“Some of it.”
“I’d bet my bottom dollar that the doc is clean,” Kraft said.
“Would you?” Peruge asked. “How many missing-persons cases have you really had in his area over, say, the past twenty-five years?”
With a sinking feeling, Kraft thought: He’s seen all of the old records! Nils had been right about this one without even seeing him. The Outsiders had sent a sharp and prying mind this time. Peruge was aware of all the old mistakes the Hive had made. Bad, bad, bad. To hide his reaction, Kraft turned away, resumed his progress toward the farm buildings, now less than fifty yards ahead. “Depends on what you call a missing person,” he said. And, as he noted that Peruge still stood in the willow shadow, “Come on! We can’t keep the doc waiting.”
Peruge followed, suppressing a smile. The deputy really was so transparent. Kraft had been shaken by the missing-persons barb. This was not just a plain, ordinary, run-of-the-mill deputy. Things were beginning to jell in Peruge’s mind. Three agents had been wasted here, chasing a suspicion. Discovery of a deputy-who-wasn’t-a-deputy gave those suspicions a new dimension. Something had been learned, after all. And Peruge thought: Hellstrom’s learned what we’re willing to pay for access to his Project 40. Now, we find out what he’s willing to pay.
“I always thought a missing person was a missing person,” Peruge said, addressing Kraft’s blocky back.
Kraft spoke without turning. “That all depends. Some people want to be missing. Guy runs out on his wife, or his job—I guess he’s technically missing. But that’s not what you’re saying about your man. When I say ‘missing person,’ I generally mean someone who’s in real trouble.”
“And you don’t think any real trouble could happen here?”
“This isn’t the Old West anymore,” Kraft said. “This area is tamer than a lot of your cities. People don’t even lock their doors most places around here. Too damn much trouble fishing around for the keys.” He grinned back over his shoulder in what he hoped was a disarming gesture. “Besides, we wear our pants kind of tight. Don’t leave much room in our pockets.”
They were passing the farmhouse now. The barn loomed before them across a bare stretch of dirt perhaps sixty feet wide. An old fence divided the open area, but only the posts remained. The wire had been removed. There were yellowed curtains on the bay window of the farmhouse wing that jutted toward the creek, but the place held an oddly vacant air. Kraft wondered about that house. Empty? Why? Houses were supposed to be occupied. Did Hellstrom and his crew live there? Did they eat there? Why wasn’t someone inside rattling pots and pans and things? He recalled Porter’s reference to “negative signs.” A very penetrating observation. It wasn’t so much what you could see around Hellstrom’s farm as what you couldn’t see.
There was another positive sign now, though—an acid odor. He thought first of photo chemicals, then rejected that answer. The smell was much more penetrating and biting. Something to do with Hellstrom’s insects, perhaps?
A swinging door had been set into the old sliding door of the barn. The smaller door opened as Kraft and Peruge approached. Hellstrom himself stepped out. Peruge recognized the man from the photographs in the Agency’s files. Hellstrom wore a white turtleneck shirt and gray trousers. His feet were tucked into open sandals. His rather sparse light hair appeared as though it had been tangled by the wind and then pushed into a semblance of order by hurried fingers.
“Hi, Linc,” Hellstrom called.
“Hi there, Doc.”
Kraft strode right up to Hellstrom, shook hands. Peruge, following close behind, received the odd impression of a rehearsed action. They shook hands with such a perfunctory sense of unfamiliarity.
Peruge moved to one side, choosing a position that gave him a view of the barn door Hellstrom had left standing partly open. Nothing was visible except darkness in the small gap remaining.
The action appeared to amuse Hellstrom. He grinned as Kraft introduced him to Peruge. Peruge found Hellstrom’s hand cool, but rather dry. There was a sense of forced relaxation about the man, but no sign of excess perspiration in the palm. He had himself well under control, then.
“Are you interested in our studio?” Hellstrom asked, nodding toward the door and the direction of Peruge’s gaze.
Peruge thought: Now, aren’t you the cool one! He said, “I’ve never seen a movie studio.”
“Linc told me on the phone that you were looking for one of your employees who might be missing in our area,” Hellstrom said.
“Ahhh, yes.” Peruge wondered why he couldn’t see anything beyond that open door. He’d seen Hollywood studios and remembered a sense of organized confusion: bright lights, dollies, cameras, people bustling about, then that frozen stillness of the moments when they were filming.
“Have you seen anyone nosing around here, Doc?” Kraft asked.
“Nothing but our own people,” Hellstrom said. “No strangers, at least recently. When did these people turn up missing?”
“About a week ago,” Peruge said, returning his attention to Hellstrom.
“That recently!” Hellstrom said. “My. Are you sure they aren’t just extending their vacation without notice?”
“I’m just as sure as a man could be,” Peruge said.
“You’re welcome to look around,” Hellstrom said. “We’ve been pretty busy in the studio lately, but we’d have noticed any strangers in the area. We keep a pretty close watch to see that no one bursts in on our work unexpectedly. I don’t think you’re going to find any sign of your people in our area.”
Kraft visibly relaxed, thinking: If Nils thinks they’ve cleaned up well enough, then it’s clean.
“Oh?” Peruge pursed his lips. It came to him abruptly that there were several levels to this conversation. He and Hellstrom knew it. Most likely the deputy did, too. The various parts of the interleaved message were distinct. Peruge was welcome to pry around, but he’d find nothing incriminating. No strangers could come upon Hellstrom’s farm without being seen. Hellstrom remained confident that his powerful connections would keep the real contest submerged. Peruge, for his own part, had revealed to Hellstrom an awareness that people were missing in the immediate vicinity of the farm. In a way, Hellstrom had not denied this, but had merely pointed out how useless it would be to look for the missing people. How, then, were the real stakes to be introduced into the game?
Hellstrom said, “Deputy Kraft tells me you work for some kind of fireworks company.”
Ahhh, Peruge thought with delight. “We have diversified interests in my firm, Mr. Hellstrom. We’re also interested in metallurgy, especially new processes for exploitation. We’re always on the hunt for potentially valuable inventions.”
Hellstrom stared at him for a moment. “Would you like to come in and see the studio? We’re very busy right now, behind schedule on our latest epic.” He started to turn, hesitated as though at an afterthought. “Oh, I hope you’re not carrying any radio or something of that kind. We use short-range radio in part of our mixing circuitry for the sound tracks. Other equipment can play hob with our work.”
You son of a bitch! Peruge thought. He folded his hands casually in front of him, left wrist in right palm, turned off the tiny wristwatch transmitter. And he thought: If you think you’re going to keep me out of your little playpen, baby, you think again. I’m going in there and I may see more than you expect.
Hellstrom, noting the movement of Peruge’s hands, and suspecting the reason, still found himself wondering at the man’s curious statement about diversified interests, metallurgy, and new inventions. What could that have to do with Project 40?