He was still smiling, as he changed into his gray Norfolk suit, thrust his forty-five into his left hand coat pocket, packed his bag, and drove his car to the White House. Parking by the servant’s entrance, he entered, and made directly for the offices. Here he was handed a note from the Dictator, commanding him to report at once to the Presidential bedroom.
A totally strange girl, with curly yellow hair, let him in. She laughed at his open-mouthed amazement. Then said in the Dictator’s voice, “Well, Jack Adams, how do you like my blonde wig? Am I different enough to suit you?”
“I’ll say you are, Sir! The car is waiting at the rear. And I’ve arranged for safe passage through the enemy lines. But what about abdication?”
“While you were telephoning from your home, I made all the necessary arrangements with General Peters. As soon as I am safe, he will contact the enemy and make the best peace possible.”
“I intimated as much to my pals, when I phoned them,” said Adams. “But I merely told them that someone high up in your organization was willing to betray the city into Allied hands, if they would give me a pass through the lines, to arrange it.”
“Excellent!” laughed Steel Jeffers. There was a peculiar note in his laugh. Then, reaching for the phone, he called the Blue Room, and asked for General Peters. “General, this is Steel Jeffers. If you don’t hear from me by three o’clock, you know what to do.”
Returning the instrument to its cradle, the disguised Dictator said in a high-pitched feminine voice, “Well, Jack, I am ready. Here is a Presidential pass, made out to John Q. Adams and Mary Calvert.”
“They’ll never suspect you, Sir,” Adams admiringly asserted, as he picked up the bags, and led the way out to his parked car.
Circling the White House, he stopped at the peanut-stand of old Giuseppe, and bought a large supply of the nuts.
“Is the Lieutenant leaving?” asked the grizzled Italian.
“Yes,” Adams replied, “and, if you’re depending on my trade for a living, you’d better give up your stand. I shan’t be back for some time.”
Driving north on 15th, to Scott Circle, Adams then cut east on Rhode Island Avenue. They hadn’t gone more than a block or two, when they were halted by a squad of khaki-clad Federal soldiery. Adams flashed the pass which the Dictator had provided, and the soldiers let them through.
This was repeated every block or two. Their luck seemed too good. And gradually there came to the surface of Adams’ mind a thought which had been struggling for recognition. Just why was the great Steel Jeffers cravenly fleeing for his life, disguised as a woman, and passing up the chance of using Lieutenant Adams as a decoy to trap the leaders of the conspiracy?
As Adams turned these thoughts over in his mind, the pretended girl beside him uneasily asked, “When do we contact your friends? Here we are almost at the outskirts of the city, and you haven’t yet secured the pass which is to let us through the Allied lines.”
Adams instinctively glanced up at the rear-view mirror, and saw a large black sedan following them.
“I’m going to chance it without an Allied pass,” he brusquely replied.
Just then they were halted again. But this time, as Adams was about to hand over the paper which Jeffers had given him, Jeffers himself opened his handbag and drew forth another paper. A trick? A disclosure of their identity? Probably.
“None of that!” shouted Adams, suddenly stepping on the gas, and scattering the surprised soldiery, as the car shot ahead. A few shots sounded behind them, but Adams was out of range before the soldiers could recover from their astonishment sufficiently to take good aim.
“And now, girlie, hand me over that paper,” said Adams, grabbing it with his right hand.
“Don’t you call me ‘girlie’!” raged the deep tones of the Dictator.
“Trying to double-cross me, are you?” Adams raged back at him. “Planning to have me lead your Secret Service to my pals? Well, I already have my pass, and I am not going to my pals. You can’t win, Steel Jeffers!”
He shifted the seized paper to his left hand, took the wheel with his right, and stuffed the paper into his pocket. A glance in the mirror showed him that the big black sedan had come right past the squad of soldiers without being challenged, and now was rapidly gaining on him. Adams pushed the accelerator down to the floorboard.
