Hellstrom's Hive Page 13

  Merrivale scowled, obviously thinking the facts were being twisted to damn him.

  “Carlos had no similar objections?” Peruge asked.

  “None whatsoever.”

  Peruge pursed his lips in thought. Damnable business! So the little clerk had finally bought it. His legendary caution had failed him at last. Unless that caution had somehow pulled him through. Carlos might still be alive. Somehow, Peruge did not give much weight to that possibility. The first pawn had been taken, then the second and the third. Now, it was time for a more powerful piece. He said, “Did Carlos and Tymiena quarrel about this job?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “They were always snapping at each other. Who noticed after a while?”

  “And we don’t have them here to ask,” Peruge mused.

  “I don’t need reminders of that.”

  “Do you recall what Carlos said when you last saw him?”

  “Certainly; he told me he’d report within forty-eight hours of his arrival on the scene.”

  “That long? Did they have radio?”

  “There was one in the van they picked up in Portland.”

  “And no reports from them after that?”

  “They called in to check the equipment. That was from Klamath Falls. Portland relayed.”

  “Forty-eight hours,” Peruge muttered. “Why?”

  “He wanted time to get set up on the scene, to reconnoiter the area, choose his observation site.”

  “Yes, but –”

  “That was not an unreasonable delay.”

  “But Carlos was always so cautious.”

  “This speaks of caution,” Merrivale objected.

  “Why didn’t you order him to make more frequent periodic calls?”

  “It did not seem indicated.”

  Peruge shook his head from side to side. It was diabolic. A pack of amateurs would not have left this many loose ends and blunders behind them. Merrivale would admit no mistakes, though. And the man had those explicit orders to fall back on. Embarrassing. He would have to be shunted aside, though. He’d have to be stored somewhere, ready for the axe to fall. Merrivale was a miserable incompetent. There was no excuse for him. He was just the kind of man they needed right now, someone to point to when the really embarrassing questions were asked.

  With angry abruptness, Peruge pushed himself out of the chair, stood glowering down at Merrivale, who appeared thoroughly cowed.

  “You’re a fool, Merrivale,” Peruge said in a cold, hard voice. “You’ve always been a fool and always will be. We have a full report from DT on Tymiena’s objections. She wanted a backup team. She wanted frequent radio contact. You specifically told her not to bother Portland-relay unless it was something vital. You told her she was to take her orders from Carlos and not to question them. You ordered her not to mount any official inquiry into Porter. Under no circumstances was she to move out from under her cover. Those were your instructions –” Peruge pointed to the folder on Merrivale’s desk, “and you had read that!”

  Merrivale sat in shocked silence at the outburst. For one horrible moment, he appeared about to cry. His eyes glistened with unshed tears. Shocked awareness of that possibility cooled him, though, and he managed to respond with a semblance of his accent intact.

  “I say! You don’t leave your opinions in any doubt!”

  Later, on the telephone from the airport, Peruge said, “I suppose we ought to be grateful to him. There’s no doubt now of the situation we’re in.”

  “What do you mean by that?” the Chief asked, his voice hoarsely disgruntled.

  “I mean, we went in not knowing Hellstrom’s situation. Now, we know it. He’s willing to play for high stakes.”

  “As though we weren’t.”

  “Well, I’ve settled with Merrivale, at any rate. I ordered him to stand by for reassignment.”

  “He won’t do anything stupid?”

  “Hasn’t he done enough stupid things already?”

  “You know what I mean, dammit!”

  “I think he’ll obey his orders to the letter,” Peruge said.

  “But you upset him badly.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “No doubt of it.” This was an unfamiliar tack, and Peruge hesitated, staring thoughtfully at his scrambler cap on the telephone.

  “He’s been on the phone to me,” the Chief said. “He complained about you bitterly. Then he said he was putting our written instructions to him in a safe place. He also made a point of telling me he had given Janvert the special Signal Corps number and code letters, as per our instructions for supervising agents. He even quoted the section to me from some set of orders we gave him years ago.”

