They flung open the door to the wireless room. My crack in the door provided a ringside seat for what followed. Bruce had good reflexes. He moved like quick- silver in response to the sudden violent intrusion.
Instead of leaping backward, he charged straight ahead, which took them by surprise. They were still shooting at where he had been standing when he plunged right past them and into the hallway. He might have made a dash for it and succeeded in getting away then, but he didn’t. There was something he wanted to take care of first. He stood with his back to the wall just outside the door from which I was peeking and took careful aim.
But he didn’t shoot at Cronin and the lackey. They were just swiveling around to shoot at him, but when he fired, it was straight at the wireless transmitter. He emptied his revolver at it rapidly. It made quite a mess.
With one motion, he threw his gun in their faces and dived into the room in which I was hiding. One of their shots must have connected, because he was bleeding from the shoulder as he slammed the door behind him. He looked at me and threw off his surprise quickly. There was no time for talk. He motioned toward some bins in the back, and I realized he meant for me to hide there. It was as if he was saying that he knew he couldn’t escape capture, but there was no point in my getting caught as well. Which, considering that he couldn’t have had the foggiest notion of who I was, was damn decent of him.
I took his silent advice. Hidden, but able to see, I watched as Bruce angled his body so he could brace his feet against the bins on the wall and put his full weight on the door. They were crashing against it with their shoulders from the outside, but he managed to delay them long enough to do what he wanted to do.
First he opened his camera and exposed the film. Then he struck a match and set fire to the book he’d taken from the safe. It flamed up as he held the door. By the time it was slammed open and he went sprawling, there was nothing left of it but ashes.
Now there were four underlings who charged into the room and yanked him to his feet. The hunchbacked Cronin entered behind them. His eyes quickly took in the ashes which had been the book and the exposed film. His expression didn’t change, but his face turned a mottled purple.
“What did you tell Papeete?” he asked Bruce.
Bruce merely smiled pleasantly.
Cronin nodded at one of the men. The man slammed his fist into Bruce’s groin. “What did you tell Papeete?” Cronin repeated.
Bruce straightened up and managed another smile.
One of the men grabbed his hand and held it. A second grasped the thumb and bent it back until even from where I was I could hear the bone snap. Bruce sagged for a moment from the pain, but then he managed to straight- en up again. He couldn’t quite manage another smile, but his sneer was heroic.
“American?” Cronin asked, trying another tack. He nodded to one of the men to punctuate the question with a smash that broke the bridge of Bruce’s nose.
No answer.
“British?”
The fist hit him in the gut, but still he didn’t answer.
“Russian? South American? Chinese?”
Three rapid kidney punches. The only sound Bruce made was his lungs sucking for air.
“I’ll make him talk!” The wireless operator came for- ward, tucking his gun in his belt as he approached Bruce. He pulled a switchblade knife from his pocket and switched it open. He grabbed Bruce’s belt and yanked down his pants. “Now you tell this man what he wants to know, crumb,” he said in an eager voice, “or I’m going to slice it right off.”
Bruce moved his lips. For a moment I thought he was going to speak. I wouldn’t have blamed him. But I was wrong. He didn’t speak. He just spit neatly and accurately straight into his tormentor’s eye.
With a howl of rage, the wireless operator wiped his eye and fell to his knees in front of Bruce. He reached out and grabbed him, the knife poised!
“No! ” Cronin’s voice cracked out in a sharp command. “That won’t make him talk. Nothing will. Some men can’t be broken with ordinary torture. Put your knife away. Turn him over to Hanson. He’ll have facilities for dealing with him.”
Cronin’s words were quickly obeyed. Bruce was allowed to pull up his pants—which put him one up on me —and they marched him out. Cronin remained behind for a moment, studying the camera that Bruce had dropped. I guessed he was looking to see if it might give some hint of Bruce’s nationality.
He was still standing there when Leslie appeared in the doorway. The red-haired beauty was distraught. “What happened to Bruce?” she demanded. “What did they do to him? Where are they taking him?”
“It doesn’t concern you,” Cronin told her brusquely.
“What do you mean? How dare you take that tone with me? You wouldn’t talk to me that way if Hanson were here.”
“Now you listen to me, my pretty,” Cronin said very quietly, sounding very sure of himself. “You tell Hanson what I said. You tell him that I said I don’t want you interfering with S.M.U.T. You tell him I, Cronin, said it.”
“Wh-what? ”
“I do not repeat myself. Tell your husband that those are the orders for now and for later.”
Leslie’s eyes were very wide as she started backing out of the doorway.
“Where are you going?” the hunchback asked as she turned.
“I-—I was going to say hello to Dr. Palaro.”
“No. I don’t wish Dr. Palaro disturbed. Stay out of his laboratory.”
“I don’t have to take orders from you,” Leslie protested. But she couldn’t keep the quaver out of her voice.
“Yes, you do. You have to do exactly as I wish. And do you know why? Because you belong to S.M.U.T., that’s why. Your mind, your soul—-” Cronin paused and seemed to draw himself up so that his hump became more prominent. “— and your body!” he finished. On the Word “body,” he reached out deliberately and closed his hand over the sunsuit halter Leslie was wearing. He squeezed her breast hard until he saw pain reflected in her face. Only then did he let go. “Do you understand?” he asked.
“Yes.” She was staring at him with her eyes very wide. I could guess what lay behind the stare. Leslie was wondering if Cronin was the head of S.M.U.T. Snug in my hiding-place, his manner had me wondering the same thing.
Leslie left then. A moment later Cronin followed her out. I waited until I figured the coast was clear, and then I ventured over to the door. I still wanted to get a look at that laboratory if I could.
I was too ambitious. I sneaked around the bend in the hall, and now I was in the lower part of the L formed by the building. There was a door directly in front of me with a sign that said: NO ADMITTANCE WHEN RED LIGHT IS LIT. The red light over the door was lit. I tried the knob anyway. It was locked from the inside. I turned away, intending to retrace my steps. And that’s when my ambitions caught up with me.
Just as I turned my back to it, the door opened. I wheeled around to find myself looking down the barrel of the gun. Above it, Cronin’s face regarded me calmly. “Another visitor,” he sighed. “Well, step inside.”
He stood aside and I preceded him into the room. It was a large laboratory, and it looked very well-equipped. Against the far wall was a bank of cages with guinea pigs in them. Dr. Palaro was standing in front of them, holding a guinea pig in one hand and injecting some sort of fluid into its hindquarters with a hypo held in the other. He didn’t look up as we entered.
“Aren’t you cold running around that way?” the hunchback asked, his eyes dropping to my naked legs and then shooting up to my face again.
“Yes,” I admitted. “I am.”
“You must be Steve Victor,” he guessed. “You lost your pants in the shed last night.”