by Anthology
"Of course," Porter replied icily, "if you care to keep functioning as a discredited person—"
"I can. And I will. I'd be a coward if I didn't."
Porter was obviously disappointed but he shrugged. "That's your privilege. You, of course, will not be taken off the payroll."
"The payroll be damned. Send my checks to the Red Cross!"
And Brent Taber strode out of Porter's office, a man who stood alone in the Washington jungle of clashing ambitions, of purposes and cross-purposes—but a man who had no thought of quitting.
After Brent left, Porter put through a call to Senator Crane's office.
" … so, while severing Brent Taber from official activity would be rather difficult, Senator, I have, in the interests of efficiency, withdrawn most of his facilities."
"A wise move, Porter. A very wise move."
"By the way, Senator, that hydroelectric project on the Panamint River your Conservation people have in the works. I'm quite interested in it."
"Is that so?" Crane asked guardedly.
"Yes. Perhaps because of my experience along those lines in South America. I consider it a great opportunity to serve and I understand the administrator's post is still open."
Porter's tone was vague. "Yes. I believe it is."
"Of course, I'm quite happy where I am, you understand. I'm not looking for a change. However, the challenge does intrigue me."
"I'll give you a ring, Porter. Just sit tight until you hear from me."
After hanging up, Porter sat back and wondered. He tried to analyze the tone in which Crane had made the promise to call. It had been falsely cordial, beyond a doubt. Maybe Crane figured Taber's scalp was too small a price to pay for the hydroelectric plum. Well, in that case, Porter philosophized, he hadn't lost a great deal. It was all in the game.
* * * * *
Frank Corson was confused and troubled by the changes that continued to come over Rhoda Kane. He could not quite put his finger on the start of it, but as he saw her now, a scant two weeks after the incident of the man with two hearts, he could clearly see the changes. Where she had been a beautiful, poised, self-controlled woman, she was now more nervous and quick of movement, brighter of eye, full of a new restless energy he could not account for.
Also, the dominance in their affair had shifted. He had always, it seemed, been the dominant factor, in that Rhoda had continually catered to his moods and bent to the winds of his own unrest and dissatisfaction.
But one evening when he was free of duty at Park Hill, Rhoda came home and entered the apartment without glancing toward the double-width sofa by the window. Frank, stretched out with a drink in his hand, watched her as she took her key out of the lock and put it back in her purse. He was struck by the fact that with this new "personality" that had become a part of her, she was even more attractive than before. A glow had been added. The quiet, dignified, statuesque beauty of before had been mysteriously vitalized by a new kind of inner life.
She turned from the door and, looking into the bright glare of the eight-foot windows, she saw him on the sofa and took a quick step forward.
"Oh," she cried. "It's you!"
"Of course, it's me."
Rhoda stopped dead and Frank was sure that the look of eagerness died as suddenly as it had been born.
"Well, good lord! Whom were you expecting?"
Rhoda laughed. "You just surprised me, that's all."
"Well, you gave me the keys to your apartment. Wasn't I supposed to use them?"
"Of course, silly." She came across the room and sat down on the sofa beside him. She bent down and kissed him.
"Golly," he said, sarcastically enthusiastic, "that was about as stimulating as a meeting between two dead fish."
"Frank! For heaven's sake! What's got into you lately?"
"I think that question should be reversed. 'What's got into you?"
"I think you're being unreasonable."
"Am I? Is it unreasonable to wonder why you did a complete about-face?"
"I don't understand."
"You understand. I've brought it up before. You spent weeks convincing me I ought to carry through with my internship and establish a practice. You said the time element didn't make any difference to you. You talked me out of the silly idea I had about cashing in on the man with two hearts. I admitted it was a silly idea. I turned away from it completely. Then you did the world's fastest about-face and began asking questions. You began pushing me in the direction you'd been arguing against."
Rhoda refused to match his serious mood. She ran a playful hand through his hair. "A woman has a right to change her mind, hasn't she?"
"Oh, stop it, Rhoda. You're avoiding the issue."
"All right. I still maintain I have a right to change my mind, but in making it all seem completely unnatural you neglected to mention why you changed yours. Because a man named Brent Taber slapped your wrist like a little boy and scared you. It wasn't my influence that turned you around and started you walking the other way. It was a big man from Washington who said naughty, naughty and suddenly you were a nice little intern again, afraid to ask questions."
"It was more dangerous than you know, Rhoda."
"Oh, I'm sure it was. Do you want another drink?"
"No." Frank looked out the window and scowled. "Rhoda, there was something I didn't tell you about that affair."
"Was there? I'll bet you told Brent Taber, though."
"It was what brought Brent Taber into it. There was a murder in my room."
"And when Brent Taber came on the scene—" Rhoda stopped and stared down at him. "What did you say?"
"A man was killed in my room. The man with the broken leg. He didn't just go on his way, as I told you; he got his throat cut in my room."
Rhoda continued to stare. "And you didn't tell me about it."
"Brent Taber told me to keep my mouth shut."
"I suppose if Brent Taber had said, 'I don't want you to see that woman again,' you wouldn't even have dropped around to say good-bye."
"Rhoda—you're being unreasonable."
