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 traveclass="underline" 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.