The Shadowboxer (15 page)

Guards jimmied open the side door of the van. The dazed prisoners jumped to earth and were led into the woods.

Jean-Claude heard the shouts. He dashed to the cab and pulled open the door. He tugged at the dying driver, whose face had vanished into a bloody pulp, and looked up through the smoke and the flames at a map pasted on the roof. Its edges were burning. A blue line traced the route into Poland.

19

Julian entered the glass-enclosed studio and seated himself at the makeshift desk. Three telephones, one red, one white, one blue, rested before him. At the base of each instrument were a white and a yellow light. He glanced at his wristwatch. The “last-minute” adjustments had taken over three hours.

“How soon can we make contact?”

The monitor looked up from the operations manual resting on the control board at the opposite end of the room. “Oh. Sorry, sir,” he said, throwing a switch and adjusting his earphones. “We already
have
. Relay is waiting on the Blue Line.”

The white light on the blue telephone was flashing.

“Relay? What is Relay? I want to talk to VFW.”

“You
will
, sir. But we have to go through something called Relay first. I don't know why, but that's how it's set up. Take the Blue Phone, sir.”

The major raised the receiver. “Julian here.”

There was no answer.

“Julian here!”

Still no response.

“Sir, maybe you should talk louder?” Monitor suggested.

“
JULIAN HERE
!”

Static rose in the earpiece and subsided. “Who?”

“
JULIAN
.”

“Please repeat.”

“
JULIAN GODDAMMIT, JULIAN
!”

“Julian? We don't know any Julian.”

“Sir,” the monitor called out, “I think they want your
BLI.
”

“My
what?
”

“Your
BLI
—Blue-Line Identification, sir?”

“Make some sense.”

“Your code name for the Blue Phone, sir.”

“Well what the hell is it?”

“Don't you know, sir?”

“Do I sound as if I do?”

“Oh.” The monitor hurriedly checked the identification sheet. “You're Oop, sir.”

“Who?”

“It says Oop, sir. O-o-p.”

“
OOP HERE
.”

Static again rose. “We read you, Oop. Relay reads you and welcomes you aboard. Security Delay now operative. Repeat, Security Delay now operative. Stand by for transfer.”

The white light went off. The phone was dead.

“What is Security Delay?” Julian asked.

“I'll look it up, sir,” the monitor replied, riffling through the operations manual.

The white light went on. The earpiece crackled.

“Oop?” called the Voice from Washington, “Do you read me, Oop? This is Sweet Pea calling. Do you read Sweet Pea, Oop?”

“
I HEAR
—
I READ YOU
.”

The phone went dead. The white light was off. Julian shook the receiver. “We've lost bloody contact.”

“Have we, sir?” the monitor asked, looking up from the manual.

“Aren't you watching? What the hell are you doing here if you're not watching?”

“Trying to look up Security Delay, sir.”

The white light flashed on.

“Oop,” the Voice from Washington said, “what do you think of the spanking new communications system they've set up for us? Only one like it in the world, I'm told. Cost better than half a million. Quite a contraption, what? Quite a thing, wouldn't you say?”

“
HILARIOUS
.”

The white light went off.

“Here it is, sir,” the monitor shouted triumphantly. “‘After each and every exchange of normal conversation between the participants, a
Security Delay
of exactly twelve seconds will be effected during which time both instruments will be inoperative.'”

“Why?” Julian asked.

“I'll look it up, sir.”

“Yes, hilarious,” the Voice from Washington chuckled as the white light flashed on. “‘Hilarious' is precisely the word. Now tell me, Oop, how is England these days? Been up to London lately? Must get up to London, Oop. First-class city. I know a superlative tailor there. Owe it to yourself to drop in and see him. His name is … is … Now what the devil is that man's name? Well, better not dawdle on things like this, right, Oop? Time is money you know. Let's get down to it, Oop. Oop, did we pick up Olive Oyl?”

“Sir,” the monitor called out before Julian could ask, “Olive Oyl is
BLI
for Hilka Tolan.”

“
SHE WAS DELIVERED THIS MORNING
.”

Julian checked his watch. The white light remained off exactly twelve seconds.

“Splendid, Oop, splendid. And what of Daddy Warbucks? Have we found ourselves a Daddy Warbucks?”

“Daddy Warbucks is the Throne, sir.”

“
EVERYONE'S IN PLACE. NOW IT'S A MATTER OF WAITING
.”

Again Julian clocked the delay. The white light came on in ten seconds.

“But how long, Oop? How long a wait?”

“
THE NEXT THIRTY-SIX HOURS SHOULD TELL
.”

The delay took fourteen seconds.

“And if nothing appears in thirty-six hours, then where do we go, Oop? What alternatives do we have, Oop?”

“
WHY NOT USE THE RETRIEVER
—”

A shrill, high-pitched buzz pierced Julian's ear. The white light was off. The yellow was flashing frantically.

“Sir,” the monitor said, with the first vestige of authority, “only Blue-Line Identification can be used.”

“Then you'd better give me Spangler's code name—rapidly.”

“Absolutely, sir,” the monitor replied, quickly checking his chart. “Spangler is Dick Tracy, sir.”

