Brock glared at him, his eyes full of hate, but Shields was his senior. He hesitated, then walked slowly down the path and across the sand to the shade of the trees.
Thea said, “The sheep and the goats . . . the boys and the men.”
Shields looked woodenly at her.
“I’m sorry you were disturbed, ma’am,” he said and turned to go.
“You look thirsty, officer. Would you like this beer?”
“No, thank you. I am on duty.”
She regarded him, then she leaned forward and poured the beer into the flower bed by the front door.
Shields started down the path.
“Officer . . .”
He looked around, pausing.
“I have a blown fuse . . . can you fix it for me?”
Shields studied her, aware Brock was watching.
“My job is outside . . . not inside, ma’am,” he said. “You call an electrician,” then he walked away while Thea watched him. She let him reach the gate, then she took off her wrap and dropped it on the floor. Under the wrap she was wearing the skimpiest possible bikini. Her beautiful body was nut brown from hours of sun bathing. She ran down the path after Shields. Hearing the thud of her naked feet, he turned sharply. She swerved around him and went on running across the sand towards the sea.
Shields looked to right and left. The beach was deserted. He stared after her, then moved into a quick, striding run. He caught up with her as she was about to run into the sea and he grabbed hold of her arm.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he said. “You must go back. This is too dangerous. My orders . . .”
She wrenched her arm free and then ran into the sea. Shields started after her, then stopped. Already the sea was washing over his shoes. He cursed under his breath as he saw her swimming away from him. He hesitated, then kicked off his shoes, tore off his trousers and shirt as Brock came running up.
“You going for a swim?” Brock sneered.
Shields dumped his gun holster on the sand.
“Shut up, you jerk,” he said savagely. “This whore could get herself killed.”
Wearing only his underpants, he took a racing dive into the sea and went after Thea while Brock stood watching.
Thea swam well, but she wasn’t in Shields’ class. She looked around and saw him coming after her at a speed that startled her. She stopped swimming and trod water. She untied the cord of her bikini and let it float away from her. Another swift movement got rid of her bra. Then she threw up her arms and let herself sink. As she came up gasping, Shields reached her. She made a grab at him, but Shields swept her hands away. She was startled by his expertise. He dived under her, came up behind her, caught her under her armpits and held her so tightly she was unable to struggle. This wasn’t the way she had planned it. She decided her best move was to fake a faint. She shut her eyes and let herself go limp. Shields towed her back to the beach, then dragged her up on to the beach.
Brock stood gaping down at her while she lay still, her eyes closed, her breasts heaving as she appeared to be fighting for breath.
“Haven’t you ever seen a naked whore before?” Shields asked, snatching up his shirt and throwing it over Thea’s nakedness. “For God’s sake! Grow up! They are all made the same way. Get my clothes!”
He grabbed hold of Thea, heaved her over his shoulder and started back towards the bungalow.
Brock stood rigid, staring at the long naked back, the solid buttocks and the long legs.
As Shields kept moving, Thea said, “You are a sonofabitch . . . but you are a man. You can have me any time.”
Shields said nothing.
He carried her into the bungalow and dumped her on the settee.
“You stay here,” he said, not looking at her. “If there’s any more trouble from you, ma’am, I’ll take you down to headquarters.”
As he started for the door, she said, “Wait! What is your name?”
He turned and looked woodenly at her. She was sitting up, her legs crossed, her arms folded across her breasts.
“Detective 3rd Grade Andrew Shields,” he said.
Then he walked out of the bungalow, slamming the front door.
Brock waited until Shields came to where his clothes were lying, then he said with a sneering grin, “That was quick . . . how did you like it?”
Shields put on his shirt and slid into his trousers. He gave Brock a hard stare, but Brock couldn’t leave it alone.
“How was she, Andy? How was she, you mother-raper?”
“Get ready to pound a beat again,” Shields said quietly. “I’m turning you in.”
He moved around Brock and headed for the police car.
Brock hesitated, then jumped forward, grabbing Shields’ arm.
“Now, wait a minute . . .” he began.
Shields threw him off.
“Take your goddam hands off me,” he said and continued to the car.
