Code to Zero (20 page)

The
Jupiter C
missile uses Hydyne, a secret, high-energy fuel that is 12 percent more powerful than the alcohol propellant used in the standard
Redstone
missile. A toxic, corrosive substance, it is a blend of UDMH—unsymmetrical dimethyl hydrazine—and diethylene triamine.

Billie drove the red Thunderbird into the parking lot of the Georgetown Mind Hospital and killed the engine. Colonel Lopez from the Pentagon pulled alongside her in a Ford Fairlane painted olive drab.

“He doesn’t believe a word I say,” Luke said angrily.

“You can’t blame him,” Billie reasoned. “The assistant manager of the Carlton says no one was chased through the kitchens, and there are no cartridge cases on the ground at the loading dock.”

“Anthony cleaned up the evidence.”

“I know that, but Colonel Lopez doesn’t.”

“Thank God I’ve got you to back me up.”

They got out of the car and walked into the building with the colonel, a patient Hispanic man with an intelligent face. Billie nodded to the receptionist and led the two men up the stairs and along the corridor to the records office.

“I’m going to show you the file of a man named Joseph Bellow, whose physical characteristics match Luke’s,” she explained.

The colonel nodded.

Billie went on: “You’ll see that he was admitted on Tuesday, treated,
then discharged at four
A
.
M
. on Wednesday. You have to understand that it’s very unusual for a schizophrenic patient to be given treatment without observation first. And I hardly need to tell you that it’s unheard of for a patient to be released from a mental hospital at four o’clock in the morning.”

“I understand,” Lopez said noncommittally.

Billie opened the drawer, pulled out the Bellow file, put it on the desk, and opened it.

It was empty.

“Oh, my God,” she said.

Luke stared at the cardboard folder in disbelief. “I saw the papers myself less than six hours ago!”

Lopez stood up with a weary air. “Well, I guess that’s it.”

Luke had the nightmare feeling that he was living in a surreal world in which people could do what they liked to him, shoot at him and mess with his mind, and he could never prove it had happened. “Maybe I am schizophrenic,” he said somberly.

“Well, I’m not,” Billie said. “And I saw that file too.”

“But it’s not here now,” said Lopez.

“Wait,” Billie said. “The daily register will show his admission. It’s kept at the reception desk.” She slammed the file drawer shut.

They went down to the lobby. Billie spoke to the receptionist. “Let me see the register, please, Charlie.”

“Right away, Dr. Josephson.” The young black man behind the counter searched around for a moment. “Dang, where did that thing go?” he said.

Luke muttered, “Jesus Christ.”

The receptionist’s face darkened with embarrassment. “I know it was here a couple of hours ago.”

Billie’s face was like thunder. “Tell me something, Charlie. Has Dr. Ross been here tonight?”

“Yes, ma’am. He left a few minutes ago.”

She nodded. “Next time you see him, ask him where the register went. He knows.”

“I sure will.”

Billie turned away from the desk.

Luke said angrily, “Let me ask you something, Colonel. Before we saw you tonight, had someone else talked to you about me?”

Lopez hesitated. “Yes.”

“Who?”

Reluctantly, he then said, “I guess you’re entitled to know. We got a call from a Colonel Hide down in Cape Canaveral. He said the CIA had been watching you and they reported that you were behaving irrationally.”

Luke nodded grimly. “Anthony again.”

Billie said to Lopez, “Hell, I can’t think of anything else we can do to convince you. And I don’t really blame you for not believing us when we have no evidence.”

“I didn’t say I don’t believe you,” Lopez said.

Luke was startled, and looked at the colonel with new hope.

Lopez went on. “I could believe you imagined that a CIA man chased you around the Carlton Hotel and shot at you in the alley. I might even accept that you and Dr. Josephson conspired to pretend there used to be a file and it disappeared. But I don’t believe that Charlie here is in on the conspiracy. There must be a daily register, and it’s gone. I don’t think you took it—why would you? But then who did? Someone has something to hide.”

“So you believe me?” Luke said.

