Farnham's Freehold (3 page)

“I’m afraid so. Get inside.”

The young Negro turned and yelled, “
Doctor Livingstone I presume!
” and dashed back up the stairs.

Mr. Farnham said, “Oh, God!” and pressed his fists against his temples. He added in his usual voice, “Get inside, girls. Karen, bolt the door but listen for me. I’ll wait as long as I can.” He glanced at his watch. “Five minutes.”

The girls went in. Barbara whispered, “What happened to Joseph? Flipped?”

“Well, sort of. Dr.-Livingstone-I-Presume is our cat. Loves Joseph, tolerates us.” Karen started bolting the inner door, heavy steel, and secured with ten inch-thick bolts.

She stopped. “I’m damned if I’ll bolt this all the way while Daddy is outside!”

“Don’t bolt it at all.”

Karen shook her head. “I’ll use a couple, so he can hear me draw them. That cat may be a mile away.”

Barbara looked around. It was an L-shaped room; they had entered the end of one arm. Two bunks were on the right-hand wall; Grace Farnham was in the lower and still asleep. The left wall was solid with packed shelves; the passage was hardly wider than the door. The ceiling was low and arched and of corrugated steel. She could see the ends of two more bunks at the bend. Duke was not in sight but he quickly appeared from around the bend, started setting up a card table in the space there. She watched in amazement as he got out the cards he had picked up—how long ago? It seemed an hour. Probably less than five minutes.

Duke saw her, grinned, and placed folding chairs around the table.

There came a clanging at the door. Karen unbolted it; Joseph tumbled in, followed by Mr. Farnham. A lordly red Persian cat jumped out of Joseph’s arms, started an inspection. Karen and her father bolted the door. He glanced at his wife, then said, “Joseph! Help me crank.”

“Yes, sir!”

Duke came over. “Got her buttoned up, Skipper?”

“All but the sliding door. It has to be cranked.”

“Then come take your licking.” Duke waved at the table.

His father stared. “Duke, are you seriously proposing to finish a
card game
while we’re being attacked?”

“I’m four hundred dollars serious. And another hundred says we aren’t being attacked. In a half hour they’ll call it off and tomorrow’s papers will say the northern lights fouled up the radar. Play the hand? Or default?”

“Mmmm—My partner will play it; I’m busy.”

“You stand behind the way she plays it?”

“Of course.”

Barbara found herself sitting down at the table with a feeling that she had wandered into a dream. She picked up her partner’s hand, studied it. “Lead, Karen.”

Karen said, “Oh, hell!” and led the trey of clubs. Duke picked up the dummy, laid it out in suits. “What do you want on it?” he asked.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll play both hands face up.”

“Better not.”

“It’s solid.” She exposed the cards.

Duke studied them. “I see,” he admitted. “Leave the hands; Dad will want to see this.” He did some figuring. “Call it twenty-four hundred points. Dad!”

“Yes, Son?”

“I’m writing a check for four hundred and ninety-two dollars—and let that be a lesson to me.”

“You don’t need to—”

All lights went out, the floor slammed against their feet. Barbara felt frightening pressure on her chest, tried to stand up and was knocked over. All around was a noise of giant subway trains, and the floor heaved like a ship in a cross sea.

“Dad!”

“Yes, Duke! Are you hurt?”

“I don’t know. But make that
five
hundred and ninety-two dollars!”

The subterranean rumbling went on. Through this roar Barbara heard Mr. Farnham chuckle. “Forget it!” he called out. “The dollar just depreciated.”

Mrs. Farnham started to scream. “Hubert! Hubert, where are you?
Hubert!
Make it
stop!
”

“Coming, dear!” A pencil of light cut the blackness, moved toward the bunks near the door. Barbara raised her head, made out that it was her host, on hands and knees with a flashlight in his teeth. He reached the bunk, succeeded in quieting Grace; her screams ceased. “Karen?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, Just bruised. My chair went over.”

“All right. Get the emergency lighting on in this bay. Don’t stand up. Crawl. I’ll light you from here. Then get the hypo kit and—
ow!
Joseph!”

“Yes, sir.”

“You in one piece?”

“I’m okay, Boss.”

“Persuade your furry-faced Falstaff to join you. He jumped on me.”

“He’s just friendly, Mr. Farnham.”

“Yes, yes. But I don’t want him doing that while I’m giving a hypo. Call him.”

