by Troy Conway
I asked, “What’s to stop Doctor Howard from inspecting the contents of the cylinder and—“
Midge shook her head, interrupting with, “No can do. The cylinder would self-destruct. I’ve been told that Yule demonstrated this to her when they sat down to talk business. She can make as much of the metallic compound as she wants. She just can’t look into that cylinder and know what makes it tick.”
“Yule had a built-in safeguard against the double-cross,” the Chief nodded. “And then he died.” He frowned, thinking for a moment, then added, “I take it this Doctor Howard’s a pretty smart scientist?”
“Oh, yes. A very brilliant one. She knew Yule didn’t have the time to experiment on this gravity compound which he called Yule-lift but she did. He became partners with her on a venture that would make them both billionaires if it succeeded.”
The United States government has been studying gravity for the last twenty years. Teams of scientists are reported to have had varying degrees of success. There is such a thing as a ‘spinetic field,’ which is said to produce gravitational fields that respond to gravity by adding to or subtracting from the gravitational pull of the Earth.
Any space scientist will tell you that our future in space depends on finding an answer to the force of gravity. The rocket ship we know today is highly inefficient. It must carry most of its weight in fuel. If a working ‘spinetic field’ could be developed, if a small motor were invented that could create strong spinetic fields to increase the effect of gravity to pull an object toward it, or to decrease gravity to a null-minus effect so gravity would push instead of pull, travel in space would become relatively simple.
The efficient spaceship should be able to use Earth gravity to rise upward away from the planet. There would be no sudden acceleration such as there is now in the Apollo rockets, there would be a gentle acceleration as gravity itself pushed against the space vehicle. On a trip to Mars, say, this gravitational effect would hurl the spacecraft toward the red planet at dizzying speed, once the ship was out in space. As the ship neared Mars, that planet’s gravity would take over and attract the ship toward it.
Using the push-pull effect, a landing on a planet could be made softer than that of a parachutist dropping to earth after a leap from a plane. The ship would lower gently, there would be no blasts from rocket jets to disturb the terrain. It would be as if a giant hand were lowering it.
To bring the matter closer to home and this moment in Time, Walrus-moustache pointed out that a nation such as the United States or the Soviet Union could put a space station in the sky without too much trouble, if it possessed this secret of gravitational control. Bands of Yule-lift could be fitted onto the parts of that space station. When an electric current was passed through the Yule-lift, those parts would rise as easily into the air as might a balloon filled with helium gas.
“You can imagine what would happen, then,” growled the boss-man. “A space station up there, able to drop atom bombs with pinpoint accuracy, would control the world.”
“Yeah,” I breathed.
“There would be no more war,” the Chief went on. “Everything on Earth would have to submit to the first nation with that space station, if it went that far.” He added glumly, “I wouldn’t be surprised if scientists came up with some sort of repulsion ray from that Yule-lift compound, so the space station could repel any atomic warheads that might be fired at it.”
His fist hit the table. Midge jumped and stifled a scream. Walrus-moustache glowered at both of us. “We have to get that Yule-lift apparatus. Fast!”
Midge spread her hands. “I’d tell you where to find it if I could. I don’t know. Only a few technicians whom Beatrice Howard has taken into her confidence know where the Yule-lift lab is.”
I frowned. “Howard Yule died a year or two ago. Did this Doctor Beatrice Howard have anything to do with that?”
“No, he died a natural death. He left instructions for
Wanda Weaver Yule, his widow, to continue the payments he was making into the Yule-lift project.”
“Mmmmm. That’s why Doctor Howard wanted Wanda dead, then? To keep her from telling what she knows about the project?”
“Well, no. The reason Doctor Howard wanted Wanda Weaver Yule dead was that Yule’s widow wanted to sell her shares of stock in his Yule-lift Corporation. She hasn’t the vaguest idea of how valuable those shares are. In her mind, the Yule-lift Corporation is one of her husband’s crack-brained ideas. The books show not a penny of profit, so knowing nothing about it, she figured she might as well get rid of a white elephant.”
