Edward Llewellyn

by Prelude to Chaos

  “Doctor Drummond didn’t betray me. He may be a bit dumb outside the lab, but he’s decent and honest. He never understood what was going on. I’ve got to tell him. He’s still at NIH—the only person I know with access to the memory banks.” She tried to lift the phone.

  I held it down. “Your Doctor Drummond may be everything you think. But they’ll have bugged his phones by now. They’ll have bugged the phones of everybody you might call. They’ll have a stake-out on his home and his lab. If you try and contact him through either they’ll grab you.”

  “But I must speak to him.”

  “Where else could you reach him? Is there any place he goes regularly, but not so often that they’d cover it?”

  She thought for a moment. “He often went to the Archers Club. Or so Jim said. I never heard Doctor Drummond mention it.”

  “The Archers Club? No, I’ll bet he didn’t! If you want to call him there, you’d better let me do the calling.”

  “Why?”

  “If they hear a woman, they’ll hang up. It’s that kind of a club.”

  “Nonsense! Doctor Drummond isn’t that kind of man!” She keyed the directory, read the number on the screen, and picked up the phone. I picked up the extension and sat back. “Archers here!” said a voice.

  “I’d like to speak—”

  Click. Judith sat as silent as a girl in a beer commercial.

  “Some of the best men I know are that kind,” I said. “Want me to try and arrange a meeting for you?”

  She nodded.

  I keyed the Archers again. When the receptionist answered I said, “I long to contact Eugene!”

  “Lucky you! Eugene’s steaming now. I’ll page him. Who shall I say’s calling.”

  “Hermes, the messenger of the gods and the lover of men.” “That’s cute!” A giggle. “I’ll tell Eugene to fly to the phone.”

  I covered the mouthpiece and said to Judith, who was holding the extension as if it were a fused grenade, “Listen, but don’t speak! Nod if you recognize his voice.”

  “Eugene here!” A somewhat breathless voice. He had hurried to the phone. I glanced at Judith and she nodded.

  “This is Hermes, with a message not from a god but from a goddess. A straight chick with glow-hair and green eyes who gave me a fifty to pass the signal that she’s mad to meet you. A chick who had to blow last year and now she’s on the lam. Has a mole on her bottom and she burned her left pinky. Was mixed up with you in some hot trank. Remember the chick?”

  “I don’t think—”

  “They called her Juicy Fruit! The rats!”

  “Juicy what? Rats? Good God! You mean—”

  “I mean she wants to talk paper. She said you were sure to remember Juicy. Said that if you were in Sam’s on 24th and K at exactly sixteen hundred she’d call there and ask for Slammer Sims. So take a table with a phone and tell the waiter you’re Slammer. Mister—that’s all I know! I’m just a messenger boy. Hermes, that’s my name. And I’m running too. She paid me to pass this signal. She’s a real nice chick and needs to talk. So be at Sam’s, Slammer. At eight bells and don’t tell nobody. Over and out!” I hung up.

  Judith was staring at me. “Why that mixture of jargon?” “The boys at the desk listen in. Maybe tape. I synthesized a slang. The desk boys won’t get it. Even the cops may not, if they ever listen. But Eugene got it.”

  “Juicy Fruit!”

  “Nearest I dared come to Judy. And I fed him enough clues.”

  “I haven’t got a mole on my bottom!”

  “I presumed Doctor Drummond had never seen your bottom. So he may think you have. The cops know you don’t—they’ll have your description, including all marks and scars. But they probably didn’t bother to record the one on your left little finger. Maybe Doctor Drummond noticed it.” “He was there when I burned it. There’s no mark left.” She held it up. “Or hardly any mark. But what was all that about Sam’s and Slammer?”

  “I stopped him bellowing your name. If he wants the contact he’ll be in Sam’s on time. I know that bar and it’s still going strong. I’ll be there at four p.m. If he doesn’t turn up—take off and don’t try to contact him again.”

  “I think you’re being absurdly cautious!”

  “I’ve just spent three years in jail because I wasn’t! So for my sake play it my way. Here’s Sam’s number. Don’t call directory. Appropriate a coin phone well before four. Have that Superb parked round a corner, ready for a quick takeoff. And leave fast when you’ve made the contact.”

