The Deadly Drug Affair

by Robert Hart Davis

  After a momentary hesitation, she said, "I would like to accept, Mark, but I'm not sure I'll be free. I'm here with my boss, and he may have planned to take me to dinner."

  "Oh," Slate said in a disappointed tone.

  "He probably wouldn't mind," she said quickly. "We're not---I mean there is nothing between us except an employer-employee relationship. Why don't we look for him and find out if he has any plans?"

  "All right," Slate agreed. "Where do we look?"

  "We can start with the lobby. If he isn't there, I'll ring his room."

  They finished their drinks and went into the lobby together.

  Quite a number of the people in the lobby were wearing convention badges. Slate and Dorcus paused just outside the barroom door and Dorcus glanced around.

  "There he is, over by the bulletin board," she said. "Talking to that young girl."

  They made their way over to where Boris Rank conversed with April Dancer. Rank glanced up as they arrived and frowned slightly. He said in a polite and not overly-enthusiastic tone, "Hello, Dorcus. This is Miss April Dancer. Miss Dorcus Elias, April."

  April murmured that she was glad to meet Dorcus. The latter looked April up and down with the practiced eye of a highly competitive female before saying politely, "How do you do?"

  She introduced Slate as Dr. Slate. "Mark, not Doctor, Dorcus," Slate said, giving April a polite smile and shaking hands with Rank.

  April, with no sign of recognition in her eyes, said, "Glad to know you, doctor---I mean Mark."

  "Mark had asked me to dine with him," Dorcus said to her employer. "Did you have any other plans?"

  Boris Rank looked delighted by the news. He said enthusiastically, "As a matter of fact I was planning to ask Miss Dancer to dine with me. We could make it a foursome, if she's agreeable."

  He gave April an inquiring look and she said, "I would love it, providing you will stop being so formal. I'm April, not Miss Dancer."

  "Of course," Rank said. "And I'm Boris."

  The four dined together in the hotel dining room. After dinner they moved to the ballroom and spent the evening dancing. There was the usual trading of life histories, and when Rank discovered April's interest in his hobby, chess, he was delighted. When she disclosed the spurious information that she had attended Columbia University, she established the further bond with him of being a fellow alumnus of the same school.

  She had a bad moment, though, when he learned her degree was in biochemistry. An expression not quite of suspicion, but at least or wary puzzlement swiftly crossed his face.

  "If you are a bio-chemist, how come you didn't know what psychedelic drugs are?" he asked, frowning.

  After a momentary feeling of chagrin at her blunder, April recovered beautifully. With a mischievous grin, she said, "I did know. For your information, some of the synonyms are psychotomimetic, psychelytic, and hallucinogens. It's considered fair for a girl to pretend ignorance when she wants to meet a man.”

  Boris Rank was so flattered by her confession that all suspicion evaporated.

  Dorcus showed some momentary interest in April when she overheard her say she was a bio-chemist. They had a few minutes of shop talk, which April managed glibly enough thanks to her day crash course in bio-chemistry. Fortunately, Dorcus's interest in the girl agent was short-lived, because she was directing most of her attention to Mark Slate.

  She was delighted to discover he was a ski enthusiast and they had a spirited discussion of the best ski runs in the United States and Canada. In between he taught her to frug and April taught the dance to Rank.

  Eventually, with pretended mere politeness, Slate asked April to dance. Boris Rank decided it would be polite to dance at least once with his employee too, so they paired off with each others' dates.

  As they moved across the floor together, Slate said, "You're in. You have him eating out of your hand."

  She said, "Don't you let that woman get you alone. She looks as though she would like to eat you up."

  "Do I detect a note of jealousy'?" he asked, looking down into her face. "I thought you looked up to me as a big brother."

  "Not up," she said, squinting her nose at him. "Down. Just be careful. She's been engaged seven times, remember."

  "Don't worry," he assured her. "I'm a chronic bachelor."

  April was wondering how to end the evening before dawn when, at midnight, Slate announced that he had to make a nine o'clock seminar and suggested they call it a night.