“What’s to believe? You don’t know what this is all about. I don’t know either. But something sure as hell is going on. And I believe it must have to do with that rocket we’re about to launch.”

“What’ll you do?”

“I’m going to order a full security alert at Cape Canaveral. I’ve been there, I know they’re lax. Tomorrow morning they won’t know what’s hit them.”

“But what about Anthony?”

“I have a friend at the CIA. I’m going to tell him your story, and say I don’t know whether it’s true or not, but I’m concerned.”

“That’s not going to get us far!” Luke protested. “We need to know what’s going on, why they wiped my memory!”

“I agree,” Lopez said. “But I can’t do any more. The rest is up to you.”

“Christ,” Luke said. “So I’m on my own.”

“No, you’re not,” said Billie. “You’re not on your own.”

The new fuel is based on a nerve gas and is very dangerous. It is delivered to Cape Canaveral on a special train equipped with nitrogen to blanket it if any escapes. A drop on the skin will be absorbed into the bloodstream instantly and will be fatal. The technicians say: “If you smell fish, run like hell.”

Billie drove fast, handling the Thunderbird’s three-speed manual gear-change with confidence. Luke watched in admiration. They sped through the quiet streets of Georgetown, crossed the creek to downtown Washington, and headed for the Carlton.

Luke felt energized. He knew who his enemy was, he had a friend at his side, and he understood what he had to do. He was mystified by what had happened to him, but he was determined to unravel the mystery, and impatient to get on with it.

Billie parked around the corner from the entrance. “I’ll go first,” she said. “If there’s anyone suspicious in the lobby, I’ll come right out again. When you see me take my coat off, you’ll know it’s all clear.”

Luke was not comfortable with this plan. “What if Anthony’s there?”

“He won’t shoot me.” She got out of the car.

Luke contemplated arguing with her and decided against it. She was probably right. He presumed that Anthony had thoroughly searched his hotel room and had destroyed anything he thought might be a clue to the secret he so badly wanted to keep. But Anthony also needed to maintain a semblance of normality, to support the fiction that Luke had lost his
memory after a drinking bout. So Luke expected to find most of his own stuff. That would help him reorient himself. And there might be a clue that Anthony had overlooked.

They approached the hotel separately, Luke remaining on the opposite side of the street. He watched Billie go in, enjoying her jaunty walk and the swing of her coat. He could see through the glass doors into the lobby. A porter approached her immediately, suspicious of a glamorous woman arriving alone so late at night. He saw her speak, and guessed she was saying, “I’m Mrs. Lucas, my husband will be along in a moment.” Then she took off her coat.

Luke crossed the road and entered the hotel.

For the porter’s benefit he said, “I want to make a call before we go upstairs, honey.” There was an internal phone on the reception desk, but he did not want the porter to hear his conversation. Next to the reception desk was a little lobby that had a payphone in an enclosed booth with a seat. Luke went inside. Billie followed him and closed the door. They were very close together. He put a dime in the slot and called the hotel. He angled the handset so that Billie could hear. Tense though he was, he found it deliciously exciting to be so near to Billie.

“Sheraton-Carlton, good morning.”

It
was
morning, he realized—Thursday morning. He had been awake for twenty hours. But he did not feel sleepy. He was too tense. “Room five-thirty, please.”

The operator hesitated. “Sir, it’s past one o’clock—is this an emergency?”

“Dr. Lucas asked me to call no matter how late.”

“Very good.”

There was a pause, then a ringing tone. Luke felt very conscious of Billie’s warm body under her purple silk dress. He had to resist the urge to put his arm around her small, neat shoulders and hug her to him.

After four rings, he was ready to believe that the room was empty—then the phone was picked up. So Anthony, or one of his men, was lying in wait. That was a nuisance, but Luke felt better knowing where the enemy was deployed.

A voice said, “Hello?” The tone was uncertain. It was not Anthony, but it might have been Pete.

Luke put on a tipsy voice. “Hey, Ronnie, this is Tim. We’re all waitin’ for ya!”

