by John Creasey
‘I’m very glad. Did you seriously try to kill the man in my garden?’ he went on.
‘Oh, yes,’ she answered, without hesitation.
‘Why?’
‘Because he was working for Dr. Palfrey.’
‘Is that a very good reason?’ Maddern spoke as if he were humouring a small child.
‘Yes,’ she answered simply.
‘Why?’
‘Palfrey is our enemy.’
‘Our’, Maddern noticed with sharp interest: it was the first time she had even implied that she was not working alone.
‘Must you kill your enemies?’ Maddern enquired quite casually.
‘Yes. Yes, of course.’
‘You don’t believe in forgiveness, then?’
She frowned, as if genuinely puzzled, and then asked as if she really could not understand the question, ‘No. Why should I?’
‘It’s a common Christian principle,’ he stated, almost too lightly. He did not want to frighten her but he so wanted to learn a great deal about her. If he didn’t he would feel that he was letting Palfrey down.
‘A common what?’ she asked.
‘A common Christian principle,’ he repeated.
‘What is a Christian principle?’
Now, he was both deeply worried and amazed: she could be fooling him, of course, pretending that she didn’t know, but on the other hand she might be truly ignorant – a girl who had been brought up without any knowledge of Christianity at all.
‘It’s a principle based on the preaching of Christ,’ he explained.
If she asked, ‘Who is Christ?’ he thought he would not know what to do next. And she was puzzled by the name as if she really didn’t know what and who Christ was. Then the look of utter bafflement on her face faded, and understanding dawned. Maddern began to breathe more freely.
‘Oh, Jesus Christ, you mean.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘But he was one of the false prophets,’ argued Susan, very clearly, ‘wasn’t he?’
Now, Maddern almost stopped breathing, and when she realised that he wasn’t going on, she said, ‘Like Mohammed and Buddha and Confucius and—oh, I forget.’
‘Who told you they were false prophets?’ asked Maddern, huskily.
‘Well, everyone knows.’
‘They all founded great religions,’ he told her.
‘Yes, I know. But surely nobody believes in religion anymore.’
He could hear such a claim from a dozen, a hundred young people whom he knew: children he had brought into the world as he had brought Jane Gunnison’s baby, without being so affected and finding it so bizarre. She talked as if she had been brought up without belief in any of the religions; to know of them only as an historic concept with no influence at all on the world of today. Yet their influence, in many ways, was as great as ever. There was a revolt against organised religion but even in the Christian churches which had lost much support there remained a hard core of believers. Didn’t this girl know that? Could she have been so cloistered as to be truly ignorant?
He knew that it would be no use to argue with her; he had to lead away from the subject in the hope of learning more about her. Who she was, where she came from, why Palfrey was an enemy, how she had come to believe that enemies should be killed.
‘So, you wanted to kill Palfrey,’ he said.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Why had he become your enemy?’
She looked puzzled again as she answered, ‘He tried to stop me going home.’
‘Home?’ echoed Maddern, with sharp interest.
Her expression changed, and there was cunning in it. She hesitated for a long time and then said, ‘I am not allowed to tell you where I come from. This Dr. Palfrey tried to find out.’ She said that as if it were explanation enough for wanting him dead.
‘Did he do you any harm, as a person?’ Maddern asked.
‘Oh, no. He—’ She broke off, frowning, and left her sentence in mid-air.
‘He’s just an enemy, is that it?’ Maddern asked lamely.
‘Yes.’ She placed her hands on the arms of her chair and raised her eyebrows as she looked at him. She was so tiny that her toes did not touch the floor. ‘Just an enemy.’
‘Of your country? Your—of your leader, perhaps?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘Of my leader.’
‘Who is—’
Before he could finish the question she catapulted at him from the chair. One moment she was sitting there relaxed and demure-looking, if puzzled, the next she was hurtling towards him like a bullet. His coffee cup and saucer went flying in one direction, the spoon brushed his forehead. He dodged to one side, but could not evade her – not her body, nor her hands as she clawed at him, nor her feet as she kicked. She was in a vicious fury, at him tooth and nail.
Then, she sprang back, turned and rushed towards the door.
Maddern, blood welling up from a scratch on his cheek, eyes watering where she had poked them, legs wet from his own spilled coffee, tried to get up quickly to follow her, but some strange force, like a great pressure of air, pushed at him, and he dropped back into the chair. Before he was properly on his feet, she had disappeared into the hall.
The sensation of being thrust back, had gone with her.
Chapter Ten
HELLION
Maddern, half dazed, blood now streaming down his cheek, ran to the door and out into the garden. It was nearly dark, but a full moon brightened heaven and Earth and made the stars look close. No one but Susan was in sight, a slim, fast-moving figure soon lost against the darkness of trees, then suddenly vivid against the paleness of the drive and the western sky. He was already gasping for breath, raging with himself because he was so out of condition and had been taken by surprise, raging at the fact that the C.I.D. men weren’t there. My God! No wonder things went so badly wrong if men slept on such a job as this. Or else were out, drinking.
