A Cure for Cancer

Jerry took his lighter from his pocket and tried to set fire to the messy bed. But the sheets were too sweaty. They wouldn't burn.

3 A psychologist reveals the sexual overtones of the monster movies

For three days Jerry stared at the television and the view of the street. On the highway there were increasing numbers of motorcycle cops in unfamiliar black uniforms and helmets. Frequently, during the day or night they would arrest a driver.

Once he switched to a news programme. Someone referred to the European disease that was sweeping the country. The only answer to it is the European cure...'

His meals were now brought to his room, but he had lost his taste for hotel living. When he had last appeared in the restaurant it was to see Karen with Protz. She had looked bored. On her way out he tried to trip her up but failed.

He had watched her bottom for a sign, but got nothing.

The lack of music was beginning to disturb him much more than Karen. A flutter of brushes on a skin, a whine or two from a Martin, a thud from a Fender bass; anything would have helped. But there wasn't a note in the entire hotel. Nothing, anyway, that wasn't offensive quasi-music, such as the Gilbert and Sullivan.

His vague feelings of discomfort had grown by the fourth day. The police arrests seemed increasingly arbitrary.

He turned on the television to a news broadcast for the second time.

President Paolozzi had disappeared and had been replaced by his Vice President, Konnie Agonosto, who was promising to restore order as quickly as possible.

A little while later President Ronald Boyle, elected by emergency vote, announced that his special militia were already getting the country back on a safe, sane, orderly footing, ready to honour her commitments anywhere at home or in the world.

Jerry packed his case and put it near the door. He hurried into Karen's empty room and picked up the phone. 'Can you give me Mr Protz's room number?'

Protz was in 805. Jerry went up by the service stairs, found 805 and knocked on the door.

'Was; s das?'

'Karen. It's Jerry. We're in trouble I think. You'd better pack.'

'Please go away, Jerry. I'm not going to be tricked...'

'Okay.'

He walked down the corridor. Everywhere there were open doors and he could see people hastily pushing their possessions into their luggage. He went back to 805, kicking fiercely at the door.

'Karen. Everyone's getting out.'

'Go away. Why?'

'Something's up. A change of government.' Down the hall came a few bars of Chuck Berry that were rapidly cut off.

Jerry began to pant. Karen knew what she was doing. Kou-trouboussis... How elaborate was the plot? There had never been so much pressure before. He was out of his element. Everything was threatened.

George Catlin — Mark Twain — Henry Ford. It was no good. The postcard in his pocket was thin and wrinkled. As he touched it, it crumbled.

The door opened. Zhazhda stood there. His eyes were sardonic. 'What sort of thing, Comrade Cornelius, is up?'

'The poor sods,' said Jerry. The poor bloody sods. Is this your doing? You traitor...'

Think of Frank, Comrade Cornelius. Your brother. What would he have done?'

'Uncle Frank...' Jerry's brain misted over again. 'Where's...?'

'You look out of sorts, comrade.'

'You were the one, weren't you? You set the trap?'

'Nonsense. I'm merely an adviser over here.'

Tell Doktor von Krupp I'll wait in my room for her.'

Jerry walked as steadily as he could to the stairs and began to climb down them. His teeth were aching.

4 The beauty the Reds can't forget

On the TV Jerry watched the people hurry from the hotel and be scooped up by formations of Boyle's militia. It was rather like watching a ballet.

Three black Cadillacs, their windows gleaming black oneway glass, came down the road towards the hotel. Things looked sticky for the visitors.

'Jerry.'

He turned.

Karen had her case with her. Jerry picked up his own. 'Got your passport? We're going back.'

'So soon?'

'I know it's disappointing...'

The corridors were empty. They took the elevator to the main lobby where a few people with anxious, bewildered faces, stood about.

A small man in a brown leather trench coat bent his swarthy, severe face over people's passports. It was Mr Silver or someone very much like him. He was obviously in charge now.

Jerry strolled to the desk. 'I'll pay if I may.'

'Of course, sir .604 and 610, is that right?' The brunette leafed through a desk file.

'That's right.'

'There you are, sir.' She handed him the bills. Two hundred fifty dollars, please.'

'I can give you American Express traveler's checks.'

'I'm sorry, sir.'

'Carte Blanche...?'

'Cash only, sir. It's the new rule.'

Jerry slipped his hand into his back pocket and saw that the man in the trench coat was approaching Karen, a triumphant look in his eyes.

Jerry gave the girl his last three hundred-dollar bills.

'Keep the change.' _

'I can't do that, sir.' She gave a prim gasp.

'It's all shifting backwards, pilgrim.' Jerry got to Karen before the man who looked like Mr Silver. If it was Mr Silver he pretended he didn't remember Jerry.

'Let me see your passports.'

'We're foreign nationals...' Jerry realized that this was no longer protection. They were on their own. But then, hadn't he always been on his own? He frowned.

'You don't look well,' said Mr Silver. 'Anything worrying you?'

'How should I know?'

'What are you calling yourself?' A look of disdain crossed Mr Silver's face.

'Jeremiah Cornelius. Jeremiah Cornelius.'

'Okay. You're suspected of aiding agents of forces hostile to the United States government. We'll have to search your luggage.'

'Go ahead.' Then Jerry noted the expression on Karen's face.

Silver signalled to two tall men in plastileather trench coats. Taylor. Dunlop.' They picked up the expensive bags.

The keys?' Mr Silver held out his damp hand.

'They're unlocked.'

Taylor opened Jerry's case first and pawed disgustedly through the coloured silks. When he looked back up Jerry knew he didn't have a chance.

'What about her?' Jerry indicated Karen. 'Let her on the plane, won't you? She's just a girl who came along. A secretary...'

'You employ her, do you?' Dunlop laughed.

'She's not your wife, is she?' Mr Silver curled his lip. 'You aliens! Check her case.'

Jerry hung loose. He lit a Romeo y Julieta.

'That's a nice cigar,' said Silver sniffing. He nodded as his men brought something out of Karen's bag. 'You've got it. I like the smell of a good cigar.' It was a small gold model of an Apollo rocket. 'Okay. Now let's see those passports.'

Karen glanced at Jerry as she gave her passport to Silver. Had she been conned by Protz and Zhazhda? How elaborate was the set-up? Silver knew there were ambiguities but wasn't admitting it. He was going after them merely because he didn't like them. That was how things were.

'German,' said Silver. 'And British, eh? Where you from, bwah?'

'Britain.'

'Before that?'

'Heaven?'

'That in the West Indies?'

'My father didn't say.'

Til keep the passports. They look like crude forgeries to me. Your picture's in negative, even.'

'Check it.'

'We will. Taylor. Dunlop. Get them on the bus with the rest.'