The Ecstasy Connection

by Paul Kenyon

  Li Ming concealed his elation. This had to be the woman that Mr. Sim was searching for. Peking, for reasons of its own. cooperated with the fat Englishman, and word had been passed to the hundreds of Communist agents that were living among the boat people, passing themselves off as refugees.

  But he, Li Ming, had been the one to find her. He would be rewarded, perhaps even permitted to leave this floating hovel and five with forged papers on the mainland.

  He clapped Wang Fu on the shoulder and said, "You stay here, Uncle. Don't go back to your sampan tonight. Help yourself to the rice wine in the locker. You have done a service for the People's Republic. I must go ashore now and use the telephone."

  * * *

  Penelope stirred in her sleep, disturbed by the gentle bump at the stern of the sampan. The boat bobbed like a cork as somebody climbed aboard. She came half awake. "Wang Fu?" she called. There was no answer. Let the old man sulk, she thought, and snuggled further under the burlap sacking she used for a blanket.

  A shuffling sound approached. Something in Penelope's subconscious woke her fully. She started to sit up.

  Four hands clamped down on her arms. She opened her eyes. In the dim glow from the oil lamp she saw five men in blue cotton gathered around her.

  She could see the metal plate under the thin hair of the man closest to her. Mr. Sim's juiceheads!

  She lashed out with her feet and caught the one in front of her squarely in the crotch. He screamed and tumbled backward.

  But another pair of hands was skillfully slipping a hypodermic needle into a vein in her neck. A dark velvet tide wiped out her consciousness. The squad of electrified henchmen squatted uneasily around her until her body went limp. Then they wrapped her in burlap and dragged her out to the waiting launch.

  17

  They led her into the Chinese garden, wrapped like a mummy in a canvas straitjacket. The sun told her it was midmorning. The drug had worn off, but her tongue felt furry and there was a throbbing pain in her head.

  She looked up at the surrounding walls and towers. She could spot at least two sharpshooters. They weren't taking any more chances with her.

  Mr. Sim was sealed at a garden table some distance away, having a drink with someone whose back was to her. The fat man was wearing a white silk suit, a pair of sunglasses putting a rosy OO into the bigger O of his face. The man with him was in tan.

  One of the juiceheads pushed her forward. Mr. Sim looked in her direction and waved. The man with him put down his Bloody Mary and turned around.

  It was Nigel Pickering.

  "Hullo, Baroness." he said.

  Mr. Sim inched his head. "Major Pickering and I were just having a drink together," he said. "Won't you join us?"

  "Do I get a straw?" she said sarcastically.

  "What? Oh. I'll have the straitjacket removed, my dear Baroness, if you'll promise to behave yourself." He gestured at the sharpshooters. "As you can see, it would be fatal to do anything foolish."

  The juiceheads warily unstrapped the straitjacket. Penelope rubbed the circulation back into her arms and sat down.

  "The Baroness is a dangerous adversary. Nigel," the fat man said. "She killed five of my people during her escape, and injured another. I myself had to execute three guards for carelessness."

  "My, my," Pickering said. "What might you have done if you had a weapon?"

  "Too bad you're a crook, Nigel," she said. "You'd have made a marvelous policeman."

  Mr. Sim laughed uproariously, almost choking on his drink. There were little spots all over his white suit. When he regained control of himself, he said, "But Major Pickering is a policeman, aren't you, Nigel?"

  "Of sorts," Pickering said.

  "The good major has been harrying me for some weeks now. Oh, he's been very cordial about it — lunches at the Club and that sort of thing. After all, I am a respected citizen of Hong Kong. But I have no doubt he's trying to nail me."

  "The thought had crossed my mind," Pickering said.

  Penelope felt a great sense of relief. She was fond of Pickering. She hadn't been looking forward to hurting him.

  "Who do you work for, Nigel?" Mr. Sim went on. "MI6? Come now, confess! London sent you out to have a look around. They didn't dare trust it to the Hong Kong police force, did they?"

  Pickering said nothing. He sipped his Bloody Mary.

