The Case of the Vanishing Boy (12 page)

“Don't kid yourself. Those people have means. The moment they discover what Jan did, they'll send their pilot out in a cab to get another 'copter. If one isn't available right away, they'll hire cars and take Ginny with them. What worries me is that they must have a front they're operating behind.”

“A front?” said Heron Rhodes, uneasily. “How do you mean?”

“Take that phone call Ginny told us about. It would seem to be a direct overseas call, but I doubt it. It's too risky. You'd need a front that naturally would be receiving calls from abroad. Jan, did that woman start talking immediately when she answered the phone, without identifying herself?”

“Yes, sir. She didn't say who she was. She started in talking and asking questions, real fast. In German, I think.”

“Then it was a local call, probably an extension,” Martin said. “In other words, there's another place nearby that would often have overseas calls. A very respectable place. Does that ring any bells, Doctor?”

“A respectable place? Why, the two most respectable and exclusive sanitariums in the country are in that general direction. There's Pine Ridge, which has no equal on earth. Then there's Green Springs, with wealthy patients from everywhere.”

“We can forget Pine Ridge,” said Jackson Lane. “You helped found it. But Green Springs is something else. You tell him about it, Bill.”

“Well, Mr. Lane and I checked out all those institutions,” Bill Zorn said, “but this one gave us a turn. Green Springs is supposed to be run by an American corporation, but most of the stock is owned by a highly suspect German group, and they give the orders from an office in Switzerland. On top of it they have strong political connections in Washington.”

Heron whistled softly. “God preserve us!”

Even Nat Martin looked shocked. “That's not good. In fact, it frightens me. With such a setup, Green Springs could swallow Ginny and that whole bunch, and have them out of the country before we could get permission to do a thing. We've got to get there before they find Ginny.”

Martin caught up his bag and jerked his head at Bill Zorn. “Let's get going, Bill!”

Jan struggled upright and watched them hurry away. “I—I'd better get going, too,” he said. “They'll need that transmitter signal to find the house. It may not be anywhere near the Green Springs grounds.”

“Stay where you are,” Hecuba ordered. “There's time enough. You're not ready to leave yet, and something tells me you shouldn't.”

12

MATILDA

Jan, leaning back against the cushions with his eyes closed, trying to relax, had almost succeeded when the tall clock beyond the piano began to strike. He jerked upright, hands clenching nervously as he counted the deep notes. Four o'clock.

He glanced at Hecuba. “It'll soon be daylight,” he said. “Hadn't I better …”

“Not yet,” she told him. “I don't know why I'm making you wait, but something says you must. Anyway, Bill and Mr. Martin still have a long way to go.” She looked at Otis, seemingly asleep in the big chair where he had spent most of the night, hesitated, and said quietly, “Wake up, Otis. I know you must be tired, but …”

The small boy opened his owlish eyes, now ringed with dark circles. “I—I ain't asleep,” he muttered. “I'm just talkin' to Ginny to keep her comp'ny. It's awful hard bein' where she is, all 'lone. She says the rain's almost stopped, an' she can hear somebody hollering, sorta like he's mad. She thinks they've found out about the helicopter.”

It suddenly occurred to Jan that his work with the hatchet would be taken as proof that he and Ginny hadn't gotten away, but were still hiding somewhere, either in the house or on the grounds. That meant the search for them would go on more furiously than ever, and that soon someone was bound to open the van door.

All at once the old doubts poured over him in a wave of torment. What if he couldn't make it back to Ginny? Why, he might never see her again. Not ever. They'd get another helicopter and take her away, and by the time Matilda got through with her …

“No!” he protested aloud. “I've got to get back!”

“What's the matter, son?” Heron asked in quick concern.

“I—I was just thinking ahead … about Matilda …”

“Matilda?” Heron raised his eyebrows. “Where does she come in?”

“She's Big Doc's machine—the one he's been putting me in to blank out my memory. Ginny didn't say anything about her?”

“No. Good lord! A machine—a devilish mind blaster! I've heard rumors of the thing. Seems that Viennese specialist whose name I can't recall—”

“Was it Leopold something-or-other?”

