Lui Ho visualized a bare concrete cell, its walls painted in yellow and black zig-zag stripes. And he thought of the early morning walk across the Nationalist Chinese courtyard to a bullet-scarred wall.
Lui Ho played his last card. “One moment, Mister Jumbles Hooligan,” he said. “I wish to make a bartering. To ask for political asylum. In exchange, I give complete information on Communist Chinese spy network Tse Eih Aei.”
Hooligan looked at him with contempt. He thought of the Western agents killed by the Chinese organization. “If it was Sam Ling asking, I could say yes. In fact, any of the others. Because they might be of some use to us. But you, Lui Ho--you’re just a brainwashed, political thug. A Maoist zombie, you think nothing. Boots, get them on their way, now.”
He waited until the door closed behind the spies, then he turned to the five nannies. “Ladies,” he said, quietly. “I think the time has arrived for intimate conversation. If you play dumb,” warned Hooligan, “I’ll have you taken down and charged with conspiring with a Communist state. Then I’ll have you locked away in little cells in The Tombs while I take a long vacation. Sometime, someone may just get round to wondering what happened to you all. Do I make myself clear?”
They nodded.
“Okay, we’ll begin at the beginning. And, as far as I can see, the story begins on the steps of the museum. Right?”
The nannies stayed silent.
“So why did you steal the dinosaur?”
“For the emancipation of women ...” began Emily.
“Espionage ...” cut in Jumbo Hooligan. “The time is long gone for bedtime stories, nanny. I know WHY the dinosaur was stolen. Your British Secret Service has told us all about the man who died on the steps, and what he was doing in the museum. For God’s sake, ladies, WE’RE ON THE SAME SIDE. Don’t you see that?”
Melissa grimaced. “But we were told not to trust anyone.”
Jumbo looked at them benignly. “You’ve got to trust me. So, suppose you tell me EXACTLY what happened? Every last detail.”
“Er ...” Hettie spoke, cautiously. “Would you mind very much if we whispered together? We ken it’s not really polite.”
“You’ve got one minute,” said Jumbo.
The nannies whispered.
Hettie looked at Hooligan again. “We’ve agreed,” she told him. “We’ll tell you all about it. But it was really all my fault.”
“Lady,” said Jumbo, calmly. “You didn’t need to tell me that.”
Hettie spoke for half an hour. She began, and ended, with the same sentence. “We did it for our dear Queen and Country.”
“Just one point I want to check,” said Hooligan, when she’d finished. “Tell me again, exactly, what he said when he was dying.”
“World security, and avoid total destruction ... museum ... the message ... microdot. And then he said, ‘room thirteen ... the largest exhibit.’ “
“Hold it,” said Hooligan. He pressed the button on his desk and called into the intercom. “Sheba, bring me in a guide book for the museum.”
A few seconds passed, then the door opened and Sheba walked smoothly into the office. She handed her boss the book and left.
Jumbo rested it on his knee and flipped the pages. “Ha ...” he exclaimed. “Women!” He looked at Hettie. “Did you buy a guide book?”
Hettie shook her head.
“Holy cow,” said Jumbo Hooligan. “The museum authorities have a guide book printed, and five dames who want to knock off an exhibit don’t even buy one. Don’t misunderstand me, ladies. I got a lot of time for your patriotism. I like your guts. And boy, I sure envy you your determination and energy. But, phew, you make lousy agents. Here . . .He held the book out to Hettie. “Take a close look at this.” He pointed.
Hettie studied the floor plan. “Oh, heavens,” she groaned. The four other nannies stared at her. “There are three room thirteens. One on every floor of the museum.”
Hooligan smiled. “So, the largest exhibit in room thirteen could be any one of three things.”
“Oh, dear,” said Hettie. “So the message mightn’t be in the dinosaur?”
“Almost certainly isn’t,” growled Jumbo Hooligan. “I’ve got some of the boys, in the basement right now, giving the bones the going-over. But, from what we know, the agent didn’t have time to get up to the Early Dinosaur Hall to make his plant. My money’s in one of the other two room thirteens.”
“All that wasted energy,” Melissa.
“No ...” said Hooligan, brightly. “Not wasted. You didn’t do that much of a bad job. In fact I’m pleased. You gave me the opportunity I needed to clear out these Red Chinese spies, and you kept them occupied chasing the wrong thing. Even if they’d got the dinosaur, they wouldn’t have got the message. You didn’t do a bad job at all.”