Then, the headlights of a car shone out, vivid yellow. Susan looked almost like a rabbit, caught running. She stopped. She raised her hands, the headlight beams showed her slender figure, shone on her face and poured brilliance into her eyes.
A car pulled out at the end of the drive, and men stepped from this. One of them called, ‘Give up, Sue.’
She didn’t move.
‘You’ll only get hurt if you move.’
Men began to close in on her from all sides, from the cars and the trees. There were six in all, and each approached warily. Six, against a girl who hardly came up to their shoulders! They approached a step at a time, while she stood there, staring at each man in turn.
Then, she spun about and rushed back towards Maddern.
This was the second time she had taken him unawares, but now he had a little warning. He became aware of other men on either side but not yet close and obviously not visible to the girl. She did not dodge either right or left but came hurtling towards him. If she came at him full pelt, and struck him, could he stand up? He crouched, heart hammering. Now he could see her face and her eyes against what light there was; she was still quite beautiful.
Maddern held his breath, as he waited. Surely she would dodge, would not continue on this collision course. He braced himself and, from about ten feet away, she leapt. He was surprised how high she could jump, the sharp toes of her shoes on a level with his eyes.
She was going to kick him in the face!
Suddenly, the other men moved, swiftly, while Maddern tucked his head well down on his chest and spread his arms to catch her. At that instant, her hard body struck his like a battering ram, and he was bowled over, but somehow he kept his arms about her; his fingers seemed to be self-locking behind her back. She began to writhe and kick, bending her arms as she tried to drive her elbows into
his face. Her fist caught him in the forehead and pain shrieked through him.
He still held her, tight, but it was like trying to hold a huge cat, her claws were everywhere, on his clothes and on his skin. She seemed to be electrically ablaze, working as if her very life depended on it, and in a way it did.
He hugged her tighter and tighter.
She began to breathe more sluggishly, almost gasping for breath. His grip hardened. He was aware only of her, but on the perimeter of his vision were several men, the C.I.D. men of course. They were in a circle. Why didn’t they help? There were plenty of them, why—
He broke off, for she went suddenly inert, collapsing against him.
‘Be careful,’ Smith called. ‘She pulled this one before.’
‘>Mind she doesn’t cut and run for it!’ one of the men called out.
‘She won’t—’ began Maddern. ‘She—’
She arched her back like a bucking horse and began to kick and to scream again. Men came to try to stop her but she was in an absolute fury, writhing and kicking with astonishing strength. Maddern put his hands round her neck and began to squeeze as a man called out, ‘Don’t hurt her!’
‘Hurt—’
‘Don’t break her neck.’ This time it was Smith, who had worked so hard to steady her.
‘I’d like to choke the life out of her,’ Maddern growled.
‘That’s what we’re afraid of,’ Smith remarked.
Then Susan, lying so limp and looking so fragile, suddenly bounded upwards, freed herself, struck Maddern on the stomach with her heel, landed, and began to race towards the drive gates again. This time two men stepped in her path and grabbed her. She seemed too exhausted to scream or struggle any more. One of the men held her limp figure, the other began to put his own jacket on her, back to front. He tied the sleeves round her breast with a vigorous pull, but did not let her go.
‘Got her,’ one of the men called, breathing heavily.
‘Watch her!’
‘She’s the only one we’ve got,’ a man explained with a curious laugh.
‘Do we want more like her?’ asked a third.
‘Whatever you do, don’t let her go.’
‘Where are we going to take her?’ called a man who hadn’t spoken before.
‘Back to my house,’ said Maddern, brusquely. ‘I won’t let her go again, and you could watch the doors instead of being out among the trees.’
‘Teach grandma,’ said one.
‘To suck eggs,’ called a third.
‘If you’ll stop playing the fool we’ll take her to my surgery,’ Maddern said harshly. ‘Let’s get a move on.’
She lay like a doll on the couch of his surgery, as far as Maddern could judge, completely unharmed. Her pulse was a little fast, but that was hardly surprising. She lay absolutely still, on her back, and in this bright electric light, looked ethereally beautiful. She wasn’t as lovely as when he had first seen her, but when one considered where she had been and what she had done, she was incredible. The material of her dress was soft, much softer than silk, and there seemed to be no seams.
Two men, including Smith, were in the surgery with him.
‘Dr. Maddern,’ Smith said, quietly.
‘Yes?’
‘We simply must not lose that girl. She is the only contact we’ve ever had with this particular enemy. She might well become an emissary or an interpreter and guide. When you put your fingers round her neck I thought you were going to strangle her. If we lose her, then we’ll have to start again. Can’t you make her talk?’
‘Not yet,’ said Maddern. ‘At the moment we might have a better chance to find out what we want if we don’t try force or pressure.’
‘Leave her with you for the night, you mean?’
‘Yes. And watch the doors and windows,’ rejoined Maddern.
‘If you think you can cope with that little hellion—’ began Smith.
‘Ever tried being friendly with her?’ Maddern asked sharply.
‘I’d rather try to be friendly with a viper,’ Smith retorted, and he added sourly, ‘Your efforts to be friendly didn’t get you far, did they?’
