After the 1958 election placed him in undisputed control of all three branches of the government, and he had arrogantly established the Roman salute and put the Army into black uniforms, there came the first rumblings against his dictator-like power. But a few ruthless blood-purges, followed by his persuasive voice on television attacking the character and loyalty of the deceased, quickly drove the opposition to cover.
Lieutenant Jack Adams, participating in some of these, purges, had helplessly witnessed independent newspaper editors and statesmen lined up before machine-guns in the soundproof basement of the State War and Navy Building. And so he could now vividly picture to himself the end of his two pals. Their death would be of the clear-eyed, defiant variety. Well, if they had the courage thus to die for American freedom, he could have the courage to keep a stiff upper lip and let them die. The success of the conspiracy depended on his continuing in the good graces of President Jeffers.
Just then Jeffers strode back into the room, once more seating himself at his desk. A strange Jekyll-Hyde sort of personality Jeffers! A few moments ago human, almost wavering, now fierce and ruthless. Briskly he scrawled his flowing signature across than foot of the death warrant. Then he turned his cold eyes toward his aide. 'Here, Adams, take this paper over to the War Department.'
'Yes, sir,' replied the Lieutenant, raising his right hand in a Roman salute. His fine features were expressionless, but he could not conceal the deep pain in his gray eyes.
'I know how you feel, Adams,' said the President. 'But you must be a good soldier — for the Cause.'
As Adams left, with the warrant clenched in his fist, he muttered to himself, 'If Steel Jeffers only knew what a good soldier I'm being — for the Cause.'
Returning to his house on P Street that evening, Adams changed from his trim black uniform into a loose gray Norfolk suit and hastened down into the cellar. The brick wall at one side was interlaced with many crisscross cracks. One irregular seam now swung open like a door. Adams felt a gust of cool musty air. A light shone dimly in the distance through the dark hole. Presently there crawled out a stocky dark young man with a serious face. Adams shook his hand.
'Well, Godfrey, no one yet seems to have discovered that we know each other, even though we do live in adjoining houses. Have the rest of the crowd arrived?'
'Here's Liam and Sim.' Two men, one tall and dark, the other short and roly-poly, crawled out through the hole.
'Had a devil of a time getting here!' the former announced. 'Black-coated soldiers everywhere, damn them! No offense to you, Adams.'
The short fat fellow chuckled. 'Never mind the black-coats, Liam,' he said. 'It's the Secret Service we ought to worry about.'
Several more men emerged from the hole in the wall.
Adams solemnly shook hands with everyone. 'Tom and Bill are dead,' be gravely announced. 'Shot against a wall. I myself carried their death-warrant over. Jeffers would have let them off with mere imprisonment, if it hadn't been for that fiendish Secretary of State of his.'
'Don't make excuses for Jeffers!' snapped Liam Lincoln, his dark eyes glittering with fanatic light. He brushed back a trailing lock of black hair. 'Jeffers is a heartless usurper, though doubtless his experience in college theatricals when he was at Princeton enables him to put on an act. Sometimes, Adams, I begin to wonder if you–'
'Well, you needn't,' the Lieutenant interrupted. 'I risk my life daily for the Cause, while you boss things in comparative safety.'
'For cripes sake!' cut in roly-poly Simeon Baldwin. 'If we can't trust each other, fellows, who can we trust?'
'You're right, Sim. I'm sorry, Jack,' Lincoln graciously apologized. 'Well, to business. Very gratifying secret reports are coming in from all over the country. Our organization is growing by leaps and bounds. The Governors of nearly half the states are either active members, or at least in sympathy. Patriotic leading citizens everywhere are waiting for the word from our little Washington group that the time has come for action. Meanwhile Sim here has completed his study of Jeffers' early life.'
'I'll skip what you already know,' said Baldwin. 'What I've lately been working on is his sister.'
'You mean the one who died on the day of Jeffers' election?' Adams asked.
'Did she? I wonder,' Baldwin replied enigmatically.
'Did she what?'
