Code to Zero (19 page)

He turned and ran back along the corridor, into the depths of the hotel. Behind him, he heard the pounding footsteps of Anthony giving chase. There had to be a back entrance—supplies could not possibly be delivered through the main lobby.

He pushed through a curtain and found himself in a little courtyard decorated like a Mediterranean outdoor café. A few couples were swaying on a small dance floor. Barging between the tables, he made it to an exit door. A narrow corridor stretched away to his left. He ran along it. He must be near the back of the hotel now, he figured, but he could see no way out.

He emerged into a kind of butler’s pantry, where the finishing touches were applied to dishes cooked elsewhere. Half a dozen uniformed waiters were heating food in chafing dishes and arranging plates on trays. In the middle of the room was a staircase leading down. Luke pushed through the waiters and took the stairs, ignoring a voice that called, “Excuse me, sir! You can’t go down there!” As Anthony charged after him, the same voice said indignantly, “What is this, Union Station?”

In the basement was the main kitchen, a sweaty purgatory where dozens of chefs cooked for hundreds of people. Gas jets flared, steam billowed, saucepans bubbled. Waiters shouted at cooks, and cooks shouted at kitchen hands. They were too busy to pay attention to Luke as he dodged between the refrigerators and the ranges, the plate stacks and the barrels of vegetables.

At the back of the kitchen, he found a staircase going up. He guessed it led to the delivery entrance. If not, he would be cornered. He took the chance and raced up the stairs. At the top, he burst through a pair of doors into the cold night air.

He was in a dark yard. A dim lamp over the door showed him giant garbage bins and stacked wooden pallets that looked as if they had contained fruit. Fifty yards away to his right was a high wire fence with a closed gate and, beyond that, a street, which his sense of direction told him must be Fifteenth.

He ran for the gate. He heard the door behind him bang open and guessed that Anthony had come out. And they were alone.

He reached the gate. It was closed and secured with a big steel padlock. If only a pedestrian would come strolling by, Anthony would be afraid to shoot. But there was no one.

Heart pounding, Luke scrambled up the fence. As he reached the top, he heard the discreet cough of a silenced pistol. But he felt nothing. It was a hard shot, a moving target fifty yards away in the dark, but not impossible. He flung himself over the top. The pistol coughed again. He staggered and fell to the ground. He heard a third muffled shot. He sprang to his feet and ran, heading east. The gun did not speak again.

At the corner, he looked back. Anthony was nowhere in sight.

He had escaped.

>>><<<

Anthony’s legs felt weak. He put a hand against the cold wall to steady himself. The yard smelled of rotting vegetables. He felt as if he were breathing corruption.

It had been the hardest thing he had ever done. By comparison, killing Albin Moulier had been easy. Pointing his gun at the figure of Luke scrambling over a wire fence, he had almost been unable to pull the trigger.

This was the worst possible outcome. Luke was still alive—and, having been shot at, he was on full alert, determined to learn the truth.

The kitchen door burst open, and Malone and Curtis appeared. Anthony discreetly slid the gun back into his inside pocket. Then, panting, he said, “Over the fence—go after him.” He knew they would not catch Luke.

When they were out of sight, he started to look for the slugs.

The design of the rocket is based on the V2 bomb used against London during the war. The engine even looks the same. The accelerometers, relays, and gyros are all out of the V2. The pump for the propellants uses hydrogen peroxide passed over a cadmium catalyst, releasing energy which drives a turbine—and this, too, comes from the V2.

Harold Brodsky made a good dry martini, and Mrs. Riley’s tuna bake was as tasty as promised. For dessert, Harold served cherry pie and ice cream. Billie felt guilty. He was trying so hard to please her, but her mind was on Luke and Anthony, their shared past, and their puzzling new entanglement.

While Harold made coffee, she called home and checked that all was well with Larry and Becky-Ma. Then Harold suggested they move to the living room and watch television. He produced a bottle of expensive French brandy and poured generous measures into two oversize snifters. Was he trying to stiffen his own courage, Billie wondered, or lower her resistance? She inhaled the vapors of the cognac but did not drink any.

Harold, too, was thoughtful. He was normally an entertaining talker, witty and clever, and she generally laughed a lot when she was with him, but tonight he was preoccupied.

They saw a thriller called
Run, Joe, Run!
Jan Sterling played a waitress involved with ex-gangster Alex Nichol. Billie could not get interested in the imaginary dangers on the screen. Her mind drifted to the mystery of what Anthony had done to Luke. In OSS they had broken all kinds of
laws, and Anthony was still in clandestine work, but all the same Billie was shocked that he had gone this far. Surely different rules applied in peacetime?

