"Watch it!" Lorna said quickly. We both looked at her, startled. She said, "Don't sit on the candy bars. I guess I will have one, after all."
I raked them all up and handed them to her. She put her gun away and moved to a nearby chair and sat down, carefully peeling a Hershey's with almonds.
Martha asked, "Well, should I sit or shouldn't 1?"
"Sit," I said.
Lorna munched chocolate and nuts and asked, "What's the problem, anyway?"
"There are two problems," I said. "The first is that she knows too much. The second is that she's probably a lousy little traitor."
I made it rough deliberately, so that I could study the reaction. Martha made a shocked sound of protest, but whether or not it was genuine was hard to tell.
Lorna asked, "How do you figure that, Helm?"
I said, "I've been playing along with her to find out what she was going to say. Now we've got to figure out how much of what she's told us was the truth, if any of it was. If it wasn't, we've got to figure out who got her to lie, and what the real truth is."
"Everything I told you was the truth!" Martha blurted indignantly. "You have absolutely no reason to call me a-"
"Every reason in the world, doll," I said. "We'll come to the evidence in a minute."
Lorna swallowed another bite of chocolate and said calmly, "I gather you're not contending that she isn't Martha Borden. You're saying that Martha Borden is a traitor-a traitress, to be precise."
"That's right. The resemblance is too damned close. She's got to be the right girl. Only she's gone wrong. Well, she's not the first kid who's turned against her parents these days."
"What makes you think she has?"
"Like 1 said, she knows too much. A lot of the names she used were those of genuine agents; maybe all of them were. But the really interesting thing is what she doesn't know, or says she doesn't know. She can't tell, an impostor from her own father. At least she pretends she can't."
"What do you mean?" That was Martha, jumping to her feet. "What do you mean, an impostor?"
"Sit down!" I waited until she'd obeyed. Now that I was marshalling the evidence, it looked fairly convincing. I spoke to Lorna. "Suppose you were to dial the special number, Mrs. Holt. And suppose the voice at the other end, a fairly familiar voice, told you he was afraid a gent named Leonard intended to decimate our organization to the last man, what would you think?"
Lorna's eyes widened. "Mac never said that!"
"You're damn right Mac never said that," I said. "But the man at the other end of the line-a line carefully rigged to be nice and weak and noisy-said just that. And the dutiful daughter here listened to him saying it and made no comment. In fact, she's gone out of her way this evening to point out how I'd talked to her father so lie must be alive and doing well. Hell, anybody who knows him, knows Mac couldn't have said a fool thing like that in a million years!"
Martha licked her lips, looking lost and bewildered. "But I… I don't understand! What's the matter with-"
"Oh, cut it out, Borden!" I snapped. "That poor-little-stupid-me line is getting pretty damn stale."
"Just a minute, Eric." Lorna peeled the paper off a second candy bar and spoke patiently: "My dear girl, your father speaks English, not gobbledygook. The word 'decimate' comes from the Latin word for ten. In the old days, if a conquered village misbehaved, the Romans were much nicer about it than we are nowadays. They didn't wipe it out with bombs and napalm. They simply marched a legion into the place and lined up all the male inhabitants. Then they yanked every tenth man out of line and stuck a spear or sword into him. That's decimate, to kill one-tenth of. The word has also been used loosely to mean inflict large losses upon, but it does not and cannot possibly mean to massacre or annihilate. It's logically impossible to decimate to the last man. You'll always have nine men left."
Martha looked indignant. "You can't accuse me of treachery because of a silly old definition that nobody pays any attention to-" I said, "In my previous conversation with Washington, when I called from Nogales, the same gent told me he was disinterested in a certain murderer. He also said that a certain agent was presently in a certain town in Oklahoma and that I was supposed to contact him there. Obviously, they've got a mimic sitting at that phone who's got a pretty good ear but no brains. He's got the voice down pat, but he's been talking Washington gibberish and hearing others talk it for so long, that it simply doesn't occur to him that some people do prefer the English language. And I gave you the direct quotes, Borden, and you didn't even raise an eyebrow. That's when I first began to suspect that everything wasn't as it should be between you and your pa."