  “But I have to meet Doctor Drummond. There are things—”

  “Don’t waste time gabbing on the phone. Once you’re sure it’s him, tell him to drive to Buxton and park in the lot by the cemetery gates. Tell him to arrive at nineteen hundred exactly and be alone. To flash his lights, get out of his car, and walk over when he hears you call his name. Got it?”

  “Why—?”

  “I’ll give you the why’s after he’s agreed to be there. Goddamn it Judy! You know surgery. I know duplicity. Drummond may be dead straight, but he may have a crooked shadow. I don’t want your meeting converted into a stakeout. So once he agrees to the time and place hang up and head for Buxton. In the rush hour traffic it’ll take most of two hours. No time for him or anybody else to set up something complicated. Park your car in the driveway of that empty house one block over from where we parked last night. And wait for me.”

  “What will you be doing?”

  “Drinking beer in Sam’s and watching Drummond for tail's. When we leave here we’ll get a pair of CB radios. Listen out on yours. If I tell you to blow—get out of the Washington area fastest. And don’t come back. Because they’ll be combing the city for you.”

  “Then how will I meet you again?”

  I shrugged. “You’ll be too hot to approach for months. And so will I.”

  She seemed to accept the fact that if Eugene Drummond betrayed her, or if he was being followed, then she’d have to escape as best she could. And that I would have kept my promise. “If I do have to run, here’s where I’ll be heading.” She scribbled “Sutton Cove, Maine” on a hotel pad.

  I took the pad, tore off her note with the five top sheets, and flushed them down the John. She was an innocent-at-large. “So you’ll double back to Maine? Maybe that’s smart, because they won’t expect it. But what’s at Sutton Cove?” “The Settlement where my mother lived. She died five years ago but I went there often as a girl and after I graduated I used to visit every two weeks. They don’t have a doctor so I ran a clinic. They like to see a doctor who’s a Believer, as I am. They think I’m dead. But I know they’ll take me back, and thank the Light for returning me alive.” “And the cops will thank their stars when you walk into their hands. If you’re a Believer they’ll be watching every Settlement in America.”

  She shook her head. “Even before I went to med school 1 knew that Believers didn’t get far in the medical profession. And I’ve never had to tell anybody I was. It’s not each Believer’s light that’s supposed to shine, but only the True Light Believers who don’t join a Settlement are expected to live good lives, but not to hold themselves up as something special. And not to try for martyrdom unless there’s a good reason. As all the great religions have some access to the Light we can use the one most natural for us. The Teacher says—”

  “Damn the Teacher! You mean that when the Service sifted your background they didn’t find out you were a Believer? That your mother lived at Sutton Cove?”

  “Even my father couldn’t find out where my mother was. .And he employed the most expensive outfit in your business—Gratton and Gsrrard. Heard of them?”

  “They’re not in my business! But I’ve heard of them all right. Pay them enough, give them the data, and they’ll find you if you’re hiding in hell!”

  “My father paid them a lot. He wanted to get mother back. Not because he loved her—or me. He wanted to make her break the deed of gift under which I got a lot of money when I became e
ighteen. My father was good at making things and breaking people. He was never able to have a second go at mother. Or at me after I was eighteen.” She paused. “That’s why I’ve no brothers or sisters. No family. And he’s dead.”

  “And those visits to your mother? Those clinics you ran in Maine? Didn’t anybody know where you were going?”

  She shook her head. “My father’s lawyers went on looking for mother for years after he died. To try to collect from her. In the end I paid them off myself. My friends knew that I had a lover somewhere in Vermont. A passionate lover with a jealous-hearted wife!” She laughed. “And so I did. But he only had my company at irregular intervals.”

  “So!” I studied her laughing face, irrationally angry with her for being skilled in certain types of deception. “Your Teacher doesn’t seem to bother much about the usual morals!”

