looked at me curiously; then he shrugged. “You deal it, we’ll play it.”
The blurry figures on the screen were now imitating a three-layer cake, not all layers oriented in the same direction.
“What do you need?” Jackson asked after studying the new arrangement of images thoughtfully.
“Ask him for everything on the OFS he can get. In his present mood he should be happy to go along.” I grimaced in the wavering dusk of the porno booth. “Hell, I can remember when they were nothing but a bunch of glorified night watchmen responsible for the security of federal installations. Then apparently something happened around Santa Fe and Los Alamos, and a bright young scientific genius disappeared along with a mystery woman with Red associations, and the guy’s pretty wife was railroaded into prison. Assuming that we’re right about her innocence, or I am. And less than a decade later these time-clock-punching stumblebums are one of the nation’s top law-enforcement agencies, run by the very guy who conducted the investigation into the alleged crimes of the Ellershaws and their alleged female accomplice. A guy we know from experience—at least I’ve met him before, if you haven’t—would screw his own grandmother and then smother the old lady with a pillow to keep her from telling.”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to say,” Jackson said.
“That makes two of us,” I said ruefully. “But I want all the dirt on that outfit that’s to be got, and a complete rundown on Bennett himself. Maybe it’s a lead, maybe it’s a big waste of time, but since we don’t know what the hell we’re looking for, we might as well look for it at the OFS. While you’re checking out Bennett, or somebody is, have his boy Dellenbach investigated as well. Jim Dellenbach. And the guy who was with him, whose name I never got.”
“Roger Nolan.”
“Thanks. Apparently he’s on Bennett’s first team, too, along with an older agent named Philip Burdette, who could just be a cynical old warhorse sticking with a crooked outfit out of misplaced loyalty or simple inertia. But let’s find out about all of them. And see if there’s anything new on the Center for Advanced Defense Research; and what the hell defenses do they research up that hidden canyon, anyway? I’d also like a complete rundown on the Santa Fe law firm of Baron and Walsh. Who’s Baron? Who’s Walsh? Who else is important there? What about a fairly recent partner named Walter Maxon? And then there’s a mystery woman named Bella Kravecki involved somehow; check her out, please. Considering the amount of background material I waded through before meeting our subject at the jailhouse gate, I don’t seem to know a damn thing, which is kind of suspicious in itself.”
“That all?” Jackson asked dryly when I stopped for breath.
“It’ll do for now.” I frowned. “But if you need more manpower to cover us, for God’s sake get it. All this interest in Mrs. Ellershaw, people shooting at her with shotguns, people slapping her around after she’s spent eight years locked up… You wouldn’t think she could be a threat to anybody at this late date, but having her at liberty seems to be making some folks awfully nervous, and I’d like to know why. So let’s do our best to keep the lady alive and free.”
I threw a final glance at the screen as I left. They were doing it standing up now, but I couldn’t figure out exactly what. Well, there seemed to be a lot of things I couldn’t figure out.
8
Madeline was late getting back to the motel, late enough to worry me. I’d walked back from town, a two-mile hike, leaving her the car; I thought she’d get used to handling it in traffic more easily without having me breathing down her neck. It had been a pleasant walk after all the driving, and I’d been glad to be relieved of the responsibility of watching over her for a little. Besides, it was a certain strain being in the constant company of that prison-battered ego. But when twilight came without her, even though it was an early winter twilight, I started worrying. Finally, I stepped outside to see if she was in sight yet.
It was another motel in the same chain with the same liquorless restaurant—only a coffee shop here, as a matter of fact—and the same low sprawling buildings, again built within sight of the transcontinental freeway that here ran a quarter of
a mile away on a raised ramp that lifted it up to the cloverleaf overpass to the west. I’d walked under that, coming from town, passing on the way a reasonable-looking restaurant that did advertise cocktails, which I’d earmarked for our evening meal. However, at the moment food was far from my mind, although a drink would have been welcome.
Then I saw the little silver arrowhead of a car approaching from town, headlights on in the growing dusk; and I was surprised at the relief I felt, surprised and disturbed. I mean, this defeated penitentiary graduate with her incipient middle-aged spread was nothing to me but a job. Wasn’t she? But I had to admit I was very relieved to see her.