  Mr. Sim turned to Penelope. "I asked my friends at Number Fifteen Bow String Alley in Peking to check on Major Pickering. They had no dossier on him. Of course there was no dossier for you, either. You're both obviously some sort of special agents. Well, when this is over, we'll know more about both of you. I don't think I'll share the information with my friends in Peking, though."

  So that's why Sumo had been unable to find any sort of file on Pickering! The British were guarding his identity as closely as John Farnsworth was guarding hers!

  Pickering said. "I'm afraid I used my Hong Kong police credentials to order the arrest of your assistants, Baroness. Sorry about that."

  "You got them? All of them?"

  "Just Tom Sumo. The rest of them went to cover. I'm sure that caused you difficulties."

  That explained why she hadn't been able to get a signal through.

  "Why did you do it, Nigel?"

  "I was sure you were working with Mr. Sim here. Your arrival in Hong Kong at this juncture was suspicious. And you knew Cynthia Rawlings. But most of all, you and your men seemed to be around at all the wrong moments, back when Mr. Sim was trying to recall his ecstasy drug from circulation in the United States. Dan Wharton showed up at that commune in Vermont. Skytop was sniffing around Colorado — quite blew the situation for our man who was trying to contact Charon's Cherubs. And you, Penny. I understand you attended a certain orgy."

  "Are you saying that MI6 is conducting investigations in the United States right under the noses of NSA and CIA and the FBI?" She threw back her head and laughed. "What gall! If only Dr. Schlesinger knew!"

  Pickering looked embarrassed. "I know it's against protocol, and all that! But you Yanks don't cooperate very well with other services."

  Mr. Sim clapped his hands with delight. "I've just had the most marvelous idea! I'm going to have to dispose of both of you, of course. It would be much too risky to turn you into a juicehead and double agent, as I'd once planned, Baroness. The same goes for Major Pickering. But you're both magnificent animals — superb intelligence, top physical condition, sensitive. I'm going to put the two of you through my ecstasy course — together."

  "Listen, you bloody slug!" Pickering said. "You can do what you want with me, but leave the Baroness alone!"

  "Don't waste your breath, Nigel," the Baroness said.

  "Aren't you interested in what's going to happen to you?" Mr. Sim pouted.

  "I'm going to be sick, if I have to listen to more of your bloody blather!"

  Mr. Sim's rosy face grew red, like a baby about to have a tantrum. He dashed his glass on the flagstone. "Listen to me! Both of you!"

  Penelope thought any information might be useful. "We're listening." she said.

  The fat man spoke more calmly. "Very well. I've already mapped both your brains. Tomorrow, you're both going into surgery. You're not getting just one electrode in your brains, like most of Dr. Jolly's subjects. You'll have dozens — scores of wires all through your hypothalamus and limbic systems. We'll wire you for every possible sensation. Of course, Dr. Jolly will have to destroy quite a bit of brain tissue in the process, but neither of you will be needing your brains for very long."

  "What did you mean — together?" Penelope said.

  "Just that. We're going to wire your brains together. The computer can easily handle the doubled input. What you feel, Major Pickering will feel. And vice versa. Not only are the two of you going to have the most intense experiences ever felt by man, but you'll mingle them. Share them. Each of you will have an extra brain to feel with, so to speak. Dr. Jolly will be able to write a whole new book on his findings."

>   Abruptly, Pickering smashed his glass on the table top. Tomato juice spattered the three of them like blood. In the same moment he was leaping toward Mr. Sim, the jagged edges of glass thrust in front of him to stab the fat man's face.

  There was the crack of a high-powered rifle from the wall. The glass spun out of Pickering's hand, showering glass fragments. Pickering rumbled in midleap, off-balance, and fell heavily to the flagstones.

  "Next time they shoot to kill!" Mr. Sim said sharply.

  Pickering picked himself off the ground. His fingers were cut and bleeding. He wrapped a handkerchief around them.

  "I'm getting ruddy tired of the two of you," Mr. Sim said, his Sussex accent showing through. "Come along. I'm going to show you something, and then, by the great Epicurus, I'm going to spend the rest of the day enjoying myself!"