  Her laughter died on the instant. “Oh yes he does!” She looked at the carpet, then at me. “Not for making love, but for hurting that wife. And I learned how much it hurt when Jim dumped me.” She stood up. “So if things go wrong I’ve a refuge. At least—I had one. Now I’ve told you, so it may not be safe anymore. Not after what you said about interrogation. If they catch you—”

  “I’ll be too dead to talk. I’ve already covered that possibility. There was a silencer capsule in Gramps’ grave. And it’s in place!” I pointed to my mouth. “So if we’re both hunted I may come to Sutton, but I won’t be bringing anyone with me.”

  “Gavin!” She bent down and kissed me. “That’s in return for the kiss in the mall.”

  VII

  Sam’s was a bar where blue and white collars mingled and nobody questioned anybody. The small man sitting on the edge of his seat in the next booth was the kind of midager who could disappear in a crowd of ten. I studied him as I enjoyed a bourbon and he toyed with a Martini. His changing expression was worth watching; the eyes may be the mirror of the soul but you need the movements of the mouth to glimpse the character. Doctor Drummond was chewing his knuckles and licking his lips.

  An intellectual, a scientist, a weak man determined to be strong, carrying his courage in both hands. He had told the barman that his name was Slammer and he was expecting a phone call. Now he was watching the waiter as if it were the waiter’s decision whether he got one.

  The phone in his booth rang, and he grabbed it. He was too excited to speak softly, but I was the only drinker close enough to hear what he was saying. “Yes, this is Doctor Drummond. . . . Gene Drummond. Judy, is that you? . . „ Thank God! Where are you? . . . But I’ve so much to explain! . . . Meet you where? . . . The parking lot? ... I will! I will! . . . Yes, I know where it is. . . . Yes, I’ll make sure nobody’s following me. Judy, you were wise to phone me here! ... Judy?” '

  She had evidently hung up. He looked at the phone, then stared at infinity. The instrument’s squeal brought him back to Sam’s and he went into a flurry of action: tossing back his Martini, calling for the waiter, paying his bill, rushing from the bar. Nobody took any notice, nobody followed him. After a few moments I followed him myself. Nobody followed me.

  He trotted across the street, then seemed to remember that Judith had warned him about tails. He stopped, looked vaguely around, saw nothing that matched his image of a tail, and got into his car. I watched him drive away and waited until I was sure he was clean. Then I went to the Auditor, now equipped with Virginia plates.

  “Juicy Fruit!” I called on the C.B. “Come in!”

  “This is Juicy.” She was terse. “Go ahead.”

  “No customers here. No signs of interest. I’m heading south.”

  “See you. Over and out.”

  It was still daylight when I reached the realtor disaster road—Lee Avenue in Buxton. The Superb was parked in the driveway of an empty house that did not look empty because it had curtains and lights, the desperate attempts of the developers to make the street appear populated. I circled the block and turned down the dirt road to park under the same oak tree as the night before. I had picked my back-up cache with some care. In fact during Gramps’ funeral I had spent most of the service deciding his grave was the place to bury the essentials for a fast move if I ever had to make one without official approval. I was then little more than a rookie in the Special Strike Force, but already experienced enough to know that to extract special equipment from any service always took too long. Over the years, as my career had changed direction, so had the nature of the essentials but the site itself was still prime.

  I had known that if I ever had to use it things would have got hot or turned sour. That either I’d be after someone or someone would be after me. A clear takeoff would be important and the road behind the cemetery gave that. A kilometer farther on it joined a hardtop which dipped down a hill to an underpass and merged with a cloverleaf providing six separate exits.

  Judith emerged from the back yard of the empty house as I got out of my car. “Gavin, Doctor Drummond’s honest. I could tell by his voice he was glad to hear me.”

  “Excited, at any rate!”

  “And he didn’t argue about meeting me here.” She looked around her and shivered. “Though I wish you’d chosen somewhere else.”

  “Judy, you know why I did. It gives us the edge if we’re jumped. And we could be. Drummond seems honest. I think he is. But I’m still the careful type.” I eased the broken rail aside and motioned her through. “My car to hide our en-

  trances and our exits. Trees for air cover. No lights. No visitor's left. It’s about lock-up time.” I caught her arm as she started forward. “There!” A clang came from across the cemetery as the gates were closed. “Nobody can wander in and we can leave fast.” I listened to the cemetery attendant’s car lading away. “Now we can move. But keep off the gravel.” "And walk on the graves?”

