Vertigo

Werry put an arm around her shoulders and turned her towards the road. “You can’t stay here, honey. It’s dangerous and right now I’m. . .”

“Theo’s gone,” she said in a taut unhappy voice. “I can’t find him anywhere.”

“He’ll have slipped out with some of his pals,” Werry soothed. “I’ll talk to him about it later.”

May shook free of his arm. “I’ve called around everywhere. All the places he goes. Nobody has even seen him tonight.”

“May,” Werry said impatiently, “can’t you see I’m kind of busy?”

“He’s up there.” Her words were measured, unaccented, made lifeless by the weight of certainty. “He’s up there in the hotel.”

“That’s a stupid thing to say. I mean, it’s just. . . stupid.”

May pressed the back of a hand to her forehead. “He goes out flying some nights with Barry Lutze, and that’s where they always go — up into the hotel.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Werry said.

“It’s true.”

“If you knew that, and didn’t tell me,” Werry replied, his face suddenly inhuman, “you’ve killed him.”

May closed her eyes and sagged to the ground. Hasson moved in and caught her at the same time as Werry, and between them they bore her a few paces and seated her on the footplate of a nearby truck. Several men looked round curiously and tried to move closer, but Quigg spread his arms and shepherded them away.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” May whispered. “I’m so sorry.

Werry cupped her face in his hands. “I shouldn’t have said a thing like that. It’s just that… It’s just that… May, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you let me know?”

“I tried to, but I couldn’t.”

“I don’t get it,” Werry said, almost to himself. “I don’t get this at all. If it had been anybody but Theo . . .”

Hasson felt something heave in his subconscious. “Did he go for the drugs, May? Was he taking empathin?”

She nodded and a thin glaze of tears appeared on her cheeks.

“Why did he do that, May?” Hasson said, ideas crystallising in his mind. “Could he see when he was taking empathin?”

“I couldn’t understand it,” she said, opening her eyes and gazing sadly at Werry. “I caught him going out through his bedroom window one night and I was going to tell you, but he begged me not to. He told me that when he’s with the other kids and they’re all taking empathin he sometimes gets to see what they can see. He said it comes in flashes. He talked about telepathy and things like that, Al, and he was so desperate and it meant so much to him, and I one time heard you saying that empathin and gestaltin and stuff like that doesn’t do anybody any harm…

“I said that, did I?” Werry said slowly, straightening up. The communicator on his wrist began to buzz, but he appeared not to notice. “I suppose anybody can make a mistake.”

May looked up at him in supplication. “He hates living in the dark.”

“You know what has happened here?” Werry said, adjusting the angle of his cap, slipping back into his old role. “We’re jumping to a conclusion. We’re making one hell of a big jump to a conclusion — there’s no proof that there’s anybody up in the hotel. Anybody apart from Henry Corzyn, that is.”

Victor Quigg moved closer, fluttering his fingers to attract Werry’s attention. “Al, would you like to answer your radio? I think something has happened.”

“There we are,” Werry said triumphantly. “This’ll be Henry telling me he has checked the place out.”

“I don’t think it’s Henry,” Quigg mumbled, looking deathly pale.

Werry gave him a questioning glance and raised his communicator to his lips. “Reeve Werry speaking.”

“You shouldn’t have done it, Werry.” The voice from the radio was laboured, the words coming in ponderous succession as though each one had to be examined and checked for meaning before being assembled into the overall message. “You did bad things this day.”

Hasson lowered his wrist a little and looked at the radio in bafflement. “Is that Barry Lutze?”

“Never mind who it is. I’m just letting you know that everything that happened tonight was your fault. You’re the killer, Werry — not me. Not me.” Listening to the painfully enunciated words and phrases, Hasson guessed the speaker had been seriously injured. He also developed a dark conviction that a new element of dread was being added to an already nightmarish situation.

“Killer? What’s this about killer?” Werry grasped the side of the truck. “Wait a minute! Was my boy up there? Was Theo hurt?”

“He was here when your bomb went off. You didn’t expect that, did you, Mister Werry?”

“Is he all right?”

There was a prolonged, pulsing silence.

“Is he all right?” Werry shouted.

“He’s with me now.” The voice was grudging, heavy with resentment. “You’re lucky-he’s in good shape.”

“Thank God for that,” Werry breathed. “And how about Officer Corzyn?”

“He’s with me, too — but he isn’t in good shape. ”

“What do you mean?” Werry demanded, his eyes brooding and speculative.

“I mean he’s dead, Mister Werry.”

“Dead?” Werry glanced up at the hotel, now visible as a black disk surrounded by a thin corona, like a moon eclipsing a reddish sun. “What are you doing with Corzyn’s radio, Lutze? Did you kill him?”

“No, you killed him.” The voice had begun to sound agitated. “It was your fault for sending a fat, soft old guy like that in here after me. I only hit him once and…” There was a moment of silence, and when the voice resumed speaking the flat inhuman quality had returned to it. “You should have come up here and done your own dirty work, Mister Werry. I wouldn’t have minded taking you on. Not one bit.”

“Take it easy, Lutze — let’s try to get some sense into this conversation before it’s too late,” Werry said. What am I supposed to have done tonight? What have you got against me?”

“The bomb, Mister Reeve Werry. The bomb!”

