The Whenabouts of Burr (9 page)

CHAPTER TWELVE

Ves was willing to explain his possession of the gold coin to the two officers. He was eager to explain. He had always been proud of his ability to talk his way out of anything: an ability that a private detective quickly acquires if he wishes to stay in business and keep all his teeth. The only trouble was, the officers wouldn't let him explain. They weren't interested in anything he had to say. They refused to listen to him. Their only interest was in fastening the large, old-fashioned handcuffs around his wrists and leading him away from the library.

The first part proved to be something of a problem. These handcuffs didn't work with a key, they screwed closed with a great plug screw, which refused to turn.

“You've got it mis-threaded; here, let me,” said One.

“There's some mistake, gentlemen,” said Ves.

“No mistake, you've let the cuffs get rusty,” said Two.

“I'm sure I can explain to your satisfaction,” Ves said.

“I keep 'em greased proper,” said One.

“Them threads are tiny,” Two said. “One little speck of rust can screw up the works. Or, I should say, can't.”

“I came across the coin by accident,” Ves said. “Perhaps I could lead you gentlemen to the person who passed it on to me? A stout man with a broad moustache. I'm sure I'd know him.”

“Just keep holding your hands behind you till we get these cuffs on you,” One said.

“I don't want to cause you trouble,” Ves said, wishing he could reach the communicator button with his teeth. “This is all some mistake.”

“There it goes,” said Two. “I got it screwing in.”

“Think you'll be able to get them off?” asked One.

“What difference?” demanded Two. “Can't take a prisoner in without gyves; it isn't done. Can always cut them off, once he's in.”

“True,” said One.

“If you gentlemen would just tell me what you want…” said Ves.

“Come along now,” said One, taking him firmly by the upper arm. “We'll be at Central Office in no time.”

“Central Office?” Ves asked.

“Do we look like we're out of the local precinct?” Two asked, sounding slightly insulted.

“No,” Ves said. “Of course not.”

“No time” was slightly under an hour. It would have been less, but the traffic on Fifth Avenue was very heavy, or so Two said when they reached Eighth Street. It was the first thing he'd said since they entered the carriage, being preoccupied with ‘Looking Stern and Staying Alert' in case Ves tried anything desperate. One was up with the driver and the door was locked from the outside, but better safe than sorry, as One had said when locking the door.

They turned right on Eighth Street, went over to Sixth Avenue, turned back downtown and went several more blocks; they pulled up at a high, long, brick wall with one gate, closed by a massive iron door. The driver yelled, the gate opened, and the people on the street stood respectfully by with their hats off while the carriage drove in and the gate slammed behind it. That gesture, more than anything else, made Ves nervous.

The brick wall enclosed a large courtyard fronting a three-story brick building, with very severe lines. The windows were small and barred with wrist-thick iron bars on all three floors. The only visible door was massive and banded in steel. The square white sign with neat black lettering to the left of the door said:

MINISTRY OF PUBLIC SAFETY
INTERNAL SECURITY
NORTHEAST DIVISION
PUBLIC SAFETY IS A PUBLIC TRUST

All citizens subject to search beyond this point.

The carriage pulled right up to the door, and One hopped down and opened the door. Ves got out and, flanked by One and Two, walked to the door. It was opened from the inside by a uniformed guard, who peered at them through a peephole before pulling the latch. Ves was led upstairs one flight to a small room with a number on the door, seated on a wooden bench, and left there.

By twisting his neck, Ves managed to get the collar of his jacket between his teeth. He chewed steadily toward the pin holding the transmitter button. When he finally got hold of it, he mouthed, “Nate, Nate, this is Ves”, between his clenched teeth. Then he realized how silly that was: who else could it be? There was no answer. Well, the range of the tiny button transmitters was no more than a kilometer at best; Swift had been walking north, and he had been driven south. Ves gave up on chewing his collar and settled down to wait.