Brock put his hand on his gun, then took his hand away. He watched Shields get into the car and start talking on the telephone to police headquarters.
Kneeling on the settee, leaning forward, her breasts like two ripe pears swinging from her body, Thea stared through the window at this minor drama and smiled complacently.
The five men seated around the table watched Mervin Warren pace the carpet of his luxury sitting-room at the Belevedere Hotel.
Reading from right to left at the table was Chief of Police Terrell, Jesse Hamilton of the Central Intelligence Agency, Roger Williams of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Dr. Max Hertz of the Harrison Wentworth Sanatorium and Warren’s secretary, Alec Horn.
Warren paused in his prowl and said, “Can we accept this girl’s statement?” He was looking at Terrell.
“Yes, I think so,” Terrell said. “I think it is unlikely she is lying.”
“She says Forrester has a capsule of cyanogen,” Warren said. “She claims he will kill himself if any attempt is made to capture him.” He turned to Dr. Hertz. “You have had this man as a patient for twenty-eight months. How is it you never discovered this capsule? He must have had it with him when he was put under your care.”
Dr. Hertz lifted his shoulders.
“It doesn’t surprise me,” he said. “After all, even with the best security in the world, Herman Goering kept his death pill with him until he was ready to kill himself.”
Warren considered this, then he nodded.
“Yes . . . I suppose so. Do you think Dr. Forrester would kill himself under pressure?”
“Of course.” Hertz had no hesitation. “He could even kill himself if not subjected to pressure. We are dealing with a personality who does not value life. It is even possible that he might kill himself at this very moment . . . just a whim.”
Warren began pacing again. Then after a minute or so, he said, “All right, doctor. Thank you. Would you stand by, please? We could need you again.”
Understanding this was a dismissal, Hertz got to his feet.
“Do you want me to stay here or may I return to the sanatorium?”
“You can return to the sanatorium, doctor,” Warren said. It is late. I don’t think anything can happen until tomorrow.”
When Hertz had gone, Warren came back to the table and sat down.
“It is not possible for Forrester to get away?” he asked Williams.
“Not a chance. The whole district and the apartment block are sewn up tight, sir.”
“You are sure of that?”
“Yes, sir.”
Warren brooded for a moment, then said, “I would be happier if you and Captain Terrell were on the ground, making completely sure. Could I ask you gentlemen to take care of this operation?”
Both Williams and Terrell knew Warren wanted to talk to Hamilton alone. This was now a Top Secret mission, and Hamilton was of the C.I.A.
They left. When they had gone, Warren said, “Forrester is right at this moment the most important man in this country, Jesse. We must have his invention. He is talking about terms. I don’t know what he means by terms, but whatever his terms may be, we’ll have to go along with him, so long as we can be sure he will decode the formula. I have this direct from the president himself. We must handle Forrester with velvet gloves. We must have this formula.” He stared down at the polished surface of the table. “We know we are dealing with a mentally disturbed man, but according to this girl, he can and will, granted his terms, decode the formula. I have been given a free hand. There must be no slip up. Is that understood?”
“Suppose Forrester walks out of this apartment?” Hamilton asked. “What do we do?”
“He won’t. I have a feeling about that.” Warren lit a cigarette. He felt tired. He had had two meetings with the President that morning. He had had a mad rush to catch the plane that had brought him to Paradise City. He felt the load of responsibility weighing him down. “Do you know if we can reach Forrester by telephone?”
“Sure.” Hamilton flicked open his notebook. “I have the number right here.”
“Would you get it, please?” Warren stubbed out his scarcely smoked cigarette.
Hamilton told the operator to give him an outside line. When he got it, he dialled the number he had in his book. As soon as the ringing tone sounded, Warren took the receiver from him.
There was some delay, then a click. A man said, “Yes?”
“Dr. Forrester?” Warren asked, his voice level and steady.
“This is Dr. Forrester.”
This is Mervin Warren. How are you, Paul?”
A long pause, then Forrester said, “Oh . . . I suppose . . . yes . . . I’m all right. When do we meet?”
“I’m just back from Washington. The President sends you his regards, Paul,” Warren said. “He wanted to know . . .”