  After a long silence, Peruge said, “We might have to take stronger measures with him.”

  “Yes, there’s always that,” the Chief said.

  The words of Nils Hellstrom.

  Unlike man, whose physical limitations are dictated from the moment of his birth, the insect is born with the ability to actually improve upon his body. When the insect reaches the limits of his capability, he miraculously transforms into an entirely new being. In this metamorphosis, I find the most basic pattern for my understanding of the Hive. To me, the Hive is a cocoon from which the new human will emerge.

  Hellstrom sat thinking in his cell. His eyes were absently aware of the charts and diagrams pasted on the walls, the reassuring standby-blink of his repeater console. But he was not actually seeing these things. They’ll send in the first team now, he thought. They were just probing before. Now, we’ll get the real experts and from them we may learn enough to save ourselves.

  It had been a long night and a longer day. He had managed to get a two-hour nap, but the Hive was tense and twanging with crisis awareness. Body chemistry told the workers what was happening if nothing else told them.

  When he’d returned to the cell a little more than two hours before, Hellstrom had been so tired he had tossed his Outsider jacket onto a chair and flopped on the bed in his clothes. Something heavy in a pocket of the jacket had dragged the jacket into a mound on the floor beside the chair. He could see the lump of the heavy object in his pocket and wondered idly what he’d left there. Abruptly, he remembered the Outsider pistol he’d picked up before leaving his cell – how long ago? It seemed not only another lifetime ago, but in another universe. Everything had changed. Powerful Outside forces had developed an interest in something that was sure to lead them to the Hive.

  Project 40.

  The source of the leak appeared so innocent on the surface that Hellstrom shivered when he thought about it. Jerry, as one of the cameramen, had been assigned to the MIT sequences and, as part of that assignment, had been charged to do a special research project in the library. He remembered leaving the papers on a table “no more than a half hour.” They’d been in the same place when he’d returned and he’d collected them, thinking no more about it. How innocent! But that had been all the Outsiders needed. It was as though they were possessed of a malevolent genie who watched out to take advantage of such casual slips.

  Jerry was heartsick. He felt he had betrayed his beloved Hive. And he had. But it was bound to happen someday. The miracle was that they had endured so long. How could they expect to go forever undetected? The peace of anonymity had its own life cycle, apparently. Peace at any price never quite worked out the way one hoped. There was always a higher price to pay.

  Feeling nervous and irritable – emotions he knew his body would transmit like an invisible trail all along the way – but somehow not caring, Hellstrom arose suddenly, went down to check on Project 40. They had to speed things up down there. They had to!

  Coded memo from Peruge.

  For the time being, I will not change Janvert’s assignment. We must consider the delicate problem of a replacement for Merrivale. Certain aspects of Janvert’s enrollment in the Agency appeal to me in this regard. Our hold on him could he made very firm. There appears
to be no doubt of our observation that a strong attachment has developed between Janvert and Clovis Carr. This could be worked to our advantage. To be on the safe side, I have commissioned D. T. Alden to keep a special watch on both of them. A copy of his report will be forwarded to you.

  Peruge dumped his suitcase on the bed of the motel room on the outskirts of Fosterville. He had allowed himself only one small bag and a camera case with his communications gear. He draped the camera case over a chair arm. It was the way he liked to travel: bags under the airplane seat, no airport fuss, in and out of an area with as little attention called to himself as possible. In spite of his six feet four inches, he knew he tended not to attract second glances. Long ago, he had learned a self-effacing diffidence which he could adopt when he needed it. When traveling, he tended to put this manner on like a garment.

  It had taken all morning to get the backup teams positioned in the mountains north of town where they could operate line-of-sight communication to both his motel room and the farm. He was hungry for lunch, but there were things to be done first. He glanced around the room. It had been furnished in Grand Rapids western – dark wood with imitation brand burns, a heavy-wear fabric for all upholstery. The place reeked of expense-account minimums. He sighed, dropped into a chair that creaked under his 220-plus pounds. One big hand found the telephone on the lamp table and he dialed the motel office.

