They obeyed.
Spice said. “You’ll be here three, four days… maybe longer, I don’ know yet. Better get to know us. Ah’m Mr Spice,” he said unnecessarily, then nodded across at his companion. “Dis here’s Mr Vilera, and dat’s how you’ll address us, de two of you… wid respect. Or else. De guy who got kicked in de balls, dat’s Walley. You c’n call him dat or you c’n call him Bum, Ah don’ care. Mr Vilera an’ me, we’ll be away a while, and Walley’ll be lookin’ after you till we gets back, only he won’t be here all by himself, so don’ get ideas. When we comes back, dat’s when you start on your sea trip. Any questions?”
The eyes, like the gun, were steady — rock steady and hard and red-flecked in the corners of the yellows. The face, too, was like a rock, chunky and hard and dangerous. A fist on that chin or in the mouth would be like a ball-point pen tapping on the Empire State. Shaw stared back coolly and said, “Just one to go on with. Why the delay? Why don’t you get right on with the job now?”
The face split into a broad though brief grin. “Because you’re not de only two dat’s goin’ to China. Ah’ll be gettin’ your travelling companions lined up ready in de meantime. You’ll read about it in de papers before you go. Dere’s two of dem. Ever hear of Lieutenant General Osterman? Edwin P. Osterman?”
Shaw said in a hard voice, “Yes, as a matter of fact I have. He commanded a U.S. infantry division in Korea. He was one of America’s top fighting generals.”
Spice nodded. “Congressional Medal of Honour and D.S.M. wid t’ree oak-leaf clusters. Like you say… a real, fightin’ guy! Carried it on into de peace, only he shifted his sights on to de Soudern Negro, did all he could to stop de Civil Rights Bill, opposed schools integration in de Soudern states, carries on a daily hate even now. Talks and writes ’gainst de Negro an’ stirs up any amount of goddam trouble. You name a piece of injustice — Osterman started it.” Spice’s face was vicious, the eyes were slits, windows for his hatred. “Aided by his grand-daughter, aged nineteen. Quite a piece. Real Soudern Miss… Miss Vanessa Osterman! T’inks she lives like dey did in Gone Wid De Wind. Goes to bed wid any guy from West Point or Annapolis or dem kind of joints dat takes her fancy… but wouldn’t shake de hand of a Negro, not if he was de President.” He pulled back his lips in a grimace. “Out wid grand-dad one day, horse-ridin’… ran a Negro down wid her bronc.” This time Spice gave a happy smile. “She won’ be doin’ it again.”
Shaw’s throat felt parched. He asked, “Well?”
Spice said in that flat, dangerous voice, “Walley’ll bring you de newspapers in a coupla days. De Ostermans die before you do. One U.S. general, one Soudern bitch, one no-good White girl from a strip joint, and one British agent. Nice present for China.” He glanced across at his sidekick. “Okay, Vilera, run ’em up.”
“Three paces forward,” Vilera said. Shaw and Flame did as they were told. Vilera slid behind them. Spice jerked the other door open, the one opposite the desk. Vilera pushed them ahead into a dark corridor and flicked on a light outside the door. Ahead of them were narrow concrete stairs which twisted out of sight. “Up,” said Vilera.
They went up. They went up a long way. Their calves ached. Vilera flicked on more lights at intervals; there were no landings, only more steps, the concrete steps twisting upwards. At last they came to a door. Vilera said, “It is unlocked. Push it open, and go in.”
Shaw pushed and went ahead into a small, low-ceilinged room, a kind of attic with one window thick with grime and barred so a man couldn’t get even a fist through. There was no furniture of any kind whatsoever and the concrete floor was bare. A grey light filtered with difficulty through the filthy glass and the bars. When they were both inside Vilera stood firm in the doorway, aiming his gun and grinning beneath the pencil moustache. He said, “Walley will be up. Like Mr Spice said… he will see to you and feed you. Do not imagine you can persuade him to open up and let you out just because you and he are both of the same race. He knows where he is better off, and he is very scared indeed to put a foot wrong. And Mr Spice has told you also that Walley will not be alone.” Vilera moved back and banged the door to and they heard locks and bolts going into action. Then Vilera clattered down the stairs; when his footsteps had moved out of hearing, there was dead silence, relieved later by distant street noises as the early-morning traffic got moving.
“There’s no way out and we may as well face it, Flame,” Shaw said quietly after an examination of walls, floor and ceiling which hadn’t taken him more than thirty seconds. “I’m sorry. Sorry for getting you into this, I mean. Don’t lose hope, though.”
“Oh, sure!” she said, sounding bitter. “I guess there’s just every hope this’ll all turn out right in the end! I never did believe the age of miracles was entirely over.” She added, “Meantime, if there’s nothing we can do, how about telling me what you’re really doing over here?”
“I can’t tell you the whole story,” he said. He sat on the floor beside her and put his arm round her. He winced as his clothing dragged on the wounds in his back. “Sorry again, Flame, but it’s enough for you to know what you’ve gathered already — that I work for British counter-intelligence.”
“It can’t hurt to give me the details now, surely?”
“Can’t it?” He gave a harsh laugh. “You’re out of your depth in this, Flame. I know you can’t swim back at the moment… but don’t try to go deeper. Just trust me, that’s all.”
She frowned and said, “I guess maybe I follow after all. This Spice and Vilera, they may try to get things out of me… taking it for granted you’ll have talked to me?”
“No,” he told her, “it isn’t quite that. They know who I am. They’ll know I’ve rather too much experience behind me to fall for that kind of thing. Still — maybe you’ve given yourself some sort of answer, if you follow.” He got up and moved over to the window. The sun was higher now behind that filthy glass, but still only a greyish light was managing to struggle through. Nevertheless what he was able to see gave him a clue as to where they were — for what that was worth. Below was the water, away to the right was the Statue of Liberty distantly holding aloft its torch of freedom into the skies. Across and almost opposite was the tall finger of the Empire State Building amid the clusters of its lesser sisters. So the river was the Hudson and they were on the New Jersey side, probably in Jersey City itself or maybe Hoboken.
It didn’t help at all.
They had been there around three hours when they heard footsteps on the stairs again, followed by a sound of metal sliding on concrete and then there was a rattle at the door as the bolts went back. The lock turned, the door opened and Walley looked in behind a big Colt ·45 which at that range could just about send their stomachs through the window. The hammer was drawn back, too. Behind Walley was another man — a Chinese, also with a gun, a man who watched closely but said nothing. Down on the floor at Walley’s feet was a dirty, stained tin dish with food in it. There were two tin mugs of neutral-coloured, cold-looking coffee and some thick wads of stale bread.
Walley gave a weak grin as he dribbled the tin through the door like a football. He said, “Don’t get funny or the gun’ll go off. I’m a nervous kind of a guy.”
He looked it. The Colt was weaving in a small, tight circle and the shake in Walley’s fingers due to rye whisky was terrifying. Nevertheless Shaw felt that a word with Walley could prove useful and, as the man backed the Colt out of the door he said, smiling brightly, “Don’t hurry away, Bum. We’ve run out of conversation up here.”