And what was his motive? Bern had called and told her of his confession to Luke, and that had confirmed what all her instincts told her, that Luke could not be a spy. But did Anthony believe it? If not, then what was the real reason for what he had done?

Harold turned off the TV and poured himself another brandy. “I’ve been thinking about our future,” he said.

Billie’s heart sank. He was going to propose. If he had done it yesterday, she would have accepted him. But today she could hardly think about it.

He took her hand. “I love you,” he said. “We get on well, we have the same interests, and we both have a child—but that’s not why. I believe I’d want to marry you if you were a waitress who chewed gum and liked Elvis Presley.”

Billie laughed.

He went on. “I just adore you, for no reason other than you’re you. I know it’s real, because it’s happened to me before, just once, with Lesley. I loved her with all my heart, until she was taken away from me. So I’m not in any doubt. I love you, and I want us to be together forever.” He looked at her, then said, “How do you feel?”

She sighed. “I’m fond of you. I’d like to go to bed with you, I think it would be great.” He raised his eyebrows at this, but did not interrupt. “And I can’t help thinking how much easier life would be if I had someone to share the burdens.”

“This is good.”

“Yesterday, it would have been enough. I would have said yes, I love you, let’s get married. But today I met someone from my past, and I remembered what it was like to be in love at the age of twenty-one.” She gave him a candid look. “I don’t feel that way about you, Harold.”

He was not totally discouraged. “Who does, at our age?”

“Maybe you’re right.” She wished she could be crazy and wild again.
But it was a foolish desire for a divorcée with a seven-year-old. To give herself time, she lifted the brandy goblet to her lips.

The doorbell rang.

Billie’s heart leaped.

“Who the heck is that?” Harold said angrily. “I hope Sidney Bowman doesn’t want to borrow my car jack at this time of night.” He got up and went out to the hall.

Billie knew who it was. She put down her brandy untouched and stood up.

She heard Luke’s voice at the door. “I need to talk to Billie.”

Billie wondered why she was so inordinately pleased.

Harold said, “I’m not sure she wants to be disturbed right now.”

“It’s important.”

“How did you know she was here?”

“Her mother told me. I’m sorry, Harold, I don’t have time to dick around.” Billie heard a thump, followed by a cry of protest from Harold, and she guessed Luke had forced his way into the house. She went to the door and looked into the hallway. “Just hold your horses, Luke,” she said. “This is Harold’s house.” Luke had ripped his coat and lost his hat, and he looked very shaken. “What’s happened now?” she said.

“Anthony shot at me.”

Billie was shocked. “Anthony?” she said. “My God, what got into him? He shot at
you
?”

Harold looked scared. “What’s this about a shooting?”

Luke ignored him. “It’s time to tell someone in authority about all this,” he said to Billie. “I’m going to the Pentagon. But I’m worried I may not be believed. Will you come and back me up?”

“Sure,” she said. She took her coat off the hall stand.

Harold said, “Billie! For God’s sake—we were in the middle of a very important conversation.”

Luke said, “I really need you.”

Billie hesitated. It was very hard on Harold. He had obviously been planning this moment for some time. But Luke’s life was in danger. “I’m
sorry,” she said to Harold. “I have to go.” She lifted her face to be kissed, but he turned away.

“Don’t be like that,” Billie said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Get out of my house, both of you,” he said furiously.

Billie walked out, with Luke behind her, and Harold slammed the door.

The
Jupiter
program cost 40 million dollars in 1956 and 140 million in 1957. In 1958, the figure is expected to be more than 300 million.

Anthony found some hotel stationery in the desk drawer of the room Pete had rented. He took out an envelope. From his pocket he took three distorted slugs and three cartridge cases, the rounds he had fired at Luke. He put them into the envelope and sealed it, then stuffed it into his pocket. He would dispose of it at the first opportunity.

He was doing damage control. He had very little time, but he had to be meticulous. He needed to wipe out all traces of this incident. The work helped to distract his mind from the self-loathing that tasted so bitter in his mouth.

The assistant manager on duty came into the room, looking wrathful. He was a small, neat man with a bald head. “Sit down, please, Mr. Suchard,” Anthony said. He showed the man his CIA identification.

“CIA!” Suchard said, and his indignation began to deflate.

Anthony took a business card from his billfold. “The card says State Department, but you can always reach me at that number if you need me.”