The Dictator reached suddenly beneath the hem of his skirt. From a knee-holster he drew a pearl-handled Luger-38. Raising the weapon, he cried, “I can win, Jack Adams!”
Adams’ left hand came up like a flash from his coat pocket, grasping his Army-45. His right elbow shot out, throwing the Dictator off balance. The little Luger exploded harmlessly. Then Adams’ gun crashed down on the blonde wig. Jeffers slumped in the seat.
Adams grinned wryly, as he returned his gun to his pocket. “I’d hate to have to hit a real girl.” Then he gave the car everything it had, and sped down the road away from the pursuing sedan.
They were almost clear of the District, when a whole company of Federal soldiers, with drawn bayonets, loomed ahead, barring the road.
Chapter X
Adams set his jaw, and his gray eyes became slits. Leaning on the horn, he stepped on the gas, and drove his car roaring and shrieking straight toward the Federal soldiers.
The soldiers parted in a mad scramble. He was through!
Adams bent low over the wheel, unhurt. Bullets splintered the rear window. One crashed through the windshield. Then came two loud explosions—both rear tires blown out. The car lurched and bumped drunkenly. It required all of Adams’ strength on the wheel to hold it to its course. In a few moments the enemy sedan would overhaul him.
He glanced at the rearview mirror, and saw the soldiers massed in the road behind him, loading and firing.
Then the big black pursuing sedan swung, skidding, around the group. Two startled soldiers stepped into its path. The sedan slid sidewise up onto the curb, ripping off two wheels, and rolled onto its side.
Adams brought his eyes back to the road just in time to see a lone soldier standing by the curb ahead, with gun raised to fire. Adams swung toward him, and sent him diving for the gutter, then sped bumping on.
Ahead was open country. No more Federal soldiers. He was in no-man’s land, between the two warring forces. Tanks lumbered about and shells crashed down all about.
Slowing down, he rearranged the Dictator’s twisted blonde wig. Next he glanced through the note which Steel Jeffers had attempted to pass to the sentry. Adams smiled grimly at learning that this note identified “Mary Calvert” as an operative of the Secret Service, and himself as an enemy to be arrested on sight.
He tore the note into little bits and scattered them from the window of his car. “Treacherous as usual!” he mused. “And yet I wonder if Jeffers at the start planned to trick me. He seemed actually to weaken, to turn to me for help, when the old General burst into the room with the news that all was lost.”
Adams reached into one of the bags of peanuts which he had purchased from Giuseppe, and pulled out the pass which Baldwin had provided for him, just in time! For a dozen soldiers in the uniform of the Maryland National Guard popped out of the bushes, and held up their hands for him to stop. He stopped, and showed them his Allied pass.
“Is there a medical detachment anywhere near?” he asked. “The last Federal who stopped us got suspicious, and tried to stick me with his bayonet. I ducked, but the side of his riflebarrel bit Miss Calvert, and knocked her cold.”
The Dictator stirred and groaned.
“There’s none closer than three miles,” said the Sergeant of the soldiers sympathetically, looking in at the crumpled feminine figure, “and your car won’t stand much more. But I tell you what. There’s a State car down the road just a piece. I’ll jump on the running-board and tell the guy in charge to take you.”
They bumped along for about a hundred yards to the State car. Adams lifted the Dictator into the rear seat of the new conveyance, and got in beside him. The
military chauffeur in the front seat started the car.
And now what? The Allied surgeons would instantly discover that the disguised Dictator was a man. His identity would then become known. Death for him, and probably for John Q. Adams as well.
The Dictator began to stir into life. He groaned weakly.
Adams snatched out his forty-five, and thrust the muzzle against the back of the driver’s head. “Sorry buddy,” he said. “Draw up alongside the road.” The startled soldier did so. “Now get out.” The soldier got out, and Adams followed him.
Quickly Adams relieved him of his gun. Then trussed him up with his belt, gagged him, and carried him a short distance into the woods.
By the time that he returned to the car, the Dictator was sitting up and staring bewilderedly around. “Where… am… I?” he asked in a cracked voice.
