Descent from Xanadu

by Harold Robbins

  Judd nodded. “That’s life,” he said. “Some people have no class.” He walked into the living room and stopped in front of the attaché case lying on the desk. He turned the combination locks and opened it. The bronze plaque inside was covered with red and green diodes. “Looks like a Christmas tree.”

  Fast Eddie nodded.

  Judd turned a switch on the plaque, then pressed three buttons. Suddenly all the diodes turned to yellow. Judd smiled. “I wonder if cockroaches have broken eardrums?”

  Fast Eddie laughed. “That’s not my department, boss. I’m just your valet, remember?”

  “Then get me a drink,” Judd said.

  “The usual?”

  “Atlanta cherry Coca-Cola with a lot of ice,” Judd said.

  He watched the little man walk behind the bar. “What made you so nervous?” he asked, still wondering about the automatic.

  “Too much service.” The little man filled the glass with ice cubes. “Three maids, one man with the vacuum cleaner, two window-washing men, an electrician, two telephone men. It was beginning to seem like O’Hare Airport.” He opened a bottle of Coca-Cola and filled up the glass, then brought it over carefully. “Toot?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” Judd said. He sipped the drink thoughtfully. He glanced at Fast Eddie. “How many rooms in this suite?”

  “Five.”

  “Been in all of them?”

  “Yes.”

  “The closets too?”

  “No.”

  Judd placed his drink on the desk and lifted a small transformer-like box from the attaché case. He pressed the button on its side and cupped it in his hand. “Get your piece,” he said.

  Fast Eddie pulled his gun from his belt. He followed Judd through the rooms. At each closet door, Judd held the box against the door.

  “That’s a new one,” Fast Eddie said.

  “Brand-new,” Judd said. “It’s a heat scanner tuned to body heat. Anybody in there, we’ll know about it without opening the door.”

  “Gadgets,” Fast Eddie said. “You’re cuckoo about them. Just like a kid.”

  It was at the room farthest from the entrance to the suite. Judd looked at the tiny quivering needle. “In there,” he said.

  “What do we do now?” Fast Eddie asked.

  “Wait a minute,” Judd said. He watched the needle for a moment. “We do nothing. This guy is already 98.2. Stupid for them to place an agent in a confined area like a closet. And even more stupid to assign an agent with a heart problem where only the slightest sonar shock would kill him.”

  He turned back into the living room and put the heat scanner into the attaché case, then turned off the buttons and switched off the power. The yellow diodes turned back to a red and green Christmas tree. He closed the case and turned the combination locks. He looked at Fast Eddie. “Now.”

  Fast Eddie pulled the gold chain from his neck and out of his shirt. He opened the gold vial with the gold spoon and held it out carefully to Judd. Judd took two healthy snorts.

  Fast Eddie looked at him. “I could use one too,” he said. “I’m still shaking.”

  “Be my guest.”

  Fast Eddie lived up to his name. He looked better in a second. Quickly the vial and chain disappeared. “Thanks.” He looked at his boss. “Another Coca-Cola?”

  “I think so,” Judd said. “I think this one got a little bit flat.” The telephone rang as the little man went back to the bar. “I’ll get it,” Judd said, picking it up. “Crane here.”

  “Mr. Crane, this is Dr. Zabiski.” Her voice sounded more accented on the telephone. “I have had some further thoughts about our conversation.”

  “Yes, Doctor,” he said.

  “I can meet you at your hotel at twenty-one hours if that’s convenient for you.” Her voice echoed in the phone.

  He glanced at his watch. It was six o’clock. “That would be convenient, Doctor. Perhaps you could join me at dinner?”

  “I’ll have my assistant with me.”

  “That’s okay with me.”

  “Fine, Mr. Crane. I’ll see you then. Thank you.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.” He put down the receiver and looked at Fast Eddie. “What room is Merlin in?”

  “Ten-oh-nine. The floor below ours.”

  Judd called the room. His assistant answered. “Yes, Mr. Crane?”

  “Could you come right up and bring the portophone with you,” Judd said.

  “I still have three secretaries waiting here to be interviewed.”