The girl's face was pale. "I really don't understand. Please, I'm not trying to act dumb or anything, but-" Lorna spoke in the same calm and patient voice: "Miss Borden, disinterested does not mean the same thing as uninterested, which is presumably the word for which the man on the phone was fumbling."
"A judge is supposed to be disinterested," I said. "That means he's got no obligations or commitments to the parties appearing before him: he's quite objective about the case. But he's not supposed to be uninterested. That means he's just bored with the whole proceeding, and that is the meaning the man in Washington really wanted to convey."
Lorna said, "And presently does not mean the same thing as at present, Miss Borden; and your father is very sensitive about this distinction."
"But everybody says-"
"Not everybody," I corrected her. "Not Mac. The office girls would catch hell if he heard them telling somebody that he was presently in conference, meaning right now. Presently, to him, means in a little while, as it meant to everybody until a relatively few years ago, when ignorant people started fancying up the language regardless of meaning. The correct, old-fashioned usage is, 'At present, Mr. Mac is in conference, but he will see you presently.' That's what Mac learned in school and what I learned a generation later. The fact that some permissive dictionaries may already have adopted the recent bastard usage doesn't make it sound any less affected and pretentious to his ears or mine." I drew a long breath. "And, honey, contact is not and will never be a verb in your father's vocabulary. Anybody who orders me to contact somebody just damn well isn't Mac, and you know that as well as I do."
"But I don't!" the girl protested desperately. "I mean, all these ridiculous little grammatical distinctions, who cares? Who pays any attention to that stuff these days? I mean, really Mr. Helm, with all the big, relevant issues…" She stopped, breathless, looking from me to Lorna and back again.
I stared at her. The idea that our language had suddenly become irrelevant while my back was turned was difficult for me to grasp. I turned towards Lorna, who seemed to have become the acting referee.
"Is the kid serious," I asked, "or is she putting me on?"
"I don't know. I really don't know." Lorna frowned at the seated girl. "Remember, she'd apparently never heard of Cassandra or Ragnarцk. We have to face the possibility that the young lady is practically illiterate."
Martha jumped to her feet. "I don't have to take a lot of insults-"
"Sit down," I said. "Goddamn it, sit down!"
"But she said-"
"Don't worry about what she said. Worry about the fact that if you can't come up with something that makes a little sense, I'm going to have to take you out somewhere and shoot you."
"Shoot me!" Martha sank onto the bed. "Why.. – why, you're mad!"
"What the hell do you think happens to double agents who get caught? And don't think being Mac's daughter will save you, sweetheart. If you've sold us out, well, he knows the rules, and he knows they go for everybody. After all, he made them."
She licked her lips. "But I'm not a.. – I haven't.. -."
Lorna interrupted. "Just how clear was the voice on the phone, Helm?"
"Not very clear. And, as I say, the guy was a good mimic. On that bad connection, I'd have accepted him as Mac if he'd said the right things." I shook my head. "But, hell, we all know Mac's litt
le language hangups. You can't tell me his own kid-"
"You're behind the times, Eric. Nobody listens to language any more. It's no longer a means of precise communication, it's a club to hit people over the head with; and the exact meanings of words no longer count. 1 think the girl is quite serious. I think she never in her life stopped to listen to how her father talks. Besides, he's been a very busy man as long as we've known him. The chances are, she hasn't had even as much communication as we have."
"You're so right about that!" Martha's voice was stiff. "He's been practically a stranger around the house as long as I can remember. I.. – I was all shook up, a few weeks ago, when he asked me into the study to have a serious talk. I thought he was going to tell me about the birds and the bees, or something, at my age! Instead of which… instead of which he asked me to undertake this melodramatic…
She stopped. There was a little silence. At last Lorna said, "You're forgetting something, Eric. You're forgetting that I was on the list."