“Thanks,” said Hettie, quietly. Una was stifling another sneeze.
“Aw, cummon,” said Jumbo. “Look, ladies, to show you how pleased I am, I’ll let you come along to the museum with us and see if we can find that message. Then I’ll take you all out to dinner. Right?” He banged a hand on each wheel of his chair. “I could sure use a professional buggypusher. Will you come?”
The nannies nodded.
“After we’ve put the bairns abed,” said Hettie. “Good God.” Emily grabbed Hettie by the arm. “The children ... they’re in the truck. We forgot them.”
“No,” said Jumbo. “Don’t panic. They’re down in the canteen. Sheba’s laid on some food for them.” Hettie’s eyes flared. “Food . .she roared. “Canteen food? Police canteen food? Good gracious, no! The poor wee darlings--they’ll be poisoned.” She drew herself up in front of Hooligan. “How dare you, laddie? How DARE you take it on yourself to interfere with our bairns? Wait until the British Embassy hears about this. I’ll have you sacked. How dare you take liberties with British citizens, like this?”
Jumbo Hooligan held his head in his hands. “Screwballs,” he sighed.
The invitation read: “His Excellency, the British Ambassador, requests the pleasure of the company of Mr. and Mrs. W. Badenberg, at a reception at the Carlyle Hotel, East 76th Street, on Friday, 17th of October, at 7:45 p.m. Guests are requested to bring their children, and children’s nurses. Special facilities have been arranged.”
“Oh, gee, Walt,” gasped Mrs. Badenberg. “A reception at die Carlyle. Our first diplomatic invitation.” She smiled at her husband. “I guess that means we’re ‘in.’ “
He raised his eyebrows.
“And it says here,” she added, excitedly, “that decorations should be worn. Gee, you’ll be able to wear that medal you won at the golf tournament last week.” Walter Badenberg groaned. “They mean war medals, honey. They want me to wear my war medals.”
“Those dull old things. Wear the golf one as well. It’s kind of pretty. And not everybody has one of those.”
Randy Andy lay on his bed, looking up at the mirror on the ceiling, watching the sun-tanned young man staring down at him. He was in love with the redhead lying next to the man in the mirror. He fanned the air with his invitation.
“Of course, I shall go. We shall both go. After all, YOU'RE my nanny, and I’m YOUR employer, and, the card is addressed to me.”
“It’ll be very embarrassing,” said Melissa. “I’ll have to be in uniform, and you’ll be in tails. And I shan’t know if you should stay in an ante-room with the other children, or go in with the guests.”
“I shall be a guest,” said Randy.
“Pig.”
Randy looked sideways at the tall mirrors on the walls on either side of the wide divan, with its smoky mirror bedhead. He twisted over and began undoing the buttons down the front of Melissa’s blouse. He watched himself undressing her from a dozen different angles. It was erotic. A thousand diminishing beds on either side of him contained a man undressing a titian-haired girl. He peered at the reflecting bedhead. A broad-shouldered man was also undressing a girl. Randy could see right down her cleavage. He looked at the foot of the bed. In another mirror was the same couple. He glimpsed black stockings, and a pair of panties.
Randy watched the girl on the ceiling loosening the man’s belt. Then her long, white fingers smoothed down the zip ... Randy turned his back to the audience above him.
“To hell with the lot of them,” he mumbled.
It was dusk when Randy next looked at the line of beds beside him. Hundreds of naked and exhausted couples lay sweatily resting. A whole dormitory of them. He looked at the man in the headboard. The man winked at him and grinned. Randy grinned back.
The five nannies stood together in the banqueting room of the Carlyle Hotel in New York. Their uniforms gave a strange hospital look to the elegant surroundings, and the formally dressed guests.
“No taste,” said Hettie, quietly, watching another couple walking in through the door. “She shouldn’t wear tweed to an affair like this.”
“Hush, Hettie,” whispered Emily, sipping a cocktail that a waiter had offered her. She held the glass delicately with her left hand, and neatly adjusted a small bib around the throat of baby Lindon with her right. “I hope they hurry with the small sandwiches,” she said. “I refuse to feed my children on canapés. And nuts and olives are bad for them.”
“Certainly bad for them,” agreed Una. She felt herself beginning a sneeze, pulled her handkerchief from her handbag, and had a quick sniff at the garlic clove that Vittorio Porcello had given her as a good-luck charm. She wished he was with her.