  “We won’t have the time for them,” Judd said. “Pay them off and get rid of them.”

  “Yes, Mr. Crane. I’ll take care of it right away.”

  Fast Eddie brought the fresh drink. He shook his head. “Too bad, Mr. Crane. That Yugoslavian pussy looked like it was prime.”

  Judd sipped the cold drink and laughed. “Can’t win ’em all.”

  The portophone was in an attaché case similar to the one on the desk in front of Judd. Merlin held it as Fast Eddie opened the door for him. The little black man closed the door behind him and gestured before he could speak. Fast Eddie held an index finger across his lips, then pointed to the ceiling lights and to the telephones. Merlin nodded his head in understanding, then crossed the room to Judd.

  “I have your messages, Mr. Crane,” he said.

  “Thank you, Merlin.” Judd placed the portophone on the desk and returned the other briefcase to Merlin. He took the sheaf of messages from his assistant. “Tell the captain that we should be ready to leave shortly after midnight.”

  “Yes, Mr. Crane.” Merlin opened the attaché case and picked up the portophone while Judd read the messages. Merlin listened to the captain and then turned to Judd. “The captain says that we’ll have to make a refuel stop on the way.”

  “See if he can arrange it in flight,” Judd said. “If we stop we could lose two, maybe three hours.”

  Merlin relayed his message and put down the portophone. “The captain says he’ll try to arrange it.”

  “Good,” Judd said. He returned the messages to Merlin. “We’ll go over these in flight tomorrow. I have a dinner appointment with Dr. Zabiski at nine. Would you book a table at the restaurant in the hotel for us? I’ll try to get in a nap and a shower before then.”

  “You have a seven o’clock appointment here with the undersecretary of tourism,” Merlin said.

  Judd made a wry smile. “There goes my nap. Guess I’ll have to settle for just a shower.”

  “Is there anything else, sir?” Merlin said.

  “I think that should cover it all. You can go back to the plane with Fast Eddie when I go down to dinner.”

  “Shall I check out then, sir?”

  “Good idea,” Judd said. “Then I could leave right from the restaurant.”

  “White shirt, black tie and suit, Mr. Crane?” Fast Eddie asked.

  “Do we have any others?” Judd smiled.

  “No, sir. But I can dream, can’t I?” Even Merlin smiled. Judd had called those clothes his battle uniform. There had to be over a hundred identical black suits in Judd’s closets, wherever he lived, anywhere in the world.

  It was ten minutes to nine as they waited in the lobby for Dr. Zabiski. Merlin and Fast Eddie watched the bellboy carry the valises out to the limousine. “I’ll keep the portophone with me,” Judd said. Merlin nodded, the other attaché case in his hand.

  Fast Eddie looked at his boss. “I’m worried about the suite you left behind,” he said. “I think you should come to the plane with us.”

  “Twelve million says there won’t be any problems,” Judd said. “The tourism department was very happy with the four Club Adriatics and the two new hotels.”

  “Maybe it’s not their ball game at all,” Fast Eddie said. “It’s some other department.”

  “There is only one department,” Judd said. “That’s the government itself. They’re calling all the shots. Why do you think Zabiski called so promptly? She’s been given her orders to negotiat
e with me. I’m not worried.” He watched the revolving door at the entrance. “She’s coming in now,” he said. “I’ll see you both at the plane.” He left them standing as he walked to meet the doctor at the entrance.

  A tall young woman with blond-brown hair, wearing a bad copy of a Chanel suit, came through the revolving door after the doctor. Even the bad copy of the suit could not conceal the body under it. Fast Eddie’s words flashed through Crane’s mind—Yugoslavian prime.

  3

  The little doctor came directly to the point the moment the maître d’ had taken the dinner orders. “Dr. Ivancich has been my first assistant for the past two years,” she said. “Before that she was two years an assistant professor of gerontology at the Georgian Academy of Sciences, two years before that Doctor of Geriatric Studies at the Soviet Academy of Sciences in Moscow, before that two years in special studies at the National Institute on Aging in Baltimore. She is a graduate of Columbia University Medical School in New York.”