She must have spotted me standing there awaiting her; she blinked the lights twice as she turned into the motel driveway. I knew from this that she must be feeling pretty good. She wasn’t just greeting me; that was only the excuse. She was having childish fun seeing the little sports car’s tricky retracting headlights go up and down. When she pulled up in front, I walked clear around the car before opening the door for her, noting that she was beginning to take such courtesies for granted.
“All four fenders intact,” I said without expression. “A miracle.”
She made a face at me, getting out of the car. “You didn’t tell me about those crazy lights. When did they start putting those funny stalks on the steering column? I had to look in the instruction manual. And the pushbutton trunk release on the dashboard! There I was, going clear around back every time to use the key.”
“Things are tough all over,” I said. “Let me give you a hand with the loot.”
“Matt.”
Her face was only a pale blur in the growing twilight, partially obscured by the dark silk scarf she was wearing about her head to protect her newly done hair. Even so, I could see the grim lines of surrender and despair had softened considerably.
“Yes?” I said.
“Please inform the treasurer of your organization that I had a lovely time spending his money. Thank you. And now I need to shower and change; and then I think the lady would permit the gentleman to take her out to dinner if he felt so inclined.”
But she took her time about getting ready. After showering and putting on, among other things, some more respectable trousers, I sat down to read my outdoors magazine while I waited; but the long silence next door began to worry me. At last I tossed the magazine aside and marched to the connecting door, hesitated, and knocked.
“Madeleine?”
To my relief, her voice answered immediately: “Come in, Matt.”
She was sitting in front of the dresser mirror, doing nothing that I could see, just sitting there. After a moment, she rose and turned to face me, smoothing down her dress. There was an odd little note of defiance in her voice when she spoke to me.
“Do I look all right?”
The transformation wasn’t quite overwhelming, of course. She wasn’t going to stop traffic on Times Square or even Main Street. Still, there was enough of a change to make my breath catch sharply. The beauty shop had put life back into her hair and cut and shaped it skillfully and arranged it becomingly about her face. Careful makeup emphasized the fine eyes and the strong, sensitive mouth. The simple, long-sleeved, zip-up-the-front beige dress she’d selected, while obviously not expensive, had good tailored lines that made her too-heavy figure look, if not exactly girlish, at least quite trim and pleasant. It was helped by the new sheer nylons and the new high-heeled pumps that flattered her always lovely legs and ankles.
“Hey,” I said, “I’m glad I put on a pair of pants with creases in them.”
“Don’t overwhelm the lady with your fulsome praise.” She grinned briefly and was serious again, a little shamefaced. “Do you know what took me so long, Matt? I’ve just been sitting here trying to muster the courage… I’ve suddenly discovered that I’m shy, damn it. The first time I’ve dressed up for a man in over eight years! You won’t believe it, but I’ve been sitting here all dithery and self-conscious and afraid to knock on the door because I was afraid my goddamn sinister bodyguard wouldn’t approve of my appearance! How utterly ridiculous can you get?”
I said, “You look beautiful.”
“Let’s not overdo it,” she said dryly. “Just tell the timid wench she’s not completely revolting for a change, and take her out and feed her, please.”
On the way out to the car, she had to take my arm to steady herself; and I felt a frightening surge of sympathy and affection for this woman who, having once had everything, was now having to learn how to live all over again, even how to walk in high heels. The restaurant beyond the underpass was a rustic place with a big fireplace boasting a genuine fire, and copper cooking utensils hanging from the ceiling. The dark wooden tabletops were two inches thick, and the waitresses wore gray Puritan-type dresses with little bonnets to match. Unsurprisingly, the place was called the Pilgrim Inn. We ordered drinks, and did our menu research while waiting for them to arrive.
When they did, and we’d given our dinner orders, Madeleine said, sipping her martini, “You’re going to have to watch me. I’m not used to this stuff yet.” She regarded me across the table. “You look like a man with more questions on his mind. You might as well start asking.”
I hesitated. “I hate to spoil a pleasant evening with a lovely lady with a lot of grim business.”