The Chief nodded. “Once she put those shares on the market, any possible buyer would want to look into them, find out about them—and Doctor Howard was going to make sure that didn’t happen. When Yule died, she got greedy and decided to keep Yule-lift for herself. Am I right?”
“I’d say it was like that, yes. What Bea hopes to do is put those Yule-lift stocks into an estate, then tie up that estate long enough for her to perfect her gravity experiments and market the final result. The settlement of an estate as large as the Yule one would take at least a couple of years. This would give Doctor Howard plenty of time to complete her experiments.”
Midge went on, toying with a bread crumb on the tablecloth, “You see, Howard Hayes Yule realized that his efforts had only scratched the surface of gravity research. His compound would lift little things like a table, a chair, even a child. But he could not go on experimenting himself, so he turned his find over to Bea.
“Doctor Howard has made wonderful strides. As you saw, Rod, we girls can wear a belt of Yule-lift into which we can throw an electric current by turning a small dial on the belt buckle. We can rise up or lower ourselves to the ground without fear. The Yule-lift won’t fail us. We all get to practice with it at one time or another.”
“I don’t understand,” the Chief said. “If Wanda Weaver Yule holds the purse-strings, wouldn’t Doctor
Howard be cutting off her flow of funds by killing her?”
“Oh, no. Yule himself set up a trust fund for the project. Money continues to flow to Doctor Howard, independently of what Wanda Weaver Yule does. The hitch is, the stock is in her name. Wander Weaver Yule is converting a lot of the stock which her husband left her into cash for her mod mod projects—like that school for orphans in New York she built. She’s a rich woman, but her supply of funds isn’t endless.
“By selling certain stocks, Yule-lift among them, she can get money for her pet charities. Doctor Howard, as I’ve said, doesn’t want any prospective buyer poking around for information. The idea was to gain two years of experimental work by killing Mrs. Yule and tying up her estate.
“Right at this moment Bea is on the verge of making some very important discoveries about Yule-lift. All she needs is time to perfect them. She thinks she knows the inner workings of the cylinder which controls the radiation process. By building a better cylinder, she can improve the performance of the metallic compound. She hopes also that by playing another ultra-high frequency beam through the metallic compound she will add to its power. In other words, her new, improved Yule-lift, when perfected, should be able to lift as heavy an object as a battleship.”
“And whammo! The soup hits the electric fan,” muttered the Chief. His eyebrows met as he scowled at me. “Damon, it’s up to you to stop her.”
“Yeah, sure. But how?”
“You tell me. Why should I do all the thinking?”
I pointed out that a number of the girls Doctor Howard employed had seen me and would know me. I could scarcely pretend to be a buyer checking into the stock that Wanda Weaver Yule had offered for sale.
His waving hand brushed this aside. “They’re going to know you, anyhow, no matter what part you play.”
“True. But I want a fighting chance to stay alive.” Walrus-moustache started to speak, but I held up my hand. “Hold it. I’m getting an idea.”
Finally I said,
“Suppose I were to pose as t
he man who murdered Wanda Weaver Yule?”
Midge exclaimed, “But I shot—I mean, I thought I’d killer her. That’s why Doctor Howard was paying me off.”
“You told her you killed her,” I grinned. “Actually I did the killing—and I want my hundred grand fee.”
The Chief frowned. “It might work. At the very least, it would call you to her attention. She might even buy it.”
Midge giggled, “It would be a blow below her gar-terbelt, that’s for sure. She might have some use for a hired assassin, at that—somebody who could go out and knock off anybody she wanted dead. But wouldn’t she be suspicious? Wouldn’t she know you didn’t kill Mrs. Yule?”
“‘You can’t tell her, since you’ll be here in Bermuda. And how else can she learn the truth?”
The boss-man scowled. “If she learns Wanda Weaver Yule is still alive and kicking—you won’t be.” His palm hit the tabletop. “I should never have allowed her to go to that orphan school ceremony.”
