Assignment- Death Ship

by Will B Aarons

  Durell saw no point in fretting over what was done. “Look,” he said, “my superiors want Maj. Miller to go through the laboratory, check out your husband’s work in progress and his notes. . . .”

  Again Durso blocked the way. “Nobody can go into Dr. Plettner’s laboratory without his or the company’s express permission. I’m sorry, Mr. Durell.”

  Durell turned to Muncie once more. “I’m not sure of the legal technicalities,” she told him. “I don’t want to cause trouble for Peter when he comes back. . . .”

  “I have to insist,” Durell said.

  She looked at Durso questioningly. In spite of their mutual dislike, they were bound together by their ties to Dr. Plettner. Durso said, “And we have to refuse you. You have no legal right to force us. It’s private property. Besides, most items of interest will be flown to Geneva tomorrow, so you’d hardly—”

  “Geneva?” Durell was taken aback.

  “Company headquarters. A charter jet’s coming in the morning.” Durso lifted a black eyebrow. “We can’t have everything left lying about, can we? Dr. Plettner may return, but what if he doesn’t? The matter involves company secrets, patents—your own Supreme Court ruled that newly created life forms could be patented. Much better that we tuck all the information safely away for the time being.”

  Durell exchanged looks with Maj. Miller. It was clear that the only thing left to do was bide their time until they could break into the lab. Maj. Miller would have to spend a busy night there.

  Further persistence for permission might only create more obstacles.

  “Looks like we’ve struck out,” he told Muncie.

  “Serves you right,” she said. Her animosity didn’t hold

  the enthusiasm it had earlier. She’d begun to look deeply worried.

  “Put us up for the night?”

  “Since you’re asking, instead of demanding,” she assented. “We’ll arrange transportation back to the mainland for you in the morning.”

  The maid showed them to their rooms. Durell put his burdens aside and fell into a deep sleep. . . .

  Chapter 5

  “There’s lots of anger floating around here, Sam,” Maj. Miller said.

  “The question is whether it has anything to do with the matter at hand,” Durell replied.

  “People do strange things under pressure. They can go wacko,” the major said.

  Durell considered it again, as he had a hundred times before. Whoever was responsible for what had happened on the Sun Rover certainly was insane—which meant that the processes of his mind took place in a dark region beyond the logic of rational men. You couldn’t know what would come next. Which meant you were, to some degree, at his mercy.

  He suppressed a shudder, glad to be out of Plettner’s house for a stroll and a dip.

  He had slept several hours, taking the chance to catch up on badly needed rest. Awakening in his air-conditioned bedroom, he’d felt chilled and groggy, fretful over a fuzz of dream memories tangled in his imagination. The fresh air revived him, hot and damp as it was even at the final hour of daylight, and the cries of birds and insects seemed to tune his senses back to reality.

  Maj. Miller persisted, his tone speculative. “You know, Sam, it’s possible that Mrs. Plettner did kill her husband—all the easier to believe for the way she handled that rifle—but what hasn’t been said is that Ronald Durso could have done him in as well. It seems to me that he should’ve been as jealous as Mrs. Plettner, if not more so.” Maj. Miller, staring across the water, combed his blowing hair with his fingers.

  “Jealousy wouldn’t account for the scheme against the government,” Durell said. “Somebody—and Dr. Plettner seems most likely the one—put the X. coli thing together to get money. Who’s sleeping with whom doesn’t seem to matter. I don’t think either of them killed him.”

  “You’re assuming he developed the X. coli,” Maj. Miller argued. “Even if he did, there’s the possibility that someone else got hold of it. If that happened, he could be dead.”

  They stood at the edge of a lagoon, a broad jade field shot with amber lights.

  Durell waded in and swam without being able to wash a sense of foreboding and frustration from his mind. He’d dreamed of the ship, the corpses, the horrible death of Nelson. . . .

  The pain of the dream had been real, but how insignificant it all was compared to what might come. . . .

  Durell crossed the lagoon twice, slicing through the glassy water with easy power, relishing the deep, clean breaths that filled his lungs. By the time he stood dripping and gleaming on the warm sand, he’d pushed the horror away from his thoughts once more.