'Did she really die? That's the angle I've been working on for the past few weeks. If she did die, old Svengali Dougherty killed her, and Steel Jeffers wouldn't have stood for that. So I believe she is hidden away somewhere to prevent her from influencing her brother.'
'But why should Dougherty fear her influence?' asked one of the others. 'The three of them were hand-in-glove.'
Liam Lincoln laughed harshly, and tossed back his long locks of black hair. 'That was back in the days when even we were following Jeffers toward 'the better economic day' for America.'
'You're right, Liam,' Adams chimed in. 'The change in the President seems to date from the death — or disappearance — of his sister. You're on the track of something, Sim. Go on.'
Baldwin continued. 'There's something fishy about the death of Helen Jeffers. The girl was in charge of her brother's campaign headquarters and apparently perfectly well, right up to election day. The coroner who signed her death-certificate hasn't been seen since. Her brother was reported prostrated by her death — went into seclusion immediately in a mountain camp — yet no doctor went with him.'
'But — weren't Southworth and Vierecke there?' Adams interrupted.
Baldwin replied, 'Southworth — now Rear Admiral and White House physician — didn't arrive at the mountain lodge until two weeks after election. Doctor Vierecke didn't land from Austria until a week after that.'
'But if Jeffers wasn't ill, why doctors at all?' asked Lincoln. 'He seemed weak and shaken when he came back from the mountains, just before inauguration.'
'That's the next point which I wish investigated,' Baldwin asserted. 'Just what is the why of Admiral Southworth and his Austrian assistant? Jack, can't you get a line on them? You're in the White House.'
'I know something about them already,' Adams diffidently replied. 'Southworth did research work in hormones, before he went into the Navy. That's how he happened to know Vierecke, for hormones was Vierecke's specialty at Goettingen.'
'Not much to go on,' said Lincoln. 'Do some spying, Jack. I understand that two of them have a fully equipped chemical and biological laboratory in the basement of the White House. Why should there be such an establishment there? We must investigate everything the least bit screwy about the President, in the hope of some day finding his weak spot. Well, go on, Sim.'
Baldwin thrust his hand into a briefcase as fat as himself, and pulled out a photograph. The others clustered around. From the picture, there looked up at them the frank sweet face of a young girl. 'Helen Jeffers,' he announced, 'just before her death — or disappearance. You'd know she was a Jeffers, wouldn't you?'
But Adams could see no resemblance to her brother. Soft wavy dark hair. Frank open eyes. Perfect features. Full alluring lips. Softly curved neck and shoulders.
Strange that such a thoroughly feminine girl had formed a compatible member of that triumvirate — with Steel Jeffers, the popular and magnetic front; and Dougherty, the practical wirepulling organizer — which had pushed Steel Jeffers up to the position of supreme power in America!
'Some baby!' murmured several of the conspirators, appraisingly.
But a stronger feeling touched Lieutenant Adams. Of course, he had seen newspaper cuts of her at the time of her brother's campaign, but this was different. He squared his shoulders with determination. His gray eyes narrowed, and a whimsical smile played on his lips.
'Gentlemen,' he announced, with mock solemnity, 'I am going to find Helen Jeffers for you.' In his mind he added: 'And for myself.'
CHAPTER II
The next morning, a bright sunlit June day, Lieutenant Adams swung through the streets with a determined stride on his wa
y to his post at the White House. Mechanically he returned the Roman salutes of the black-uniformed military men whom he passed. Civilians were few on the streets of Washington these days. Washington had become a vast military establishment.
Entering the executive mansion, he passed the shrewd-faced, bushy-eyebrowed old sea doctor, Admiral Southworth, going out. Adams reported to one of the Assistant Secretaries, and was informed that Steel Jeffers was not up yet. Fine! This would give him time on his own, to investigate the mysterious laboratory.
As he approached the always-locked doors in the cellar, they opened. Ducking quickly behind a pillar, he saw the bullet-headed Dr. Vierecke emerge, hat on head and without his white smock, then turn, key in hand, and lock the doors. Glancing furtively around, the doctor shoved the key into the dirt of a potted plant standing nearby, then hurried off down the corridor. Adams slipped out from behind the pillar, and followed until Vierecke left the building. Then he hastened to the office wing, and asked the appointment clerk, 'Where are Admiral Southworth and Dr. Vierecke?'