“Get in front,” Adams commanded, helping him to do so. Then starting up the car, Adams continued, “You’re within the Allied lines, Jeffers. You tried to double-cross me, and I knocked you out.”
“Well, what are you going to do with me? Turn me in?”
Adams pondered for a time before answering. Finally he said, “I suppose that I ought to, but somehow I can’t. So I think I’ll make you go through with your original proposal.”
They drove on in silence, both of them thinking hard. Several times they were stopped by patrols of soldiers, but their official car and the pass from Sim Baldwin got them by.
It was nearly three o’clock when they drew up before the City Hall in Baltimore. “Miss Calvert,” said Adams pointedly, “I can’t trust you, but I’m going to give you a break. I shall have to take you into Allied Headquarters with me. But if you behave yourself, I shan’t give you away.”
Steel Jeffers agreed.
General Saltonstall of Massachusetts was in charge of the Allied forces. He received Adams immediately.
Adams instinctively extended his arm in the Roman salute.
Then flushed guiltily, and brought the tips of his fingers smartly to his forehead.
General Saltonstall grinned, but otherwise ignored the mistake.
“Adams,” he said, “I’m glad to meet on. You struck a splendid blow for liberty when you did away with those three scoundrels at the White House. Too bad you couldn’t have got the usurper too.”
The pretended Mary Calvert made a wry face. Adams introduced the General to her. “Miss Calvert was knocked unconscious by one of the Federal soldiers,” he explained, “as we were making our escape. She’s still a bit shaky. Can she sit down over in a corner, where I can keep an eye on her, while we attend to our business?”
“My Staff Surgeon is—” Saltonstall began.
But Adams interrupted, “Our business will take only a minute, and then we’ll go right to her folks. The kid’s got a lot of courage. In spite of her weakness, she insisted on our coming here first.”
With a smile of courteous appreciation, General Saltonstall held out his arm to the disguised Dictator and escorted him to a seat in one corner, while Adams watched the performance with an amused twinkle in his gray eyes.
Turning back to Adams, Saltonstall asked, “What do you propose?”
“Get me General Peters on the phone at Washington. He is expecting the call.”
“General Peters?” exclaimed Saltonstall eagerly. “I can hardly believe it. Why, man, do you realize? If he will come over to our side, the war will be won!”
“Exactly.” Adams glanced over to note the reaction of the disguised Dictator, and saw him bite his lip.
Saltonstall barked out a command. A line was speedily put through to Washington, for communication between the two cities had not been wholly cut off, merely subjected to censorship by both sides.
“General Peters,” said Adams into the phone. “This is Lieutenant John Q. Adams, calling from Allied Headquarters in Baltimore.”
There was a gasp on the other end of the line.
“You don’t believe it?” Adams continued. “Well, I can prove it. I was with the Dictator when he phoned you from his bedroom at half past twelve today. He instructed you to do something at three. I don’t know what he meant, but I do know that he tried to double-cross me. However, he didn’t succeed. He is now a prisoner in the hands of the Allies.”
“I don’t believe it!” declared the voice of the old war horse; but he sounded hopeful, rather than dismayed.
“I can prove it,” asserted Adams. “Call the White House. Ask them if they have seen Steel Jeffers since noon.”
“Is he really a prisoner?” Saltonstall interrupted, his eyes shining.
The supposed Mary Calvert sat suddenly intensely erect. Adams placed his hand over the transmitter and said, “No! But I threw him off my trail. Evidently he hasn’t yet got in touch with General Peters; and if he doesn’t do so within the next few minutes, it will be too late to save the Dictatorship.” Then into the phone again, “I give you the word of the Allied High Command that Steel Jeffers will not be harmed, if you will at once make peace.” Adams glanced at Mary Calvert, and saw her smile and relax.
“I’ll call you back, as soon as I check up the White House,” said the voice of the Federal General.
While they waited for the return call, Saltonstall and his Staff conferred, and outlined the terms of peace.
