The Infiltrators (11 page)

Her face was alive with the excitement of remembering the long-disused techniques of driving. More clearly than before, under the prison-worn flesh of the woman she was, I could see the ghost of the strikingly lovely girl she’d been. I found myself speculating about how she might look even now if she lost a few pounds—well, quite a few pounds—and tightened up the slack, neglected muscles with systematic exercise, and got a little sun on the tired, dead-white skin… The Helm Ex-Convict Rehabilitation Service, I thought sourly, reminding myself that this woman was supposed to be neither a friend nor a patient, but merely a useful decoy and source, of information.

She spoke at last: “Now what was that tremendous decision I had to make, Matt?”

“Your hair,” I said.

“My
hair
?”

I said, “Because of this council of war coming up, we’ll be stopping early in a place called Stockville up ahead. They have two establishments to choose from, Madelon’s La Mode and Blanche’s Beauty Boutique. If we were superstitious we’d send you to Madelon because of the similarity in the names; but my spies inform me that Blanche is supposed to be the superior operator. But you’d better be ready to tell her how you want it done—”

Madeleine said stiffly, “What is this, a project to bolster the poor convict-lady’s morale? My hair is perfectly fine the way it is, thank you!”

I said, “Actually, it’s lousy the way it is, and you don’t really like it that way yourself, do you? And afterwards you’ll visit Milady’s Fashions and Offenberg’s Department Store, and use those credit cards in your purse. That suit is okay for driving, but I think a simple little dress for dinners along the way, don’t you? And a pair of good-looking slacks, maybe, and some jeans for really rugged going, and shoes and shirts and socks and what they used to call unmentionables—underwear to you—to go with everything. If you want to give your lecherous traveling companion a treat, you might even pick up a few pairs of nice sheer nylons and throw away those cast-iron hose you’re wearing; you’ve got very nice legs for an unperson. Sorry we can’t make it New York or Paris, but do the best you can with Stockville. A new suitcase will probably be needed to handle the overflow. Have fun. Don’t look over your shoulder. Act like a dame on a mad shopping spree after eight years in pokey, a dame who doesn’t really believe her life is in much danger. Questions?”

She was silent for a moment. “I see. You’ll be watching?”

“Somebody’ll be watching. We want to know if Bennett has pulled his people off, at least temporarily, and we want to see if anybody else is interested.”

She shivered a little. “And if you won’t be watching—I suppose having you trailing along behind me trying to look invisible, all six feet plus of you, would give the show away—what will you be doing?”

I sighed. “I’m sorry you asked that question. Because, to be perfectly honest, I’ll be visiting a porno shop and looking at all the pictures of nekkid ladies lying on their backs with their knees apart.”

* * *

I was wrong. They weren’t just lying on their backs. Some of the positions were really rather remarkable and, I would think, uncomfortable. And mostly total nudity was not displayed; filmy stockings and sexy little garter belts seemed to be the uniform of the day. Or night. Waiting, I worked my way along the wall racks full of fascinating literature—at least it must have been fascinating to somebody, considering the substantial prices asked. Personally, I’m a sucker for a pretty face, a pretty breast, a slim waist, a neat buttock, a slender leg, or a trim ankle; but I can’t help feeling that when you’ve seen one vulva you’ve seen them all. Which undoubtedly reflects my inhibited youth; probably I’m just too embarrassed by such an intimate display to appreciate what I’m viewing.

There were a couple of other men in the place who paid no attention to each other or to me. Jackson came in at last and proceeded into the section devoted to cubicles in which, for a quarter a throw, you could watch feelthy movies. After a little I followed him to the specified booth. When I entered, he was engrossed in the fuzzy images being thrown onto a moderately large screen by some kind of a projection device. They depicted one naked man and two naked women doing odd things to each other in ring-around-the-rosy fashion.

I studied Jackson’s face for a moment in the flickering illumination bounced off the screen. I knew that he’d got himself badly chopped up on a mission some time ago, but not badly enough to warrant his retirement; he was now relegated to backup duty helping out front-line heroes like me. I’d found him conscientious and efficient in the past.

“What went wrong?” I asked.