The girl consulted a memorandum book and replied, 'They've both gone to a conference over at the Public Health Service. Won't be back until after lunch.'
Grinning to himself, Adams strode back, extricated the key, from the dirt of the plant pot, unlocked the laboratory, and entered, locking the door behind him.
His gray eyes were alight with anticipation. What an opportunity! The only two men who ever entered the laboratory would be safely out of the way for the rest of the morning. And if the President wished Adams, the autocall bells throughout the White House would ring his number, and he could come running.
Most conspicuous in the room were two long workbenches with sinks, Bunsen burners, retorts, glass and rubber piping, and test tubes.
A squeaking noise in one end of the laboratory attracted his attention to dozens of caged guinea pigs. Adams strode over to the cage. On each cage was posted a sign on which each individual was identified by symbols, including some Adams had never seen. Thoughtfully he scratched his blond head, grinned, and then copied several of the charts into a little pocket notebook as samples — he could return and copy more if these few should hold any significance for the biologist among the conspirators.
He looked in the ice-chest, but found nothing there except some small unlabeled bottles.
Next he inspected a cabinet of surgical tools. The large number of hypodermic needles impressed him. His mind flashed back to the change which had come over Steel Jeffers when, wavering on the question of executing the young traitors, he had been called out of the Blue Room by Herr Doktor Vierecke, and had returned, filled with merciless determination. Could the secret of the power of the sinister cabal lie in drugs?
Adams shuddered. The brother of Helen Jeffers a drug addict? Incredible!
Nevertheless the possibility must be investigated. So, with sinking heart, Adams turned to a bank of open shelves, stacked with labeled bottles.
To his relief, he found no morphine, opium, heroin, cocaine, or any other substance the name of which he recognized as being that of a narcotic. He copied down the names of several chemicals which he did not recognize. These might be narcotics.
Then his attention was directed to several large drums, labeled 'Cholesterol.'
He was just jotting down the word, together with the name and address of the supply company, when a bell in the corridor outside clicked his autocall! The President wanted him.
Hurrying to the door, he was about to unlock it, when he heard voices outside. Putting his ear to the crack, he listened. In crisp tones, the old Admiral was saying, 'You fat-headed fool! Why didn't you hide the key where I told you to?'
'Ve haf two keys.'
'I left mine in my other suit. It is at the cleaners.'
'Unt I did put der key in der pot.'
'Ding! Ding — ding — ding!' insistently rang the autocall. If Adams didn't hurry, embarrassing inquiries would be made.
'Now listen, you fat-head,' said the sharp incisive voice of the old sea-dog. 'Go to the head housekeeper, and tell her to find out pronto who's been messing around that flowerpot. I'll send someone over to the tailors for my key. Report to me in the executive offices. Now vamoose!'
Footsteps of both men could be heard moving off down the corridor. Adams unlocked the door, and peered out. No one in sight; so he hastily emerged, locked the door, thrust the key in his pocket, and dog-trotted to the Blue Room.
Stopping just outside the room, he smoothed down his black uniform, and entered unconcernedly. Stepping up to the desk in the bay window, he raised his arm in a brisk Roman salute. Steel Jeffers looked up.
'Oh, yes,' Jeffers absently announced. 'Here are some papers to be taken over to the War Department.'
Adams' set jaw relaxed, and he drew a deep breath of relief. Taking the papers, he raised his arm again in salute, faced about, and strode from the room.
In the big hall outside, he ran across Admiral Southworth. The bushy-browed old sea-doctor was visibly agitated. 'Oh! Ah! Lieutenant, you going anywhere in particular?'
'War Department sir,' Adams briskly replied; and he couldn't resist adding, 'But I thought that the Admiral was at a conference.'
Southworth bent narrow eyes of scrutiny at him. 'Meeting called off. Not that it's any business of yours, you young whelp.'
'Can I do anything for the Admiral?' Adams asked innocently.
