"Colonel I have a hunch that what we might find in the South American laboratories would make the story we heard from Adam North sound like a mild Gothic romance for old ladies and children."
"Exactly what I am getting at, Mr. Snide. There are risks not worth taking. There are things better left unseen and unknown."
"But somebody has to see and know them eventually. Otherwise there is no protection."
"That somebody who has to see and know may not be you. Think of your own life, and that of your assistant. You may not be called upon to act in this matter."
"You have a point."
"He sure does," said Jim.
"Mr. Snide, do you consider Hiroshima a crime?"
"Yes."
"Were you ever tempted to go after the higher-ups?"
"No. It wasn't my business."
"The same considerations may apply here. There is, however, one thing you can do: find the head and exorcise it. I have already done this with the body. Mr. Green agreed to burial here in the American cemetery."
He walked across the room to a locked cabinet and returned with an amulet: runic lettering on what looked like parchment in an iron locket. "Not parchment—human skin ..." he told me. "The ceremony is quite simple: the head is placed in a magic circle on which you have marked the cardinal points. You repeat three times: 'Back to water. Back to fire. Back to air. Back to earth.' You then touch the crown of the head, the forehead, and the spot behind the right ear, in this case—he was left-handed—with the amulet."
There was a knock at the door, and a middle-aged Greek woman with a mustache wheeled in the dinner of red mullet and Greek salad. After dinner and brandy we got up to take our leave.
"I have said you may not be called upon to act. On the other hand, you may be called upon. You will know if this happens, and you will need help. I can give you a contact in Mexico City ... 18 Callejón de la Esperanze."
"Got it," said Jim.
"My driver will take you back to the Hilton."
"Nightcap?"
"No," Jim said. "I've got a headache. I'm going up to the room."
"I'll check the bar. See you very shortly." I had seen someone I knew from the American Embassy. Probably CIA. I could feel that he wanted to talk to me.
He looked up when I walked in, nodded and asked me to join him. He was young, thin, sandy-haired, glasses ... refined and rather academic-looking. He signaled the waiter and I ordered a beer.
After the waiter had brought the beer and gone back to the bar, the man leaned forward, speaking in a low precise voice.
"Shocking thing about the Green boy," He tried to look concerned and sympathetic but his eyes were cold and probing. I would have to be very careful not to tell him anything he didn't already know.
"Yes, isn't it."
"I understood it was uh well, a sex murder." He looked about as embarrassed and salacious as a shark. He was cold and fishy like the Countess de Gulpa. I remembered that he was rich.
"Something like that."
"It must have been terrible for the family. You didn't tell them the truth?"
Watch yourself, Clem.... "I'm not sure I know the truth. The story I actually told them is of course a confidential matter...."
"Of course. Profession ethics." Without a trace of overt irony, he managed to convey a vast icy contempt for me and my profession. I just nodded. He went on. "Strange chap, Dimitri."
"He seems very efficient."
"Very. It doesn't always pay to be too efficient."
"The Chinese say it is well to make a mistake now and then."
"Did you know that Dimitri has resigned?"
"He didn't say so...."
"He was the object of professional jealousy. Career men resent someone with independent means who doesn't really need the job. I should know." He smiled ruefully, trying to look boyish.
"Well, perhaps you can avoid the error of overefficiency."
He let that roll of him. "I suppose these hippies go in for all sorts of strange far-out sex cults...."
"I have found their se practices to be on the whole rather boringly ordinary...."
"You've read Future Shock, haven't you?"
"Skipped through it."
"It's worth look at carefully."
"I found The Biological Time Bomb more interesting."
He ignored this . "Dimitri's dabbling in magic hasn't done him any good either ... career-wise, I mean."
I could tell he knew I had just been to Dimitri's house for dinner. He was hoping I would tell him something about the house: books, decorations.... Which meant he had never been there. A slight spasm of exasperation passed over his face like a seismic tremor. His face went dead and smooth as a mask, and he said slowly: "Isn't your assistant awfully young for the kind of work you're doing?"
"Aren't you a bit young for the kind of work you're doing?"
He decided to laugh. "Well, youth at the helm. Have another beer?"
"No thanks. Got an early plane to catch." I stood up. "Well, good night, Skipper."
He decided not to laugh. He just nodded silently. As I walked out of the bar I knew that he deliberately was not looking after me.
No doubt about it. I had been warned in no uncertain terms to lay off and stay out, and I didn't like it—especially coming at a time when I had about decided to lay off and stay out. And I didn't like having Jim threatened by a snot-nosed CIA punk. The Mafia couldn't have been much cruder.
"Your assistant very young man. You looka the book called Future Shock maybe?"
When I got to the room I found the door open. As I stepped in I caught a whiff of the fever smell—the rank animal smell of Jerry's naked headless body. Jim was lying on the bed covered by a sheet up to his waist. As I looked at him I felt a prickling up the back of my neck. I was looking at Jerry's face, which wore a wolfish grin, his eyes sputtering green fire.
Port Roger
Page from Strobe's notebook:
The essence of sleight of hand is distraction and misdirection. If someone can be convinced that he has, through his own perspicacity, divined your hidden purposes, he will not look further.
How much does he know or suspect? He knows that the capture was prearranged. He surmises an alliance between the pirates and the Pembertons, involving trade in the western hemisphere, the planting of opium in Mexico, and the cultivation of other crops and products now imported from the Near and Far East. He suspects, or soon will, that this alliance may extend to political and military revolution, and secession from England and Spain.
What does he this is expected from him? The role of gunsmith and inventor, which is partially true. I must not underestimate him. He has already quite literally seen through Mr. Thomas. How long before he will see through the others? Must be careful of Kelley. The most necessary servants are always the most dangerous. He is a cunning and devious little beast.
Noah writes that I am interested in publishing his diaries "for some reason." Does he have any inkling what reason? He must be kept very busy as a gunsmith lest he realize his primary role.
How long will it take him to find out that Captain Jones and Captain Nordenholz are interchangeable? To grasp for the matter the full significance of his own name? To see that I am the de Fuentes twins? Finally, to know that I am also—?
Scarf around his neck immediately arranged between
them turning to leer and wink at the armory. I am Captain
Strobe, a slim siren. Coat glittering in the sun flute