"So?"
"So if she'd sold us out, if she'd passed that list of names on to Leonard, or got it from him, he'd have known I was at the ranch. His men would have come looking for me when they seized the place, if only to prevent me from getting away to spread the news of the raid. But nobody came."
I regarded the girl for a moment longer. Instinct told me that she was dangerous and not to be trusted. Depending on anybody with her attitudes was simple suicide. However, I could be wrong in this particular instance. That she'd betray us, and me in particular, if she got the chance, I had no real doubt. She'd think it was her duty to humanity and society. However, her chance might not have shown itself yet. In any case, she wasn't going anywhere I couldn't keep an eye on her, so I might as well pretend to be convinced of her innocence.
"Okay," I said. "My mistake. My apologies, Miss Borden."
"Your apologies are not accepted!"
Lorna said, "When you're quite through snapping at each other, we ought to take another look at the situation. If Leonard has a substitute holding down the office phone, it seems likely that Mac is no longer in Washington. We can hope that lie got away safely and is sitting out the storm in his secret hideout, the one you were just told about, Eric. But that means we're pretty well on our own."
I said, "We'll wait until the stores and restaurants open. We'll need some food, and a car for Lorna, and clothes for both of you-"
"I have my own clothes, thanks!" Martha snapped.
"We're going to try a dramatic disguise, Miss Borden," I said mildly. "We're going to bathe you and put you into a nice clean dress so nobody'll recognize you. Okay?"
She started to protest and stopped, but her gray eyes hated me.
Lorna said, "I suppose we'll be splitting up here, as soon as we're all well fed and respectably clothed. In the meantime, does anybody mind if I try sleeping in a bed, just to see what it's like?"
XIII.
In spite of the late morning start, Martha and I managed to cross half of Arizona and most of New Mexico before pulling into a large motel in the town of Tucumcari, near the Texas border, around nine o'clock that evening. Parking in front of the office, I started to get out, but remembered something and reached into my pocket.
"Here," I said. "You'd better put this on, for appearances' sake."
Martha glanced at the inexpensive wedding ring I'd picked up while she was shopping with Lorna in another department of the Phoenix store we'd patronized. She didn't move to take it.
"Don't be silly," I said impatiently. "For your own protection, you're going to have to share a room with me. Would you rather be my sister, or my daughter, or just a very good friend? I like you better as my child bride. Take it."
Reluctantly she took it and put it on. "How many 'brides' have you had in the line of business, Matt?" she asked tartly, and answered her own question. "Obviously, enough that you can pick the right ring size at a glance. But speaking of protection, who's going to protect me from you?"
I sighed. She was really a pretty corny young lady. I said, "You certainly do have a high opinion of your sex appeal! Frisking you is supposed to turn me on like a rampant stallion; and sharing a room with you is supposed to start me pawing the wall-to-wall carpet like a prize bull. Relax, Borden. You're a pretty husky girl, and I'm tired. I think you'll be able to fight me off if you try real hard."
There were three vending machines by the office doorway, displaying newspapers from near and far-well, as far as El Paso, Texas. I bought one of each and went inside to register us as man and wife. Then 1 drove around the landscaped motel maze until I located the second-floor room with the correct number, facing an asphalt parking area, a chain-link fence, and weedy vacant lot. It made for a longer walk with the luggage, but I parked over by the fence where there was plenty of room, so I wouldn't have to unhitch the trailer.
Locking up the station wagon, I wondered where Lorna was sleeping tonight, if she was sleeping at all. Well, she had her mission, and 1 had mine. I hoped she'd lay off the drinking and thinking. It wasn't her job to solve all the problems of humanity, just the one Mac had sent us..
"Are you all right?" Martha asked behind me.
"What?" I realized I'd been standing there longer than necessary. "Sorry. Just a little groggy from all the driving, I guess. That, and keeping track of all the cars behind us."