She shook her head gently. “Please, Matt. I’m not a lovely lady, I’m a barely presentable ex-convict who’s trying to learn who Madeleine Rustin Ellershaw really is after everything that’s happened to her. And a lot of glib, phony compliments don’t help me at all.”
I said, “Sorry. I’ll consider my wrist slapped. Okay, we’ve decided that you’re not the Mata Hari type, right? But I still don’t have a clear picture of your husband. What about Dr. Roy Ellershaw? How does he stack up as a mastermind of espionage?” She started to speak quickly, angrily, and I held up my hand. “Whoa, there! Don’t jump down my throat. He was your husband and you loved him. Or he is your husband and you love him. Depending on his present state of existence. But dead or alive, he was or is a man, not an immaculate, infallible saint. Or to put it differently: even assuming he was or is a great guy, isn’t it possible that he could have done what he’s supposed to have done for very pure, idealistic motives?” She didn’t answer immediately, and I went on: “CADRE. The Center for Advanced Defense Research. When they say defense research they generally mean attack research, these double-talk days. Could your husband have found himself working on an offensive weapon so terrible that he felt obliged to expose it in the hope of preventing its further development? Or distribute its plans worldwide to keep one nation—even his own nation, our nation—from having this fearful advantage and, quite possibly, using it?”
She shook her head quickly. “No, Matt. Roy was a true scientist. He believed that anything that could be known, should be known, and inevitably would be known sooner or later. Society would just have to figure out ways of coping with it. No, I can’t see Roy trying to stop, or betray, any scientific research, no matter where it might lead. And if he had felt driven to do it, which he wouldn’t, he most certainly wouldn’t have involved me deliberately in his act of conscience, the way he did by giving me those papers for safekeeping. In fact he’d have tried very hard to shield me from the consequences.”
We waited in silence while our rather pretty young Pilgrim lady put our dinners before us and walked away, her long skirts whispering. The restaurant was about half full. The customers were mostly quiet talkers and eaters, but a three-kid family at a round table in the corner made itself heard occasionally, reminding me, for some reason, that I had offspring of my own somewhere, although they were hardly kids any longer. I couldn’t see anybody who looked like a dangerous assassin, but they mostly don’t. Anyway, he wouldn’t come where I could get a look at his face if he could avoid it.
I asked, “Have you ever tried to figure out just what really happened, Madeleine?”
“Of course I have!” She was indignant. �
��When the roof falls on you and squashes you flat you try to understand what went wrong, don’t you? I’ve practically gone mad trying to figure it out!”
I shook my head. “I don’t think you’ve really tried, not using your trained brains the way they should be used. I don’t think you ever tackled it systematically and, let’s say, suspiciously. Did you ever analyze your harrowing experiences thoroughly, working on the assumption that everything you believed was true was true, and everything you’d been told was true was probably untrue, no matter who told it to you?”
She looked at me for a moment across the little table, frowning. “I didn’t quite follow all that. Run it past me again, please.”
I said, “I think you never stopped taking certain things for granted. I think you always assumed that certain things were facts that weren’t. I think you believed that certain people had to be telling the truth when they were really lying like hell. And I don’t think you had enough faith in your own feelings and instincts; I don’t think you ever followed your beliefs to their logical conclusions.”
I saw dawning interest in her eyes. “Go on, Matt.”
“Well, let’s start with your husband,” I said. “You don’t for a moment believe he was a traitor-spy, right? You feel he’s dead, probably killed to keep him quiet about something very disturbing he’d discovered—you said he’d had things on his mind those last few weeks—but also to give an impression of guilty flight that automatically condemned him as a criminal and, by association, you as well. Have I got it pretty straight?”
She licked her lips. “Yes. Yes, that’s what I thought—still think—but I could never get anybody to take the idea seriously.”
“Now you’ve got me, you lucky girl,” I said. “So we take that for one of our basic facts: Roy Ellershaw, murdered. You learned it in a dream, nobody’s come up with a body, but so what? Nobody’s come up with a live Roy Ellershaw, either, and they’ve been looking hard. We’re assuming that what we believe is true is true, so let’s see where this takes us. Your Roy hurried out of the house after receiving a mysterious phone call—”
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