“Sure thing. Here, Doc! Doc, Doc, Doc! Fish, Doc!”

Some minutes later the rumbling had died out, the floor was steady, Mrs. Farnham had been knocked out by injected drug, two tiny lights were glowing in the first bay, and Mr. Farnham was inspecting.

Damage was slight. Despite guardrails, cans had popped off shelves; a fifth of rum was broken. But liquor was almost the only thing stored in glass, and liquor had been left in cases, the rest of it had come through. The worst casualty was the shelter’s battery-driven radio, torn loose from the wall and smashed.

Mr. Farnham was on his knees, retrieving bits of it. His son looked down. “Don’t bother, Dad. Sweep it up and throw it away.”

“Some parts can be salvaged.”

“What do you know about radios?”

“Nothing,” his father admitted. “But I have books.”

“A book won’t fix that. You should have stocked a spare.”

“I have a spare.”

“Then for God’s sake get it! I want to know what’s happened.”

His father got up slowly and looked at Duke. “I would like to know, too. I can’t hear anything over this radio I’m wearing. Not surprising, it’s short range. But the spare is packed in foam and probably wasn’t hurt.”

“Then get it hooked up.”

“Later.”

“Later, hell. Where is it?”

Mr. Farnham breathed hard. “I’ve had all the yap I’m going to take.”

“Huh? Sorry. Just tell me where the spare is.”

“I shan’t. We might lose it, too. I’m going to wait until I’m sure the attack is over.”

His son shrugged. “Okay, if you want to be difficult. But all of us want to hear the news. It’s a shabby trick if you ask me.”

“Nobody asked you. I told you I’ve had all the yap I’m going to take. If you’re itching to know what’s happening outside, you can leave. I’ll unbolt this door, crank back the armor door, and you can open the upper door yourself.”

“Eh? Don’t be silly.”

“But close it after you. I don’t want it open—both for blast and radioactivity.”

“That’s another thing. Don’t you have any way to measure radioactivity? We ought to take steps to—”

“SHUT UP!”

“What? Dad, don’t pull the heavy-handed father on me.”

“Duke, I ask you to keep quiet and listen. Will you?”

“Well…all right. But I don’t appreciate being bawled out in the presence of others.”

“Then keep your voice down.” They were in the first bay near the door. Mrs. Farnham was snoring by them; the others had retreated around the bend, unwilling to witness. “Are you ready to listen?”

“Very well, sir,” Duke said stiffly.

“Good. Son, I was not joking. Either leave…or do exactly as I tell you. That includes keeping your mouth shut when I tell you to. Which will it be? Absolute obedience, prompt and cheerful? Or will you leave?”

“Aren’t you being rather high-handed?”

“I intend to be. This shelter is a lifeboat and I am boat officer. For the safety of all I shall maintain discipline. Even if it means tossing somebody overboard.”

“That’s a farfetched simile. Dad, it’s a shame you were in the Navy. It gives you romantic ideas.”

“
I
think it’s a shame, Duke, that
you
never had service. You’re not realistic. Well, which is it? Will you take orders? Or leave?”

“You know I’m not going to leave. And you’re not serious in talking about it. It’s death out there.”

“Then you’ll take orders?”

“Uh, I’ll be cooperative. But this absolute dictatorship—Dad, tonight you made quite a point of the fact that you are a free man. Well, so am I. I’ll cooperate. But I won’t take unreasonable orders, and as for keeping my mouth shut, I’ll try to be diplomatic. But when I think it’s necessary, I’ll voice my opinion. Free speech. Fair enough?”

His father sighed. “Not nearly good enough, Duke. Stand aside, I want to unbolt the door.”

“Don’t push a joke too far, Dad.”

“I’m not joking. I’m putting you out.”

“Dad… I hate to say this…but I don’t think you are man enough. I’m bigger than you are and a lot younger.”

“I know. I’ve no intention of fighting you.”

“Then let’s drop this silly talk.”

“Duke, please! I built this shelter. Not two hours ago you were sneering at it, telling me that it was a ‘sick’ thing to do. Now you want to use it, since it turned out you were wrong. Can’t you admit that?”

“Oh, certainly. You’ve made your point.”

“Yet you are telling me how to run it. Telling me that I should have provided a spare radio. When
you
hadn’t provided anything. Can’t you be a man, give in, and do as I tell you? When your life depends on my hospitality?”

“Cripes! I told you I would cooperate.”

