Kirkland released the girl’s throat. He rubbed her hands and watched anxiously until he saw that she was beginning to breathe again. She had to die, of course; but not here. And then Kirkland decided that there was no reason for her to die. She had tricked him, mocked him, humiliated him; and she hated him completely.
So much the better. He would allow her to live—to be his slave. That should be a neat revenge.
KIRKLAND went into the bathroom and searched through the medicine cabinet until he found a spool of broad adhesive tape. He returned to the still-unconscious girl and taped her wrists and ankles tightly together. He forced what was left of her drink between her teeth and sat back calmly as she coughed her way back to consciousness.
Her lids fluttered open, her eyes met his for a moment; and then she attempted to move. He saw the flicker of fear on her face as she realized she was helpless.
“What are you going to do to me?”
Kirkland took one of the slim mind-destroying tubes from his vest pocket and balanced it on his palm. “Do you know what this is?” he said, smiling.
“No—no, I don’t.”
“Allow me to explain. This is an instrument developed by a brilliant German scientist. One flash of its ray and the power of decision is destroyed in the human mind. I have used it and I can assure you that it works very effectively. I used it as a matter of fact on your sister. She jumped to her death at my orders. I used it on six young men to stage a brilliant robbery. All were killed, but they would only have grown old as shipping clerks, or something equally undistinguished, so I really did them a favor in sending them on to oblivion. Do you know what I’m going to do with it now? Do you know it’s next target?”
The girl turned her head away from his pale gleaming eyes; and bit down on her lip to keep from screaming.
“I see you’ve guessed,” Kirkland said. “Yes, you will make an interesting addition to my life—for a while. I will keep you until I tire of you, and then I will select an amusing manner in which you may destroy yourself. Until I tire of you, however, we should have a highly fascinating time of it.” He chuckled and ran the tips of his fingers lightly over her bare shoulders, and then ran his hand through her thick shining hair. “Don’t you think you’ll enjoy obeying my every whim, my dear? Can’t you imagine some of the delightful tasks I will expect you to perform?”
“You monster!” The girl breathed the words through her locked teeth.
Kirkland’s face flushed with anger. He leaned forward and put the bulb of the mind-destroying tube against her forehead; and then cursed as she twisted away from him and rolled onto her stomach.
“No, no!” she cried.
Kirkland caught her shoulders and flopped her over on her back; then, pinning her squirming body under his elbow, he again put the bulb squarely between her eyes.
Suddenly, before he could snap on the light, he heard an excited hammering on the front door. Terror shook his huge body like a leaf in a gale. There was anger, fury, in the blows that were being rained on the door. Kirkland realized he was in a desperate spot if this were police. He’d have a nasty job explaining a helplessly bound, half-naked girl; and an even trickier job if she were in the state of catatonic shock induced by the mind-destroyer. Quickly, he got to his feet, and ripped one more length from the roll of tape, and this he plastered tightly across the girl’s mouth. Then, sweeping her into his arms, he lumbered across the floor, opened the closet door and dumped her inside on top of the rows of shoes.
Slamming the door, he locked it and put the key in his pocket. Then, composing himself as well as he was able, he closed the bedroom door behind him and walked into the living room.
There was another series of blows on the door as he approached it, and their noise seemed to be echoed in the thudding of his heart. Wetting his dry lips nervously, Kirkland turned the knob and opened the door.
A huge figure shot forward bowling him over as if he were child, and great, ropy fingers tightened about his throat. Through pain-blurred eyes he saw Karl, the SS sergeant bending over him, his face contorted with insane fury.
Kirkland attempted to buck his way free from the merciless fingers, but every move he made only increased his torment. He tried to cry out, to beg Karl for mercy, but the words sounded only in his agony-streaked mind. Suddenly it was all over; a tiny blackness in his head grew with alarming swiftness until it encompassed the limits of his consciousness. The blackness was everywhere, destroying his dreams, his plans, his life. It was such a waste, he thought, in his last instant of awareness. And then there was nothing but the blackness.
CHAPTER VIII
IT WASN’T dead after all, Kirkland realized with a slight feeling of astonishment. His throat ached terribly; swallowing was almost not worth the effort; but he was alive. He could feel his chest moving up and down, and he eventually realized that he was half-lying, half-sitting in a deep chair.
Kirkland opened his eyes.
Karl was standing above him, and from Kirkland’s fore-shortened view, the SS sergeant seemed as tall as a skyscraper.
“You killed our leader, my colonel,” Karl said in a low, savage voice.
“I killed him?”
“He leaped in front of a subway train. You told him to do that, didn’t you? After you made him give you command of our Bund.”
Kirkland sat up slowly, cautiously, so as not to give the huge German any cause for alarm. His mind was darting about like a frightened rat in a maze. There was still the mind-destroying tube! If he could get one of those in his hands before Karl had a chance to do anything else to him, then the situation would change drastically.
“So Colonel Jodell is dead, eh?” he said, sitting up still straighter, and moving one hand very slowly toward his vest pocket.
“Yes, you killed him, you swine!”