  They moved off, the blue-clad juiceheads keeping a tight cordon around the Baroness and Pickering. Another juicehead wheeled Mr. Sim in his bath chair. Out of the corner of her eye Penelope saw the rifle muzzles swing to follow them. She had no doubt there'd be more hidden sharpshooters along the way.

  They were walking down those same undersea-green corridors. An armed guard saluted, and a big round door like the door of a bank vault swung open. They were in the room with the giant brain.

  "Ah, just in time," said Dr. Jolly's voice. "We're just finding the various contact points in their pleasure centers now."

  The juiceheads prodded Penelope to approach the two figures strapped to tilting surgical tables. The mesh cages she remembered covered the two heads like bowls. It was two men, both of them naked, both showing the characteristic erection that comes with electrical stimulation of the hypothalamus.

  Penelope bent over them. It was Wharton and Skytop.

  They had an expression on their faces that she'd never seen there before. It was a look of idiot joy. It resembled no human expression. The rictus of ecstasy was as impersonal as the grin of a skull.

  As she watched, Skytop's huge tree trunk of a torso stirred and writhed. He moaned. The knotted cords of his arms and legs snaked under the skin. His thick meaty warclub of a penis twitched and a thin dribble came out the end to join the crusted semen on his thighs.

  Penelope wheeled on Mr. Sim. "Listen to me, you unspeakable swine. I always keep my promises. And right now I'm promising to pay you for this."

  He stared at her, genuinely puzzled. "But, my dear Baroness, I'm giving them pleasure. Pleasure that they'd have gone to their graves without experiencing, had it not been for my generosity. If you pay me back in kind, I'll be grateful."

  Dr. Jolly, sitting at his high console, said, "You'll be in no condition to keep that promise or any other, after tomorrow, Baroness. The first thing I'm doing is removing several cubic centimeters of your brain tissue. Have to do it, you know, to get at the choice spots."

  Penelope glared fiercely at the doctor's narrow face. After a moment he flushed and dropped his eyes. She said, "Tomorrow's a long way off. Years away. Just watch your step till then."

  "That's quite enough!" Mr. Sim snapped. "This is growing tedious. And tedium is a state I never allow myself to endure for long. Come along."

  The encircling juiceheads herded Penelope and Pickering from the chamber. She stepped through the circular door with one last backward glance at Skytop and Wharton.

  Mr. Sim said, "Your employees haven't been permanently damaged — yet. Your own brain operation comes first, Baroness. I'm telling you this because I want you in as happy a mood as possible — under the circumstances — tonight."

  They all crowded into an elevator as big as a room. The walls, floor and ceiling were thick white fur. They rose slowly to the piped-in sound of harp arpeggios.

  Penelope recognized the corridor they entered then. It was the one she'd escaped from. They approached the door of the room where she'd been chained.

  Mr. Sim said, "You two will spend the night together. I want you to become well acquainted." He giggled. "You'll be occupying the same bed, so make the most of it. I promise there will be no spy devices. Happy will check on you once an hour, but he'll only stay a moment. It shouldn't inhibit you a bit."

  "A sort of honeymoon — is that what you'd planned for us?" Penelope said coldly.

  "Precisely, precisely. After which your brains will be permanently joined together. This preliminary intimacy will add spice and substance to the sensory illusions you're going to experience after tomorrow."

  "What if we don't cooperate?" Pickering said.

  "Oh, you'll cooperate," Mr. Sim said. "This will be your last chance on this earth to commit a normal human act." He giggled again. "Besides which, I put an aphrodisiac in your drinks."

  A juicehead unlocked the door. The oversized bed had been freshly made with satin sheets. A mirror had been installed in the ceiling over it. A second steel stanchion had been bolted to the floor.

  Rough hands forced Penelope and Pickering down on the bed. Their hands were cuffed, and each was manacled with a leg iron to one of the stanchions. There was enough chain to allow limited movement.

  A juicehead handed the key to Mr. Sim. He turned and gave it to someone who had just entered the room. It was Happy.

  Penelope's eyes never left the key. Happy put it in his jacket pocket, the right-hand one. He patted the pocket reflexively, then stood waiting patiently, like some piece of machinery.

