“Any trouble, sir?”
“No. With luck they’ll never have a suspicion of who we were. Hadn’t we better go fast now?”
“No sense in going too fast on these roads, sir.”
“But someone may come after us.”
“That’s not very likely, sir. There’s a lot of violent death about, sir. I mean, take me. I’m an ex-policeman. You can’t blame the police, sir. They’re an overburdened body of men.”
“I suppose they must be.”
They went back to the airfield in silence. Whose mother was who?
14
“No, of course he wasn’t my son.” Miss Brunner leafed eagerly through the file. They were in her office at Casa Grande. Jerry sat on the table watching her.
“You’re just saying that now.” He swung his legs.
“Try not to be so bitchy, kitten.” She grinned as she extracted a document and scanned it. “This is the real stuff. Good for you.”
“You and your bloody gun!”
“It wasn’t my finger on the trigger.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
“Calm down. You’re not the Jerry Cornelius I knew.”
“You can say that again. You and your bloody gun!”
“Blam! Blam!” She put the papers down. “You’re just tired, Mr Cornelius. I had to get you to go. You were the only person who would recognise the stuff I wanted.”
“You should have been more straightforward about it!”
“I couldn’t be. Could you?”
“It’s not right.”
“You’re whining, feathers!”
“Sod me, you’d be wh—” He pulled himself together. “I’m not sure I’m happy, Miss Brunner.”
“What’s happiness, Mr Cornelius? You need a change.”
“I don’t need any more, Miss Brunner. That’s for sure.”
“A change of scenery, that’s all. There’s nothing more for you to do here for a while. I have everything ready. It’s just donkey work for a few months. I might come along too, when I’ve tidied up.”
“Where do you want me to go?”
“Nowhere. It’s up to you.”
“I’ll think it over.”
She walked up to him and cupped his face in her hands. “How can you? What have you got to think with? Your tapes are stale, your clothes are tired—there’s only me!”
He took her hands away from his face. “Only you?”
“You’re failing fast. Not enough people, not enough stimuli. What have you got to live on, you bloody little vampire!”
“Me a vampire! You—Dimitri, Marek, Jenny and how many others? Me too, maybe…”
“Some realist you are, Mr Cornelius. Look at you—all self-pity and emotion!”
“It’s catching then?”
“Don’t lay it at my door.”
“You’re pretty hip yourself.” He dropped off the table, feeling limp. “By God, I don’t like it!”
Her voice became soft, and she began to stroke his arm. “I know some of it’s my fault. Calm down, calm down. Cry if it helps.”
He did; it didn’t. He was being suckered skilfully, and he knew enough to know it. He broke away weeping and ran for the door. As it closed softly, automatically, behind him, she picked up the empty Smith and Wesson with a sigh that was half disappointment, half satisfaction.
“He’s giving me too much credit,” she said aloud. “I only hope things stay on schedule or we’ve all had it.”
* * *
Jerry drove a Snow Trac at its top speed of 15 mph over the uneven countryside towards the distant village where he might get a place on a tourist bus. He drove south, away from the sun.
To him, Europe beyond Sweden had become not Miss Brunner’s cold sand but a boiling sea of chaos soon to spread through Finland and Denmark, if it had not done so already. Not only was he physically enervated, but his mind was out of gear and exploding on all systems. It was awash with dark colours and fragments of dreams and memories. Only a small portion still operated logically, and logic had never been his strong point. He was neither fleeing nor going anywhere; he was simply moving—perhaps questing for prey like the mosquitoes buzzing round the outside of the cab, perhaps not.
The dreams and memories conflicted, and occasionally he would feel ill and weaker than ever as the thought came that they might all be wrong—even Baxter; that there was a simpler reason for it all. Yet if it were madness they had, then they shared it with too many others, and Miss Brunner had the power to make her fantasy reality. It had happened before. He remembered the families he had seen on his way to Wamering, and this image was superimposed on that of the pulsating pyramid of flesh he had seen in the Friendly Bum.