  Rank and Dorcus both seemed disappointed, but neither made any objection. Rank accompanied April to her room on the fifth floor, Slate and Dorcus got off at the third, as Dorcus and Rank had adjoining rooms on that floor.

  When they reached her room, April put her back to the door without opening it, smiled at Rank and said, "I had a lovely evening, Boris. Thank you so much."

  The man looked disappointed that he wasn't going to be invited in, but he didn't push it. He took both April's hands gently and said, "How about breakfast together Miss Dancer?"

  "All right," she agreed. "What time?"

  "The convention meetings start at nine. Is eight too early?"

  "Just fine. Suppose I meet you in the coffee shop?"

  "Good. I'll see you then."

  He tipped up her chin and kissed her lightly on the lips. Despite herself, April Dancer felt a tingle run along her spine.

  He was a real handsome man.

  She opened the door and slipped inside.

  THREE

  LAIR OF THE TIGRESS

  On the third floor, Dorcus Elias didn't perform as demurely as April. After keying open her door, she smiled over her shoulder at Slate and went on into the room, leaving the door open behind her. Slate followed her in, but left the door open.

  She gave him a look of mild surprise, then went over and pushed it shut herself.

  "Would you like a nightcap?" she asked.

  "I shouldn't," he said. "I want to be fresh for my seminar in the morning."

  "Which one are you attending?"

  "Which one are you?" he countered.

  "The one on new psychiatric drugs still in the experimental stage. Actually there are two I would like to attend, but they're both scheduled for nine. I've asked Boris to attend the one on dosages of psychiatric drugs, patients' reactions and dangerous side-effects. He's going to take notes for me."

  "I'm attending the same session you are," Slate said with a smile. "Why don't we have breakfast and then attend the meeting together?"

  "All right. I'll meet you in the coffee shop at eight." Her voice became wheedling. "You'll have just one little nightcap, won't you?"

  He decided not to risk offending her by refusing.

  "All right," he gave in. "But I plan to be in bed in fifteen minutes."

  Her slight smile suggested that she planned to change his mind on that score. She indicated a bottle of bourbon and a bottle of scotch on the dresser.

  "You fix the drinks. Soda's in the refrigerator and so are ice cubes. I'll freshen up and be right back." She disappeared into the bathroom.

  Slate took a quick glance around. His gaze touched an air-conditioning vent in the wall. He crossed to it and removed small item somewhat resembling a shirt stud from his pocket. What would have been the stone in a stud was a clear glass lens, however.

  He set the visual bug between two of the vent's louvers, stepped back and examined it critically. Then, satisfied that it was not likely to be noticed, he went over to the small refrigerator with which every room at the Axton was equipped and took out an ice tray. He had two drinks made when Dorcus emerged from the bathroom, looking very pretty.

  She accepted her drink from Slate's hand, sat on the bed with her feet curled under her and patted the place alongside of her.

  "If I sat down, I'm afraid I'd go to sleep," he said with a disarming smile. "I'm really quite beat."

  A small frown marred the beauty of her face. Then she gave a resigned shrug and took a sip of her drink.

 
; Slate drank his rather quickly, standing up. He had carefully measured only a half-ounce of scotch into his own glass and had added a liberal amount of soda. Dorcus had consumed only a third of her drink when Slate set his empty glass on the dresser.

  "I really have to run," he said.

  "I tell my patients adequate sleep is essential, and I have to practice what I preach. It's been a lot of fun. See you in the morning."

  The frown on Dorcus' face started to deepen; then she smoothed it away and rose to her feet. Setting her glass on the dressing table, she accompanied him to the door.

  "Thanks for a nice evening," she said softly, then put her arms around his neck and raised her lips.

  It was a warm kiss.

  "Whew!" he said. "Maybe we can resume this tomorrow, but if I don't leave right now, I may not at all."

  "Nobody told you you had to," she said huskily.

  He gave her a smile, patted her cheek and said, "Thanks, but not now. Good night."

  Slate pulled open the door quickly and went out, catching a last glimpse of her disappointed face just before he pulled the door shut behind him.