The yellow light went off; the white was on.

“Don't be evasive, Oop. Answer my question. If nothing breaks in the next day and a half, then where are we off to?”

“
WHY NOT USE DICK TRACY? I'M HOLDING DICK TRACY
—
JUST AS WE DISCUSSED
.”

The delay was eleven seconds.

“You took him, Oop? You actually have Dick Tracy in hand?”

“
YES. AND I'D LIKE TO MOVE HIM OUT OF HERE RIGHT AWAY
.”

“Masterful, Oop, masterful,” VFW stated as the white light came on. “Never thought you could manage it. But why move him?”

Julian put his hand over the phone. “Who is Kittermaster?”

“Colonel Kittermaster is Mandrake, sir.”

“
I DON'T WANT MANDRAKE TO GET TO HIM
.”

The white light was off eight seconds.

“Oop, are you spatting with Mandrake again? You must stop, Oop. I know your feelings about Mandrake, but you must understand—we
need
him! His group still holds the upper hand. Not that our stock hasn't risen here on the Potomac. It has, Oop, it has risen sharply. Many of the right people are starting to overcome their fears about us. Bringing in Olive Oyl will add to our prestige and position. Finding a Daddy Warbucks quickly might push us over the top. But until then, bide your time. Keep Mandrake happy. Do you understand what I'm saying, Oop?”

“
I STILL THINK WE SHOULD MOVE TRACY
.”

“Trust in me, Oop. You know your end of this and I know mine, Trust my judgment. While we're about it, just how is Mandrake doing with the little leftovers we've thrown him?”

“
HE'S STILL A PAIN IN THE ASS
—” The alarm blasted into Julian's ear. The yellow light went on. The phone was dead.

“Transfer Time, sir,” Monitor announced.

“What in the name of Christ—”

“The Red Phone, sir. It's time to transfer to the Red Phone.”

“Why?”

“I don't know, sir. It seems to be up to Relay. We're ready on the Red Phone, sir.”

The white light is flashing on the Red Phone. Julian picked it up. “
MANDRAKE IS
—”

The blast in Julian's ear was even louder than before. The yellow light was on.

“Oh, sorry, sir,” the monitor said. “Red-Line Identification is now in effect. Colonel Kittermaster is Clark Kent. You're Charlie McCarthy. Sweet Pea, I mean VFW, is Edgar Bergen. Spangler is—”

“Give me that damn code sheet!”

The monitor raced across the room and handed it over the desk. Julian looked down.

TOP SECRET

TOP SECRET

M. M. IDENTIFICATION

“Sir, VFW is waiting on the line,” Monitor said cautiously.

Julian raised the receiver.

“You didn't answer my question, McCarthy. Just how is Clark Kent doing?”

“
MAGNIFICENTLY. HE'S BLOSSOMED INTO A FULL-FLEDGED CONSTRUCTION MANIAC. HE'S BUILDING FIVE TIMES THE FACILITIES WE NEED. HE'S ALSO DUPLICATED OUR ENTIRE SECURITY ALARM SYSTEM WITH ONE OF HIS OWN. I THINK HIS MOTHER WAS FRIGHTENED BY THE W
.
P
.
A
.”

“Go easy on the W. P. A., McCarthy. The W. P. A. is well thought of here. When the elders on the Hill allocate funds they expect them to be spent. The more you spend, the better—as long as they see tangible results. Nothing is more tangible than construction. Don't let Clark Kent get the edge on you in this area. Get out there and do a little spending of your own. Now what other news of Clark Kent.”

“
NOT TOO MUCH. HE GOT RID OF CLAGHORN YESTERDAY AND PERSONALLY TOOK OVER EDWARD GEE AND THE SINGING LADY
.”

“Edward Gee? The Singing Lady? He
can't
do that, McCarthy. That's not his jurisdiction!”

“
HE'S IN COMMAND ISN'T HE? WHO CAN STOP HIM? AND HE'S ADDED A RATHER RUSTIC TOUCH TO THE PAPER. THE HEADLINE TO HIS FIRST ISSUE DEALS WITH THE SEX LIVES OF THE NAZIS. CLARK KENT'S PERSONAL GENIUS IS BEST REFLECTED IN THREE NEW COLUMNS
: ‘
COOKING TIPS UNDER AIR ATTACK
,' ‘
BARGAIN GUIDE FOR WARTIME SHOPPING
'
AND, LAST BUT NOT LEAST
, ‘
HOUSEHOLD HINTS DURING A SIEGE
.'
WHO ELSE BUT CLARK KENT WOULD HAVE THOUGHT OF CROSS-BREEDING A PRIMER ON SODOMY WITH
‘
POPULAR MECHANICS
'?”

“This can't be, McCarthy. It simply cannot be.”

“
BUT IT IS
.”

“McCarthy, don't you
understand?
Can't you
see?
The aim of that publication is to foment unrest and insurrection among the German population. Sympathetic citizens must be instructed in sabotage techniques. You can't do it with menu suggestions. You can't blow the roofs off their homes and advise them on decorating bomb shelters at the same time. You must
do
something, McCarthy! We must get back to the original format. What about the back editions? Clark Kent hasn't tampered with them, has he?”