He reached Kvikjokk and there were no buses—just a couple of students from the tourist hotel driving a borrowed Volvo back to Lund. He found some sterling in his pockets and offered it in return for a lift to Stockholm. They laughed at the money.
“It’s worthless. But we’ll give you a lift.”
The students were clean and tall, with short haircuts and well-pressed trousers and sports jackets. They were patronising and pleased to have him as a toy to display. He knew it. He minded. He ignored it as best he could. His long hair and his pretty clothes amused them, and they called him Robinson Flanders, like well-educated lads. They stopped at the lakeside city of Ostersund and decided to rest there for a couple of days, since they felt inexplicably tired. Jerry, on the other hand, felt much better.
By the time they reached Uppsala, Jerry had seduced both the young Swedes without either’s knowing about his seduction of the other. They hardly realised they were so much in his power until he drove their Volvo off, leaving them in the city of the twin spires deciding not to say who had stolen their car.
The pickings were better in Eskilstuna, where he took up with a young female teacher who lived in the town and had hitched a lift from him. He began to straighten out. He half-regretted what he had done to the two students, but it had been an emergency. Now there was no panic, and the girl was proud of her delicate English lover—took him to parties in Eskilstuna and Stockholm. He got work reading the proofs of scientific papers published in English by a Stockholm academic press. It was light work and quite interesting and allowed him to have some new clothes made to his own specifications, buy some records, and even pay something towards the girl’s rent. Her name was Una, and she was as tall, frail, and pale as he was, with long blonde hair and large light blue eyes. A pretty sight they made together.
They became very popular, Jerry Cornelius and Una Persson. The young people with whom they mixed—students, teachers, lecturers, mainly—began to imitate Jerry’s styles; and he appreciated the compliment, began to feel much more at home.
By the way of a gesture of gratitude, after he had been in Eskilstuna for almost a year, he married Una. His earlier working-over had softened him more than he realised, and even though he’d recouped pretty well, he was almost in love with her and she with him. He played guitar with a semi-professional group who called themselves the Modern Pop Quintet—organ, bass, drums, alto—and made enough to pay his way like a good husband. The group was in demand and would soon go full-time. It was becoming like the old days, with the difference that he was not, as he’d been in London, remote and in the thick of crowds. Here he set the pace and got his name in Svenskadagbladet and the other papers. He shared equal space and appearances with the streams of analyses of what was rotten in the state of Europe. He was generally mentioned in these too. He’d become a symbol.
Drunk with nostalgia, publicity and hangers-on, he dreamed no more of Laplab and Miss Brunner and congratulated himself that he had found himself an island that could last him, with luck, until early middle age. He had taken the precaution of keeping the name the students had given him, Robinson Flanders.
Miss Brunner kept her data up to date. She read the papers in her private cavern-palace.
“He’s become a little star.”
15
So naturally the time came when Jerry’s flat at Konigsgaten 5, Eskilstuna 2, Sweden, was visited. He came home from a session to find his pretty wife talking politely to Miss Brunner. They were both sitting on a couch sipping Una’s excellent coffee. The room was sunny, small but pleasant, neat but not gaudy. He could see them from the front door. He put his guitar case in the hall and took off his coat of fine cord, put it on a hanger, hung it in the cupboard, and walked in, hand outstretched, to greet his old friend with a confident smile.
“Miss Brunner. You’re looking well. A little tired, maybe—but well. How’s the big project?”
“All but completed, Mr Cornelius.”
He laughed. “But what do you do with it now?”
“There’s the rub,” she smiled, putting her white cup on the low table. She was dressed in a plain black sleeveless dress of good, rough stuff. She wore a perky hunting bowler on her long red hair and had a man’s tightly rolled umbrella leaning beside her against the couch. Also beside her were a black leather briefcase and a pair of black gloves. Jerry had the feeling she had dressed for action, but he couldn’t decide what sort of action and whether it directly involved him.
