The door to the suite was in her side vision. A bedroom was straight ahead. The gun was within a sweep of her hand. No one was going to enter the suite, by door or window, and kill Sam.
But, Desiree Fleming wondered, as she lay with her arms cradled against the back of her head, who was the adversary in their camp. Someone among them — one of the scientists, one of the military men, one of the agents, Holly — had tipped the other side. No one else had known just what hotel suite the Herchenfelders were to occupy and yet there had been a telephone call from a would-be defector in the enemy garrison.
The following morning, Desiree had coffee brought up to the suite while Sam shaved, then she had a second thought. She told the white-jacketed boy to wait and she poked her head into the bedroom. The bath door was closed tight.
“Hey,” she called out.
“What?” The bath door did not open.
“I’m going to order breakfast sent up. What’s your meat?”
“We can go down to the dining room later.”
“Sent up,” she said firmly. “I’m running this end of the show. Order.”
There was hesitation behind the door, then an order issued in clipped words. She repeated the order to the boy and added, “The same for me.” She closed the bedroom door.
Doctor Samuel Herchenfelder wanted to be peeved when he finally joined her in the main room. She was in the middle of her morning exercise. Her bare feet were spread and she was doing eagle bends, the gold tips of her right hand touching the gold tips of her left toes and vice versa, when he came from the bedroom.
Desiree looked at him from the upside down position and between her legs, and she saw the set of his jaw. He stopped. His eyes behind the black-rimmed glasses changed. She wanted to laugh, but she straightened and turned on him, taking satisfaction in the knowledge that she had been correct about the yellow Capris. They put him off balance. She wanted him that way. He would be easier to manage.
Desiree said brightly, “I exercise every morning. Don’t you?”
His eyes had found the chair at the couch, the propped pillows. He frowned. She took the gun from behind the pillows. “I hid the gun when the boy came with the coffee. I didn’t think he’d understand.”
“You slept there?”
“I repeat, Sam, my job is to keep you alive.” She took the gun into the bedroom, returned. He was pouring coffee from the pot into the two cups.
“Will you allow me to govern our day — at least, until after this afternoon’s meeting?” she asked seriously.
“It appears,” he said, “that I’ve already conceded.”
“It won’t be that bad, Sam. I promise. We can always send a boy out to buy us a Scrabble game.”
His glance scorched her. He passed her a cup on a saucer. She turned to the couch, forgetting the straight-back chair. She curved back from the chair. The coffee spilled from the cup, splashed against her thighs. Desiree cried out and danced across the room, then stood with the cup and saucer in hand, struggling to stem the oaths as she looked down on her stained legs.
Desiree went into the bedroom, slammed the door behind her. There were no more Capris in the suitcase. She removed a skirt, hesitated, knew fresh anger. She had a religion against wearing loafers with skirts, yet the only garter belt she had brought along was the special belt issued by the Bureau. The belt was a weapon.
She mumbled an oath at the thought of wearing a weapon when she was attempting to influence a man. On the other hand, he would not see the weapon.
She put on the belt and skirt, slid hose onto her legs, found spiked-heel shoes. And Doctor Samuel Herchenfelder surprised her again when she reentered the main room. She thought she saw more approval in his eyes for the skirt than she had seen for the yellow Capris.
He had cleansed her saucer and refilled her cup. She sipped the coffee. There was the knock on the door.
“Yes?” she called out.
“Breakfast, ma’am.”
As she hesitated, the lock clicked and the door opened.
A middle-aged man, neat in a business suit and hat, stood on the threshold. The man held a large gun in his left hand. The muzzle of the gun was pointed straight at her middle. The man smiled briefly, touched the brim of his hat.
“Well, hello!” He entered the suite, moving Desiree back. His eyes swung to the scientist. The muzzle of the gun swung to the scientist. The man grinned. “Hi, Doc.”
Desiree waited for the boom of the large gun. She wanted to scream. But the boom did not come. The man said, “Easy, folks. Nobody gets hurt. We’re going to take a little ride, that’s all. My name is Gerald.”
He gave Desiree a crooked grin. “You, sister. Face the wall. Hands against the plaster. Lean. There’s a couple of things I want to check.”
She obeyed. Gerald examined her thoroughly with his free hand. She suffered through the indignities.
“Okay, Miss Fleming,” he finally said with a chuckle. “Stand free. I wish we had some like you on our side.” The chuckle took on brief stature.
And that’s when Sam made his move. Desiree saw him telegraph it. He took time to swell before stepping toward Gerald. Gerald’s move was quick as lightning. He lashed out with his free hand and the back of that hand slammed against Sam’s ear, sending the scientist reeling. Sam fell to his knees at the couch. Desiree drew a breath, but Gerald hissed at her, “Don’t!”
She stood her ground.
Gerald snapped, “The two of you listen good. We’re walking out of here. We’re going downstairs nice and easy like. We’re leaving the hotel. There’s a waiting car. It can be done with or without bloodshed. Take your choice. Let’s move.”
Desiree fell in beside Sam in the corridor. He had a hand cupped against his ear and every few seconds he shook his head. “Bells?” asked Desiree.
Sam said nothing. Gerald walked slightly behind them. Desiree glanced at him. He was smiling confidently. The gun was out of sight. “Just keep walking nice and easy, Miss Fleming.”
Desiree was puzzled. Why hadn’t Gerald killed both of them?
They rode the elevator down and started across the lobby. People cluttered the huge open area. No one seemed to pay any particular attention to them. Desiree wondered if Gerald would kill her in public. She veered off to her left. Gerald again showed deftness.
He flicked a foot between her ankles, sent her sprawling. She doubted if anyone in the entire lobby saw that foot upend her, but she was sprawled and Gerald was squatted on one side of her while Sam hovered on the other side.
“Desiree, are you hurt?” Sam seemed genuinely concerned and she took some consolation in that.
Then Gerald was hissing in her ear, “That was a foolish move, Miss Fleming.” She felt fingers at the back of her neck. The fingers belonged to an expert. The fingers were against nerves. The fingers squeezed.
She didn’t pass out, but she was numbed. She couldn’t move. The two men helped her to her feet and she was conscious of the curious faces crowding around them. Then she heard Gerald placating the faces.
“It’s all right, folks. The little lady had a dizzy spell. Some fresh air will fix her up just fine. Now if you folks right here will just let us through, please. That’s it. Thank you, thank you—”
They left the hotel lobby, crossed a crowded sidewalk that was bathed in brilliant sunshine and Desiree was put into the back seat of a new sedan. Gerald told Sam to get in up front beside the driver, an olive-colored man with sharp features and the wire of a hearing aid dangling from his left ear. Then Gerald joined Desiree. He no longer was smiling. “Sister, you should be dead. Roll, Frank.”