The man grunted with irritation. “Drunk,” he muttered, as if speaking to someone else. “You got the wrong room, buddy.”

“Oh, gee, I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t wake—” Luke broke off as the phone was hung up.

“Someone’s there,” Billie said.

“Maybe more than one.”

“I know how to get them out.” She grinned. “I did it in Lisbon, during the war. Come on.”

They left the phone booth. Luke noticed Billie discreetly pick up a book of matches from an ashtray by the elevator. The porter took them up to the fifth floor.

They found room 530 and went quietly past it. Billie opened an unmarked door to reveal a linen closet. “Perfect,” she said in a low voice. “Is there a fire alarm nearby?”

Luke looked around and saw an alarm of the type that could be set off by breaking a pane of glass with a little hammer. “Right there,” he said.

“Good.” In the closet, sheets and blankets stood in neat stacks on slatted wooden shelves. Billie unfolded a blanket and dropped it on the floor. She did the same with several more until she had a pile of loose fabric. Luke guessed what she was going to do, and his conjecture was confirmed when she took a breakfast order from a doorknob and lit it with a match. As it flared up, she put the flame to a pile of blankets.“This is why you should never smoke in bed,” she said.

As the flames blazed up, Billie piled on additional bed linen. Her face was flushed with heat and excitement, and she looked more alluring than ever. Soon there was a roaring bonfire. Smoke poured out of the closet and began to fill the corridor.

“Time to sound the alarm,” she said. “We don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“Right,” Luke said, and again the phrase came into his mind: they’re not collaborators. But now he understood it. In the Resistance, blowing up factories and warehouses, he must have worried constantly about innocent French people getting injured.

He grasped the little hammer that hung on a chain next to the fire alarm. He broke the glass with a light tap and pressed the large red button inside. A moment later, a loud ringing shattered the silence of the corridor.

Luke and Billie retreated along the corridor, moving away from the elevator, until they could only just see the door of Luke’s suite through the smoke.

The door nearest them opened and a woman in a nightdress came out. She saw the smoke, screamed, and ran for the stairs. From another door, a man in shirtsleeves emerged with a pencil in his hand, obviously having been working late; then a young couple wrapped in sheets appeared, looking as if they had been interrupted making love; then a bleary-eyed man in rumpled pink pajamas. A few moments later, the corridor was full of people coughing and fumbling through the smoke toward the stairwell.

The door to room 530 opened slowly.

Luke saw a tall man step into the corridor. Peering through the murk, Luke thought he had a large wine-colored birthmark on his cheek: Pete. He drew back to avoid being recognized. The figure hesitated, then seemed to make a decision and joined the rush for the stairs. Two more men came out and followed him.

“All clear,” Luke said.

Luke and Billie entered the suite, and Luke closed the door to keep the smoke out. He took off his coat.

“Oh, my God,” said Billie. “It’s the same room.”

>>><<<

She stared around, wide-eyed. “I can’t believe it,” she said. Her voice was hushed, and he could hardly hear her. “This is the very suite.”

He stood still, watching. She was in the grip of a strong emotion. “What happened here?” he asked her at last.

She shook her head wonderingly. “It’s hard to imagine that you don’t remember.” She walked around. “There was a grand piano in that corner,” she said. “Imagine—a piano in a hotel room!” She looked into the bathroom. “And a phone in here. I had never seen a phone in a bathroom.”

Luke waited. Her face showed sadness, and something else he could not quite make out. “You stayed here in the war,” she said at last. Then, in a rush, she added, “We made love here.”

He looked into the bedroom. “On that bed, I guess.”

“Not just on the bed.” She giggled, then became solemn again. “How young we were.”

The thought of making love to this enchanting woman was unbearably exciting. “My God, I wish I could remember,” he said, and his voice sounded thick with desire.

To his surprise, she blushed.

He turned aside and picked up the phone. He dialed the operator. He wanted to make sure the fire did not have a chance to spread. After a long wait, the phone was answered. “This is Mr. Davies, I sounded the alarm,” Luke said rapidly. “The fire is in a linen closet near room five-forty.” He hung up without waiting for a reply.