“Miss Brunner arrived about half an hour ago, Robby,” Una explained softly, not quite sure now that she had acted wisely. “I told her I was expecting you shortly and she decided to wait.”
“Miss Brunner was a close business acquaintance in the past.” Jerry smiled at Miss Brunner. “But we have little in common now.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Miss Brunner returned the smile.
“You bitch,” said Jerry. “Get out of here—back to your caves and your farce.” He spoke rapidly in English, and Una missed the sense, though she seemed to get the message.
“You’ve found something to keep and protect at last, eh, Jerry? Albeit a travesty of something you lost?”
“Excuse me, Miss Brunner,” said Una, somewhat coldly, in her husband’s defence, “but why do you call Herr Flanders ‘Jerry’ and ‘Mr Cornelius’?”
“Oh, they are old nicknames we used to have for him. A joke.”
“Ha-ha! I see.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Miss Brunner,” Jerry continued. “I’m fine.”
“Then you’re kidding yourself more than I’d guessed.”
“Miss Brunner.” Una got up tensely. “It seems I made a mistake asking you to wait…”
Miss Brunner looked the tall girl up and down. One hand curled round the handle of the umbrella. She frowned thoughtfully.
“You and Professor Hira,” she said. “A good pair of connections. I could go for you, dear.”
Jerry moved in. He grabbed the umbrella and tried to snap it on his knee, failed and tossed it aside. He and Una stood over Miss Brunner, both with fists clenched. Miss Brunner shrugged impatiently.
“Jerry!”
“You’d better go back to Laplab,” he said. “They need you there.”
“And you—and this.” She pointed at Una.
They were all breathing rapidly.
After a few moments of silence, Miss Brunner said, “Something’s got to happen.”
But Jerry waited, hoping for the almost inevitable break in tension that would weaken him but leave him out of the situation he could see Miss Brunner wanted to create.
The break didn’t come. He did not glance at Una, afraid that she would look scared. Things were getting worse. Outside, the sun was setting. The break must come before the sun went down altogether.
The break didn’t come. The tension increased. Una began to stir. “Don’t move!” he shouted, not looking at her. Miss Brunner chuckled warmly.
The sun was down. Miss Brunner rose in the grey light. She reached towards Una. Jerry’s eyes filled with tears as he heard a deep, desperate sound come from his wife.
“No!” He moved forward, gripping Miss Brunner’s arm as she took Una’s quivering hand.
“It—is—necessary.” Miss Brunner was in pain as his nails squeezed her flesh. “Jerry!”
“Ohhhhhh…” He took his hand off her arm.
Una stared at him helplessly, and he stared helplessly back.
“Come along,” said Miss Brunner kindly but firmly, taking their hands and walking between them. “It is all for the best. Let us go and find Professor Hira.” She led them from the flat to her waiting car.
PHASE
4
16
Five days later, sitting at a table on the terrace, warmed by artificial sunlight, nose and eye delighted by the profusion of flowers below, Jerry listened to Miss Brunner talking. It was a square table. On the other three sides of the square sat Miss Brunner, opposite Jerry; Una to his right; and Professor Hira to his left.
“Well,” Miss Brunner was saying cheerfully, “we’ve all got to know one another pretty well, I think. It’s amazing how quickly you settled in, Una.”
Jerry glanced at his wife. He and she were the beauties here without a doubt, both elegant and delicate-seeming, she if anything paler than he. She smiled sweetly at Miss Brunner, who was patting her hand.
Professor Hira was reading a two-day-old Aftonbladet.
“The only snag as far as I can see is this business of the police believing that you kidnapped Mr and Mrs Cornelius, Miss Brunner,” said the professor. “They have traced you to Lapland and must have found the outer signs of our establishment by now—this paper being out of date, you see.”