"Unreasonable to expect the man who says he loves me to confide in me?"
"All right. I was wrong. What happened is this: When William Matson was ready to leave Park Hill, he had no place to go, so I took him down to my room. I went back to the hospital and Les King contacted me. He said William Matson was really a man named Sam Baker who'd disappeared from his home in upstate New York ten years ago. We went down to see him and found him sitting in a chair with his throat cut."
"You've been involved in a murder and you didn't say a single, solitary word—"
"Rhoda! I said I was sorry."
"I didn't see anything about it in the papers. I'm sure it wasn't on any of the newscasts."
"Of course, it wasn't. The police didn't even question me. I called the police and they came—two prowl-car men. Then they told Les and me to wait. We waited, and after a while this Brent Taber came in. He told us to go home and keep our mouths shut. Later, we were called downtown and Taber talked to us."
"He told you to go home," Rhoda said sarcastically. "You also said the man was killed in your room. Just where is your home, Mr. Corson?"
"I came here, Rhoda. I spent that night here."
"With a possible murder charge hanging over your head, you came here and didn't say a word!"
Frank sprang up from the couch and turned, scowling. "Goddamn it! Don't you believe me? Do you think I'm lying?"
"I don't know what to believe. I just feel—betrayed. But something else is more important."
"What?"
"You acted like a child. Just because some man appeared out of nowhere, you said Yes, sir and No, sir and Sorry, sir and walked away. Frank! I'm ashamed of you!"
In quick anger, his hand came back as though to slap her. But he dropped it to his side and strode across the room and picked up his jacket.
"And so now you're walking out again. You just can't face up to anything, c
an you, Doctor Corson."
He turned on her, his eyes blazing. "All right. Maybe everything you say is true. Maybe I've seesawed and acted like a kid. If I have, it's because of you. The thing in the Village had nothing to do with me changing my mind about going into research. I did it because I thought you wanted me to."
Now Rhoda was on her feet, too, her patrician nostrils flaring. "Well, don't do me any favors."
"From now on, I wouldn't dream of it."
As he pulled on his jacket, Rhoda sat down on the sofa and lit a cigarette. "I'm convinced that if you'd gone along with Les King you would have been on the right road. King wasn't frightened off by a man who said he represented the government. He saw a chance to make some money and is probably going ahead with it right now."
"I don't give a damn what Les King is doing!"
"Of course not. But there's another little thing you overlooked. Don't you suppose this Brent Taber will toss that murder right back into your lap if it suits his purpose? The body was in your room. You're probably the chief suspect. So you sit back and let Brent Taber play whatever game he's got in mind. And if it goes wrong, Frank Corson gets picked up for murder."
"It can't possibly happen that way."
"Why not? Who is Brent Taber, really?"
"I told you—a government man."
"What government? Where can you get in touch with him?"
"I don't know. He gave me a phone number in case I ever saw a certain man again."
"What man?"
"Rhoda! They aren't men at all. They're androids!"
Rhoda froze and stared at him in consternation. "You actually believe that fairy tale? Frank, I just don't understand you."
"I told you about it before."
"But for the life of me I didn't think you took it seriously."
"I just didn't care. I'd had it. I wanted out."
"But you're involved in it, up to your neck, and if you had any guts you'd face Taber and make him tell you all the facts—and what's behind them."
"I have no intention of calling him."
"I guess that's the rock we split on then," Rhoda said coldly. She couldn't understand herself, even while she knew, deep down, that she wanted more information for him—John Dennis. Any other reason or excuse she used was a sham, a self-delusion.
If she expected a protest, she didn't get it. Rhoda took a long, calm drag on her cigarette. She ground it into the ash tray. She raised her eyes and looked levelly at Frank.
"Very well," he said, finally, "It was nice knowing you."
"Shut the door quietly on the way out," she retorted.
He stared at her, his face revealing nothing. He turned, went to the door, and opened it. He looked back. She had not moved. He left without a word.
Rhoda Kane lit another cigarette. She stared out across the East River at the expensive view that went with her high-rent apartment. She got up and went to the liquor cabinet and made herself a drink.
She was back on the sofa when a key turned in the lock. The door opened. Frank Corson came in, walked to her and stood looking down at her. There was misery in his face, a beaten look in his eyes.
"You knew I couldn't do it."
"Couldn't do what, sweet?"
"Walk out on you. I'm in love with you, goddamn it. If I stayed away tonight, I'd be back tomorrow."
Rhoda set her glass down and held out her arms. "Darling," she whispered. "You wouldn't have had to. I'd have been down in the Village after you."
He kissed her hungrily and she pressed her hand against the back of his head, holding his mouth tight to hers. His hand slipped inside her blouse. She laid her own hand on it and held it firm.
"It's for your own good, darling, that I want you to contact this Taber and demand what you're entitled to. You have a right to know. If you don't find out, there might be a policeman at your door, any minute of the day or night."
"I'll call him."
"And if he tells you it's none of your business, stand up to him."
"I will."
She allowed his hand to go on with its exploring now. His finger touched her nipple, played with it. She closed her eyes as his mouth again sought hers. "Darling …" she murmured.