  Maj. Miller toweled his round belly. “I’ve got to get into that lab, Sam. When are you going to help me?”

  “I’ve been waiting for dark. I’ll get you in,” Durell told him. He wiped salt water from his eyes. The sun seemed to pause on the rim of the ocean, then plunged from sight. A great flare of orange incandescence flamed toward the heavens,

  deepened to vermilion, and slid in a golden avalanche below the horizon. The world turned indigo.

  Maj. Miller said, “The sooner the better. I’ll have to look through the lab notes and try to sort out the stuff I find. It may take me most of the night.”

  “Just be careful,” Durell said.

  “I doubt there are any X. coli in there,” Maj. Miller replied. “What I really hope is that I’ll find a clue to Dr. Plettner’s vaccine. Maybe it’ll give a head start to our boys back in Washington.”

  “Still, if that’s the lab where X. coli was created . . .”

  “I don’t suppose there’s a deadly organism known to man that I haven’t worked with.”

  “Under proper laboratory safeguards,” Durell pointed out. “And you can barely say this bug is known to man.”

  “I’m not worried. Besides, we can’t leave everything to you. But, listen”—Maj. Miller touched his arm—“once I go into the lab, don’t open the door again, just to be on the safe side. You’ll know everything is okay when I come back out.”

  Durell saw that Maj. Miller was more concerned than he cared to admit. “And what if you don’t come back?” he asked.

  “It’s a mighty impressive house to have to bum down. It would serve that vixen right, though,” the major replied, making light of Durell’s worry. His face was serious, however, as he added, “That’s what has to be done if anything goes wrong. There won’t be any saving me, you understand? Torch it.”

  Durell spoke in a flat voice. “I understand. Let’s get back to the house. When you’re dressed, come to my room and wait.”

  The breeze had freshened. He heard the thunder of surf from the other side of the island, amid the clash of fronds and the rubbing of branches. Far to the east the tower of a storm cloud blotted out the white glitter of countless stars.

  One of Plettner’s watchdogs barked. The sound was dim and fragile in the wind.

  Durell felt jumpy, but he didn’t share his edginess with Maj. Miller. It was nothing concrete, anyhow, just something in the air, a premonition that teased the back of his neck with icy fingers.

  It whispered of death.

  Seen through staggering trees, cheerful lights shone from the house, as if to mock his instincts.

  Again in his room he showered away the salt and donned a tropical-weight suit of gun-metal blue. Under the jacket he fastened a shoulder holster with the familiar weight of his snub-nosed .38 in it.

  His room opened onto a poorly lit corridor, leading past sliding glass doors through which he saw the inky shapes of trees blown by the wind. He continued on to a plain locked door at the end of the corridor, picked the lock, and pushed through into darkness. A stillness to the air told him this was a small room; his hand touched a lamp, found the switch. He was in an office of some sort. A simple metal desk was stacked with ledgers and bills; tape coiled from an adding machine. He killed the light, exiting into a large bedroom dark enough so that the flicker of lightning from the
distant squall played back from satin covers on a king-size bed. Going to the first of two doors, he found a capacious bathing-dressing area; the second door took him into a short, T-shaped space where another door held the label DANGER: DO NOT ENTER. The door had a window about the size of his hand, but the room was dark, and he couldn’t see anything through it.

  He bent and examined the lock, looked cautiously around, and went to work. A few seconds later the door swung in to reveal a shadowed interior with long workbenches, glass cabinets, stainless steel machinery, and sophisticated electronic gear. It could only have been Dr. Plettner’s laboratory.

  He quietly snapped the door shut, making sure it remained unlocked.

  “Hi.” It was Tina.

  “Hello,” he replied casually, hoping she hadn’t seen him close the door. “Why the flashlight?” he asked.

  “I was going to look outside. I was getting dressed, and I heard something. Was it you?”

