"What else?" Ogilvie demanded.
"I WALK WITH GOD!"
"And?"
"HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS!"
"What do you fight?"
"I FIGHT POVERTY. I WORK."
"What else?"
"MY COUNTRY, MAY SHE ALWAYS BE RIGHT -AND THE FARTHER RIGHT THE BETTER!"
"Very good. For a while there I thought you were one of them. I have to be going now. I have to make my break and try to make it back to our lines. Goodbye, and- BOMB HANOI!"
"BE PROUD OF AMERICA! FLY THE FLAG!" the button-maker replied as Ogilvie opened the door. "FUCK FOR FREEDOM!" he added under his breath as the door closed behind Ogilvie. "COPULATE FOR COEXISTENCE!"
Ogilvie made a beeline down the hall toward the staircase. Just as he reached it he heard footsteps coming from below. He went up half a flight and waited, ready to bolt, eyes fastened on the landing below. A fat girl in a hospital uniform appeared and entered the hallway Ogilvie had just left. He waited until she was out of sight and then started downward. On the ground floor he headed down the hallway toward the front door. Before he could reach it, the door was pushed open and a man and woman entered the hallway. The woman was very agitated, and the man was attempting to soothe her. Ogilvie recognized both of them. He ducked quickly into a doorway before they could see him.
On the other side of the door he waited and listened as their voices drew closer. When the possibility increased that they might enter the room, Ogilvie dived for a door on the opposite side, opened it, and closed it behind him. It was pitch-black inside. Ogilvie dropped to a crouch on his hands and knees. Just in case the door opened, he wanted to be ready to spring to the attack before he was seen. He crept to one side of the closet and slowly raised his head.
It had all happened too fast for Llona to see anything save the sudden flash of light as the door opened and closed. She huddled to the side and toward the back of the medical supply closet. She stood with her feet wide apart, braced for whatever might come. But she wasn't prepared for what did happen.
The head rose under her skirt, the ears grazing the in-sides of her naked thighs. At first her thighs parted in reaction to the unexpected contact. Then they contracted involuntarily, catching the head between them and holding it there. She gasped as a hot flush swept her body when the head, struggling, turned upward and the hps made contact of the most intimate nature. She was about to scream, but the sound of voices beyond the closet door stilled her voice with the greater fear of being discovered. The voices also stilled the protest which had been on the insinuating lips of the head pinned between her thighs.
"My baby!" The woman's voice was a sob. "We must find him before he harms himself. My poor, impulsive Archibald. Remember the last time? They'd almost sworn him in as a Marine before we rescued him. I shudder to think of how close it was. The nick of time. And now he's loose again! We must find him quickly! We must!"
"We're doing everything we can, Mrs. Ogilvie." Llona recognized the voice of the doctor who had been in the office with Hannah earlier in the evening. "Depend on our efficiency. Look how quickly the staff contacted you and me. If we're lucky, we'll find your son before he even gets off the grounds."
"My poor boy! Driven to homosexuality by women! Driven to war by his madness!"
"Driven mad by his mother," the doctor murmured.
"What? What did you say?"
"Nothing, Mrs. Ogilvie. Nothing at all. Just be patient. We're doing everything we can."
"But suppose he manages to enlist before you find him?"
"Then we'll have him released. The information you've supplied us adds up to an obvious case of homosexuality. I'm sure that any of the armed services will accept our diagnosis."
"Well, it's true," Mrs. Ogilvie sniffled. "He can't stand women."
Can't stand women? Llona's mind was in a whirl. She had guessed by now that the head between her thighs must belong to Archibald Ogilvie. But if he was her Archer, then her recollection was that he was anything but against women. Ergo! He couldn't be the Archer she sought. But just as she arrived at this disappointing con-elusion, the head moved slyly, the teeth nibbled at the flimsy silken material covering the juncture of her thighs, and the warm tongue dipped upward in such a way as to throw the conclusion into a cocked hat-or whatever kind of hat the opposite gender over one's head might imply. Can't stand women? The woman, Llona decided, just didn't know her son-whether her son turned out to be the right Archer or not. Llona wriggled a bit-more from desire than for comfort. The teeth ripped the material completely out of the way in response to her movement.
"I wish Hannah would get here," the doctor mused. "I'm sure she could bring us up to date on the situation."
He was wrong. Hannah, at the moment, was quite out of touch with the situation. Indeed, she was involved in quite another situation. It was a situation involving the extrication of Sammy Spayed from his role as arbiter between two ethnically devoted kooks.
"He can't leave," the Italian insisted. "Not until he confirms the glory of Columbus."
"Fair play demands that he tell this misinformed Itali-ano who really discovered America," the Norwegian thundered. "He must do that before he goes."
"What difference-?" Sammy kept muttering. "What difference-?"
"Italian honor demands-!"
"Viking history has a right-!"
"Now look," Hannah interceded. "It's 'way past time for you two boys to be asleep. Come on now. Say good night to the nice man and go beddy-bye. No more arguing. If you're good boys, I'll talk to the doctor about some extra hydrotherapy for you tomorrow. But if you're bad – Electric shock treatment!"
"Not until he decides who's right," the Italian whined.
"Not until he says," the Norwegian echoed.
"Look! I'll decide! Okay?" Hannah offered.
"All right," they agreed. "Who discovered America? Who do you say it was?"
Hannah pushed Sammy out the open doorway. "Who discovered America?" she repeated the question. "I'll tell you who. Henry Miller. That's who. Henry Miller discovered the real America." And she quickly closed the door on their mutual protests.
"I thought I'd never get out of there," Sammy sighed with relief.
"Well, you're out, lover. Now come on along. That girl is waiting for us downstairs. I've got her stashed away in the supply closet. Let's go get her and hustle the two of you out of here." She started down the stairs at a trot with Sammy behind her. "I must have lost twenty pounds on these damn stairs tonight," she wheezed.
"Not where it counts." Sammy watched her bobbling derriere, and as they reached the bottom of the steps he reached out and bestowed a fond pinch.
"Later, lover." Hannah simpered. "We don't have time now." Cautiously, she opened the door to the office.
Not cautiously enough. "Hannah!" The doctor identified the nose peeping through the crack in the door. "Come in here. We've been waiting for you. What's happening?"
Reluctantly, Hannah entered the office. Unthinkingly, Sammy followed behind her.
"Who's that?" The doctor pointed at Sammy.
Hannah thought fast. "This is Mr. Spayed," she said glibly. "He's a friend of mine. And he also happens to be a private detective. When Mr. Ogilvie escaped tonight, I called Mr. Spayed up and asked him to come right over. I was sure his professional assistance could be very helpful to us."
"There!" The doctor turned to Mrs. Ogilvie. "Do you see with what efficiency and dispatch the staff of this institution acts, Mrs. Ogilvie? Can you doubt our efforts to find your son? We've even got a detective on the job." He turned to Sammy. "Tell me, Mr. Spayed, have you uncovered any leads as to the missing patient's whereabouts?
Sammy's brow furrowed. He seemed to be thinking very hard through a very long moment of expectant silence. Finally, he spoke. "Uhh, no," he said in a tone that couldn't have been more sure of itself.