“Leopold … Leopold … By jingo, it
was
Leopold! Big, bald, pointed beard, soft voice—
Leopold Zworkin
. That's the rascal!”

“That's Big Doc.”

“If only I'd remembered it earlier,” Heron growled. “I could have had him traced and located. But it helps to know he's Zworkin. It's like being able to name a disease. Name it, and no matter how bad it is, you feel you can deal with it.”

“Well, he knows all about everyone here, especially Ginny. Did she tell you? He's been having her watched for a long time. He and that woman—he called her Helga—planned to kidnap her later and take her straight to Kiev. Then I ran away …”

Heron Rhodes looked at him grimly. “Kidnap her later? Take her to Kiev? Grief and Moses, you were right, son. That rascal of a Zworkin knew all along she could see in the dark.” He stood up, snapping his long fingers. His mouth began to twist in rising fury. “Why, that rotten, cripple-headed creep!” he suddenly exploded. “If I ever get my hands on him …”

“Don't touch him,” Jackson Lane ground out softly, deadly serious. “Just point your finger at him, the way you used to do at those blackbirds. And I hope I'm there to see it.”

“I would like to see it myself,” Hecuba said vindictively. “What I cannot understand is how that Zworkin creature found out about us in the first place. We've been so careful to keep our peculiarities a secret.”

“It had to be the book,” Heron told her.

“But there was no clue to our identity,” she said. “It was just the history of a family, and it went back hundreds of years. How—”

Heron said, “If some interested government wanted to locate the living descendants of that family, they could do it without too much trouble.”

“What book is this?” Jackson Lane asked curiously.

“It's called
The Aragon Strain,
” Hecuba replied. “There's a copy of it over on the shelf behind you. It's a history of our maternal ancestors and their peculiarities. The family originated in Aragon, so the researchers used that name to protect the members of it, and to identify them as a group. There are not too many left. The last Aragon male, a direct descendant, died only a short time ago.”

“Why, I never dreamed of such a thing!” the lawyer rumbled, shaking his head. “Say, do you suppose Jan has some of that Aragon blood in him?”

“It's entirely possible,” Heron admitted. “If we had his last name—and Sergeant Bricker said he hoped to have some word on that in the morning—it wouldn't be hard to trace. However, you mustn't forget that abilities like Jan's can crop up in any family. In fact, they are always cropping up, but in this curious age of non-belief people are afraid to admit—”

Heron stopped abruptly as a strangled sound came from Otis. “What's the matter, son?”

“They—they've found her!” the small boy cried tearfully. “They've just opened the van door!”

“It's all right,” Hecuba spoke quickly, almost with relief. “Now Jan can return with the transmitter and not be caught with it. Jan,” she went on, turning to him, “is there any place in that room where you can hide the thing? You'll have to go back to the room, because they'll surely be watching for you at the van. They are bound to guess you went for another transmitter.”

He nodded and said, “There's a good place in the lavatory. I'll put it in there the first thing.”

He thrust the cushions aside, lay flat on the rug, and closed his eyes. This time he had no doubt whatever about his ability to return. He
had
to do it, no matter what, for the only important thing in the world right now was Ginny.

The moment he closed his eyes, the bare little windowless prison of a room came sharply to his mind, and he willed himself there with all the power he could summon. And almost instantly, it seemed, the soft wool rug beneath him changed, and became a rumpled sheet upon a cot.…

Jan opened his eyes and tried to sit up, but was only barely able to do so. He fell back, surprised at his weakness and suddenly alarmed because of it. The door to the hall was open and he could hear voices somewhere below. What if someone came before he could hide the transmitter?

He fumbled with the button on his jacket pocket, drew out the transmitter, and managed to slide it under the mattress beneath him. Then slowly he thrust himself up on an elbow and swung his feet off the cot.

Strength was flowing back into him now, though he felt a little lightheaded from lack of food and sleep. He took a deep breath and stood up, went to the door and removed the skeleton key that someone had used to open it, and closed it and locked it on the inside.