Maddern looked into the other’s tired eyes and bit back a tart retort. He could see that Smith was at the end of his tether. A battle of words would serve no purpose, and he needed this man’s co-operation.
‘It certainly hasn’t yet,’ he said. ‘Is her name Susan?’
‘Childers called her Sue when she first tried to kill him with her pistol. And it stuck. At that time we thought she was just an extraordinary young woman, but it didn’t take us long to find out that she’s a she-devil. If you really want to see her at her worst, make a pass at her like one of our chaps did,’ Smith went on. ‘Then you’ll see.’
‘Do you know where she comes from?’
‘No. Now and again she gives herself away as being on the other side, and anyone who tries to pump her is dubbed an enemy. She’s the only one of the other side we’ve ever caught, but we’ve seen two others very like her. We captured her twice, and each time she got away. There are times when she seems to be made of india-rubber and others when she seems to be of high tensile steel.’ Smith dropped his hands heavily against his thighs and went on, ‘Oh, well. Do you have television?’
‘Yes. It’s in the living-room,’ answered Maddern. ‘Why?’
‘It’s news time,’ answered Smith. ‘For some outlandish reason news is twenty minutes later than London in this part of the world, and I nearly always miss it. I like to see the last news; it makes me feel I’m part of the world instead of a spectator to normal life. May I?’
‘I’ll join you,’ Maddern said.
‘Don’t let Sue—’
‘I’ll see that our Susan’s all right,’ Maddern assured him.
He went into the surgery, where the girl had not stirred. He gave her an injection of morphine which should keep her under only for about two hours, took the jacket off her and spread a blanket up to her chin, as he had once before. He was held in momentary thrall by her elfin beauty; in repose all sense of tension and fear and wildness was gone, and she looked like a child.
Was she a child? Sixteen, seventeen, say? Or a woman in her twenties?
Woman or child, she did not know much about the attitude towards religion in this country.
He pulled down a heavy blind at the window, which was barred because there were dangerous drugs in this room, checked that the door of the drug cupboard was locked, and went out, turning the key in the lock of the passage door. He must not be too long, he told himself, and turned towards the living-room.
Before he reached it, Smith bellowed wildly, ‘Maddern. Come here!’
Maddern quickened his step and then stopped on the threshold. The announcer was speaking almost phlegmatically and appeared to have no idea of the significance of what he was saying.
—whole areas affecting tens of thousands of women, have become a human desert. There are no children on the way in any of these places. The women are barren or the men are sterile. If this process spreads then the future of the whole human race is at stake. In fact the human race could be dying out—
Smith slowly lowered himself to the arm of a chair, but Maddern stood absolutely still, horrified by the cold-blooded manner in which the story was being told, appalled that Palfrey should have released it in such a way.
Secret investigations by Z5, the international organisation led by Dr. Stanislaus Alexander Palfrey—
‘My God! They know that!’ exploded Smith.
‘Palfrey must be mad to put out a statement like that—’ Maddern began.
‘That’s not Palfrey’s statement. He’d appear himself if he could not persuade the Prime Minister to—’ Smith’s voice faded out.
Dr. Palfrey himself has been the su
bject of several murderous assaults since his investigation began.
‘I tell you that wasn’t Palfrey’s doing,’ growled Smith. ‘I’ll bet he’s so mad he could throw his hand in.’ Smith suddenly laughed, only to choke on the sound; in a strained voice he went on, ‘No. Not Palfrey. He would never throw his hand in. Even if he knew he hadn’t a chance and they were going to hang, draw and quarter him, he wouldn’t give in.’ He swung round on Maddern. ‘Find out where that venomous bitch comes from. Do you hear? If you want to help Palfrey, if you want to put an end to this horror, find out where she came from, who she is, what she’s after. Find out!’ Smith almost bellowed. ‘Do you hear?’
‘All right, all right,’ said Maddern, soothingly. ‘I’ll find out.’ When such a man was on edge like this, when he could lose his self-control so easily, there was something badly wrong with him. It might be something simple. ‘When did you last get a good night’s sleep?’ he asked.
‘Sleep,’ echoed Smith. ‘Don’t be funny. I haven’t had any sleep worth calling sleep for five—no—six days. Just cat naps, now and again. And until we know what’s going on and where that vixen came from, we’ll never get any sleep.’
Maddern did the only thing which might help: gave Smith some brandy, and then called the others in, one at a time, to have a drink and so keep themselves awake. Each time he stepped outside, Maddern saw the lights of the Compton bungalow shining, bright now because the moon had gone and only the stars gave brightness.
‘Oh, Guy!’ gasped Belinda Compton, sobbing.
‘It’s all right, darling. It’s all right.’
‘But I blamed you!’
‘Well, we know I’m not to blame now, don’t we?’
Belinda made a sighing sound and snuggled closer to him. They were in bed together, with the television against the wall at the foot of the bed, a big colour set which seemed to make everybody on the screen life-like. Just now a young girl in a Scottish tartan dress was singing. Her hair was sandy-coloured and her eyes very pale grey.