“When do we meet?” the flat, cold voice interrupted.
“I can come over right away.”
“Miss Jacey has told you of my conditions?” Forrester said. “You are to come alone. That is understood?”
“Yes . . . of course.”
“Then I will wait for you,” and Forrester hung up.
Warren pushed back his chair and stood up.
“He wants to see me alone.”
Hamilton looked alarmed.
“He could be violent, sir,” he said, getting to his feet. “I don’t think it would be safe . . .”
“The President considers Forrester to be the most valuable man in the country right now,” Warren said quietly. “Forrester wants to see me. I must see him . . . let’s go.”
A fast ten minutes drive brought them to Lennox Avenue, a quiet residential street on the outskirts of the City. Both ends of the street were blocked off by patrolmen. As Warren’s car pulled up, Terrell appeared out of the darkness.
“I’m talking to Forrester,” Warren explained as he got out of the car. “On no account are you to take any action without my say-so. We have to play the cards as they are dealt. We take no chances of upsetting him.”
“Dr. Forrester is believed violent,” Terrell said uneasily, “You are taking a risk, sir.”
“So I take a risk. Where is his apartment?”
Terrell pointed.
That brown stone building. He’s on the top floor.”
“You and Hamilton will come with me as far as the floor below his. You will do nothing unless I call for you.”
“That could be too late,” Hamilton said.
“So . . . it will be too late. If I want you, I will call you.”
The three men entered the apartment block. They took the elevator to the seventh floor. Terrell and Hamilton got out. Warren nodded to them and pressed the button to take him to the floor above.
On the eighth landing, he got out. Facing him was a door that stood ajar. A light came from the inner room.
Warren moved forward, paused at the door, then raising his voice, called, “Dr. Forrester?”
“Yes. Are you alone?” Forrester’s shadow, long and thin, fell across the floor.
“I am alone. May I come in?”
“Yes.”
Warren walked into a comfortably furnished living-room. The walls were lined with books. Well worn Persian rugs made rich pools of colour on the charcoal coloured fitted carpet.
Standing at the far end of the room was Paul Forrester, his face partially hidden by the shadows thrown by the standard lamp.
Warren closed the door and then moving casually, took a chair away from where Forrester was standing and sat down.
“Well, Paul . . . it’s a long time since we last met,” he said quietly. “The President sends his regards to you.”
“Thank you.” Forrester seemed to relax slightly. He remained standing. “This won’t take long. You know all about my formula. We need not discuss it. I have decided to let you have it, but on one condition.”
Warren drew in a long, deep breath.
“You will give me the decoded formula on this one condition?”
“Yes.”
Warren stared at the shadowy figure. He wished he could see Forrester’s face more clearly.
“And what is this condition?”
“My wife is to be here tomorrow at eleven o’clock, and we are to be left alone together,” Forrester said.
Warren stiffened. This was the last thing he had expected to hear. He managed to control his expression. His brain began to work swiftly.
“Your wife, Paul? I don’t know where she is, but I suppose it is possible to find her. Could you give me a little more time? I am sure she could be here about three o’clock. Would that be all right?”
Forrester remained motionless. There was a long, nerve-racking pause, then he said, “Yes . . . but not later than three.”
“If I manage to arrange this meeting, you will decode the formula?”
“I give you my word. If my wife isn’t here by tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock, then you won’t get it. Is that understood?”
“Look, Paul, we have worked a long time together. Why do you want to see your wife? After all, she hasn’t brought you any happiness. Why do you want to see her again?”
In a cold, flat voice that was so full of bitterness that it sent a chill up Warren’s spine, Forrester said, “I have left a job unfinished. I happen to be a tidy person. Until I have finished the job, my mind won’t rest.”
“Wouldn’t it be better for you to forget her . . . after all, she is completely worthless. I want to see you back in your old position with all its tremendous opportunities.”
Forrester moved further into the shadows.
“You have my terms. You have until three o’clock,” he said.
He was starting towards a door when Warren said sharply, “Paul! Just one moment! I want to get this straight. Am I to understand you will decode ZCX if I arrange that your wife comes here?”