The light was still on in the lavatory. Hurrying in, he found the wrecked transmitter in the other pocket of his jacket, and with the thin, broken edge of it was able to pry open the hinged plywood panel in the rear wall.

Behind the panel he had expected to find a recess of some kind, hopefully one large enough to crawl into in an emergency. Certainly there would be a place to conceal the new transmitter. But there wasn't. The place was an open shaft full of pipes, and there was not a spot where anything the size of his hand could be safely wedged so it wouldn't fall down through the walls.

Should he take a chance and leave the transmitter under the mattress? If it remained there only twenty minutes, that should be long enough for Nat Martin's direction finder to track it down.

Something told him this was a poor chess move, for the mattress was the first place where a searcher would look. Anything could happen, and Nat Martin might need far more than twenty minutes to pinpoint the mansion, especially if it was out in the country, hidden on a big estate.

The smart thing would be to hide the transmitter in another room, or a closet that no one would think of looking at first.

He took it from under the mattress, went quickly to the door and tried to peer through the small circle of glass into the hall. Seeing nothing, he realized the glass was the one-way kind; a person could look in but not look out. Listening a moment, he very carefully unlocked the door and eased it open a few inches. The hall was empty, and gray daylight and a vague streak of dawn pink were showing through the window at the end of it.

The window gave him an idea. If he could raise it a little, why not slide the transmitter out on the ledge beyond it?

Swiftly he started down the hall. Before he could reach the window he heard voices below and hasty footsteps on the stairs. He raced back to his room and barely managed to close and lock the door before the footsteps reached the landing.

He was trying desperately to think what to do when a heavy hand shook the knob. “It's locked,” someone muttered. “Didn't you say you left it open, George?”

“Yeah,” George growled. It sounded like the same heavy-faced George who had helped capture him days ago. “Open, and the key in the lock. The kid must be in there.”

“Then get another key and open it,” ordered the first man. Wasn't it Bolinsky, the guard with the muscles?

“No dice,” George told him. “I used the last skeleton key in the house. We'd better bust in before that kooky kid does another vanishing act. Give it a kick.”

As a heavy blow struck the lock, Jan spun into the lavatory and closed the door. He fumbled under the knob, found a thumb latch, and shot the bolt home.

Now, until they hauled him out of here, there was only one more chess move he could make. He watched the door, and as a powerful kick knocked it back on its hinges, he lifted the panel in the back wall and held up the transmitter.

“Is this what you want?” he asked.

“Hand it over!” Bolinsky ordered in a voice that meant business, and reached for it.

Jan tossed it down the pipe shaft. “Go and get it!” he taunted.

Bolinsky cursed and grabbed him by the arm. “I'd twist your smarty head off if Big Doc wasn't getting ready to fry it in Matilda. You've got 'im mad, boy. He's really going to cook you this time.” The guard jerked his long chin at George, and snapped, “Get down in the basement and open up that door to the shaft. You'd better find that thing he dropped, and find it fast, or we could all be in the soup.”

Jan set his jaw as fear knifed through him. “W-why put me in Matilda now?” he stammered. “It's hardly daylight! D-don't you people ever
sleep?
”

“Big Doc works at night,” Bolinsky growled, pulling him almost furiously into the hall after the hurrying George. “Or don't you remember? No, you wouldn't. But I'll tell you this: You and me, we've got a score to settle, and I'm not forgetting it!”

“If you've got any sense,” Jan flared back, “you'll get away from here fast while you have the chance! Don't you realize the law will be here soon?”

“Phooey! We'll be long gone before the law ever finds
this
place. Now shut up, or I'll give you a treatment of my own before I tuck you into Matilda.”

He did not see Matilda at once when Bolinsky hauled him into the big room with its clutter of equipment in the rear of the house. All he saw was a bedraggled Ginny sitting in a chair, her hands tied to the wooden arms, her small mouth tight and defiant. A single tear had run down from under her dark glasses and was now drying on her cheek. Near her stood Big Doc, cold little eyes almost hidden in their plump rolls of flesh, talking to a grim-faced Helga.