'I see. I'm to infiltrate them and find Dr. Nyet. But how will I know her when I do find her? It's a pretty thin description you've given me.'
'I'm afraid, Mr. Victor, that that will be your problem. I've told you everything I know. The rest is up to you. Will you do it?'
'Yes. I'll leave for New York immediately.'
'Good. I was sure we could count on you.' He started to lead me to the door, but we never got there because -
Because suddenly all hell broke loose!
A brick shattered the window, and a roar like that of stampeding animals followed it. There was the sound of police sirens in the distance, but the roar grew louder and drowned them out even as they drew closer. More objects crashed through the window, and Putnam and I dived for the floor together.
After a moment, we cautiously raised our heads, crawled over to the window, and dared to peep through the drapes. The scene outside was chaos. There must have been at least a thousand people milling around. Some of them carried banners, but they were too far away to be seen. Still, even at that distance, their violence could be felt. It's been said that a mob is an enraged animal gone berserk, and looking at this mob I could well believe it.
'What is it?' I asked Putnam.
'I don't know. Perhaps it's the American flag on the building and the way it's done up. Maybe they think this is really the American embassy and they're staging some sort of protest. I can't imagine what they'd be protesting, though.'
'You can't? I can. There's Viet Nam, the Dominican Republic, unpunished murder in our very own Southland – oh, if they think this is the American embassy, there's no end to the things they might be protesting against.'
'I suppose you're right,' Putnam granted. 'Still, the English are usually such a law-abiding, unexcitable sort of people. It's not like them to get this violent. They look like they're about to storm the building.'
Putnam was proven right. The mob surged toward the locked gate, and it went down under their weight. They rushed across the grounds and up to the front door of the house itself. A moment later they were inside, howling through the hallways. And then Putnam and I were face to face with their faceless faces.
It was like looking into a blazing red smokecloud of sheer violent emotions. But what did their violence stem from? What did they want? What had fired them up to this pitch?
As they made for us, I seriously wondered if we'd live long enough to find out the answers!
CHAPTER TWO
'The Beatles!'
'What? What do you want?' I couldn't help admiring the way Putnam stood his ground with his jaw stuck out.
'The Beatles! The Beatles! We know they're here! Where are you hiding them?'
'I don't know what you're talking about,' Putnam said, maintaining his usual icy composure.
'He's lying! Let's get them! We'll make them talk!' They milled around us, hands outstretched, blood in their eyes.
'Viet Nam and the Dominican Republic, huh!' Putnam muttered to me out of the corner of his mouth. 'What do you think now, Mr. Victor? Do you still think such things can excite people's passions and arouse them to such fury? Not the English, Mr. Victor. They save their mob instinct for the things that really count. And while S.M.U.T. takes over the world, you and I stand here about to be martyred in the name of rock 'n' roll!'
'Shut up, you! Now, tell us where the Beatles are, or we'll string you up the blinkin' chandelier.'
'I don't know where they are. But I do know they are not on these premises.'
'You puttin' us on, guv? This here is a movie set, hain't it?'
'Yes. But the Beatles are not in the picture being made.'
'That the truth, now?'
'Yes.'
'Well, why hain't they?' The crowd grew even uglier with the question.
'Because it's a motion picture concerned with high-level diplomacy, that's why,' Putnam explained. 'There are no roles in it which would be suited to the Beatles.'
'And why not? Ask me, that's the trouble with the whole bloody foreign office. The Beatles hain't got a say in makin' policy.'
'He might have something there,' I murmured to Putnam.
'Damn right, guv. Things'd be a lot different if Ringo 'ad 'is say with De Gaulle.'
'They probably would, at that,' Putnam granted.
'These blokes is puttin' us on,' someone shouted. 'I say rough 'em up a bit an' then they'll tell us where the Beatles is at.' Again the crowd pressed around us.
'Are you with me, Mr. Victor?' Putnam asked.
'That I am.'
'Then let us go.'
I followed Putnam's lead as he took a step backward and then jumped through the window. I hotfooted it after him as he picked himself up and started running for the street.
'There they go!' The crowd took up the cry. And behind the leaders still others screamed, 'The Beatles! The Beatles!'
Putnam headed straight for the safety of a parked car, with me in his wake. Only after we were in the back of it did I realize that it was the car I'd come in before. The driver must have been waiting. Now Putnam tapped him on the shoulder. 'The airport,' he said. 'And you'd best get cracking before they tear the car apart,' he added.
The crowd was upon the car now, and I saw that Putnam's warning made sense. Even as we roared away they were clinging to the bumpers and throwing themselves over the roof. And behind us other cars took up the chase.
'There's a chartered plane waiting for you,' Putnam explained. 'It will take you straight to New York.'
'You were pretty sure of me, weren't you?' I observed.
'Yes,' he admitted. 'I was.'
'I don't suppose there's time for me to stop for a good-bye to Gladys,' I said wistfully.
'I'm afraid not.'
'What about passport papers, clothing, things like that?'
'All on the plane waiting for you. Everything's been arranged.'
I could only shrug at Putnam's efficiency and lapse into silence. Some twenty minutes later we arrived at the airport. The driver flashed some sort of identification that got us past the guard at the gate and onto the field itself. We drove straight up to the waiting aircraft, and I hopped out of the car and boarded it. It started taxiing across the field immediately. My last view of London as we took off was a mob of wild-eyed, screaming, outraged Beatle fans swarming across the runway and howling their frustration.
The flight was uneventful. We landed at Kennedy Airport. It took almost half as long to get from there to midtown Manhattan by taxi cab as it had to fly from London to New York. Wedged into crosstown traffic with the meter ticking merrily, I reflected that New York hadn't changed at all since the last time I'd been here; it had only gotten more New Yorkish.
I grabbed a good night's sleep at the plush hotel where Putnam had made reservations for me. When I woke up, I dawdled over a late breakfast. It was early afternoon when I started out on my campaign to infiltrate S.M.U.T.
Not wanting to be obvious, I'd decided to start on a local level and then work my way up. So I called the Queens chapter of the organization and asked to speak to the chapter president. Her name was Mrs. Prudence Highman. She was all business and careful elocution over the phone. Still, I sensed an eagerness after I'd explained who I was and how I thought I might be of use to her organization. She readily agreed to an appointment to see me later that same afternoon.
