'I don't like what's behind it.' He stopped her at the door, but he knew he couldn't block her way when she was determined. As a last resort, he tried to be reasonable. 'Six scientists are missing, Polly — probably dead. Someone out there means business, and I don't want you in the middle of it. It's time you leave the detective work to the police.'
'I'm only going to a movie, Mr. Paley. Munchkins, cowardly lions, tin woodsmen — '
'Uh-huh. With a gun and a camera.'
'A girl can't be too careful these days. You don't have to worry about me.'
'I'm worried for me. If you get yourself killed, there's a lot of paperwork involved. And then I have to start from scratch training your replacement.' He rubbed his heavy cheeks, pensive. 'Of course, maybe somebody else would be a bit less intractable…'
Polly flippantly moved past him. 'I'll bring you back some popcorn.'
As she went by, the editor insisted on giving her a reassuring hug, barely more than a pat, and Polly indulged him. His hand brushed her leather bag.
After she had gone, Morris Paley's expression showed no defeat. 'You've still got a lot of tricks to learn about this business, kid.' In his right hand, he smugly twirled the Colt, which he had easily lifted from her bag. 'I hope you live long enough to master them all.'
Pinkish-orange neon lights spelled out the letters of Radio City Music Hall. The usual throng of city dwellers passed by the theater going about their daily business. The streets were wet and sloppy with melting snow. Yellow cabs raced by, splashing slush as they stopped at the curb to let out theatergoers.
Polly climbed out the back of a cab, bent into the window to pay the driver, then turned to face Radio City. She wore a black fedora over her long blond hair and a warm trench coat to hide her camera strap. She glanced at her watch again. She didn't want to be late. Polly walked purposefully toward the door, bypassing the ticket window. She didn't even notice as her cab raced away, splattering other pedestrians.
In front of the theater, an elaborate display advertised the new film everyone was talking about, The Wizard of Oz. Polly had heard rave reviews, but hadn't found time to see the movie. Talking scarecrows and heartless tin men weren't really her style. But she was supposed to meet her contact here.
An usher took the ticket Polly had found inside the Isaac Newton volume. As she entered the lobby of the theater, several men gave her appreciative looks, but none showed any special sign of recognition. The man who had left the brief, intriguing message inside the book must be there waiting. Suspicious of everyone, clearly trying to make contact with anybody who would meet her eyes, she moved slowly through the foyer.
She settled into a place near the concession stand where she could scan the crowd, then reached into her handbag and withdrew the book. Maybe the man had only read Polly Perkins' byline and didn't know what she looked like. She held the book out in front of her careful to keep it prominently displayed by tilting it this way and that.
Most of the patrons didn't even notice her, and those who did responded only with curious looks. A well- dressed man bumped Polly on his way to purchase popcorn. She held out the book for him to see, but when he read the title, he gave her a sour look and stepped to the concession stand. When he had turned away, Polly made a face at him.
Sighing, she again glanced around the foyer — and this time noticed a man standing in the shadows of the balcony staircase. He was clutching a small satchel. She sensed something about him…
Their eyes locked. The man turned and started up the stairway, apparently intending for her to follow. Trying not to be too obvious, Polly waited a moment, then trotted up the winding stairs after him.
As if afraid to look at her again, the man did not turn around, but moved directly toward a row of empty seats at the front of the balcony. It was not a very good place to view the show, but the seats did provide a place for private conversation. The movie had already started, and as she followed the man down the empty aisle, she glanced up to observe Judy Garland clutching a small dog to her chest as she walked through a decidedly exotic locale. The actress told the dog that she didn't think they were in Kansas anymore, which seemed an astute observation, given the circumstances.
She settled into the seat next to the man. He was thin and nervous, with gray hair and the face of an absentminded professor. In the flickering light from the movie screen, Polly saw that he had darting brown eyes behind gold-rimmed spectacles. They sat stiffly beside each other, silent but tense, like two teenagers on a first date.
Finally, Polly held up the book. 'You sent me this?'
He glanced quickly around to make sure the nearby seats were all empty, then nodded.
Emboldened and sensing a story, Polly asked, 'Who are you? What's this all about, Mister…?'
'Dr… Dr. Walter Jennings. But keep your voice down please.' The man had a clear German accent.
Polly obliged. 'What kind of doctor are you? A surgeon?'
'I'm a research chemist. I specialize in nucleic acid emissions. The bonding enzymes in proteus molecules which — '
Now her suspicions were verified. 'The missing scientists! You said you knew who was next.'
He hesitated. 'Yes… I…'
They sat a long time without saying another word. She could already tell he needed more incentive to spill everything he knew. Polly stood up and then turned to exit. 'Doctor, you contacted me. I have a deadline to meet. If you don't intend to talk — '
Jennings clutched the sleeve of her trench coat. 'All right, listen to me. I was one of seven scientists chosen to serve in a secret facility stationed outside of Berlin before the beginning of the Great War. It was known only as Einheit Elf, Unit Eleven. We agreed never to discuss what went on behind those doors.' His voice was distant. 'The things we were made to do there… terrible things.'
Polly began to scribble notes on her pad. When the scientist saw what she was doing, he paused, frightened again. Behind his spectacles, tears glimmered in his eyes. 'I… I really shouldn't have come…' He rose and bolted in the opposite direction, threading his way past the empty seats to reach the aisle, where he could scuttle out the back.
After those tantalizing comments, Polly had no intention of letting the man get away. She caught up to the scientist and grabbed his arm. 'Wait! In your note you said you knew who was next. Six scientists have already vanished.'
'Yes… I…' His expression fell. 'Don't you see? There is only one left.'
'Who is it? Who?'
'Me. He's coming for me!'
Suddenly, with a din that penetrated even the noise of the movie, air-raid sirens began to blare from the surrounding rooftops. The piercing wail of New York's civil defense warnings ramped up and down with a warbling tone that struck fear into all men, women, and children. The film on the wide movie screen flickered, then stopped. The house lights came up as air-raid sirens transformed the theater into a riot scene.
Terrified, Jennings struggled, but Polly would not let go of his arm. 'Who, Doctor? Who's coming?' People in the audience began to scream louder than the sirens.
Jennings' eyes lit in terror. 'Totenkopf! It's Totenkopf!'
Polly strained to remember the little bit of German she knew. Totenkopf. Dead Head? Death's Head?
The scientist yanked his arm away so forcefully that he tore the outer seam of his jacket. 'I have to get out of here! He has found me!'
Panicked theatergoers streamed from the upper balcony and ran for the exits, crowding between Jennings and Polly. She could no longer reach him. The scientist glanced back at her, his gold-rimmed eyeglasses askew. Then he moved down the stairs, swept away with the crowd.
Evacuation alarms continued to wail, but Polly had other concerns than an imminent bombardment from the skies. Turning back to where she'd been sitting she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. A folded sheet of paper had fallen from Dr. Jennings' satchel — by accident, or intentionally? — and lodged in the theater seat.
Oblivious to the chaos around her as the balcony emptied, Polly picked up the paper. When she unfolded it, she stared at the schematic drawing of a strange machine. From the scale marks on the drawing, she was sure she must be interpreting the blueprint incorrectly. The size didn't seem possible.