Suchard handled the card as if it might blow up. “What can I do for you, Mr. Carroll?” He had a slight accent, which Anthony thought might be Swiss.

“First, I want to apologize for the little fracas we had earlier.”

Suchard nodded primly. He was not going to say it was okay. “Fortunately, few guests noticed anything. Only the kitchen staff and a few waiters saw you chasing the gentleman.”

“I’m glad we didn’t disrupt your fine hotel too much, even over a matter of national security.”

Suchard raised his eyebrows in surprise. “National security?”

“Of course, I can’t give you the details . . .”

“Of course.”

“But I hope I can rely on your discretion.”

Hotel professionals prided themselves on their discretion, and Suchard nodded vigorously. “Indeed, you can.”

“It may not be necessary even to report the incident to your manager.”

“Possibly. . . .”

Anthony took out a roll of bills. “The State Department has a small fund for compensation in these instances.” He peeled off a twenty. Suchard accepted it. “And if any staff members seem discontented, perhaps . . .” He slowly counted another four twenties and handed them over.

It was a huge bribe for an assistant manager. “Thank you, sir,” said Suchard. “I’m sure we can meet your requirements.”

“If anyone should question you, it might be best to say you saw nothing.”

“Of course.” Suchard stood up. “If there’s anything else . . .”

“I’ll be in touch.” Anthony nodded dismissively, and Suchard left.

Pete came in. “The head of security for the Army at Cape Canaveral is Colonel Bill Hide,” he said. “He’s staying at the Starlite Motel.” He handed Anthony a slip of paper with a phone number and went out again.

Antony dialed the number and got through to Hide’s room. “This Anthony Carroll, CIA, Technical Services Division,” he said.

Hide spoke with a slow, unmilitary drawl and sounded as if he might have had a couple of drinks. “Well, what can I do for you, Mr. Carroll?”

“I’m calling about Dr. Lucas.”

“Oh, yes?”

He seemed faintly hostile, and Anthony decided to butter him up. “I would appreciate your advice, if you could spare me a moment at this late hour, Colonel.”

Hide warmed up. “Of course, anything I can do.”

That was better. “I think you know that Dr. Lucas has been behaving strangely, which is worrying in a scientist in possession of classified information.”

“It sure is.”

Anthony wanted Hide to feel in charge. “What would you say is his mental state?”

“He seemed normal last time I saw him, but I talked to him a few hours ago and he told me he’d lost his memory.”

“There’s more to it than that. He stole a car, broke into a house, got in a fight with a cop, stuff like that.”

“My God, he’s in worse shape than I thought.”

Hide was buying the story, Anthony thought with relief. He pressed on. “We think he’s not rational, but you know him better than we do. What would you say is going on?” Anthony held his breath, hoping for the right answer.

“Hell, I think he’s suffering some kind of breakdown.” This was exactly what Anthony wanted Hide to believe—but now Hide thought it was his own idea, and he proceeded to try to convince Anthony. “Look, Mr. Carroll, the Army wouldn’t employ a nutcase on a top secret project. Normally, Luke is as sane as you or me. Obviously something has destabilized him.”

“He seems to think there’s some kind of conspiracy against him, but you’re saying we shouldn’t necessarily credit that.”

“Not for a minute.”

“So we should soft-pedal this stuff. I mean, we shouldn’t alert the Pentagon.”

“God, no,” Hide said worriedly. “In fact, I’d better call them and warn them that Luke seems to have lost his marbles.”

“As you wish.”

Pete came in and Anthony raised one finger for him to wait. He softened his voice and said into the phone: “By happenstance, I’m an old friend of Dr. and Mrs. Lucas. I’m going to try to persuade Luke to seek psychiatric help.”

“That sounds like a good idea.”

“Well, thank you, Colonel. You’ve set my mind at rest, and we will proceed along the lines you have suggested.”

“You’re welcome. If there’s anything you want to ask me or discuss with me, call me anytime.”

“I sure will.” Anthony hung up.

Pete said, “Psychiatric help?”

“That was just for his benefit.” Anthony reviewed the situation. There was no evidence here at the hotel. He had prejudiced the Pentagon against any report Luke might make. That just left Billie’s hospital.

He stood up. “I’ll be back in an hour,” he said. “I want you to stay here. But not in the lobby. Take Malone and Curtis and bribe a room service waiter to let you into Luke’s suite. I have a feeling he’ll come back.”

“And if he does?”

“Don’t let him get away again—no matter what.”