But she was speaking to a man who had come from nowhere and had identified himself only as John Dennis. She had no number at which to call him. She could only wait until he returned again, if he ever did.
She thought: Oh, God, John Dennis. Why do you turn away from me? Why did you strip me naked and look at me as though I were a statue? Will you come back again? Please come back and make love to me.
She felt Frank Corson unsnapping her brassiere. She closed her eyes and lay back and waited, and for all the effect he had on her, Frank Corson could have been a statue.
At the last moment she insisted, "Remember, Frank, you've got to find out everything!"
9
The man had sallow skin; the look of a consumptive. He sat in a chair beside Crane's desk and dropped the ash from his cigar on Crane's wall-to-wall carpeting. Crane scowled, but let it pass.
"All right. Dorfman, what have you got to show for the money I've paid you?"
Dorfman, an old hand at confidential snooping, refused to quail before the much-publicized senatorial scowl. "It's tough putting on a hunt when you're not quite sure what you're after."
"I told you what I wanted. I wanted you to watch for any New York contacts Brent Taber might be using at the present time. That's simple enough, isn't it?"
"Taber contacts a lot of people. And he's a dangerous man to tail. He knows all the tricks."
"Are you telling me he caught you following him? If he did, you're no longer of any value to me."
"He didn't spot me," Dorfman said. "I followed him to New York and kept tabs on a Manhattan office, one he uses as his headquarters there."
"A directory check would tell me that."
"Take it easy. I staked out the place all day yesterday. Five men entered and left. Four were his own men."
Crane made a notation on a pad. He knew about those men. They'd been pulled off Taber's staff without notice. No doubt they'd made their last report to Taber and had headed back to Washington for reassignment. Dorfman would not know this, of course.
Or so Crane thought. Dorfman smiled as though he'd read Crane's mind and said, "I think Taber's losing his staff. They were government men—four of them—reporting in or out. My guess was out." He peered keenly at Crane for a moment. "Who's slicing away at Taber behind his back?"
"That's none of your—look here, Dorfman, I can get a better man than you at half the price!"
"No, you can't," Dorfman said easily. "Like I told you, there were five. The other one turned out to be a Doctor Frank Corson, an intern at Park Hill Hospital in Manhattan."
Crane made another quick notation. A Manhattan doctor. One of the androids had been found in the East River with its throat slit and a broken leg. Now a doctor had contacted Taber. Was there a connection? Somehow, Crane had to get on the track of the tenth android Taber was hunting. Cutting the ground out from under Taber had been a satisfying victory but it wasn't enough. To be of service to his electorate, Senator Crane realized, he had to have something tangible in the way of evidence. The only way to get this was to ferret out Taber's contacts and locate the tenth android himself, or at least be there when Taber located the creature.
A man of supreme confidence in his destiny, Crane had been working on the speech he would make when he was ready for the I accuse scene from the Senate floor. He had even gone so far as to alert a fashionable Washington hotel to be ready with a suite at a moment's notice. Crane felt his office would be far too small to handle the traffic that would result from his revelation.
It did not occur to Crane to compliment Dorfman on his skill as an operative, for getting the book so completely and swiftly on a casual visitor to Taber's office. He said, "You've got this doctor's address?"
Dorfman put a folded slip of paper on the desk. "Another littl
e item I'll throw in as a bonus. Taber had another tail—here in Washington."
This disturbed Crane. Did he have competition in the matter of the android? Was someone else trying to get into the act?
"A New York free-lance photographer named King. I didn't have to check on him. I recognized him. He's been around Manhattan for years."
"A photographer. What do you suppose he's up to?"
"No way of telling, at the moment. Want me to switch to him?"
"No. Stay on Taber. There's more chance there."
Dorfman got up from his chair, stepping on the ashes as he did so and ground them into the rug. "Okay, I'll report tomorrow."
After Dorfman left, Crane pondered the situation. Were the Russians behind this? Somehow, he was beginning to doubt it. And this dismayed him somewhat. He was enough of a realist to know that even a possible invasion from outer space—if that talk hadn't been a cover-up—would not carry the power of a Russian plot.
A space invasion? Too science-fictional. It had been done by H. G. Wells and God knew how many other writers. Break a yarn like that and nobody would believe it. Still, if he could get his hands on the evidence.
He scowled as he contemplated the one stone wall he hadn't been able to penetrate. No connection he had, no contact, would reveal the secret laboratory where the dissection of the androids had taken place, or the specialist who'd done the job. Porter might give it to him in exchange for a guarantee of the hydroelectric post. But Crane suspected that even Porter did not have this information. The higher you went in these top-secret projects, the more silence and stubbornness you found. The men up above, it seemed, were never as open to discussion as were the lower-echelon eager beavers. They indulged in horse-trading and played politics to a certain extent, but the lines of demarcation were sharper. That was why he could get Taber discredited, even crippled. But knocking a man of his proven ability completely out was another matter. The men on the top floor measured a lot of evidence before they acted.
But the body of one of the androids—there should be a way—there had to be a way.
Suddenly Crane smiled. Then he chuckled. Then he took an address book out of his desk drawer and thumbed through the pages.