There was a sudden, sharp rapping. “Ladies and gentlemen,” called a voice. “Pray silence for His Excellency, the British Ambassador.”
The diplomat stood beside a door at the farthest end of the huge room. His voice was rich and deep. With some surprise, the nannies noticed that Jumbo Hooligan was standing beside him.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” began the Ambassador. “I hope that you’ll all forgive my informality in welcoming you like this. I know that it is a little early for speeches, but there is a special reason for your being here tonight. And, because it is a special reason, I have to say these few words first.” He turned and whispered to Hooligan. The big man smiled.
“We have some very important people here tonight,’’ continued the Ambassador.
“I told you,” preened Mrs. Badenberg to her husband.
“They are standing over there.” The Ambassador pointed across the room to the nannies. Susanne looked behind her. There was nothing but the wall. “The very important people are those five nurses.”
There was a surprised murmur from the guests.
“Not only important to you, as the custodians of your children, but important to their country, Great Britain. I am sure that none of you are aware that, recently, they have all, by great enterprise, courage and determination, served the Western world in the highest and most noble manner. Security prevents me from giving you full details. All I may say, is that the United States government appreciated their assistance, and relayed its thanks, officially, back to Whitehall. Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth the Second, has seen fit to make a special award.” He turned to an aide, who held out a small bundle of white packets.
“Nanny Hettie MacPhish,” called the aide. Hettie blushed and walked towards the Ambassador. He shook her hand and smiled. He reached forward and she felt him pin something on the stiff front of her uniform. She curtsied and started to walk back.
“Just one minute, ma’am,” grinned Jumbo Hooligan. He held out an envelope toward her. “Tokens of appreciation from the United States Government.” Hettie took it and curtsied again. Hooligan’s mouth grinned even wider. He wondered how each of the nannies would spend the five-thousand dollar Government checks.
Hettie’s face tingled. She knew it was red. She felt hot and flushed as she walked towards her friends. She heard the Ambassador’s aide call Emily’s name. Hettie risked a quick look down at the thing pinned to her uniform. She felt a lump harden in her throat. Gleaming, on the starched uniform, was the Silver Greyhound, the badge of the Queen’s Couriers.
It had been a long hard winter. Snow had fallen in New York until March. The ponds in the park were still frozen and New Yorkers, collars up, hat brims down, sludged their way from subway to offices and home. Spring was late, but it arrived today. Herman, the hobo, welcomed it back.
“Hi, bum,” he called to a lone grey squirrel which haunched in front of his seat, waiting for him to toss some of his biscuit crumbs. “Here comes the sun.”
The squirrel grabbed an untrusting mouthful and scampered to the shelter of a tree. The buds were hatching new-green, undusted by the city traffic.
Herman reached into his coat. “Hey, Euclid, how you doin’ in there.” He pulled out his varicoloured snake. Euclid coiled his tail round Herman’s forearm and wriggled back into the jacket and the attraction of the hobo’s warm chest. “Come on out and see the park,” commanded Herman, dragging the snake back into the open. “Show your shiny collar.”
Just behind the snake’s head, on the slimmest part that was nearly a neck, a thin gold band encircled him.
“Ain’t you pretty,” said Herman, stroking the snake’s sleek sides. “And ain’t you got just the prettiest clothes? Real gold clothes.” He looked down. His own Fifth Avenue tuxedo was crumpled by nights of sleeping rough. The
New York Times
, which had served, complete, as a blanket during the night, lay on the pathway in front of him. He stared. A familiar face stared back. It was Billie Big Canoe, in the centre of a flock of pretty girls in the foyer of the Plaza Hotel. Herman nudged the newspaper with his foot for a moment, then pulled it to reading distance. The caption to the photograph read: “Wall Street’s wonder tycoon, William Longship, celebrating another coup today in negotiating the takeover of Alsop’s New West Supertraderies.”
Herman sighed. He thought back. Days of riotous high life with the jet-set. A trip to Europe. Cocktails, dinner and breakfasts with his former socialite idol, Hazel Willingboddy--from whom he’d caught gonorrhoea in St. Moritz. That was before his dinosaur money ran out.
“Goddam me, Billie.” Herman smiled sadly at the newspaper picture. “You always said I was a foolish virgin ... but I wonder if you’d stake me fifty bucks?”