'Why, ah, yes. Step over to that tailor shop on 17th between G and F, and get a key for me. I left it in a suit. It's — it's the key to my locker at the Army and Navy Club, and I'm going to need it this noon.'
'Yes, sir,' said Adams, with expressionless face.
He took the President's papers to the War Department, and then retrieved the Admiral's laboratory key. On his way back to the White House, he racked his brains for some excuse not to deliver this key; but finally he reflected that, if he kept both keys this would merely result in Southworth having a new lock fitted.
So he handed Admiral Southworth his key.
The rest of the morning he had to attend the President; but, after that, he hurried to the stenographic office of the White House.
Seating himself at one of the desks he penned a brief note, reading: 'P.N. Investigate White House purchases of cholesterol. J.Q.A.' Then, clapping his black military cap onto his head, he strode out of the White House, and down the left-hand driveway to the corner of West Executive and Pennsylvania Avenues, where he stopped to buy a bag of peanuts from the old Italian who kept a stand there.
'Giuseppe,' said Adams, as his eye happened to light on the man's tin license plate, 'the Federal Peanut Commission wouldn't let you stay in business, if they knew what your business really was.'
'I do not understand, Signore,' solemnly replied the Italian, stroking his long gray mustaches; but there was a twinkle in his beady black eyes as he said it. 'My business is to sella da peanut, no?'
'No!' Adams replied, laughing. 'Well, here you are.' He handed over a dollar bill, folded to conceal the note which he had written.
'Grazzia, Signore,' said Giuseppe, with a bow.
Then Adams ambled back to the White House, ruminatively cracking peanuts and eating them, and wondering what Philip Nordstrom, a conspirator who held a small clerkship in the office of the Comptroller General, would be able to learn on the subject of cholesterol.
Adams was famous in White House circles for the large quantities of peanuts which he consumed; but he was fortunately not famous for the large number of notes which he left with, and received from, the grizzled old peanut-vendor.
CHAPTER III
That evening when the little band of patriots gathered again in Adams' cellar, Nordstrom, a tall blond youth with pale blue eyes, was ready to report.
'I got your note from Giuseppe, Jack,' he said, 'but why your sudden interest in cholesterol?'
'Why Steel Jeffers' sudden interest in it?' Adams grimly asked.
'His interest isn't sudden,' Nordstrom replied. 'The White
House has been buying cholesterol in quantities ever since Jeffers first became President four years ago.'
Liam Lincoln ran one slim hand through his long black hair. 'Cabot,' he said, addressing that solemn-faced individual, 'you're a chemist of sorts. What possible use can Steel Jeffers have for so much what-you-call-it?'
Roly-poly Simeon Baldwin eagerly cut in, 'I believe we are getting somewhere!' His fat face was alight with interest. 'Maybe this cholesterol, or whatever, will furnish us the clue we're after.'
'Well,' said Cabot judicially, 'let's first hear from Jack how he got a line on this.'
Adams then related how he had explored the laboratory.
'Did you find any small bottles capped with a rubber diaphragm?' Cabot asked.
'Why-er-no,' the Lieutenant replied. 'Ought I have?'
'Well rather! All those hypodermic needles! Lots of guinea pigs, to experiment on! President getting pepped up by Dr. Vierecke every time Secretary Dougherty wants him to do something particularly diabolical'
'Come to think of it,' Adams replied, 'there were some small bottles in the ice-chest. But I didn't notice them particularly — they weren't labeled.'
'Can you get in there again?'
'Yes.'
'Then bring me one of those bottles.'
The next day at the first opportunity Adams headed for the laboratory. Admiral Southworth and his Prussian assistant were talking together just outside the door as he drew near. Their heads were close, and their manner seemed furtive.
'Now while I am in the Adirondacks,' the old sea doctor was saying in an undertone, 'are you sure that you have on hand enough–'
'Sh!' admonished the bullet-headed Vierecke, catching sight of Adams. 'Yes, ve haf plenty.' He nodded vigorously.
Southworth smiled a wind-swept smile, and held out his hand. 'Well, goodbye Franz. Take good care of everything.'
The Lost Master - The Collected Works Page 78