  Yes, they knew the number for the office of the local deputy sheriff. Was there trouble?

  Peruge explained that he had been asked by his company to make a missing-persons inquiry. Just routine. He had to listen to an involved explanation then about the local office having only one deputy, who was a local man, but a good one, mind you. The sheriff’s office was actually over at the county seat. Presently, by answering all of the probing, curious questions with monosyllabic grunts, Peruge got the number he wanted and the motel office made the connection for him. Two minutes later he was discussing his problem with Deputy Lincoln Kraft, a man with a flat, almost characterless voice.

  “We’re reasonably sure they’re missing,” Peruge insisted. “Carlos was supposed to be back at work Monday and today’s Friday. That’s not like him. Very punctual, our Carlos.”

  “His wife, too, eh?” Kraft made this sound accusatory.

  “Men often take their wives with them on vacation,” Peruge said. He wondered then if that had been too flip for the local law.

  Kraft apparently missed the sarcasm. He said, “Yes, I guess they do at that. Seems kind of strange your company would send you looking for these people, though.”

  “Carlos has one of our most important routes,” Peruge explained. “We can’t let that sort of thing go by default. The competition moves right in on you, you know.”

  “Guess that’s right. What line of work did you say you were in?”

  “I’m vice-president of the Blue Devil Fireworks Corporation of Baltimore. It’s one of the biggest in the country. Carlos was one of our best salesmen.”

  “Was?” Kraft asked. “You got reasons you haven’t told me that make you believe he’s in real bad trouble?”

  “Nothing specific,” Peruge lied. “It’s just that it isn’t like him not to show up when he’s supposed to.”

  “I see. Probably some real ordinary explanation behind this, but I’ll see what I can do. What makes you think he’s missing in this area?”

  “I received a letter from him. It mentioned a valley near Fosterville where he was going to look for scaled quail.”

  “For what?”

  “Scaled quail. It’s a bird that lives in arid land.”

  “He a hunter? He might’ve had a hunting accident and not been able to –”

  “He didn’t hunt birds to kill them. He liked to watch them and study them, sort of an amateur ornithologist.”

  “Ohh, one of those.” Kraft made it sound faintly disreputable, perhaps reflecting on the man’s sex habits. “What’s the name of this valley?”

  “Guarded Valley. Do you know where it is?”

  Such a long silence ensued that Peruge became impatient. “You still there, Mr. Kraft?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I’m still here.”

  “Do you know this valley?”

  “Yeah. That’s Hellstrom’s place.”

  “Whose place?” Peruge rather liked the fine air of misunderstanding he managed to impart to this question.

  “That’s Doc Hellstrom’s place. He owns that valley. Been in his family for years.”

  “I see. Well, perhaps this medical gentleman won’t mind if we make inquiries in his neighborhood.”

  “He’s not a hospital doctor,” Kraft said. “He’s a bug doctor. He studies bugs. Makes moving pictures about ’em.”

  “That shouldn’t make any difference,” Peruge said. “Will you see to the inquiries, Mr. Kraft?”

  “You gotta come in and sign a formal request,” Kraft said. “Missing-persons report. I got one of the forms around here someplace. We haven’t had a missing person since the Angelus kid got herself lost in the Steens Mountain. That wasn’t the same thing as your problem, of course. Didn’t need a missing-person report for that.”

  Peruge considered this response, beginning to wonder about the deputy. The Agency’s files showed quite a number of missing persons in the area going back over a period of some fifty years. They all had reasonable explanations, but still . . . He decided that Kraft sounded nervous under the flat voice. Perhaps a little fishing would be in order. Peruge said, “I hope this doctor’s place isn’t dangerous. He doesn’t have poisonous insects around, does he?”

  “Might have a scorpion or two,” Kraft said, his voice brightening. “They can be mighty bad sometimes. You got pictures of these missing persons?”