  Judd looked at the young woman. “I’m impressed,” he said sincerely. “Dr. Ivancich has accomplished a great deal for someone so young.”

  She spoke in an American-accented English. “I’m not quite that young, Mr. Crane,” she said softly. “I’m thirty.”

  “That’s young,” Judd said.

  The waiter served the consommé. Judd waited until the man left the table before he began again. He looked at Dr. Zabiski. “You mentioned you had some further thoughts after our conversation.”

  Dr. Zabiski nodded. “If you’re interested in my treatments, perhaps we could shorten the first two months to two weeks.”

  “How?”

  “I can arrange a leave of absence for Dr. Ivancich to travel with you. In that way she could undertake the preliminary examinations and tests and could find out whether or not you will respond to our treatment.”

  As she was speaking, she passed a tiny piece of paper to him. Judd read it unobtrusively. It was in small handwritten pencil letters. “Destroy after reading. Dr. I is completely trustworthy. I am very interested in your proposition.”

  Judd looked at her without speaking. He crumpled the paper in his palm then popped it in his mouth. Slowly he chewed it for a moment then added several spoonfuls of his consommé and swallowed it. He smiled. “I’ve always enjoyed croutons.”

  Dr. Zabiski smiled for the first time. She nodded approvingly.

  “I’m leaving this evening,” Judd said. “If you let me know when Dr. Ivancich is ready, I’ll arrange for us to meet wherever I’ll be.”

  “Tonight, if you like, Mr. Crane,” the little doctor said. “Her valises are in my car. I’ve already made my arrangements.”

  Judd smiled. “I knew the moment we met you were my kind of doctor.” He turned to Dr. Ivancich. “I hope you enjoy travel, Doctor.”

  “I love it, Mr. Crane.”

  “Good,” he said. “We’ll be doing a great deal of it.” He paused a moment, then added, “Dr. Ivancich is a very imposing name. What is your first name?”

  “Sofia,” she said.

  “I’m Judd,” he said. “It’s very American to call each other by our first names. Would you mind, Doctor?”

  “Not at all, Judd,” she said with a half-smile. “After all, my mother was an American and I obtained most of my schooling in the States.”

  The maître d’ approached the table. “There is a telephone call for you, Dr. Zabiski,” he bowed.

  The little doctor turned to Judd. “Could you excuse me?”

  Judd nodded and rose from his seat for a moment as she left the table, then turned back to Dr. Ivancich. “You have a curious background, Sofia,” he said. “America and Russia.”

  “Not really,” she answered. “The two countries were the only ones that could afford the research and facilities in which I decided to specialize. If it hadn’t been for the fact that my father spent almost twenty-five years in the UN in New York where I was born, probably none of this would have happened. It wasn’t until we returned to Yugoslavia that I lived in Russia. And then only until Dr. Zabiski’s work was recognized by our government, at which time I was able to come to work with her.”

  “That was two years ago?” he asked. “Certainly as a doctor you could have earned more money elsewhere than here in Yugoslavia.”

  “Probably,” she said. “But, then, I would not have had the experience of working with Dr. Zabiski, who is, in my opinion, one of the true geniuses in our field.”

  “That’s quite a compliment,” Judd said.

  “I believe it,” she said.

  From the corner of his eye, Judd saw the little doctor returning. He got to his feet. She seemed slightly pale. “Is everything all right?” he asked, as he held the chair out for her.

  She looked across the table as he returned to his own chair. “Nothing important,” she said. Then she looked deeply into the dark cobalt-blue of his eyes and that strange chill she felt in her office came over her again. It was as if he had invaded her mind.

  She looked down at the tablecloth and placed her napkin on her lap before looking at him again. “Wouldn’t it be strange,” she said softly, “if we discover that death and immortality are one and the same thing?”

  Death and immortality. The words echoed in the recesses of his mind. It was more than twenty years since his father had expressed to him almost exactly the same thought.