Werry stamped the ground. “Is that some kind of sick joke? Are you still swallowing cuckoo capsules up there, Lutze? Buck Morlacher planted that bomb, and you damn well know it. ”

“What’s the difference? You work for him, don’t you?”

“I don’t work for him,” Werry said, bringing his voice under control. “I just got back here from throwing him into a cell.”

“Big deal,” the voice sneered. “He’ll do an hour — with twenty minutes off for good behaviour. The way I see it, that doesn’t seem enough for murdering my cousin and smashing up my ribs.” “Young Sammy isn’t dead. He’s in hospital, but he isn’t dead.” There was a lengthy silence, a pause in the verbal duel, then the unseen speaker made the next logical move. “The tat cop is dead.”

Werry took a deep breath. “Listen tome, Barry. If you didn’t intend to cause Henry Corzyn’s death, that changes things. We can talk about it later. Right now the only thing on my mind is making sure that nobody else gets hurt or killed. Are you listening to me?”

“I’m listening.”

“What you’ve got to know is that Buck planted about twenty of those booby traps all over the hotel. They’re on every floor, and they’ve got special fuses to trigger them off if you even get close. Where are you now?”

“Third floor.”

“Well, you’ve got to bring Theo down to the second-floor window, the one with the hole in it. Only walk in places you’ve already been today. Come out through the window, and we’ll take it from there.”

“Take it from there!” The radio on Werry’s wrist emitted a humourless laugh which ended in a wheeze. “I’ll bet you would. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“You’ve got no choice,” Werry said. “It’s the only thing you can do.”

“No deal, Mister Werry. I’m not even sure I could reach that window — things are getting pretty hot down there. And even if I could, I don’t think I could jump out far enough to clear my field. I’m bound to drop way down below the first floor before I can pick up any lift.”

“Nobody will interfere with you in any way. All I want is to get Theo out of there. I swear to you. I swear to you, Barry, I’ll give you any guarantee you want.”

“Save your breath, Mister Werry — we’re going up to the roof. I can be sure of getting away from up there, and I’ll be in Mexico by tomorrow.”

“You can’t do that,” Werry said, beginning to pace in frantic circles in a manner which pained Hasson to watch. “Use your brains, man.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” the voice assured him. “For all I know, those other bombs don’t exist — but, even if they do, this is a pretty big place and I’ve got myself a pathfinder. Theo can go in front.”

Werry stopped pacing. “I warn you — don’t do this.”

“Now, I don’t want you to worry about a thing, Mister Werry.” The voice was elated, nervous, mocking.” Theo and I are going for a quiet little stroll up to the roof. With any luck, you can pick him up there in about five minutes. Just make sure nobody tries to pick me up, that’s all — I’ve got the fat guy’s gun and I know how to use it.”

Lutze! Lutze!” Werry squeezed the instrument on his wrist as though trying to force it to respond, but the radio link had been broken. May Carpenter covered her face and gave a low sob. Werry traced the outline of a CG harness on his torso with a finger and pushed Quigg away in the direction of his car. Quigg nodded understandingly and ran. Werry strode to the television unit and the group around it melted out of his way.

“What are things like on the second floor?” he said. “Can I still get in that window?”

“See for yourself, Al.” The technician in charge pointed at the image of the lower section of the hotel. All the visible windows of the first floor were blocked in with sheets of flame which were turning from orange to a searing white. “You could probably get in, but that second floor looks like it’s about to cave in at any second.”

“I better go in higher up.” Werry ran to a fire truck and returned some seconds later carrying the bayonet-like shape of a thermal cutter. Victor Quigg met him with his CG harness and handed it over without speaking. Hasson stood by, his mind lurching out over dizzy chasms each time he thought of Werry’s intention, and watched him pull the broad straps tight around his body. He felt weak- kneed and helpless, and — in some indefinable way — responsible for the other man’s plight.

Werry gave him a grim smile as he made the last connection. “Here it is again, Rob — no two ways.”

“1 don’t know,” Hasson said, donning the mantle of Judas. “It may not do any good to bull your way in. There are so many things that could… I mean, it might be better to wait.”

“The way you would do if it was your son up there?”

Hasson backed away, ashamed and afraid, as Werry switched on his lights, moved a control on the harness’s waist panel and made an easy leap into the air. He went up fast, falling into the sky, a dwindling light, a star being recalled to the rightful business of stars. Far above, as though making ready to receive him in battle, the black disk of the hotel building hurled out a streamer of yellow fire from its south side. The outburst, a solar prominence in miniature, faded almost at once and the watchers on the ground heard a dull powdery report. Quigg snatched his voice magnifier from his pocket.

“That was another bomb,” he announced, already an expert. “Watch out for glass!”

Hasson ran with the others and pressed into the lee of a fire appliance, and a surprisingly long time later there was a brief irregular pattering and whispering in the grass all around. As soon as it felt safe he returned to the television unit. The pyrotechnics which had accompanied the blast indicated that it had occurred on the blazing first floor — but he wanted to be sure that Al Werry had ascended safely through the wind-scattered hail of glass fragments.

Cec, the chief technician, switched on a microphone circuit. Terry, look out for Al Werry arriving up there. He’s got a cutter with him, and he’s about to try going in one of the upper windows.