Billie was looking around, her emotional moment over. “Your clothes are here,” she said.

He went into the bedroom. Lying on the bed were a pale gray tweed sport coat and a pair of charcoal flannel pants, looking as if they had come back from the dry cleaner. He guessed he had worn them on the plane and sent them for pressing. On the floor was a pair of dark tan wingtip shoes. A crocodile belt was neatly rolled up inside one of the shoes.

He opened the drawer of the bedside table and found a billfold, a check book, and a fountain pen. More interesting was a slim appointments diary with a list of phone numbers in the back. He looked quickly through its pages and found the current week.

S
UNDAY
26
TH

Call Alice (1928)

M
ONDAY
27
TH

Buy swim trunks

8:30
AM
Apex mtg, Vanguard Mtl

T
UESDAY
28
TH

8
AM
Bkfst w A.C., Hay Adams coffee shop

Billie stood beside him to see what he was reading. She put a hand on his shoulder. It was a casual gesture, but her touch gave him a thrill of pleasure. He said, “Any idea who Alice might be?”

“Your kid sister.”

“How old?”

“Seven years younger than you, which makes her thirty.”

“So she was born in 1928. I guess I talked to her on her birthday. I could call her now, ask her if I said anything unusual.”

“Good idea.”

Luke felt good. He was reconstructing his life. “I must have gone to Florida without my swimsuit.”

“Who thinks of swimming in January?”

“So I made a note to buy one on Monday. That morning I went to the Vanguard Motel at eight-thirty.”

“What’s an Apex meeting?”

“I think it must have to do with the curve followed by the missile in flight. I don’t remember working on it, of course, but I know there’s an important and tricky calculation that has to be made. The second stage has to be fired precisely at the apex, in order to put the satellite into a permanent orbit.”

“You could find out who else was at the meeting and talk to them.”

“I will.”

“Then, on Tuesday, you had breakfast with Anthony in the coffee shop of the Hay Adams Hotel.”

“After that, there are no appointments in the book.”

He turned to the back of the diary. There were phone numbers for Anthony, Billie, and Bern, for Mother and Alice, and twenty or thirty others that meant nothing to him. “Anything strike you?” he said to Billie. She shook her head.

There were some leads worth following up, but no obvious clues. It was what he had expected, but all the same he felt deflated. He pocketed the diary and looked around the room. A well-worn black leather suitcase rested open on a stand. He rummaged through it, finding clean shirts and underwear, a notebook half full of mathematical calculations, and a paperback book called
The Old Man and the Sea
with a corner turned down at page 143.

Billie looked into the bathroom. “Shaving gear, toiletry bag, toothbrush, and that’s all she wrote.”

Luke opened all the cupboards and drawers in the bedroom, and Billie did the same in the living room. Luke found a black wool topcoat and a black homburg hat in a closet, but nothing else. “Zilch,” he called out. “You?”

“Your phone messages are here on the desk. From Bern, from a Colonel Hide, and from someone called Marigold.”

Luke figured that Anthony had read the messages, judged them harmless, and decided there was no point in creating suspicion by destroying them.

Billie said, “Who’s Marigold, do you know?”

Luke thought for a moment. He had heard the name at some point during the day. It came back to him. “She’s my secretary in Huntsville,” he said. “Colonel Hide said she had made my flight reservations.”

“I wonder if you told her the purpose of the trip.”

“I doubt it. I didn’t tell anyone at Cape Canaveral.”

“She’s not at Cape Canaveral. And you might trust your own secretary more than anyone else.”

Luke nodded. “Anything’s possible. I’ll check. It’s the most promising lead so far.” He took out the diary and looked again at the phone numbers in the back. “Bingo,” he said. “Marigold—Home.” He sat at
the desk and dialed the number. He wondered how much longer he had before Pete and the other agents came back.

Billie seemed to read his mind and started packing his stuff into the black leather bag.