“It poses a bit of a problem, but I can lie my way out of it. I can always say I only wounded her, that she’s still alive—and needs killing again. The worst thing that can happen then is, I won’t get my hundred grand fee.”
“How will you say Midge hired you?”
I shrugged. “I knew Midge in—say, San Francisco. She knew I was a small-time mobster in need of cash. At the last moment, her nerve failed her, so she asked me to do the job. She saw a way to collect the money for herself, she double-crossed me and flew down here to collect ahead of me. I was laying low for a while to let the murder blow over. It might even be a good move on my part to tell her Wanda is still alive.”
Midge shivered, reaching out to put a hand on mine. “You be careful, Rod. Beatrice Howard isn’t playing games. She’s a tough cookie. She might have you killed and check your story later. When you mention my name, you’re going to raise her hackles. She’s going to be damn suspicious. She may play along with you—only to set you up for the kill.”
“I’ve thought of that,” I admitted glumly.
The boss-man announced cheerfully, “Every one of his assignments are setups for Rod to get killed. The professor is used to it.”
Big help, the Chief.
Midge murmured, “Maybe you ought to stay on in Bermuda for a few days, to rest up and relax your nerves. Then when you go back to the Bahamas, you’ll be in better shape.”
Walrus-moustache said briskly, ignoring Midge, “Your plane ought to be refueled by this time, Professor. It will take you back to Freeport airfield in time for you to have dinner with Doctor Howard.”
Midge drooped. She brightened when we were walking out into the Bermuda sunshine, Walrus-moustache had fallen behind to pay the tab. Her hand caught mine and pressed it.
“Hurry back, Rod. The two samples of your priapism that you’ve given me have really interested me in your case. I think another test is called for. I’m still not sure you’re what you say you are.” She sighed, adding, “And for goodness sake, take care of yourself.”
I was very determined to take care of myself. In the Beechcraft Queen Air, as it flew over the Atlantic toward Grand Bahama island, I went over my coming meeting with Doctor Beatrice Howard. Midge was right. She would be damn suspicious of anyone phoning her and mentioning the name of the girl her organization had tried to kill. Come to think of it, those girl guards I’d battled on the Albatross deck might recognize me. Then there would be hell to pay, for sure.
There was somebody else who knew I was no hired killer. Laura Cgden. I just hoped that her duties kept her as far away from me as possible. Otherwise—well, I refused to think about what might happen if Laura saw me.
I telephoned Doctor Beatrice Howard as soon as I was in my hotel room. Midge had given me her number, explaining that she rented a little house along the shore of Bell Bay, where she came to relax from time to time. She would be there now, she had told Midge on the Albatross she was going there for a few days. She was out.
Next morning, I called up Doctor Beatrice Howard again.
Her voice was softly curious when she answered my ring. “Hello? Who is this?” she asked.
“You don’t know me, Doctor Howard,” I said, “unless Midge Priest told you about me. My name is Rod Damon.”
There was a silence. Then: “I’m afraid Midge has been reticent, Mr. Damon. I don’t know you from Adam, and I don’t think I care to.”
“One hundred thousand, Doctor,” I said quickly, afraid she might hang up. “Those are the number of reasons you should know me.”
“Oh?”
“Dollars, you might say,” I chipped in.
“Ahh. One hundred thousand dollars. What have I to do with them?”
“You owe them to me, for a job well done.”
Again that silence touched the other end of the line. “I believe I’d like an explanation, if you don’t mind,” she murmured at last.
“Naturally. Would you care to join me for dinner this evening? My treat, of course. I’m most anxious to meet you. Midge has spoken so highly of—your organization.”
“Why not come out here now, for a drink? I never make blind dates for dinner. Oh—and bring your bathing suit. The day is hot, the sea is smooth. You might like to take a dip.”
My last dip, with your girl scuba divers waiting underneath the surface to drown me? Uh-uh, Doctor Howard. But I might wear a bathing suit, at that.