  Too bad she was a suspected THRUSH agent, he thought ruefully as he made for the elevator. She was a lovely woman, but he had a certain revulsion to becoming romantically involved with women who owed allegiance to U.N.C.L.E.'s archenemy.

  Slate's room was on the fourth floor, but he continued on up to fifth. April, in a terrycloth robe over her nightgown, opened the door to his code knock. Slate slipped quickly inside and closed the door.

  "How did you break away so soon?" April asked. "I was sure the Elias woman had romantic designs on you,"

  "You misjudge the poor girl," he told her. "She's really quite virtuous. I managed to plant a visual bug in her room."

  "Oh?" April said.

  She went over to her purse on the dressing table, took a compact from it, opened it and looked into the mirror as she adjusted a small dial on its side. The mirror became hazy, then cleared and Dorcus' image appeared on the tiny screen. The woman was seated at her dressing table, just finishing her drink.

  "A secret drinker?" April said. Slate, standing next to her and also watching the tiny screen, said, "I mixed us each a nightcap. She hadn't finished hers when I left."

  "Was she wearing that outfit in front of you?" April demanded.

  Slate grinned at her. "You're in a similar one."

  "This is a robe, not a negligee," April informed him. "It's not nearly as sexy. That woman is after you, Mark."

  "Old Boris is after you. It's what we were supposed to accomplish, remember?"

  Dorcus had finished her drink. She rose, kicked off her slippers, slipped out of her negligee and carried it into the bathroom. They could see her reach around the edge of the open door to hang it on the hook behind the door. Then she reached down to grip the hem of her nightgown and started to pull it over her head.

  The gown had risen to above her knees when April clicked off the image and the screen became a mirror again. "That's enough for you, Mr. Slate," she said, and grinned.

  April replaced the compact in her purse and lifted a small transistor radio from the dressing table. She extended an antenna and said, "Section two, please. April Dancer calling."

  After a moment a male voice came from the radio's speaker. "Yes, Miss Dancer. Conrad speaking."

  "I don't suppose Mr. Waverly is around at this time of night, is he?" April said.

  "No, but I can relay to his home."

  "Please do," April said.

  After a few moments wait, Alexander Waverly's formal voice said, "Yes, Miss Dancer?"

  "We've both made contact, sir. We spent the evening with Boris Rank and the Elias woman. I have a breakfast date with Boris."

  "I have one with Dorcus too," Slate put in.

  April glanced at him and made a face.

  Waverly's voice said, "I see you are there too, Mr. Slate. Have you learned why they're attending the convention?"

  April said, "They're here to attend the sessions on psychiatric drugs. We don't know why."

  "Hmm. Psychiatric drugs, eh? An odd interest for the president of a baking company."

  Slate said, "Dorcus claims her interest has nothing to do with her job. She says she's doing research for her doctorate thesis."

  "That hardly explains Mr. Rank's interest," Waverly said, "Perhaps you can learn more tomorrow.”

  "I'm attending one of the sessions with Dorcus, sir," Slate said. "If I can understand it, I'll report what it was about tomorrow."

  "Very well," Waverly said. "I'll expect to hear from you then. Good night."

  "Good night, sir," April said, and broke the connection.

  Slate said, "Guess I'll turn in," and went over to the door. "Good night, April."

  "Wait a minute," April said,

  "What time are you meeting the Elias woman?"

  "Eightish."

  "That's when I'm supposed to meet Boris. We may as well all eat together. But don't expect me until a few minutes after eight"

  "Why?" Slate asked.

  "I plan to visit Boris' room for a few minutes after he has left," April explained.

  "Oh," Slate said with understanding.

  He gave her a final grin and went out.

  The next morning April was up at a quarter after seven. She had showered and dressed by a quarter of eight. So as not to accidentally encounter Boris Rank or Dorcus Elias on the elevator, she took the stairs to the third floor.

  At the end of the corridor where Rank's and Dorcus' rooms were, April Dancer took up a stance around the corner.

  At five minutes to eight she saw Dorcus leave her room and head toward the elevator. A moment later Boris Rank's door opened and he stepped out. Spotting Dorcus, he called to her.

