“I’ll see the President tonight,” Senator Merrick promised. “It was arranged I should do so, however late I got back. Dr. Hessian is certainly a most irascible character, and I must persuade the President to come here, incognito, without delay, not later than tomorrow or Friday. Not a word of this must leak out. There will be no press conferences, gentlemen!”
“Every conceivable precaution has been taken,” Nayland Smith assured him. “You all entered the hotel by a door not normally in use and came up in a reserved elevator.”
“I thought the man on duty looked hard at me,” Dr. Jurgonsen complained.
“Quite likely He’s an F.B.I, operative!”
* * *
In a hotel bedroom a stockily-built Asiatic, with thick, sensual features and fierce eyes, was listening to a voice which came out of an open suit-case standing on a trestle. It was a sinister, sibilant voice, its curious quality enhanced by the language in which it spoke—Hindustani.
“You understand that this is the emergency called Project Zero?”
“I understand, Master.”
“Is Nogai with you?”
“He is downstairs, Master.”
“Order him to avoid the public rooms. He has attracted attention. Because he is registered as a Rajah’s son he must not act like one. Both remain in your apartment until further orders. Take your meals there. Now, repeat your emergency instructions.”
“Yes, Master. At the signal——”
“Repeat the signal.”
“Three raps on the door . . . .”
“Continue.”
“The door will be unlocked on the other side and I unlock it on this side. I put all lights out. I open the door enough to see in, and wait for the man to come. The first time he has his back to me, I act.”
“You must make no mistake.”
“I never make mistakes, Master. Nogai and I open the big box and drag him in. We close the door; and wait for further orders.”
“And if he is not alone?”
“Nogai goes to the front door and rings. Whichever one answers I deal with the other. Nogai deals with the man at the door.”
“Silently!”
“Nogai’s method is as silent as mine, Master . . .”
A few minutes later, a woman seated manicuring her fingernails was addressed by the same strange voice, speaking in French, from a cream leather toilet case on the table beside her. She started nervously, staring across the empty room with a haunted look in her eyes.
“I am here, Excellency,” she replied, also in French—apparently her native tongue.
“A general emergency has arisen. You have maintained your contact with personnel at the airport?”
“I have.”
“Make your own plans, provided I have no occasion to direct otherwise. You know already the information I must have. It is vital that this reaches me at once. When you notify me of the expected arrival you will be directed how to proceed. You understand?”
“I understand, Excellency.”
“No orders, other than those preceded by the code-word Si-Fan, are to be accepted. You understand?”
“I understand perfectly.”
“I count upon unremitting vigilance. Keep in constant touch wherever you are. Report hourly from the time you set out... .”
Dr. Fu Manchu leaned back in his chair, his ascetic face lined with anxiety. For more than an hour he had been assembling his forces for some secret purpose which might mean world chaos. He stood up wearily and crossed the small room without a window which he seemed to use as a remote control base. Even now it was only dimly lighted by a lamp on a buffet where there were no homely decanters but only an array of chemical equipment and a large medicine chest containing many bottles and phials.
He took a measuring glass and prepared a draught composed of one part of a greenish liquid, two of amber and one of red. This he emptied carefully into a larger glass and filled it with distilled water. The contents bubbled slightly, became cloudy and then still. Dr. Fu Manchu began to drink, when a faint ring sounded. He turned. A speck of blue light had sprung up in the radio cabinet.
Returning to his chair, he moved a switch and spoke:
“What have you to report?”
A woman’s voice answered. “Earlier information of the disaster in Cairo is confirmed, Doctor. The person responsible for it I have been unable to trace, for all have left.”
“The absence of any publicity, of any official reaction, is disturbing.”
“But understandable. The President is expected tonight.”
“I am aware of this, and have spread my net; for the hour of danger is earlier. I am staking everything upon my knowledge of the man. He never does the obvious.”
“You judge wisely, Doctor. I have information from a reliable source that ‘the obvious’ was proposed, but rejected. What you have foreseen will happen.”
“If I could be as sure of one other thing I would trust to Routine 5 and cancel all other orders.”
“What is this one other thing, Doctor?” The woman’s voice remained soft but revealed tension.
Dr. Fu Manchu clenched his hands; his features became convulsed, and then calm again.
“His being alone at the crucial moment.”
“If I undertake to arrange this one thing, Doctor, will you give me carte blanche to deal with it?”
“You never yet failed me, once. And no one ever failed me twice. It is a gambler’s choice—but I have always been a gambler. . . .”
* * *
Brian had great difficulty getting to sleep that night. The astounding experiment in the penthouse had left him in a state of high excitement. He would seriously have doubted the evidence of his senses if the wonders he had seen hadn’t been confirmed by other competent witnesses.
Then, at some remote hour, just as he was dozing off at last, the phone in the living-room buzzed and he heard Nayland Smith’s voice. The conversation was a brief one and a moment later Sir Denis burst in.
“Your father, Merrick! We’re to expect the President at ten o’clock tonight!”
This made sleep a hundred per cent more difficult. He simply could not stop thinking. For some reason which his mental powers were incapable of grasping he had been dragged into the heart of a top secret which might very well involve the survival of civilization.
Why? He kept asking himself—Why?
But he could find no answer.
Nature conquered at last, and he forgot his problems. It was after nine o’clock when he woke, and he went into the living-room to see if Nayland Smith was there. He found a note on the desk—which, enclosed in the painted screen, sometimes reminded him of a pulpit—pencilled in block letters (presumably because Sir Denis’s handwriting was illegible).
It said: “Don’t go out until I come back. D.N.S.”
Brian took up the phone and asked to be put through to Lola’s apartment.
She answered at once.
“Listen, Lola honey—did you call me last night? I had to go out.”
“No, Brian. I couldn’t make it.”
“How are you fixed today? I’m uncertain about lunch, but——”
“I’m quite certain about it, Brian. I don’t get any! There’s only one possible spot, maybe an hour, about four o’clock. Will you be free, if I am?”
“I’ll see that I’m free! I’ll wait in the Paris Bar. We can’t miss each other there.”
When presently he hung up, Brian had become uneasily aware of the fact that Lola was preoccupied, tensed up in a new way. He wondered if Madame Michel had been overtaxing her and he wondered, not for the first time, if Lola was changing, slipping away from him . . .
When Nayland Smith came in, around noon, he showed such signs of agitation that Brian felt alarmed. The state of nerves in which Sir Denis had been on his first, clandestine, visit was mild compared to his present condition.