They kept him waiting for quite a while. It would have bothered him if he weren't quite familiar with the technique, having used it himself to break down suspects. The longer they wait, the more nervous they get, the more chance they have to think—and they can only think of their crime—the more eager they are to tell you about it; even if it's only to deny that it ever happened. He had often found out about frauds his employer never suspected, by having someone he was questioning deny committing them.

After what his interrogators thought was a sufficient pause, they had him brought into the office next to his waiting room. They had all the customs and style going for them, and showed signs of vast experience. The only thing missing was the bright light, but their technology wasn't quite up to it.

There were three of them in the room: one behind a giant desk to sneer at him, another one to loom over him, and one to sit quietly in a corner and be on his side: the “friend” he would eventually confess to, if the pressure didn't break him first.

They took the handcuffs off and emptied his pockets: wallet, keychain, coins, the remaining gold coin in its case, magnifying glass, vest-pocket microscope, felt-tip pen, small flip-top notebook, two-bladed penknife. The one behind the desk took the wallet, removed the papers from it one at a time, studied them closely, and then passed them around. They were very popular, almost every one eliciting at least a smile from each of the inquisitors. His driver's license was quite popular, and brought forth a chuckle from the man behind the desk, while the man in the corner shook his head sadly and knowingly.

Finally the man behind the desk looked up at Ves. “Sit down,” he ordered.

“Thank you,” Ves said, sitting down.

“You may call me Colonel Brown,” the man behind the desk said. “This is Captain Lewis and Captain Richardson,” he indicated the loomer and the corner sitter.

“My name is Romero,” Ves said. “It's good of you to see me like this. I'll try not to waste too much of your time.”

Colonel Brown looked vaguely puzzled; this was the wrong reaction. He continued, “Your master never stops trying, does he? And you people never can get anything right.”

“Excuse me?” Ves asked.

Colonel Brown chuckled mildly. “Oh, come now,” he said. “Do you take us for fools?”

“On the contrary, Colonel Brown,” Ves said. “Would I have wanted to see you if I didn't have a high regard for your intelligence?”

“You wanted to—Lewis, come here!” He stood up abruptly and walked to the door, with Captain Lewis at his heels. Colonel Brown stalked through, and was about to slam the door when he paused and turned. “Ah, excuse us for a second.” The door closed softly behind him. Captain Richardson, left sitting in the corner, smiled and fidgeted, and didn't try to make conversation. Ves practiced deep breathing exercises and thinking good thoughts to stay relaxed; any tenseness inside his body in the immediate future could only work against him, and he needed every edge he could get.

About five minutes went by before the Colonel and Captain Lewis returned. They had formulated their plans and decided to attack. “What did you mean,” the Colonel demanded, “you wanted to see me?
I
sent for
you
, didn't I?”

Ves looked up mildly. “Then I suppose we wanted to see each other,” he said. “Didn't your men tell you?”

“Well,” the Colonel leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together. “Let's get to my questions first, then we'll consider yours. I admit I'm curious. But now tell me: to whom do you report and who are your agents in New York?”

“I think we'd better do this the other way around,” Ves said. “Your assumptions are based on a false premise.”

Captain Lewis leaned forward and grabbed Ves by the collar. “The Colonel don't like to be talked to that way,” he said.

“You know, what gives you Russians away is always the same thing,” the Colonel said. “Lack of attention to detail. Let go of him, Captain.”

“I'm Italian-American,” Ves said, smoothing his collar and leaning back in the chair.

“What do you mean?” the Colonel asked. “Lombardy? Tuscany? Rome? Piedmont? You trying to tell me you owe allegiance to the Austrian Empire instead of the Russians? Give us a list of the Austrian agents working in the United States.”

“You don't understand,” Ves said.

Captain Lewis grabbed his collar again. “Just answer the—ow!—what the hell is that?” He let go of the collar and thrust an injured finger into his mouth. “You've got a pin in your coat!” he said accusingly.

“I'm sorry,” Ves said. “Here, let me…” He removed the pin and dropped it into his pocket. “You people seem to think I'm a Russian spy,” he said. “Some things never change. Although we're bigger on the Chinese than the Russians right now.”