  April drew back her head when the woman began to turn her way. She waited until she heard the elevator door open and close again. Seeing the corridor now deserted, April clicked down it to Rank's room.

  Her right hand raised to her hair and came away with an unusual hairpin. It was of spring steel. One prong was honed to a razor-sharp cutting edge; the other was a lock pick.

  A moment later she was in the room and had closed the door behind her.

  A quick search of Boris Rank's suitcase and dresser drawers turned up no documents of any sort. She looked for a place to plant a visual bug and settled on the same place Slate had picked in Dorcus' room. She plucked a small metal elephant with jeweled eyes from her charm bracelet and set it between two of the louvers of the air-conditioning vent.

  She went out, set the spring lock and closed the door behind her. Minutes later she entered the hotel coffee shop to find Slate, Rank and Dorcus seated at a table together.

  The two men rose as she approached. Rank said, "Mark and Dorcus are breakfasting together too, so I thought we would join them. Do you mind?"

  "Of course not," April said "Good morning, Doctor---I mean Mark. Good morning, Dorcus."

  Slate bowed formally and wished her good morning. Dorcus murmured something which April presumed was a greeting and immediately returned her attention to Slate. The woman was one of those real predatory females, April decided.

  During breakfast Dorcus asked Rank suddenly, "Did you remember to arm yourself with a notebook?"

  "Yes," he said.

  "Please take as complete notes as you can," she said. "I wish I could make both sessions."

  "I'll take complete notes," Rank assured her. "Don't worry about it." He turned to April. "I have to attend this meeting at nine, but it will be over by noon or earlier. May I take you to lunch?"

  "All right," April said. "I haven't anything to do between now and noon, though. Could I attend this meeting with you?"

  Rank looked pleased by the suggestion. "If you think it won't bore you. It's supposed to be open to convention delegates only, but I'm sure no one will object."

  Dorcus said, "Your meeting is in the main ballroom on the, main floor, Boris. Ours is on sixth. It won't b
e over much before noon. Why don't we all meet in the dining room for lunch?"

  FOUR

  ASSIGNMENT-HELL

  April Dancer understood very little of what went on during the nearly three-hour session in the ballroom. A psychiatrist from Houston named Dr. Felix Bromberger read a long, highly technical paper on the uses of various drugs in the treatment of mentally disturbed patients. The paper was largely devoted to patients' reactions and to dangerous side-effects.

  One of the drugs mentioned was a new one, still in the experimental stage, used in the treatment of schizophrenics. It was called Tehedrin 055, and Dr. Bromberger said that one of its unique properties was that dosage didn't seem to be an important factor.

  He explained that so far in all clinical tests, only a specific amount of the drug seemed to be absorbed into the systems of patients, regardless of the amount taken, the remainder simply passing through the system and being eliminated by normal means. What caused it to have this unusual property had not yet been determined, but experiments were continuing.

  Boris Rank took copious notes on both the paper and the discussion which followed, but April suspected he had no more understanding of the subject than she did.

  The meeting broke up shortly before noon. When Rank and April entered the dining room for lunch, they found Slate and Dorcus already there.

  After all four had ordered and the waitress had moved away, Rank said to Dorcus, "How did it go?"

  The woman shrugged. "Nothing useful to me in my meeting. How was your session?"

  Boris Rank produced the small notebook in which he had jotted notes and passed it across to her.

  "It's all in there," he said. She riffled through it stopped at a page and her eyes narrowed. "They discussed Tehedrin zero fifty-five," she said sharply.

  "Yes. I made detailed notes on it.”

  "That’s a brand new drug, still used only on a clinical basis,” Dorcus said indignantly."My session was supposed to be on new drugs and they never even mentioned it. I wish I had attended that meeting instead.”

  She turned to Mark "You're probably familiar Tehedrin zero fifty-five, aren't you, Mark?"

  To April it was obvious Slate was out of his depth, neither of the others knew it. He managed to say easily, "I've seen some of the clinical reports. I haven't given them attention because I'm rather opposed to chemical treatment of disturbed patients. I prefer the psychoanalytic approach. I'm strictly a couch man.”