The Lower Deep (37 page)

"Their base?"

"A fascinating place, Benson. An undersea cave. When you see it, you'll be as awestruck as I was."

"So now you work for them," George said.

"But of course. One must."

"You've
been recruiting people at the alcoholics' place? The way Alice has been working on Ginny Jourdan and me?"

"That's right, friend."

George swam along in mental stillness for a moment, surreptitiously searching the sea for any sign of another vessel. But the sea remained a vast, gently heaving emptiness without even a distant speck on which he could fasten a hope.

"Why did you have to pick on a child like Ginny?" he demanded.

"Well, you see," Mendoza replied, "what they want is breeding stock. They made a big mistake, they say. That is, their ancestors did. We left the sea for good after our last try at an aquatic life. We became land dwellers. They didn't, and wish they had. Now they hope that by breeding with us they can turn the clock back, so to speak, and eventually undo their error."

George risked a glance behind him and was relieved to see Dannie swimming easily along in his wake. He tried sending her a message. "Dannie, do you see who's here with me?"

"Yes," came the reply. "I don't believe I know him, though."

"Mendoza. The Cuban fellow from the Azagon."

"Oh. Is he the one Alice calls her leader?"

"Yes. Could you hear what he and I were talk
ing about?"

"No, George."

The thought exchanges were only two-way conversations, then, George reflected. No one could eavesdrop. In a showdown would that be good or bad?

But then, how in God's name could he hope for a showdown?

"By any chance," he projected, continuing his dialogue with Mendoza, "do these—creatures have a base inside the so-called Bermuda Triangle?"

"Not now," the Cuban replied. "But they say they used to."

"And that explains—"

"The old Triangle mystery? I haven't asked them, Benson. The only questions one puts to them are those they want put. It could, of course."

"They were there for the same reason they're here? An experiment in breeding?"

"That is correct."

"How can you live with yourself, Mendoza, after taking them a child like Ginny Jourdan?"

"Well, she wasn't my selection, actually. I chose your wife, Benson. A most attractive woman, I thought when I met her one day at Anse Douce. Young enough, apparently in good health—just what was wanted. But she turned out to be sterile. I should have wondered why you and she had no offspring, I suppose. Then, having become one of us, Alice suggested Miss Jourdan."

"And enslaved the poor child," George snarled.

"Not quite. We did succeed in taking her down to be mated—"

"When? The time you and Alice disappeared?"

"Right."

"Then the story you told of being found in Port Roche by some fellow who used to crew for you—"

"Was a necessary invention, as was my denying to Dr. Spence that I saw Paul Henninger go into the coffin-maker's house. I did see him go in, and my guess is that he went there to request a service for Agoué, if you know about that episode. Anything else you'd like to know, Benson? At this
point I find it rather entertaining to enlighten you.
"

"Henninger went to request a service for Agoué?" George said. "The voodoo sea god? Why would he want that?"

"Because he realized his troubles were being caused by something in the sea, and felt Agoué might protect him. I couldn't tell Dr. Spence any of this, however, because I didn't want Henninger closely questioned about it. So I told Spence flat-out that Paul did not visit the
houngan
and was probably looking for a house of prostitution."

The Cuban was silent for a moment. Then he said, "As I was telling you, Benson, your wife and I took the Jourdan girl below, but she got away. The sea creatures are not physically our equal except when they outnumber us. Mentally they're far ahead of us in some ways. But Miss Jourdan proved to be a most unusual person. After being mated, she drew upon some reserve of willpower and made her escape."

"And you couldn't force her back there because she became ill."

"Correct. She hadn't the strength to repeat the journey. So now we're about to try Miss André. She, too, was your wife's choice, of course. I'm sure you know why."

"Yes, I know why."

"An excellent choice, though, regardless of the other reason. Miss André has all the endowments called for: youth, good health, and intelligence, with beauty as an added asset."

"Thanks," George shot back bitterly.

"As for you—well, there are females among
them, of course, and you'll be mated with one selected for the program. I can't say you'll enjoy the copulation. In fact, I know you won't. But we're working on a way to deceive the mind of the human partner with a mental image of something a little more enticing when a mating takes place."

The mind of Juan Mendoza stopped sending for a moment, and George saw that he was looking ahead to where Alice's nude form methodically flowed on through the sea's glitter. "They tell me that so far," the voice continued then, "their females have not reproduced. I think, myself, it must have something to do with the greatly divergent gestation period. But with their mental powers they'll find a solution, I have no doubt."

"I suppose you tried to recruit that fellow whose body was found on the beach, ravaged by sharks," George said.

"Lindo? Yes. Unfortunately, we lost him. But we'll soon have Morrison and Wynn, and I believe even Dr. Spence."

"But Spence is a special friend of yours, isn't he?" George was truly bewildered. "Doc Clermont told me the two of you have known each other for years!"

"I have no friends anymore, Benson. Nor will you, after we get there. You'll be quite as eager as the rest of us to see your Miss André successfully mated."

"You bastard," George thought, and again looked around. The situation remained unchanged. In the lead was Alice, some ten yards
ahead of Mendoza and himself. Dannie brought up the rear. From the air their little formation must look like a quartet of—well, a quartet of porpoises, no? And, after all, they were related to porpoises, weren't they? As were the creatures to whose undersea cave Dannie and he were being taken.

