11
“Well, my boy!” Senator Merrick held Brian at arms’ length, sizing him up with shrewd hazel eyes. “You look righting fit. If official despatches from Cairo and the word of Sir Denis are to be credited, you have helped to pull off something that may well prove to be a turning point in military history.”
Brian felt his cheeks flush. “I had next to nothing to do with it, Father. All the credit belongs to Sir Denis.”
“So you say, Junior. And I like you none the less for it. But Sir Denis Nayland Smith is a brilliant man, and he wouldn’t have wanted you if he hadn’t had use for you. Dr. Hessian arrives at the psychological moment. If he can prove what he claims, it may be a means of stopping the President, my very good friend, from plunging us into war.”
“Just what does that mean, Father?”
“Well, it is a top secret—but there’s an order to the Chief of Staff, already drawn up, which only requires his signature. His military advisers favour it. I don’t, and I’m not alone in my opposition. This country, Brian, is dangerously open to air attack with modern missiles. We should step warily.”
Nayland Smith was talking to General Rawlins and another Air Force official, and at this moment he brought them across. Brian had already met both that morning.
“I’m getting into hot water!” Sir Denis declared. “These fighting men tell me they expect orders by this week-end which seem to me to mean a shooting war.”
“And to me,” Senator Merrick agreed. “But nothing’s signed yet.”
“It will be signed not later than three days from now.” General Rawlins spoke with calm confidence. “For my part, I doubt the claims of this German scientist, in spite of all we’ve heard—and that’s not much. In the first place, I don’t expect open hostilities to start. In the second place, if they do, the Air Force hasn’t been asleep.”
“The trouble about democracy,” Brian Merrick Senior growled, “is that it speaks with too many voices all at the same time.”
“It’s no good flying off the handle, General,” Nayland Smith snapped, “because Dr. Hessian refuses to see you until his plans are complete. I warned you of this before you left Washington, so don’t blame
“But when,” General Rawlins demanded, “will these plans of his be complete?”
“So far as I can make out, in the next two days.”
“When he’ll graciously consent to see us?”
“His proposal is this: As soon as he’s ready to give a demonstration, he will receive a committee of responsible Service officers, scientists and policy makers, to be selected by Senator Merrick as acting for the President. To me this seems fair and reasonable.”
“And the President will agree with you,” Senator Merrick declared. “World tension is reaching a peak; and I can assure you of the President’s keen interest.... Have I your permission, Sir Denis, to take my son to lunch at my club?”
* * *
Out of darkness complete except for one point of green light which might have been the eye of some nocturnal animal, Fu Manchu’s voice spoke:
“It is certain that Brian Merrick Junior is ignorant of my purpose?”
A dull, mechanical voice replied: “There is no evidence to the contrary.”
“You have not answered my question.”
“His behaviour gives cause for confidence, Excellency.”
“Explain your meaning.”
“He lunched at Senator Merrick’s club.”
“He was closely covered?”
“It was difficult. But an agent of The Order waited upon their table. He was, of course, very attentive.”
“Their conversation?”
“Chiefly concerned Sir Denis Nayland Smith.”
“It was satisfactory?”
“Entirely.”
“And after lunch?”
“Brian Merrick Junior saw his father off. The Senator was joined by two Air Force officers, who had lunched with Sir Denis at the Babylon-Lido.”
“Retain all contacts. Report hourly.”
The Si-Fan was watching . . .
* * *
When Brian returned to the suite in the Babylon-Lido (of which he had a key) he was in a queer frame of mind. Sir Denis sat writing; looking up, nodded.
“Decent lunch, Merrick? Don’t think too well of the catering at these University clubs, myself.”
“The lunch was all right. But I didn’t like the waiter.”
Nayland Smith laid his pen down. “Why not? Did he upset your soup?”
Brian grinned, but not happily. “No. He listened to everything I said to my father!”
“Hullo!” Sir Denis stood up quickly. “So the Reds have agents in the best clubs! I warned you, Merrick. What were you talking about?”
“Well—I tried to keep my father off the topic of Dr. Hessian’s invention. But, of course, he never seemed to suspect that a club servant might be a spy.”
“No. I see the difficulty. You’re pretty sure the man was listening?”
“Dead sure!”
Nayland Smith began to walk about in his restless way.
“The climax is so near. And we have two enemies, not one:
the Reds and the Si-Fan! It’s a formidable combination, Merrick. I’m backed by two governments, but I doubt if my double backing’s as good as Dr. Fu Manchu’s! We have worked like beavers to keep Hessian’s presence here a secret. We have failed.”
Brian thought for a minute. “It seems to me that it wasn’t to be expected we could do that, Sir Denis. As I see it, all we have to do is to make sure he’s safe. And on that point I have something to say.”
Nayland Smith checked in his promenade, darted one of his swift glances at Brian.
“What is it?” he snapped.
“Just this. Sometimes, when I’ve been alone here, I have heard someone being admitted through the penthouse door. I’m sure of it. And I hear all sorts of footsteps above. If this suite is supposed to be a sort of guard-room, and we’re responsible for Dr. Hessian’s safety, shouldn’t we be advised of who is being allowed to go up?”
Nayland Smith knocked out his pipe, then produced the old pouch. He began to stuff tobacco into the cracked briar bowl.
“Point a good one,” he snapped.
Sir Denis lighted his pipe and walked out.
But, when he had gone, Brian remained uncomfortably ill at ease. Up to the time of their arrival at the Babylon-Lido, Nayland Smith had seemed to be so firmly in charge of operations. Now, something was lacking.
Had his phenomenal success in smuggling the German scientist through the Iron Curtain, in getting him from Cairo to New York, induced Sir Denis to relax—too soon? It didn’t seem to fit in with the man’s dynamic character. Surely, now was the crucial hour—in fact, he had said so. What was wrong?
In his very bones, Brian had a foreboding that something pended which he didn’t understand. He was conscious of a longing to talk it all over with some reliable and sympathetic friend, someone he could trust.
Lola was both reliable and sympathetic . . . But he was bound to secrecy!