“But you haven’t been doing so. You’ve been making silly remarks, getting in my way, giving me lip, wasting my time when I have urgent things to do. Duke, I don’t want your cooperation, on your terms, according to your judgment. While we are in this shelter I want your absolute obedience.”

Duke shook his head. “Get it through your head that I’m no longer a child, Dad. My cooperation, yes. But I won’t promise the other.”

Mr. Farnham shook his head sorrowfully. “Maybe it would be better if you took charge and I obeyed you. But I’ve given these circumstances thought and you haven’t. Son, I anticipated that your mother might be hysterical; I had everything ready to handle it. Don’t you think I anticipated this situation?”

“How so? It’s pure chance that I’m here at all.”

“‘This situation’ I said. It could be anybody. Duke, if we had been entertaining friends tonight—or if strangers had popped up, say that old fellow who rang the doorbell—I would have taken them in; I planned on extras. Don’t you think, with all the planning I have done, that I would realize that somebody might get out of hand? And plan how to force them into line?”

“How?”

“In a lifeboat, how do you tell the boat officer?”

“Is that a riddle?”

“No. The boat officer is the one with the gun.”

“Oh. I suppose you do have guns down here. But you don’t have one now, and”—Duke grinned—“Dad, I can’t see you shooting me. Can you?”

His father stared, then dropped his eyes. “No. A stranger, maybe. But you’re my son.” He sighed. “Well, I hope you cooperate.”

“I will. I promise you that much.”

“Thank you. If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” Mr. Farnham turned away. “Joseph!”

“Yes, sir?”

“It’s condition seven.”

“Condition
seven,
sir?”

“Yes, and getting worse. Be careful with the instruments and don’t waste time.”

“Right away, sir!”

“Thank you.” He turned to his son. “Duke, if you really want to cooperate, you could pick up the pieces of this radio. It’s the same model as the one in reserve. There may be pieces we can use to repair the other one if it becomes necessary. Will you do that?”

“Sure, sure. I
told
you I would cooperate.” Duke got on his knees, started to complete the task he had interrupted.

“Thank you.” His father turned away, moved toward the junction of the bays.

“Mr. Duke! Get your hands up!”

Duke looked over his shoulder, saw Joseph by the card table, aiming a Thompson submachine gun at him. He jumped to his feet. “What the hell!”

“Stay there!” Joseph said. “I’ll shoot.”

“Yes,” agreed Duke’s father, “he doesn’t have the compunctions you thought I had. Joseph, if he moves, shoot him.”

“Daddy! What’s going on?”

Mr. Farnham turned to face his daughter. “Get back!”

“But, Daddy—”

“Shut up. Both of you get into that lower bunk. Karen on the inside.
Move!
”

Karen moved. Barbara looked wide-eyed at the automatic her host now held in his hand and got quickly into the lower bunk of the other bay. “Arms around each other,” he said briskly. “Don’t either of you let the other one move.” He went back to the first bay.

“Duke.”

“Yes?”

“Lower your hands slowly and unfasten your trousers. Let them fall but don’t step out of them. Then turn slowly and face the door. Unfasten the bolts.”

“Dad—”

“Shut up. Joseph, if he does anything but exactly what I told him to, shoot. Try for his legs, but hit him.”

Face white, expression dazed, Duke did as he was told: let his trousers fall until he was hobbled, turned and started unbolting the door. His father let him continue until half the bolts were drawn. “Duke. Stop. The next few seconds determine whether you go—or stay. You know the terms.”

Duke barely hesitated. “I accept.”

“I must elaborate. You will not only obey me, you will obey Joseph.”

“
Joseph?
”

“My second-in-command. I have to have one, Duke; I can’t stay awake all the time. I would gladly have had you as deputy—but you would have nothing to do with it. So I trained Joseph. He knows where everything is, how it works, how to repair it. So he’s my deputy. Well? Will you obey him just as cheerfully? No back talk?”

Duke said slowly, “I promise.”

“Good. But a promise made under duress isn’t binding. There is another commitment always given under duress and nevertheless binding, a point which as a lawyer you will appreciate. I want your parole as a prisoner. Will you give me your parole to abide by the conditions until we leave the shelter? A straight quid-pro-quo: your parole in exchange for not being forced outside?”

“You have my parole.”

“Thank you. Throw the bolts and fasten your trousers. Joseph, stow the Tommy gun.”

“Okay, Boss.”