"How did you—they—sink my boat?" he asked. "Is it true a hole opened up in the sea, as the plantation woman said?"

"You could call it that. Whirlpools, waterspouts, sudden aberrations in the sea, are child's play to these people when enough of them work together."

"About this mating," George said with a shudder. "You say I'm to be mated. And Dannie. As you have been, and as you expect Morrison, Wynn, and Spence will be when their time comes. Has Paul Henninger been mated? He was taken to this undersea cave, wasn't he?"

"Not taken, Benson. He went by himself. And no, he wasn't mated. Like Miss Jourdan, he—ah— escaped."

"Escaped?"

"In her case it happened after she was impregnated, but Henninger surprised us before he could be used. As I say, he found his way there by himself, just as Lindo tried to. But when he got there, he—ah—disapproved. A very strong-willed fellow, the Azagon's manager. Also quite unpredictable. He first tried to go there in his sleep, if you know about that. Walked to the beach in his pajamas, buried the pajamas in the sand to keep the journey a secret, and simply took off. Men like you
were only dreaming of going—part of your conditioning, of course—but he actually tried to go while dreaming. He woke up before he got there, however."

"That was the time he heard the drumming in Dame Marie, and it guided him back in the dark when he couldn't see the shore?"

"Who told you about that? Clermont again?"

"Yes."

"I see I must be careful of you," Mendoza sent. "Thanks to our island Abe Lincoln, you seem to know more than I suspected. But yes, that was the night Henninger heard the drumming—so, in effect, the sea god actually did come to his rescue. He went to the
houngan's
house first. Then on the way back he must have fallen asleep on his feet—very easy to do when you're being conditioned—and instead of returning to the Azagon, he ended up at Anse Douce."

"Then when he did reach this undersea cave you speak of—later on, I mean—he decided he wanted no part of it and got away from you?"

"Sadly, yes. But, of course, we'll change his mind in the end."

Escaped, George thought. Both Henninger and Ginny Jourdan escaped. It could be done, then.

The thought must have gone out, for Mendoza shot back a rapid reply. "Ah, no, friend, not again! We were under the impression people wouldn't want to escape after being mentally prepared, don't you see? So we were a bit slack, and those two managed to get away. But no one else will, I assure you." He paused, then added less sharply, "The truth is, I was to blame in Henninger's case.
I thought our fat Belgian was weak and cowardly."

Frightened by this response to a musing he had meant to keep secret, George remained silent.

"Did you hear me?" the Cuban went on. "I thought he was weak. Ha! They tell me he got away from five of them. Five! Of course, they could have destroyed him before he got very far, but they didn't want to do that. They felt if I could somehow bring him back, a man so strong and resourceful would be invaluable as a breeder. But what an assignment! Have you any idea how that man has fought me since his return from down there?"

"Fought you how?"

"All sorts of ways, Benson. Oh, yes. That dark suit he wears, for instance. He had it made for him by the wife of the coffin-maker—the wife of the
houngan
who
conducted the service to Agoué for him. He had the fellow bless it at another service, the way they bless their drums and
assons
and other voodoo paraphernalia. To him it's a form of protection, and he wears nothing else now. He doesn't know it's a protection against
me,
of course."

"Is it?" George asked.

"Is it what?"

"Protection against you? I mean, does it work against you?"

An odd pause, perhaps a significant one, preceded Mendoza's reply to that. Then the reply was not really an answer, George noted. "I do not personally believe in voodoo, Benson," the Cuban said without elaboration.

"Dr. Mendoza," George put forth, stressing the title, "being Cuban, are you not Catholic?"

"Not what?"

"A Catholic, and devout? Think what you're doing, man. Never mind my wife. If I know her, she's probably enjoying her part in all this. But—"

"I believe she is. Enjoying the sense of power, at any rate."

"But Ginny Jourdan, an innocent schoolgirl! Think of what you've done to her, Doctor. And what you're planning to do to my Dannie. My God, how can you do these things? You're a doctor! You're supposed to care about people. You—"

Into George's mind crept a small, thin voice saying, "George, look behind us. There's a boat coming. I think it's that army boat you showed me at Port Roche once."

George turned his head. It was the wrong thing to do; Mendoza saw him do it. To the brisk, mind-jarring command that George now received he could find no denial.

"Follow me, you two!"

Swift, competent, a human body trained to perform like a porpoise in water, the Cuban medic went slanting down into deep green depths. As he went, Alice joined him and they were two of a kind, naked man, nude woman, planing down into a mysterious world they had made their own. As George slavishly followed, aware that Dannie trailed him in turn, he knew he was leaving behind his last chance of survival.

Up there were the army boat and receding hope. Ahead lay the undersea cave from which there would be no departure for Dannie and himself unless, like Mendoza and Alice, they were sent back with twisted minds to recruit other innocents. He was no Paul Henninger in strength and courage. Dannie was no Ginny Jourdan in resilience of youth. With the sea creatures now alert and watchful, escape would be impossible.

The sea darkened about him as he descended. A pain lanced his chest and he suddenly had a panicky feeling he was already too deep, facing a pressure his body could not tolerate. Then all at once he became aware that he would not be going much deeper. Following his wife and Juan Mendoza, he had entered a world of grotesque coral formations: a fantasy world in which hundreds of small fish and a few large ones swam lazily about among nature's versions of castles, towers, spires, and bridges.