"Do you think we're being followed again?"
I started across the parking lot. "Actually, I've seen no indication of it," I said. "Of course, it doesn't really matter. They don't have to follow us, remember? They know where we're going. They can figure out the roads we'll most likely use. They can pick us up anywhere. After all, it was your phony daddy in Washington who ordered me to Fort Adams, Oklahoma, after Carl."
"You mean it's a trap. Then why-"
"Why are we driving into it? Because we need Carl. Mac didn't put him number six on the list for nothing. He's presumably supposed to organize the last five agents, as Lorna's handling the first five, leaving me free to join your dad in Florida according to instructions. Of course, I could do without Carl if I had to, as far as the primary mission is concerned, but there's also the fact that I've got to get him the hell out of that town. That's a little problem Mac apparently didn't know about when he briefed you, that I'm going to have to solve on my own, with Leonard and his agents breathing down my neck, not to mention the local polizei."
"I don't understand. What's going on in Fort Adams, anyway?"
I stopped at the foot of the stairs to rearrange my burdens so I could slip her one of the newspapers I'd bought.
"Front page, lower right," I said.
When I heard her gasp, I knew she'd found the right item. I headed up the stairs, aware of her coming slowly along behind me, trying to read as she climbed. I found the right door off the long balcony above, unlocked it, turned on the lights, went in, and dumped the luggage on the nearer of the two beds. Martha moved past me and sank down on the other bed, still reading.
Standing there, I regarded the seated girl thoughtfully. It was the best opportunity I'd had to view the effect since she'd made herself over with Lorna's help. The grubby, barefoot, girl pirate was gone, replaced by a civilized young lady. The costume Lorna had selected for her consisted of white sandals and a sleeveless light blue summer dress that hung straight from her shoulders to a waistline – if you want to call it that-located well down on her hips. There was a brief, pleated skirt below.
With its pale color and tricky pleats, I wouldn't have picked it as a sensible travel garment, but apparently, in clothes as in language, I was way behind the times. Lorna had explained to me that this type of double-knit cloth, whatever that might be, in addition to being wrinkleproof, was practically dirtproof. If it did get soiled, a quick rinse and a few shakes would have it clean and dry and crisp-looking once more. These new synthetic knits, Lorna bad said, were the answer to a female undercover operative's prayer. I noticed that she'd bought herself a tailored pant-suit of the same materia
l..
"But this is horrible!" Martha gasped, looking up from the paper. "If it's your friend Carl who's doing it, lie must be mad!"
"So the local sheriff seems to think," I said. "Let me read it again. I just gave it a quick glance. Here, you can get some more background information from these other papers."
I handed them to her, and sat down on the big motel bed beside her. For a while there was no sound but the rustling of newsprint. I frowned at the article in the El Paso paper, trying to get at not only what the reporter had written, but what he'd known but hadn't felt free to write.
COP-STRANGLER STRIKES AGAIN
Fort Adams, OkIa.: Two bizarre murders, following on the heels of a violent student riot that claimed three lives, have brought renewed tension to this college town.
This morning, Patrolman Harold Grumman, 23, of the Fort Adams Police Force, was discovered strangled to death in his parked patrol car. The murder weapon, found at the scene, was a length of fine music wire equipped with two short handles apparently sawed from a broomstick.
Local authorities consider the weapon a significant clue, since an identical garotte figured in the violent death of Deputy Sheriff Marcus Wills, 47, whose body was found in the bushes beside the garage of his home in a Fort Adams suburb, just a few days ago. More force appeared to have been used in this earlier case, as the body had been almost decapitated by the thin wire.
In addition to the weapon used, the two crimes also have in common the fact that both officers were involved in the recent disturbance on the campus of the Fort Adams State College, when all local law-enforcement agencies were called upon to help deal with a riot in which three students died as a result of police gunfire. However, the county sheriff in charge of the murder investigation, Thomas M. Rullington, discounted this as a possible motive.
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