Finally Peters called back, and was turned over to Saltonstall. All the Allied Generals were clustered around their Chief. Adams considered it the psychological moment to fade out of the picture, before anyone could think to ask him any embarrassing questions. So he beckoned to “Mary Calvert,” and together they tiptoed from the room.
As he helped the disguised Dictator into the State car, he asked, “Have you really some friends who will hide you?”
“Yes,” said Steel Jeffers in feminine tones. “In the mountains north of here, just across the Pennsylvania border. Keep right along cast on this street, and turn north on Greenmount Avenue.”
“Good!” said Adams, and soon they were speeding northward on the old York Road.
“Just think,” mused Steel Jeffers, “I’m no longer Dictator and somehow I prefer it this way.”
He seemed younger, less careworn, than Adams had ever known him; but it was hard to tell, under his feminine disguise, how much was genuine, and how much was theatrical pose.
They drove on for a couple of hours in silence.
Suddenly Adams remarked, “You know, we never ate those peanuts. I left them behind in my car.”
“Let’s stop for a bite in this coffee shop,” suggested Jeffers, and soon they were seated at the counter.
The radio was playing a stirring march. Adams straightened his broad shoulders, and a wistful light crept into his companion’s eyes.
The music hushed slightly, and a voice announced, “This is the Federal Radio Control. The Allied troops are just marching down Pennsylvania Avenue, with Vice President—er, President now—Nieman at their head. Oh, what a day! What a day!”
Jeffers shuddered.
“Please turn it off!” snapped Adams. “The lady would like something lighter.”
Surprised, the proprietor switched on some dance music. “You two ain’t pro-Dictator, he you?” he asked suspiciously.
Adams smiled whimsically, and shook his head.
For a while they ate in silence. Some advertising matter obtruded itself on the program, and the proprietor twirled the dials to another station. “-radio newscast. Liam Lincoln, leader of the Young Patriots, says that he now has positive proof that Lieutenant Adams, supposed hero, is a traitor; and that the supposed woman whom he brought through the Allied lines as ‘Mary Calvert’ is really Dictator Jeffers—ex-Dictator Jeffers, we should say—in disguise.”
Without waiting to hear more, Adams hurriedly paid the bill, and piloted his companion out to their waiting car.
A gray-shirted member of the Pennsylvania constabulary, with his motorcycle drawn up on the curb, and a broad smile on his tanned face, was leaning against the front d
oor of the car.
“Well, well!” he announced. “Stolen car, and Mary Calvert, and little Jack Adams, and everything.”
Adams gasped, and his hunted eyes swept rapidly around for means of escape.
“Why, officer,” he said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His right fist suddenly flashed out squarely to the trooper’s chin, knocking him back against the car. Then Adams’ left fist swung, and caught the man on the car sweeping him off the car onto the sidewalk. “Quick!” Adams shouted. In an instant, he and Jeffers were in the car, streaking down the road.
A sharp crack sounded behind them. Something seared the side of Adams’ head. Everything went black, and his hands dropped from the wheel.
Adams, in a daze, felt strong capable hands reach across him, and seize the wheel. Nausea and unconsciousness swept over him in waves. He slumped down in a heap. Then oblivion.
Chapter XI
Ages later he came half awake again. It was night. Starlight. The cool windiness of high places.
The car stopped. Voices: “Uncle Eph.”
“Aunt Martha.”
“Steel, lad.”
“Helen.” That name cut through the fog of his delirium. “Helen!”
Strong rawboned male arms were carrying him. Into a house. Up some stairs. Onto a bed. Then capable feminine fingers loosened his clothing, and tucked him in. Receding footsteps. Silence.
Many days of illness, fever, delirium. Recurrent dreams of a mad flight from state troopers.
And then, one afternoon, Jack Adams awoke as from a deep sleep, and looked around him. He was lying in an old-fashioned high-post bed in a tiny room. On him was a patchwork quilt, covered by a tufted spread of homespun linen. Straw matting on the floor. Quaint old furniture all around.
Gynomorphs Page 12
