The idea turned my suspicions to Donna Carper and Dwight Floyd Rank. Both, in different ways, were avowed right-wingers. I remembered what Charles Putnam had said about the advantages to the Commies of a strong rightist movement coming to power in America. Donna, as a representative of Ella Hooper who was an open spokeslady for the, ultra-right, would surely fit well into such a Commie plan. And Rank, who was very active politically and very noisy about the threat of Communist infiltration in organizations which were merely liberal, likewise fit the picture.
Then there was Prince Juv Satir. His country lay comfortably in the Russian sphere of influence. Comfortably because our State Department found it preferable to having Poversia under the Chinese Communist wing. Indeed, when geography had defeated America’s own efforts to democratize Poversia, our efforts had backed up those of the Russians in the establishment of a socialist monarchy. Yet the question now arose as to just how much under Russian control that monarchy might be. Enough, I wondered, so that the playboy Prince might really be engaging in espionage? That too was a possibility.
And what about Louis Ching? His escape from China had taken him through Siberia, where he’d lived for over a year before emigrating to the U.S. With relations as strained as they were between Russia and China, wasn’t it possible that the Russians might have been in the Chinese emigré an ideal camouflage. Mightn’t they have thought that his being Chinese would place him beyond suspicion as a Russian agent, so far as U. S. counter-intelligence was concerned? No, I couldn’t rule out Louis.
And the same principle surely applied in spades to Misty Milo. The American Bardot, as she was sometimes called, was an enigma politically. As far as I knew, she neither knew nor cared about world politics, Yet her very innocence might conceal her role as spy.
It was a helluva way to have to look at people who were supposed to be friends of mine. I felt like a reincarnation of Joe McCarthy, and I didn't like the feeling. My long-range view was that one Communist under the bed did a lot less damage than those who went around blowing beds up with dynamite on the theory that of the multitude detonated surely one must be roofing a provocateur.
However, in the current situation, I couldn’t afford the long-range view. One or two of my friends were working for the Reds. That meant I had to look at all of them with suspicion. Even so, there was no point in making that suspicion obvious. As a counter-agent, it behooved me to disguise it and get into the spirit of the party.
The spirit had moved from drink-gulping and tentative passes to abandoned frugging and open caresses. The party proper was taking place on the middle level of the house, but at least half the couples had deserted it by now for the greater privacy afforded at the top and bottom levels. People were pairing off all around me, but I hadn't as yet latched onto a girl myself.
Neither had Dwight Floyd Rank. Somehow Donna had escaped him. The architect strolled over to me and slapped me on the back. “Good to have you back in Hollywood again, Stevie,” he said. “But you’re not living up to your professional reputation. Where’s your girl?”
“I wouldn’t know where to go with her if I had one,” I answered. “The way things are going, I'll bet there isn’t a vacant nook in the house.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ve got just the spot for you.” He nudged me. “It’s on the lower level. I’ll bet even the people who live here don’t know it’s there.”
“Huh? Then how come you-?”
“I did the original design for this house. Long before Winthrop discovered it. I drew up the blueprints to build it.”
“You did? Then tell me something, Dwight. “Why is the damn thing built so precariously?”
“You're looking at it as a layman. I assure you it isn’t.”
“That’s what they said about all those other houses that were built on the Palisades. But quite a few of them had their foundations crumble from under them and went rolling down the mountain."
“This one won’t,” he assured me. “Those houses you’re talking about were all part of a swindle to begin with. Fly-by-night real-estate operators working with conscienceless contractors cashed in on the housing boom and built where it wasn’t safe. The terrain here isn’t in the same category.”
“Well, I hope you’re right,” I told him.
“Hey!” Misty Milo was at my elbow. “I’m feeling neglected. Don't you like me any more?”
I liked her all right. With that mantle of ebony hair swirling about her naked shoulders like a web of sex appeal and those slanty green eyes telegraphing all sorts of erotic promises, I liked her a lot. What man wouldn’t have? Besides, there were memories of Misty, memories of heat and flesh and little love-bites and frantic thrashings and explosions of ecstasy, four-year-old memories not to be forgotten. Yes, there were memories with options, vivid memories with options ready to be renewed.
I picked up the option with an arm around her waist. Misty ignored Rank and pressed close to me. I whispered something in her ear to seal the contract renewal being made by the spark of our bodies where they touched.
“Well, I guess your problem is solved,” Rank laughed.
“This boy hasn’t got a problem in the world. Believe me!” Misty crooned.
“Well, I think this third wheel will be rolling on his way,” Rank remarked as he started across the room. “Oh!” He snapped his fingers and turned back to us for a moment. “Privacy could be a problem, as we were saying before. I hope I’m not being gauche, but why not let me show you the spot I mentioned, Steve?”
I raised an eyebrow at Misty.
“I don't mind.” She answered my unspoken question. “I’m past the point of maidenly modesty.”
“Follow me.” Rank led the way to the staircase running to the lower level.
After we’d descended, he led us to the very front of the house. This level was pretty much in complete darkness, and it was a matter of picking our way through the entwined couples scattered about. As with the rest of the house, the major portion of this lower area was open, without walls, ultra-modern, which is to say designed with little regard for privacy, a prime example of the school of architectural togetherness.
We followed Rank to the front wall of this floor. This was the part of the house which jutted out over the canyon. I thought it was just a solid wall without a window. I was wrong. Rank pressed a button at one side of the wall and it slid back to form a doorway. After we'd followed him through the entry, he pressed another button and the wall slid shut behind us.
The area we were in now was divided. To our left and directly in front of us was an all-glass wall. Against the portion of the wall in front of us was a long, extremely low and rather wide couch of some sort. It was done in maroon velvet and was very plush. I'd never seen anything quite like it before. It was no more than a foot off the floor and flush against the glass wall. Where it ended, to our right, another wall—a solid wood-paneled one-began. It was joined at right angles by a similar wall to form sort of small room concealed from our view There was a door leading into this room at the extreme right of the wall. There was another door on the right-hand wall of the house itself which couldn’t have led anywhere but outside. I looked at it, puzzled. Outside must have been a drop of about twenty feet at that point.