“Be glad to,” I said out loud. “Sounds like fun.”
The blue Marcos 1600 purred beautifully all the way to Bell Bay. I braked in front of a small white house with brilliant yellow shutters, yellow roof and a white picket fence running alongside the road that enclosed a flagstone-walked garden. As I opened the garden gate, I caught a glimpse of a sandy shore beyond it, and the green waters of Bell Bay glinting in the sunshine.
My finger pressed the doorbell.
I did not know what to expect as I stood there. Would somebody holding a gun appear, and would the gun fire at at me as soon as the door opened? I doubted anything as drastic would happen. Doctor Howard was no fool; she would want to find out how much I knew about her organization and whether I had left any documents—in case an accident happened to me—that might lead to her doorstep.
The door swung inward.
I guess I goggled, just a little. Beatrice Howard was standing there clad in a Riviera bikini, than which there is nothing smaller. She had a body that would have tempted an Anthony, if he could have seen it. Her breasts were big white bulges scarcely hidden behind the tiny cups of her halter. Her belly was a mound of sleek flesh, bared down to her privacy where the other part of the bikini was supposed to cover her. She didn’t look like a high school physics teacher any more. She appeared to have lost all her prudishness.
Her eyes were heavily lidded as she stared at me. “Mr. Damon? Come in, come in. I’m dying of the heat, so please excuse my informal attire.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I smiled, stepping through the doorway.
I was half expecting a couple of those girls in the black satin uniforms to come bounding out of the woodwork, their guns blazing. Except for Beatrice Howard and myself, the house was empty, apparently.
She walked ahead of me, showing off her handsome legs and the lower halves of her buttocks to my gaze. Thin straps held her bikini bottoms to her tanned hips. She was all woman, this one. Funny, I’d had her figured all wrong.
There was a cocktail shaker on the buffet. “Daiquiri?” she asked, turning slightly, with a faint smile. “I pride myself on my daiquiries. I think you’ll like them.”
Were they poisoned? I wondered. I said, “Love one, or maybe even a couple. You’re right, it is a hot day. It’s about time we got some nice weather.”
She brought my drink to me, her hips swaying lazily, her breasts bobbing almost out of their cups. She smiled when she noticed where I was looking. Well, she had nothing to be ashamed of in the body department
“Cheers,” I said, lifting my glass.
I waited until she drank before I put the glass to my mouth. There was nothing wrong with her drink cither. It was nectar laced with rum.
“Did you wear a bathing suit?” she wondered.
“Under my slacks.”
“Then let’s go out into the sun. I’ve been neglecting my tan. I’ve been so busy I haven’t had time for the fun things of life.” She put her empty glass on the buffet, giving me a sidelong glance. She asked, “Now what’s this all about?”
“Are we alone? I don’t like blabbing in front of witnesses. Maybe we ought to go out on the beach before I start yakking.”
She smiled fainlty, nodding. “Yes. I like caution in a man with something to hide. Even though I am alone with you.”
I took off my jacket. “Shall I go upstairs to undress?”
“You can put your things over a chair here. But suit yourself.”
Her eyes watched as I unbuttoned my shirt and yanked it off to show my tanned, somewhat hairy chest. I unbuckled my belt, slid down my slacks. I was wearing a pair of white nylon swim trunks. They made me look even more tanned, more rugged, than I normally do.
Interest was in her eyes, all right. I am not the founder of the League for Sexual Dynamics for nothing. I know when a woman is wanting, the way she looks at a man. Beatrice Howard was in heat, even though she probably didn’t realize it. Few women take the trouble to analyze their emotions, their feminine mystique.
I did, because it was my livelihood.
“I have towels,” she told me, “so let’s go.”
I padded after her quivering behind out the back door and down a row of flaggings to the beach. She walked with a sway of her hips that I knew was unintentional. Doctor Howard was no tease; she considered herself above things like that, I am sure. She didn’t know that she was making her curving hips sway and her buttocks jiggle; it was an entirely subconscious movement.