  "Now, Happy," Mr. Sim said. "Listen carefully. You are to look in on the Baroness and Major Pickering once every hour during the night. But under no circumstances are you to approach the bed. Do you understand?"

  The blocky man nodded his misshapen head vigorously. "Yessir, Mr. Sim."

  "The woman is extremely dangerous. We've all seen that. And I suspect that Major Pickering is every bit as well-trained. There's no need to get within reaching distance of either of them until we collect them in the morning."

  So much for the key, the Baroness thought.

  Happy nodded again as Mr. Sim gave him further instructions. The blocky man drew a large clasp knife and approached the bed. Two blue-clad riflemen raised their weapons and held them steady.

  "This won't hurt a bit," Mr. Sim said.

  Happy grasped the collar of Penelope's black pajamas and sliced them all the way down the back. He cut the sleeves and pulled the shredded top off her. He tossed it into a corner. He pulled off her straw sandals and then cut off the pajama trousers.

  "Get all these men out of here, you fat pervert!" Pickering shouted.

  "It doesn't matter, Nigel," the Baroness said. "Hush now."

  Happy slipped his knife under the front of her bra, between the cups, and sawed back and forth. Nothing happened. He looked puzzled, then tried to saw it again.

  "It won't cut," he said indignantly.

  Mr. Sim came over to inspect the bra. Penelope felt cold distaste as the fat hands probed and prodded.

  "Ingenious!" Mr. Sim said. "I'll wager this is the weapon you strangled the outer guard with! And you must have had a concealed wire that you used on the others. Well, you'll get no chance to use this again!" He unhooked the bra in back, then slid it down her arms and over the chain that connected the handcuffs to the leg iron. The bra ended up dangling from the chain at her ankle.

  Happy turned to Pickering. It took four of the juiceheads to hold the British agent down while Happy cut his clothing off.

  Pickering, his gentlemanly instincts unabated, stared resolutely at the ceiling. But it did no good. The mirror was there.

  Mr. Sim studied their naked bodies with satisfaction. "Dear, dear, I wish I could stay to watch," he said. "But I think privacy will give better results. I'll wait. Once you're wired up, you'll have no inhibitions whatever."

  He was about to go when something on the dressing table caught his eye. It was the Fragonard pillbox, standing out amid Penelope's cosmetics.

  "Tsk, tsk, Baroness. I'm disappointed in you. I would have thought you needed no artificial stimulants. Well, I don't suppose you can reach this, o
r anything else in the room for that matter, but I can't take a chance on your popping pills and interfering with the doses of various drugs you'll be given tomorrow."

  He emptied the make-believe capsules into his hand and replaced the pillbox on the dressing table. Absent-mindedly he put the capsules in his pocket.

  Penelope let nothing show in her face. There went her only, slim chance to somehow contact Eric and Paul and the three girls. I hope he swallows one of them, she thought. Give him something to think about.

  Mr. Sim turned his hippopotamus rear to them and waddled heavily from the room. Happy, the juiceheads, and the riflemen followed in his wake. The door closed softly behind them. There was a sound of massive tumblers clicking into place.

  The Baroness rolled over on her stomach. "Alone at last, my love," she said sardonically.

  "Till Happy makes his rounds an hour from now."

  "We could do a lot in an hour."

  "Damn it, Baroness, I don't intend to give that walking blimp the satisfaction. We certainly can muster eight hours' worth of celibacy."

  "Can we?" She gave a tinkling laugh. "Look, Nigel, the aphrodisiac's working."

  Pickering's competent-looking organ had been hanging slackly over one leg. Now it was stirring. It lengthened, grew a shade darker. In a few moments it was standing up as straight as a soldier.

  Pickering stared at it ruefully. "That's no aphrodisiac, Baroness. That's you."

  "It would be a shame to waste it."

  "Deucedly hard to do anything properly with our hands chained behind our backs."

  "Who said anything about being proper?"

  She inched toward him on her belly. Her pink tongue flickered out and stroked the fleshy minaret. Pickering drew in his breath sharply.

  Penelope heaved herself to a kneeling position and straddled him, the heavy chain dragging at her ankle.