  “I have the photograph of Carlos and his wife that he kept on his desk,” Peruge said.

  “That’s fine. Bring that along with you. Did you say they were in a camper?”

  “They had one of those big van-campers, a Dodge. Carlos was very proud of it.”

  “Doesn’t seem a thing like that could just disappear,” Kraft said.

  Peruge agreed with him and asked how to find the deputy’s office.

  “You got a car?” Kraft asked.

  “I rented a car in Klamath Falls.”

  “This Carlos fellow must be pretty important to your company.”

  “I’ve already told you he is,” Peruge said, allowing just a trace of testiness to appear in his voice.

  “They fly you all the way out here from Baltimore just to inquire about him?”

  Peruge took the phone away from his ear, stared at it. What gave with this country cop? Peruge put the phone back to his ear and said, “Carlos covered the whole West Coast for us. It’s important that we find out about him as soon as possible. If something’s happened to him, we have to replace him immediately. The buying season is about to begin. I’ve already talked to the State Patrol in Salem. They told me to contact the authorities here.”

  “Thought you said you got a car in Klamath Falls,” Kraft said.

  “I went that far by chartered plane,” Peruge said and waited with increasing interest for Kraft’s response.

  “Chartered plane? My, my. You coulda flown right into here and landed on our little dirt strip if you’d wanted. Why didn’t you do that?”

  So both of us are fishing, Peruge thought. Good. He wondered what Kraft’s response would be if the explanation included an account of how Peruge had missed connections in Portland and had been forced to rendezvous with his people in Klamath Falls.

  “I don’t like these little country landing fields,” Peruge said.

  “Can’t say I blame you much for that, but this is a nice enough little field. You file a report with the State Police in Salem?” Kraft’s tone was alert and probing.

  Good interrogation technique, Peruge thought. This country cop was no simpleton.

  “Yes, I did. Carlos had his van shipped to Portland for this vacation and took it fro
m there. The State Police are making inquiries along the way. They have copies of the photograph.”

  “I see. Fireworks must be big business,” Kraft said. “You people are spending a lot of money – chartered airplanes and everything.”

  Peruge considered this, decided a barb was called for. He said, “We look after our people and hang the cost, Mr. Kraft. I hope you’ll start your inquiries as soon as possible. Now, how do I get to your office?”

  “You’re at the motel, eh?”

  “Yes.”

  Kraft told him to come out of his motel parking lot, turn right “like you were going to Lakeview” and come out to County Road 14. “Hang a left there and come up to the new shopping center. You can see it from the highway. I got a little office on the second floor. Everybody knows where it’s at.”

  “I’ll be right over,” Peruge said.

  “Just a minute, Mr. Peruge,” Kraft said. “You carrying any skyrockets or firecrackers, things like that?”

  “Of course not!” Peruge managed to sound properly shocked while noting that Kraft had his name down correctly and was obviously on the official offensive. Did they think him unaware of state laws on fireworks? He said, “We ship only through legal channels, Deputy Kraft. Our people carry photographs and order lists. If we broke laws we wouldn’t be in business very long. I find your question interesting, however.”

  “Just want to be sure you know our law,” Kraft explained. “We don’t take it kindly when people come around saying one of our folks may have caused harm to a visitor. You gotta be mighty –”

  “I didn’t even suggest that,” Peruge interrupted. “I take it as very interesting that you suggest it, however, Deputy Kraft. You can expect me in your office in just a few minutes.”

  Silence, then, “Okay. Don’t forget that picture.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it.”

  Peruge sat staring at the telephone for a moment after hanging up. Presently, he placed a call to Salem and told the State Patrol he had talked by telephone with Deputy Sheriff Lincoln Kraft and asked if the patrol had anything to report. They had nothing. He called the Baltimore switchboard next and asked them to contact the FBI. This had been agreed upon as a code signal that he distrusted the local authorities and his office was to firm up the request for FBI assistance.