  “I haven’t been outside,” he said. He regarded her with a quick sweep of his dark eyes. The low lighting rested on her clear skin like the icing on a cake. Her face held an open, childlike frankness beneath its billowing cloud of fine red hair. Her makeup was fresh, and she’d changed into a short yellow skirt. A clinging tank top showed the nipples of her breasts as little buttons under the cloth.

  The watchdog barked, and she took a quick step closer. “Something’s out there,” she said.

  “Go back to your room. I’ll see about it,” he said. “Dogs bark at anything when the wind’s blowing.”

  “Can I stay with you? Just a little while?” She gave him a pleading look.

  “I don’t think your husband would like that. Where is he?”

  “I don’t know. In his study, I guess. It’s his hideout.” Durell cocked an ear to the outdoors; the wind roared and howled, whined and hissed. "What does a man like him have to hide from?” he asked.

  “Me.” She looked shamefaced, then helpless. “I’m not very good company for a man with his brains.”

  “He married you, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, but . . .” She hesitated. “I think he sees it’s a mistake.” She became secretive. “He never even introduced me to his family, you know. Oh, I don’t want to meet them—I wouldn’t know how to act. Honest.”

  “Are you always so hard on yourself?”

  “Not always . . . I know I’m pretty.” She gave him a sly smile. “Don’t you think?”

  “You’re very attractive,” he said.

  “Oh, attractive. I like that word. It’s got class.” She came a step closer.

  “What does Dr. Plettner think of you?” Durell asked.

  “He’s sweet, at least. He never tries to put me down.” Durell waited, but she added nothing. “Did he ever seem deranged? Crazy?” he asked.

  She looked shocked by such a question. “Heavens, no! I mean, he definitely isn’t any ordinary kind of man. And he—well, he likes the juice. I don’t hold that against him, not with what he has to live with. I mean Muncie . . . Muncie ...” Tina worked at forming her thoughts. “Muncie was the sort of girl meant to go up the ladder with her man. But if he slipped, she didn’t know how to handle it. It was like she had her eyes on the stars, and when she had to look down, she just couldn’t. I’m not going to say anything bad about her. I guess it’s just that, well, coming from a long line of sharecroppers, I know all about hard times. . . .”

  “So Dr. Plettner began turning to you,” Durell suggested.

  “Yes.” She looked him straight in the eye. “Well, what if he did? I may not be much in the brains department, but Ron always said there was one thing I could do very well.”

  “And what was that?”

  “Do I have to spell it out for you? My goodness. You know: s-e-x?”

  “You feel that’s all you have to offer?”

  “What do you mean ‘all’?” she flared. Then, abashed, she added, “Well, I don’t feel that way with Peter. I—I suppose that’s what made me love him,” she said defiantly.

  “What about your husband?” Durell asked.

  She shrugged her inviting white shoulders. “As long as Peter and I don’t flaunt ourselves, it isn’t hard to keep Ron happy,” she said. “He only married me because he wanted a woman in his bed when he was stuck on this godforsaken island. I knew that. I didn’t object. Look, it’s a big step up from carving salami.”

  Durell thought about the two men sharing this luscious child. The arrangement seemed to have been casual, with only Muncie objecting. Durso didn’t like for Muncie to make a fuss about it; he’d seen that. But it could have worked to Durso’s advantage—if he’d been using his wife to ingratiate himself further with Plettner. There were other possibilities. Maybe Durso had hated it, but hadn’t dared to interfere. Or maybe he’d got rid of Plettner in a jealous rage, then, recognizing the possibilities, had stolen the X. coli and engineered the Sun Rover disaster. He’d told Durell he was glad to have the government looking for Plettner, but that really meant nothing. He’d bear watching.

  “Maybe,” Durell told Tina, “you only thought Ron was content with your . . . arrangement.”

  A red fingernail drew a circle on his chest. “Honey,” she said, “I’ll bet I know more about what makes guys like him tick than you’ll ever know.” She had another thought. “No, it was Dr. Plettner who was unhappy, not Ron. Peter was bom to be unhappy, I think.”

  Durell realized how much time must have passed. Maj. Miller would be waiting. “You’d better go,” he told Tina. She looked a little surprised. “Alone?” she asked.