He looked surprised. “Hell, I was going to ask you! All of a sudden you’re taking on the whole damn OFS single-handed. We closed in, of course, in case you needed help; but you seemed to have things under control so we stayed out of sight. Next time, if you decide to tackle the U.S. Army, or Navy, tip us off ahead of time, will you, so we know who the bad guys are.”

I nodded. “Fair enough, but unfortunately I can’t tell you who the bad guys are. So in the future let’s just go by the good guys, and that’s us. Only us. Anybody else,
anybody
else, assume he’s wearing a black hat and take it from there. I don’t care if J. Edgar Hoover and Wild Bill Donovan come back from whatever paradise, or otherwise, they’re inhabiting now, and claim Mrs. Ellershaw jointly for the FBI and the good old OSS, I don’t care if the CIA gets into the act, or the United Federation of Christian Churches if there is such a thing, or the cop on the corner or the crossing guard at the local elementary school—they don’t get anywhere near the lady, and I want to know they’re coming so I can keep them from getting anywhere near her.”

Jackson said, a bit stiffly, “Sorry. Maybe I’ve just heard too many lectures about interdepartmental cooperation. I saw them arrive, of course, but who can miss the beak on that Bennett character? I figured, if the head of the Office of Federal Security wanted to talk to you, or the woman, it wasn’t my place to interfere.”

“Next time, don’t be so modest. Interfere.”

“I said I was sorry.”

I grinned. “Don’t get mad, amigo. It’s a loused-up mess, and I don’t blame you for being confused. I’m kind of mixed up myself. Any repercussions eastwards?”

Jackson laughed, dismissing his momentary resentment. “Are you kidding? Bennett has blown every microwave relay between here and Washington. A strong protest, to put it mildly. A poor little OFS agent disfigured for life. A personal assault on a top OFS official—
the
top OFS official. But the word from our side is I’m to congratulate you on your forbearance in not shooting that man Dellenbach, since apparently he had a gun in his hand when he was taken, as did his associate. Counter-protest: armed OFS agents threatening our poor little overworked operatives just doing their poor little overworked jobs. It’s been made clear to the Director of the Office of Federal Security that our people are not, repeat not, required to tolerate interference by his pistol-waving goons and he’d better keep them out of our hair if he doesn’t want to lose them. I’m to instruct you, however, in the interest of intragovernment amity, to maintain your commendable restraint—unless the risk becomes unacceptable, in which case you can count on full support from the head office.”

I laughed. “Hey, it sounds as if he got mad for a change.”

Jackson smiled thinly. “The picture I get is Bennett tried to threaten him with political reprisals, and you know how he loves
that.
Now you’re to determine whether Mr. Bennett has a special motive for meddling in our business or whether he’s simply hunting publicity in his usual greedy fashion by horning in on the Great
CADRE
Spy Scandal eight years late.”

I said, “I think I’ve already got an answer to that. Back eight-nine years ago, Bennett was the federal investigating officer on the case.”

Jackson whistled softly. “Interesting! How come we didn’t know that?”

“Very interesting,” I said. “I figure the files in the computer must have been doctored somehow, at least enough to keep his name from being turned up by routine inquiries like ours. I think the matter should be checked out, to learn how it happened and who was behind it, don’t you?”

“I’ll pass your suggestion along.”

I hesitated. “Indications are that, contrary to official expectations, we’ve got an innocent woman on our hands. If there’s trouble, and I’m not available, see that she’s treated accordingly, will you?”

Jackson looked at me curiously; then he shrugged. “You deal it, we’ll play it.”

The blurry figures on the screen were now imitating a three-layer cake, not all layers oriented in the same direction.

“What do you need?” Jackson asked after studying the new arrangement of images thoughtfully.

“Ask him for everything on the OFS he can get. In his present mood he should be happy to go along.” I grimaced in the wavering dusk of the porno booth. “Hell, I can remember when they were nothing but a bunch of glorified night watchmen responsible for the security of federal installations. Then apparently something happened around Santa Fe and Los Alamos, and a bright young scientific genius disappeared along with a mystery woman with Red associations, and the guy’s pretty wife was railroaded into prison. Assuming that we’re right about her innocence, or I am. And less than a decade later these time-clock-punching stumblebums are one of the nation’s top law-enforcement agencies, run by the very guy who conducted the investigation into the alleged crimes of the Ellershaws and their alleged female accomplice. A guy we know from experience—at least I’ve met him before, if you haven’t—would screw his own grandmother and then smother the old lady with a pillow to keep her from telling.”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say,” Jackson said.

