Deathwish World

shining eyes and flushed face indicated that the drink probably wasn't his first.

When she came up to the others, Jerry waved his glass in a gesture of welcome and said, 'Honey, meet Carlo Brentanto.

Carlo, this is Lee Garrett, Sheila's new secretary. A knockout, which you wouldn't recognize, though Sheila does.'

Sheila, who had a brandy glass in hand, murmured throat-ily, 'You look stunning in that gown, darling.'

Carlo Brentanto said, in almost a lisp, 'Incantato,' and bowed over Lee's hand gallantly.

Jerry said, 'Carlo's been explaining that the gays should inherit the Earth.'

'Certainly, they should have a greater say in its governing,' the Italian told him coolly. 'After all, my dears, they have been outstanding throughout history. It is ridiculous that there isn't a single homosexual in the Central Committee.'

Jerry took a pull at his drink and said, 'Well, we have our imposing Sheila.'' Sheila snorted.

'Over and over, the homosexual has proven himself down through history,' Carlo argued, after daintily sipping. 'Can you think of anyone more outstanding in the military and in government than Alexander the Great, Caesar, Frederick the Great, and many more prominent than Plato? Man has reached his heights when the homosexual was most widely understood— The Golden Age of Athens; the Renaissance here in Italy.'

'Tolerated, but not exactly in power,' Jerry said. 'Off hand, the only governments I can think of that were ruled by the gays were Sodom and Gomorrah—and they came to a fiery end.'

'I've always wondered what it was they did in Gomorrah,' Lee murmured.

'You name it, they did it,' said Jerry. Sheila gave her curt little laugh and said, 'I'm gratified to see you have a sense of humor, darling.'

The Italian fluttered the hand bearing his handkerchief and said, 'Oh, all of you are quite hopeless. I think I shall go over and join the admiral.'

'I have no doubt you'll try,' Sheila purred. He left and the three of them looked after him for a moment.

Jerry said, 'How in the hell did he ever get into the candidate class?'

'Actually, he's quite brilliant and the Brentantos are the wealthiest family in Italy,' Sheila told him. 'What was it you wanted to talk to me about, Jerry, before he interrupted us?'

He finished his drink and said, 'Oh, yes. When I asked you yesterday what had happened to Pamela McGivern you said that I'd undoubtedly hear later. I haven't. In fact, I've asked a couple of the Committee and none of them seem to know, though Chase managed to mutter that it was good riddance. I don't believe that our Pamela was capable of hiding what she thought about his racist leanings.'

Sheila said, 'She was becoming quite impossible. It's one thing my being somewhat of a minister without portfolio in the Central Committee, but, after all, she was only my secretary, and there was no reason for their putting up with her opinions.'

Jerry cocked his eye at her. 'Minister without portfolio, eh? I didn't know that was how you regarded yourself, Sheila. I thought you were more like a Man Friday. You're sure that you're not beginning to take on responsibilities beyond those the Committee had in mind?'

Sheila's silent irritation was only partially concealed.

He said, 'Now, what happened to Pamela? I, for one, liked the girl, and so did Fong Hui, among others.'

'I dismissed her, giving her a bonus of fifty thousand psuedo-dollars.'

'Without consulting anyone, eh?'

'I didn't think it necessary. After all, she was my secretary. I originally employed her on my own, without consulting anyone.'

'What happened to her? Where is she now?'

Sheila frowned slightly. 'I wouldn't know. Perhaps she returned to Ireland.'

'Perhaps,' he said. He looked at Lee. 'Neither of us has a drink. Should we go on over to the bar and remedy that situation?'

'Thank you,' Lee said, and turned her eyes questioningly to her superior.

Sheila did her bleak smile and said, 'Run along, dear, and do meet as many of those present as you can. You'll be working with all of them later.'

Jerry took Lee by the arm and led her to one of the bars which had been set up in the ballroom, immediately across from the buffet tables. For the moment, it was unoccupied.

He dropped the curt air he had assumed with Sheila Duff-Roberts and said, 'What will it be—champagne? One of the candidates has his own vineyard near Rheims. He provides us with the best vintages.'

'That will be fine, Mr. Auburn.'

'Jerry,' he told her. 'I'll stick to cognac.'

There was a long row of ice buckets, each with a bottle of sparkling wine. He selected one which had already been opened, took up a clean glass and poured for her, then took up a half-empty bottle of impressive-looking brandy and renewed his own glass with a generous charge. She had been right. Save for two ice cubes, he was drinking his spirits straight. Lee winced at the idea of putting ice in good cognac.

She said, 'Cheers,' and sipped at her wine. It was certainly as good as any she had ever tasted.

A small, thin, slightly hawk-nosed, dignified elderly man came up and poured himself a glut of sherry. He nodded at Jerry and looked questioningly at Lee.

Jerry said, 'Mendel, this is Lee Garrett, Sheila's new secretary. She's a bit bewildered, undoubtedly because she didn't know the Central Committee was composed of such far-out folk. Lee, this is Mendel Amschel, a Committee member and once my father's closest friend.'

'I'm charmed, my dear,' the newcomer said, taking her hand. 'I don't know why, but one never expects surpassing beauty in a girl who must also be surpassingly intelligent and competent.'

'Why, you old goat,' Jerry protested. 'I saw her first.'

Lee was fully aware of the identity of Mendel Amschel, reputedly the head of the richest bank in Common Europe, although his name seldom appeared in the news.

'You flatter me, Jerry,' the older man said, smiling gently at the girl. 'However, if I were twenty years younger…'

'You'd still be sixty,' Jerry said. 'You dreamer.'

'Gentlemen, gentlemen,' Lee protested. 'Isn't the Code Duello still legal in Italy? If you must fight over me…'

'Right,' Jerry said. 'The bois at dawn. I'll get Peter Windsor to second for me. I see him over there, talking to the Archbishop. Competent man in a fight, I understand, but don't turn your back on him. You might get a knife in it, even though you thought he was on your side.'

The banker raised his eyebrows at the younger man. 'I suspect when it comes to a vote to replace our Grace Cabot-Hudson, you are not likely to opt for the Graf.'

Jerry said testily, 'I doubt if the original founders of the World Club ever expected professional killers to be represented in the Central Committee.'

'I discussed it with Harrington,' the other said. 'He pointed out that most of the former mercenary activities of Lothar von Brandenburg are now becoming phased out, but that there will always be a need for espionage and, ah, strong men even in a World State.'

Jerry dismissed that opinion. 'It's true mercenaries are on the wane. Wizard. But the Graf is expanding into other lines. Personal assassination hasn't been so prevalent since the days of the Borgias. He's simply computerized it.'

The Viennese banker scowled at him questioningly. 'Isn't that largely a matter of gossip and rumor? Every homicide in the world is being laid at the door of the mysterious Graf.'

'Yes.' Jerry looked thoughtful. 'And that reminds me. I wanted to see Peter Windsor and ask about the death of Harold Dunninger. He's the one I would have voted for to take over Grace's seat on the Committee, rather than either the Prophet or the Graf.'

'So would I have, my boy,' Amschel said. 'But the Nihilists, who seem daily to become more bold, got through his defenses.'

'I wonder,' Jerry said. 'At any rate, I want to talk with Windsor. You two get to know each other; see you later.'