“What's that about China?” the Colonel demanded.

“Listen,” Ves said. “I'm from somewhere else; another place, another time: somewhere quite different from here. To me, this is the past, only it isn't because it's different— changed. But I'm not a Russian, Lombardian, Chinese, Austrian, or Swiss. I'm a visitor from a different universe.”

“With forged papers?” the Colonel asked, unimpressed.

“They're not forged,” Ves insisted.

“These documents are not only false, they're ludicrous,” the Colonel said. “That's why we think you're Russian; Tsar Nicholas is not a fiend for accuracy, and the Cheka tends to be very slipshod about English-language forgery. But we're ready to believe you're Austrian, if you want to admit you're Austrian. Convince us that you're Austrian.”

“I don't even speak Austrian—or Russian either, for that matter,” Ves said.

“A negative is the hardest thing to prove,” the Colonel said.

“I am from somewhere else,” Ves said. “I am a visitor to your world. Just passing through, you might say. I am not any sort of spy.”

“What are you doing here?” the Colonel asked.

“We seek a man from our world who is thought to have stolen something of great importance.”

“ ‘We,' ” the Colonel said. “You and your companion. We know of him. Where is he?”

“I don't know,” Ves said. “He was following the suspect.”

“It would go easier with you if you'd talk,” Captain Richardson spoke up from the corner. “I'd like to help you.”

“I've heard enough of this bull,” Captain Lewis said, giving his best imitation of a savage sneer. “Just leave me alone with him for a few minutes; I'll find out everything he knows!”

“I'm sure you could, Captain,” Colonel Brown said.

“You looked at the documents in my wallet,” Ves said. “Did you notice the dates on them? Take a look at my drivers license—the one with my picture on it—the date's on top.”

“You insist upon this ridiculous story?”

“How do you explain the license?” Ves demanded.

The Colonel stared at it for a long time, turning it over and over in his hand. “Forgery,” he said finally.

“Why would anyone forge a non-existent document?” Ves asked. “None of those cards or papers correspond to any that you use here.”

The Colonel nodded. “That's just it,” he said. “If you were from the future, you'd be well supplied with genuine documents to copy; but if you were from
Russia
, then you'd have to improvise. This might all be a clever ruse,” he added, waving at the assorted papers. “A big lie to tell, if you're questioned.”

“What would be the point to that?” Ves asked.

“Aha!” the Colonel said. “What indeed, that's the question. And don't think that we won't find the answer. Now, what's the purpose of those gold coins?”

“Purpose?” Ves asked.

“Don't get wise,” Captain Lewis shouted, his mouth three inches from Ves's ear. “Answer the Colonel!”

“Who were you to distribute them to? How many more are there? What do the Burrites plan to do with them?”

“I wasn't distributing them to anyone in particular,” Ves said. “I was only using them for their gold value because they happened to be in my pocket. There are no more, as far as I know; and to the best of my knowledge, I've never met a Burrite.”

The Colonel stood up, anger evident in the set of his chin, the flash of his eye, and the color of his ears. “I've had about enough of this,” he said, slapping his palm down on the desk with a resounding
thwack
! “There are certain questions I want answers to. We'll play your little game after, if you like, but right now we'll play mine. Captain Lewis, come outside for a moment.”

Colonel Brown strode through the door, the captain at his heels. Captain Lewis turned around in the doorway.

“I'll be back,” he said, cracking his knuckles suggestively. “Be patient a minute longer, oh visitor from the future. I'll be back—and we'll talk.” With this gentle threat, he slammed the door.

Ves sat there staring at the door. Captain Richardson stayed quietly in the corner.
Now it comes
, Ves thought.
Rough and smooth. Lewis has threatened. Now Richardson will try to save me, and I'll feel grateful and tell him all. I wish I could think of something clever to say: they obviously won't believe the truth.

“I'd like to help you,” Richardson said softly from his corner seat.