  “They don’t crunch.”

  She followed me, lagging a little, across the cemetery to (he main gates. “They’re shut! Will I have to talk to Doctor Drummond through bars?”

  “Perhaps. But not here.” I went to work on the lock and left the gates ajar. “When Drummond arrives make sure it’s him and that he’s alone. Then call him over. Tell him to join you under the trees and to slam the gates behind him. They’ll lock. So nobody’ll be able to slip in after him. And he won’t be able to bolt.”

  “He won’t want to bolt. He wants to talk to me.”

  “Then take him back among the trees so you can talk without being targets.”

  She considered my suggestion. “And where will you be?” “Prone—behind Gramps’ grave. Covering Drummond and ready to shoot anybody who interrupts your conversation.” “Gavin-—I tell you—there’s no need for guns! Doctor Drummond’s not a violent man.”

  “He’s a timid little man. But he’s got the guts to meet a convicted murderess at dusk in a deserted graveyard. I was watching his face when he heard your voice. He was either genuinely glad to hear you, or he’s a character actor of talent. He’s not trying to trap you. I don’t think he even knows that you’ve escaped from the Pen. He wants to believe they’ve let you go. And I’ll bet he hasn’t the sense to arrive armed.”

  “Doctor Drummond has the sense not to own a gun!”

  “Good for the Doctor. But the goat on a tether doesn’t know it’s bait for tigers—or jackals. If they arrive—-then there’ll be shooting.”

  “Gavin—I don’t want any shooting!”

  “Nor do I. But my neck’s on the block beside yours. If the Feds arrive—bolt for that loose railing, push it closed behind you, and take off. When you reach that mess of cloverleaf traffic—-get lost!”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll have cover and a clear field of fire. The fence will delay ’em. I’ll only wait long enough to confuse, and then I’ll be away before they surround the cemetery. It’ll probably be hours before they realize we’re not in it. They won’t expect to be shot at. And nobody likes going in among trees at night after a marksman!”

  “Promise you’ll h
ead for Sutton Cove?”

  “Maybe. But not tonight. Probably not for months. I’ve got my own job to do. And I don’t want to bring grief with me.” She touched my hand. “Gavin, aren’t you being theatrical?”

  “Worst case theater. What do you want me to do with Drummond if the worst happens? Kill him? Slug him? Or leave him hiding among the graves?”

  “You’re not to hurt him! He trusts me. I can’t leave him. If I have to run I’ll take him with me. I’ll drop him off when I’m safe.” She made a gesture. “But I don’t think there’ll be any need—”

  “Dragging Drummond along will cut down your chances of getting clear.”

  “Gavin, if things go wrong—if we lose the Light—then look after yourself. It’s because of me you’re here.”

  “Judy, I’m here because I want to be.”

  “If I’ve led Eugene Drummond into a trap, then I’ve got to get him out of it.”

  I started to protest, then shrugged. She was probably right. I was being frightened by memory-shadows. “Okay! Eugene’s your baby. Make sure he snaps the gate locked behind him. Take him back out of sight. And, for God’s sake, stay out of sight. However safe it seems.” I kissed her.

  She touched my cheek, then moved into the darkness under the trees. I went to lie behind Gramps’ grave, fitting the shoulder stock, the thirty centimeter barrel, and the night sights to my 9mm Luger. I was now armed with something close to a sniper’s carbine, and I started to estimate a range-table while waiting for Drummond.

  He arrived exactly at seven and there was enough light for me to recognize his silhouette when he stepped from his car. He flashed the headlights four times, then stood waiting. I could almost smell his fear.

  “Doctor Drummond! Over here!” Judith was calling to him from the cemetery gate. I cursed the silly girl.

  “Judy!” He ran toward her across the parking lot, pushed the gate open, and took her in his arms. Judith remembered to slam it, but they remained beside it, looking into each oth-ers’ faces, overcome by God knows what emotions. I didn’t want to show myself to this Drummond and whoever else might be watching so I could only lie on the damp ground and damn them both.