“That makes two of us,” I said ruefully. “But I want all the dirt on that outfit that’s to be got, and a complete rundown on Bennett himself. Maybe it’s a lead, maybe it’s a big waste of time, but since we don’t know what the hell we’re looking for, we might as well look for it at the OFS. While you’re checking out Bennett, or somebody is, have his boy Dellenbach investigated as well. Jim Dellenbach. And the guy who was with him, whose name I never got.”

“Roger Nolan.”

“Thanks. Apparently he’s on Bennett’s first team, too, along with an older agent named Philip Burdette, who could just be a cynical old warhorse sticking with a crooked outfit out of misplaced loyalty or simple inertia. But let’s find out about all of them. And see if there’s anything new on the Center for Advanced Defense Research; and what the hell defenses do they research up that hidden canyon, anyway? I’d also like a complete rundown on the Santa Fe law firm of Baron and Walsh. Who’s Baron? Who’s Walsh? Who else is important there? What about a fairly recent partner named Walter Maxon? And then there’s a mystery woman named Bella Kravecki involved somehow; check her out, please. Considering the amount of background material I waded through before meeting our subject at the jailhouse gate, I don’t seem to know a damn thing, which is kind of suspicious in itself.”

“That all?” Jackson asked dryly when I stopped for breath.

“It’ll do for now.” I frowned. “But if you need more manpower to cover us, for God’s sake get it. All this interest in Mrs. Ellershaw, people shooting at her with shotguns, people slapping her around after she’s spent eight years locked up… You wouldn’t think she could be a threat to anybody at this late date, but having her at liberty seems to be making some folks awfully nervous, and I’d like to know why. So let’s do our best to keep the lady alive and free.”

I threw a final glance at the screen as I left. They were doing it standing up now, but I couldn’t figure out exactly what. Well, there seemed to be a lot of things I couldn’t figure out.

Madeline was late getting back to the motel, late enough to worry me. I’d walked back from town, a two-mile hike, leaving her the car; I thought she’d get used to handling it in traffic more easily without having me breathing down her neck. It had been a pleasant walk after all the driving, and I’d been glad to be relieved of the responsibility of watching over her for a little. Besides, it was a certain strain being in the constant company of that prison-battered ego. But when twilight came without her, even though it was an early winter twilight, I started worrying. Finally, I stepped outside to see if she was in sight yet.

It was another motel in the same chain with the same liquorless restaurant—only a coffee shop here, as a matter of fact—and the same low sprawling buildings, again built within sight of the transcontinental freeway that here ran a quarter of a mile away on a raised ramp that lifted it up to the cloverleaf overpass to the west. I’d walked under that, coming from town, passing on the way a reasonable-looking restaurant that did advertise cocktails, which I’d earmarked for our evening meal. However, at the moment food was far from my mind, although a drink would have been welcome.

Then I saw the little silver arrowhead of a car approaching from town, headlights on in the growing dusk; and I was surprised at the relief I felt, surprised and disturbed. I mean, this defeated penitentiary graduate with her incipient middle-aged spread was nothing to me but a job. Wasn’t she? But I had to admit I was very relieved to see her.

She must have spotted me standing there awaiting her; she blinked the lights twice as she turned into the motel driveway. I knew from this that she must be feeling pretty good. She wasn’t just greeting me; that was only the excuse. She was having childish fun seeing the little sports car’s tricky retracting headlights go up and down. When she pulled up in front, I walked clear around the car before opening the door for her, noting that she was beginning to take such courtesies for granted.

“All four fenders intact,” I said without expression. “A miracle.”

She made a face at me, getting out of the car. “You didn’t tell me about those crazy lights. When did they start putting those funny stalks on the steering column? I had to look in the instruction manual. And the pushbutton trunk release on the dashboard! There I was, going clear around back every time to use the key.”