  ***

  It was 1956. Exactly two days after President Eisenhower had been reelected for his second term. Judd had taken the 8:02 from Boston. The day was crisp and sunny in New York and he went up the back staircase from Grand Central and walked up Park Avenue. New York was exciting and alive, the people busy and hurried. It was very different from the almost lazy pace of the Harvard campus in Cambridge. He looked at his watch. It was not yet eleven o’clock. He had time. His father had asked him to meet at his office at noon.

  He was still twenty minutes early when he stood in front of the new office building and looked up at the burnished stainless steel letters over the entrance: CRANE INDUSTRIES. He walked up the steps between the two fountains and through the glass doors. Since he was still early, he leaned against the marble walls and watched the people go in and out of the building.

  A few minutes later a uniformed security guard approached him. He was a burly man, self-important in his army Sam Browne leather belt and his holstered gun. “No loitering here, sonny,” he said in a gruff voice.

  “I’m not loitering,” Judd said politely. “I’m early for an appointment. So I thought I’d wait here.”

  “Sorry, sonny,” the guard said. “If you’re early, come back later.”

  Judd shrugged. “I might as well not be early then,” he said and began walking to the elevator bank which indicated the fortieth-floor express.

  The guard stopped him. “They’re executive floors.”

  “I know that,” Judd said.

  “Who do you have an appointment with?” he asked.

  “Mr. Crane,” Judd said.

  The guard looked at him skeptically. He gestured to another guard standing in front of the elevator bank, who came to them. “This kid says he’s got an appointment with Mr. Crane.”

  The second guard looked at him. “Do you have any identification on you, sir?” he asked politely.

  Judd opened his jacket, the maroon sweater with the “H” crew letter over his white shirt seemed almost black in the light between the elevator banks. He took a leather billfold from his inside pocket. “Driver’s license, okay?”

  “Fine,” the second guard nodded. He opened the billfold, looked at it, then at Judd. He folded it and handed it back.

  “Sorry, Mr. Crane,” he said apologetically. “We have to be careful. In the last few weeks we’ve had some problems with people who had no reason to be here.”

  “I understand,” said Judd, returning his billfold to his pocket.

  The second guard turned a key to the elevator bank switchboard. One of the elevator doors opened. �
��Forty-fifth floor, Mr. Crane,” he said, stepping back.

  Judd walked in and pressed the button. The doors began to close and the second guard’s voice came to Judd’s ears. “Asshole,” he said to the first guard. “That’s the boss’s son, you were—”

  Judd smiled to himself as the voice became lost in the rush of air as the elevator moved up. He leaned back and watched the indicator lights climb. It was five minutes to noon when he came out of the elevator.

  The receptionist was waiting at the door. “Good morning, Mr. Crane,” she said. “Your father is expecting you.” She opened the doors to the private elevator to his father’s office, the only one on the penthouse floor.

  His father’s secretary met him as he came from the small elevator. “Judd,” she smiled.

  “Miss Barrett,” he said, leaning to kiss her cheek. “You’re looking younger and prettier than ever.”

  She laughed. “That’s sweet,” she said warmly. “But I’ve known you since you were born. You don’t have to give me that standard Harvard line.”

  “Believe me,” he laughed. “I mean it. This is not Harvard.” He followed her through the outer secretaries’ room to her office next to his father’s. “How is he?” he asked. “It’s been almost six months since I’ve seen him.”

  “You know your father,” she said, a strangely noncommittal sound in her voice. “He always seems the same.”

  He paused and looked at her. “What kind of answer is that? Is something wrong?”

  She didn’t speak. Instead, she opened the door to his father’s office. He thought he saw her eyes glisten with moisture as he went past. She closed the door behind him.

  His father was standing at the windows looking out, his back toward him. “Judd?”

  “Yes, Father,” Judd called from the door.

  “Come here,” he said, still not turning to him.

  Judd came to the window and stood next to his father. They hadn’t faced each other yet.

  “It’s very clear. You can see the Battery, Staten Island beyond, and northeast to Long Island Sound and Connecticut.”

  “Yes,” Judd said quietly. “It’s very clear.”

  His father paused a moment, then turned to him. He held out his hand. “You’re looking well, Judd,” he said.