traditional right of being unpredictable, and that’s one of the things about him that does annoy me: ninety-nine point something per cent of the time he can predict precisely what I will do.’
‘Even if he does find what you left — well, you couldn’t have been able to tell him much.’
‘Very little. A description — what little I could give of anybody with a stocking mask — his stupid remark about taking us to some place where we wouldn’t get our feet wet, and his name.’
‘Funny he shouldn’t have warned his thugs against calling him by name. Unless, of course, it wasn’t his name.’
‘Sure it’s not his name. Probably a twisted sense of humour. He broke into a power station, so it probably tickled him to call himself after another station, the one in Morro Bay. Though I don’t know if that will help us much.’
Julie smiled doubtfully and left. When the door closed behind her Susan turned around to locate the draught that had suddenly made her shoulders feel cold, but there was no place from which a draught could have come.
Showers were in demand that evening. A little way along the hallway Professor Burnett had his running for precisely the same reason as Susan had. In this case the person he wanted to talk to was, inevitably, Dr Schmidt. Bramwell, when listing the amenities of Adlerheim, had omitted to include what both Burnett and Schmidt regarded as by far the most important amenity of all: every suite was provided with its own wet bar. The two men silently toasted each other, Burnett with his malt, Schmidt with his gin and tonic: unlike Sergeant Parker, Schmidt had no esoteric preferences as to the source of his gin. A gin was a gin was a gin.
Burnett said: ‘Do you make of all this what I make of all this?’
‘Yes.’ Like Burnett, Schmidt had no idea whatsoever what to make of it.
‘Is the man mad, a crackpot or just a cunning devil?’
‘A cunning devil, that’s quite obvious.’ Schmidt pondered. ‘Of course, there’s nothing to prevent him from being all three at the same time.’
‘What do you reckon our chances are of getting out of here?’
‘Zero.’
‘What do you reckon our chances are of getting out of here alive?’
‘The same. He can’t afford to let us live. We could identify them afterwards.’
‘You honestly think he’d be prepared to kill all of us in cold blood?’
‘He’d have to.’ Schmidt hesitated. ‘Can’t be sure. Seems civilized enough in his own odd-ball way. Could be a veneer, of course — but just possibly he might be a man with a mission.’ Schmidt helped his meditation along by emptying his glass, left and returned with a refill. ‘Could even be prepared to bargain our lives against freedom from persecution. Speaking no ill of the others, of course’ — he clearly was — ‘but with four top-ranking nuclear physicists in his hands he holds pretty strong cards to deal with either State or government, as the case may be.’
‘Government. No question. Dr Durrer of ERDA would have called in the FBI hours ago. And while we may be important enough we mustn’t overlook the tremendous emotional factor of having two innocent women as hostages. The nation will clamour for the release of all of us, irrespective of whether it means stopping the wheels of justice.’
‘It’s a hope.’ Schmidt was glum. ‘We could be whistling in the dark. If only we knew what Morro was up to. All right, we suspect it’s some form of nuclear blackmail because we can’t see what else it could be: but
‘Healey and Bramwell could tell us. After all, we haven’t had a chance to talk to them. They’re mad, sure, but they seemed fairly relaxed and not running scared. Before we start jumping to conclusions perhaps we should talk to them. Odds are that they know something we don’t.’
‘Too relaxed.’ Schmidt pondered some time. ‘I hesitate to suggest this — I’m no expert in the field — but could they have been brain-washed, subverted in some way?’
‘No.’ Burnett was positive. ‘The thought occurred to me while we were talking to them. Very long odds against. Know them too well.’
Burnett and Schmidt found the other two physicists in Healey’s room. Soft music was playing. Burnett put a finger to his lips. Healey smiled and turned up the volume.
‘That’s just to put your minds at rest. We haven’t been here for seven weeks without knowing the rooms aren’t bugged. But something’s bugging you?’
‘Yes. Bluntly, you’re too casual by half. How do you know Morro isn’t going to feed us to the lions when he gets whatever he wants?’
‘We don’t. Maybe we’re stir-happy. He’s repeatedly told us that we will come to no harm and that he’s no doubt about the outcome of his negotiations with the authorities when he’s carried out whatever mad scheme he has in mind.’
‘That’s roughly what
‘It’s all we have. Besides, we’ve had time to figure it out. He doesn’t want us for any practical purpose. Therefore we’re here for psychological purposes, like the theft of uranium and plutonium: as you said, the pointed gun without bullets. If we were wanted for only psychological purposes then the very fact of our disappearance would have achieved all he wanted and he could have disposed of us on the spot. Why keep us around for seven weeks before disposing of us? For the pleasure of our company?’
‘Well, there’s no harm in looking on the bright side. Maybe Dr Schmidt and I will come around to your way of thinking. I only hope it doesn’t take another seven weeks.’ Healey pointed towards the bar and lifted an interrogative eyebrow, but Burnett shook his head, clear indication of how perturbed he was. ‘Something else still bugs me. Willi Aachen. Where has he disappeared to? Reason tells me that if four physicists have fallen into Morro’s hands so should have the fifth. Why should he be favoured? Or, depending on your point of view, so blessed?’
‘Lord only knows. One thing for sure, he’s no defector.’
Schmidt said: ‘He could be an involuntary defector?’
Burnett said: ‘It’s been known to happen. But it’s one thing to take a horse to water.’
‘I’ve never met him,’ Schmidt said. ‘He’s the best, isn’t he? From all I hear and all I read, that is.’
Burnett smiled at Healey and Bramwell then said to Schmidt: ‘We physicists are a jealous and self- opinionated lot who yield second place to no one. But well, yes, he’s the best.’
‘I assume that it’s because I’ve been naturalized only six months and that he works in a super-sensitive area that I’ve been kept away from him. What’s he like? I don’t mean his work. His fame is international.’
‘Last seen at that symposium in Washington ten weeks ago. The three of us were there. Cheerful, happy-go- lucky type. Frizzled head of hair like the blackest gollywog you ever saw. Tall as I am, and heavily built — about two-hundred-and-ten pounds, I’d say. And stubborn as they come — the idea of the Russians or anybody making him work for them just isn’t conceivable.’
Unknown to Professor Burnett, unknown to any other person who had ever known Willi Aachen in his prime, Burnett was wrong on every count. Professor Aachen’s face was drawn, haggard and etched with a hundred lines, none of which had existed three months previously. The mane of frizzled hair he still had but it had turned the colour of snow. He was no longer tall because he had developed a severe stoop akin to that of an advanced sufferer from kypho-scoliosis. His clothes hung on a shrunken frame of 150 pounds. And Aachen would work for anybody, especially Lopez. If Lopez had asked him to step off the Golden Gate Bridge Aachen would have done it unhesitatingly.
Lopez was the man who had worked this change on the seemingly indestructible, seemingly impregnable Aachen. Lopez — nobody knew his surname and his given name was probably fictitious anyway — had been a lieutenant in the Argentinian army, where he had worked as an interrogator in the security forces. Iranians and Chileans are widely championed as being the most efficient torturers in the world, but the army of the Argentine, who are reluctant to talk about such matters, make all others specializing in the field of extracting information appear to be fumbling adolescents. It said a great deal for Lopez’s unholy expertise that he had sickened his ruthless commanders to the extent that they had felt compelled to get rid of him.
Lopez was vastly amused at stories of World War heroes gallantly defying torture for weeks, even months, on