  “Leave me your flashlight,” he said.

  “Was that the dog again?” she asked.

  “I think so. I’ll have a look outside,” he said.

  “Would you? I’d feel ever so much safer.” Her green eyes were appreciative.

  She seemed in no rush. “I like you,” she told him with her usual frankness. “I’m lonely, and I hate this island. Maybe later, we could . . . talk some more? Do you like swimming by moonlight?”

  “There is no moon,” Durell said. “Goodbye.”

  She waggled her fingers goodbye. “Don’t miss cocktails,” she said as she walked away. High wedge-soled shoes shaped her legs to perfection.

  When she had closed a door behind her, Durell returned to his room the same way he had come.

  “Did you fix it so I could get into the lab?” the major asked.

  Durell nodded. “They’re having cocktails. Now’s your chance. I’ll make an excuse for your absence.”

  “Roger.” Maj. Miller paused at the door and looked back. “Look out for those women, both of them. Couple of overwrought females. They don’t play by the rules, you know.”

  “Who does?” Durell asked.

  The major smiled and left.

  Durell rubbed his nose, waiting as seconds passed. Then he slipped into the windswept, jasmine-scented night. The air felt thick and warm and laden with the dusky vapors of vegetation. Its fragrance was touched by the smell of distant rain, the tang of iodine from the ocean. The thunderhead seen earlier had blown far to the west, and the sky was a sparkling sheet of stars with the Milky Way hanging low. The lights of Ponce showed as a vague blush on the western horizon. Normally he would have used the flashlight, but something told him not to. He had shared Tina’s concern, had heard or felt something dangerous, like the presence of an intruder. There had been nothing objective to base it on, if you didn’t count the bark of a dog on a windy night. But he had learned to give tremors of instinct due notice; they had saved his life on more than one occasion.

  He went in a silent crouch along the wall of the house, taking care to bend below shafts of light beaming out of windows. After ten steps, he stopped, listened. The dog hadn’t barked for some time.

  Brush and trees made a surrounding wall that heaved and roared under the mauling of the wind. He could make out nothing in there, so he took another ten steps, then another.

  His toe caught on something. A steel c
hain—the dog’s chain. But where was the dog?

  He followed the chain with rising apprehension. The animal lay a few feet away, its head thrown back unnaturally.

  It was dead.

  Dead of a broken neck.

  Chapter 6

  Durell drew his pistol and flattened himself amid the stones.

  Someone had to be out there, and his eyes strained to pick him out. Whoever it was seemed to be playing a waiting hand, maybe in hopes of making a move after everyone was asleep. By killing the dog they had effectively silenced the alarm. They’d probably cut the phone line as well.

  He chewed his lip and let time flow with the patience of a hunter.

  He could see nothing in the tangle of leaves and vines that made a screen a few yards from his face. He heard, or felt, the beating of his heart despite the bedlam of the wind. Optimistically, no one had seemed to see him either.

  He wriggled around and wormed his way back along the foundation until he found the door from which he had exited. He slid back inside, turning the latch behind him. His face gleamed with beads of sweat. Stone-coiored smears of dust blotched his suit.

  He found Durso, Tina, and Muncie in the enormous cathedral-ceilinged living area having drinks and chatting as if they were the best of friends. It made him think he must have been the catalyst for all the bitterness that had come out earlier. Left alone, they’d glossed it over again, accommodating each other like the lonely castaways they literally almost were.

  Despife the cool air-conditioning, Muncie had laid a fire in the coral and stone fireplace, where she burned eroded sticks of driftwood that looked like bones. She had left her jeans behind, and was stunning in a full-cut lounging outfit of navy blue watered-silk slacks and a top with a gold sash. She’d pulled the autumn-brown strands of her hair back severely and twisted them into a tight bun at the nape of her slender neck. Durso was there in a white jacket and open-necked shirt, a highball in his hand. Durell wondered if Tina had shared her fears of intruders with him. Tina was perched on the raised hearth, blithely sipping a drink. He’d have thought nothing had disturbed her simple mind, had he not known better.