Zira lay under blankets on a bed in one of the circus caravans. The baby suckled as she cradled it in her arms.
“What will we call him?” Cornelius asked.
“Milo,” Zira said firmly.
“Milo. Yes, certainly,” he said. “Are you sure you feel all right?”
“I’m fine, Cornelius. But what are we going to do now?”
“Armando goes on tour in a month. We stay with him. Where better for apes to hide than in a circus?” Cornelius said. “We can help him train the others. We can even be performers, so long as we’re careful not to appear too intelligent.”
“It’s not much of a life,” Zira said. “Wouldn’t it be better to go back, now?”
“How?” Cornelius asked. “Even if they would forgive us for the orderly, the Commission gave orders for—for our child to be aborted, and for us to be sterilized.”
“What?” She clutched the infant closer to her. “Savages!”
“They believe they are protecting their race. Would we act differently? I didn’t hesitate to hit that boy over the head—”
“Stop torturing yourself.”
“Yes. Anyway, you see that going back is impossible. And even if we could, we would have to tell where we have been, and Armando would be punished.”
“Then we can’t go back,” Zira said. “We’ll have to stay with Armando. Forever.”
Victor Hasslein’s office had become a command post. It was lined with maps, and his three telephones would reach, through the switchboards in the lobby, every law enforcement unit in Southern California. He stabbed out a cigarette into the overflowing ashtray and looked up at Lewis Dixon in desperation. “She couldn’t have had more than two weeks to go before giving birth, could she?”
Dixon shrugged. “I’d say less time. Certainly no more.”
“Then that definitely limits where they could go.”
“I wonder,” Amalfi said. “It’s been thirty-six hours, Dr. Hasslein. They could be anywhere now.”
“You are implying that someone helped them. Some traitor to the human race drove them away from here.”
Amalfi shrugged.
“I don’t believe it,” Hasslein said. “But—it’s worth checking out.” He lifted a telephone. “Major, find out what automobiles left here on the first night of the escape—and have those automobiles examined by the crime laboratory people. They are to search for signs that chimpanzees traveled in the cars.” He laid the phone in its cradle. “Where? Where would apes go?”
“To other apes?” Amalfi said aloud.
Hasslein looked up with a frown. Then he nodded slowly. “Of course!” He lifted the telephone again. “Major Osgood! Have all units begin a systematic search of every zoo, veterinary office, circus, menagerie—anyplace that would normally shelter apes. Begin with Orange County and then spread out to Los Angeles and San Diego.” He paused a moment.
“Yes, Osgood,” Hasslein said. “All of them. Ask for permission to search, first. If they won’t cooperate because you ask them, remind them that they probably want research grants and this is a federal matter. Tell them the IRS can look into their books. And if that doesn’t get you permission to search, we’ll have a federal judge standing by to issue search warrants . . . Right. Immediately.” He laid the phone down again. “That, gentlemen, may just do it.”
It took Lewis ten minutes to find an excuse to leave Hasslein’s office. He got coffee from a machine in the lobby, and went to a pay telephone when he was sure no one was watching. The phone rang and rang, and he was afraid no one was answering. Finally someone did.
“Stevie?” he asked hopefully.
“Lewis? Darling, are you all right? You sound so—”
“No time,” he said. “Hasslein’s ordered a search of all circuses and menageries. You won’t have long, they’re starting in Orange County. You’ve got to get the apes out of there!”
“But where?” she asked.
“I’ll think of something—just get them out of Armando’s, fast. Take them north, toward Laguna. I’ll meet you at that coffee house south of Laguna. The place where we had lunch last month.”
“Right. I’m on my way.”
“I love you, Stevie.”
‘Yes. Lewis—will it be all right? Can we save them?”
“I wish I knew. We’ll try. I love you.”
“Yes. That helps. I’m going now. I love you too, Lewis.” She hung up the pay phone and left the booth, running to Armando’s tent. He wasn’t there, and she found him in the caravan with Cornelius and Zira. Quickly she explained what Lewis had told her.
“Bastards!” Armando exclaimed. “No, no, Zira, you rest. Cornelius and I will pack what you need. Where will you go?” he asked Stevie.
“I don’t know, yet. Lewis will think of something.”
“It is better that I do not know, anyway. What Armando does not know, Armando cannot be made to tell.” He took out a suitcase and began stuffing it with baby clothes and equipment. As he did, he muttered. “I had planned it all so well! In a month—in just one month—we move on to our tour and eventually to winter quarters in Florida. I could have released you in the Everglades, and you would have lived happily. Or you could stay with Armando! My friends, my dear friends, what can I say? What can I do?”
“You’ve been a saint already, Armando,” Stevie told him.
“No, no, a real saint can work miracles, and Armando has none of those.”
“A man like you is a miracle,” Cornelius said. “We will be grateful forever.”
“I am grateful to you,” Armando said. “It has been a privilege to know you. I hate those who wish to tamper with destiny, which is the unalterable will of God. If it is God’s will that man destroy his fine civilization, and dominion over the earth pass to the apes, then that is God’s will; and no man has the right to change that. Dear friends, you must go. Now, before the police come.” He reached up to his collar and took a medal on a silver chain from around his neck. “Wait. Take this. For the baby.” He put the medal around the infant chimpanzee’s neck and fastened the clasp.
“But what?” Zira asked.
“It is a medal of St. Francis of Assisi, and it has been blessed by the cardinal himself. Armando has no miracles, but perhaps St Francis has.”
“Who is he?” Cornelius asked.
“He was a very holy man who loved animals,” Armando told them. “And some of us believe he can work miracles to this day. I know this is superstitious nonsense to you, but for Armando, leave the medal on the child. Please.”
“We will, Armando,” Zira said. “Always. It will never be taken off him. I promise you that.” She turned away, then suddenly looked back. “Armando? I would like to say goodbye to Heloise.”
The circus master frowned. “There is little time—but of course.”
They watched as Zira, carrying her child, went into the infirmary where Heloise cared for her own baby chimpanzee. Then Armando and Cornelius were busy again, gathering the things they would need on the road, and Stephanie brought the car around.
They did not have to wait long before Zira joined them.
It was night, and the oil derricks stood above them like giants. The grey bird pumps pecked endlessly at the ground, bringing up oil for the power plants just visible in the distance. The ground was covered with blowing dry dust.
Lewis stopped the station wagon at the edge of the oil field. “This is as far as I can take you,” he said. “We have to get back to the labs and clean up Stevie’s car.” He switched on the interior lights of the car and held out a map. “Can you read this, Cornelius?”
“I am familiar with maps,” Cornelius said. “If the conventions are explained—yes. Certainly. I could have drawn this.”
“OK,” Lewis said. “This is the oil field. It goes on that way to a bluff overlooking the sea. There’s a small bay right here, about two miles, just beyond an abandoned oil refinery. The bay’s crowded with wrecks. Old ships, brought in and beached. It’s not deep enough to use for a harbor.”