“We do have defences, professor,” she reminded him. “We can also seal off sections of the cave system if necessary. G-day is tomorrow, and after that we shall be finished within forty-eight hours. Even an all-out attack on Laplab, which isn’t likely, would not be successful unless nuclear weapons were used; and I can’t see the Swedes doing that, can you?”
“Would it not help if Mr Cornelius went out and spoke to the police searching the area?”
No, professor. Positively not. We cannot afford the slightest chance of losing Mr Cornelius at this stage.”
“I feel flattered,” said Jerry with a touch of bitterness. “On the other hand, you could let a few in and I could speak to them. They needn’t come far—they wouldn’t see DUEL at all.”
“They wouldn’t ask to. Don’t forget, Mr Cornelius, that this land belongs to the Lapps under the protection of the Swedish government. They would be more than anxious to inspect us—particularly with the international situation in its present state and the Russian border close by. This is entirely the wrong time to hope to stall a nervous administration.”
“I could go.” Una spoke hesitantly.
Miss Brunner stroked the girl’s hair. “I’m sorry, my darling, but I cannot trust you sufficiently. You are still a bit of a weakling, you know.”
“I am sorry, Miss Brunner.”
Jerry sat back, folding his arms. “What, then?”
“We can only hope for the best, as I said.”
“There is another alternative.” Jerry unfolded his arms. “We could send some men out to see what’s going on, disguise the cave entrance, and, if they get the chance, lure any search party inside and dispose of it.”
“That would not really solve the problem, but I will have it done.” She rose and walked into the room, picking up a telephone. “Then at least we shall be able to question a few of them and find out exactly where we stand.” She dialled a two-digit number and spoke some instructions into the mouthpiece.
“And now,” she said pleasantly, beckoning them in, let us continue with our experiments. There is not much more to do, but there is little time before G-day.”
“And then, I hope, you will tell us just what ‘G-day’ is, Miss Brunner. We are all very curious—though I have had a few hints, I think.” Professor Hira laughed excitedly.
* * *
Vibrant, pulsing with enormous energies, flushed and light-headed, Jerry began to fold Una’s clothes and place them on top of Professor Hira’s. He felt totally fit, totally purified, totally alive. What was more, he felt replete, warm,
at ease and at peace; like a great tiger in its prime, like a young god, he thought.
Miss Brunner lay on the bed. She gave him a knowing wink.
“How?” he said. “I didn’t realise until it was over.”
“It is power,” she said luxuriously, “which many have potentially. You had it. It is natural, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” He lay down beside her. “But I’ve never heard of anything like it. Not physically, anyway.”
“It is a trick. There’s been a lot written in some form or other. The world’s mythologies, particularly those closest to source, Hindu and Buddhist, are full of references. The secret was saved by over-interpretation. No-one, however dedicated, would believe in the literal truth.”
“Ahhh.”
“You regret nothing now?”
“I’m content.”
“There is more to come. The connections brought us closer—”
The telephone was ringing.
She got up at once, walking swiftly from the room. More slowly, he followed her down to her office and entered as she replaced the receiver.
“Your plan worked. They have six policemen in the far cavern. They are talking to them. So far they have stalled them with a story about secret research sponsored by the Swedish government. We must go and talk to them now while they are still comparatively unsuspicious. Let’s get dressed.”
* * *
The policemen were polite but uncertain. They were also, Jerry noticed, armed with revolvers.
Miss Brunner smiled at them. “I am afraid I shall have to keep you here until we have checked with Stockholm,” she said. “I am director of the establishment. Our work is highly secret. It is a great pity that you stumbled upon us—and inconvenient for you. I apologise.”
Her foolproof Swedish, brisk and polite, made them relax a little.
“The area is not marked on our maps,” said the oldest man, a captain. “It is usual to mark restricted areas.”
“The work we are doing here is of maximum importance to Swedish security. We have guards on patrol, but we can’t afford too many. Great numbers would attract attention.”
The Final Programme Page 16