Of course I did, thought Kirkland. I told him to leap in front of a subway train.
“You’re talking nonsense,” Kirkland said in a blustering voice; and moved his hand inside his coat.
“I speak the truth.”
Kirkland’s fat fingers moved nimbly into his vest pocket—and found nothing. His heart jumped with fright, and he felt the blood draining from his face.
Karl laughed unpleasantly and held out one of his huge hands.
“Were you looking for these?” he said.
Kirkland saw the slim mind-destroying tubes resting in Karl’s palm.
Karl continued to laugh. Kirkland’s amazed expression obviously struck him as funny.
“What—how—” Kirkland sputtered the words, and was silent.
“I have been to see that little swine, Rilke. I knew something was odd about the way my colonel acted tonight. After he killed himself, I went to Rilke and choked the truth from him. I know about these harmless-looking little tubes. I know what they will do to the human brain.”
“You saw Rilke?” Kirkland said, just to be saying something.
“Yes, but no one else will,” Karl said. “After I choked the truth from him, I choked out his life.”
“So Rilke is dead, eh?” Kirkland said.
He found that rather amusing. The little scientist, frightened of his own shadow, desperately scurrying about to find safety, security. And now he was dead. It was a bit sad, too. Kirkland felt a moment of pleasure then in reflecting that he was not one of life’s rabbits.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you,” Karl said.
“That’s good news,” Kirkland said.
“No, you are not going to get off so easily,” Karl said, harshly. “I am going to use this ingenious invention of Rilke’s on you. I am going to destroy your mind, make you a helpless, powerless automaton. That is the only fitting revenge I can take on you.”
Kirkland fluttered his hands nervously. “You can’t do that to me. You wouldn’t be that heartless. I beg you, don’t destroy my mind.”
“Stand up!” Karl snapped.
Kirkland got reluctantly to his feet. He faced Karl and too
k a deep breath. “You are a fool!” he said. “I could have brought you wealth, power.”
Karl raised one of the slender tubes and pointed it squarely at Kirkland’s forehead. Then with a gloating smile he pressed the push-button at the rear end of the tube.
A SHARP muffled report sounded, and Karl screamed with pain as the tube exploded in his hand. He dropped to one knee, sobbing, and holding his seared, maimed paw against his chest; and Kirkland stepped down swiftly and picked up the second tube which had fallen to the floor. Pointing it at Karl, he carefully pressed a catch on the side of the tube, and a bolt of light shot out and struck the sergeant between the eyes. Karl shook his head like a baffled animal; and then the fear and pain and surprise faded from his features, and he looked up at Kirkland with dazed, lusterless eyes.
“Get off the floor,” Kirkland said, and the giant German obeyed mutely.
Kirkland was smiling now, his eyes dancing with pleasure at his own cleverness. He had realized that someday someone would get possession of one of the mind-destroyers, and, so, taking his idea from the Florentine daggers which were constructed so that pressure on the blade released a poisoned prong in the handle, he had stopped at the gun shop and had a charge of tri-nitro-cellulose inserted under the push button, and had the beam switch changed to the side of the tube. Thus, he had reasoned, if anyone ever got hold of one, they would logically enough press the push-button, and thus detonate the charge.
Kirkland pocketed the undamaged tube, and strolled about the room for a few moments, congratulating himself on his own brilliance. And then, as he cast his mind back over the events of the last hour, he began to frown. There was that cursed, traitorous girl to dispose of, and this awkward giant. Also he had no way of knowing that Karl hadn’t told others of what he’d learned from Rilke.
He sighed, feeling that it was grossly unfair that he should be troubled with such niggling problems. Scooping up the phone, he called Clark’s room, and told him that young man to join him as quickly as possible.
That made him feel better. Clark could handle these minor details. Also, although Kirkland wouldn’t admit it, he felt he could lean on Clark’s experience in such matters.
Clark knocked on the door a few minutes later. When he came in he glanced at Karl’s immobile figure with raised eyebrows, then turned to Kirkland.
“Another of your zombies, eh?”
“Yes. He made the mistake of thinking, so I have prevented him from making such mistakes in the future.”
Clark sniffed the air. “What’s been going on here? Smells like a shooting gallery. And what happened to that girl?”
“We have had a lively time of it here,” Kirkland said, putting the tips of his fingers together and smiling at Clark. “The girl has turned out to be a traitor.”
“What did you do with her?”
“Nothing as yet. I learned that she is the sister of a girl whom I once was forced to eliminate in a very conclusive fashion. She has been following me with some childish idea of taking revenge on me. I was going to—ah—make a zombie out of her, to use your phrase. But somehow that doesn’t seem feasible.”
“Let’s talk plain. Did you kill that girl’s sister?”
“I caused her extinction, true enough,” Kirkland said.
“Well, I wouldn’t do anything to this gal that will alert the cops,” Clark said. “They’re pretty rock-headed most of the time, but if they get a lead they can be pretty persistent.”
“The girl must die.”
“Yeah, sure, but you don’t want to be mixed up in it.” Clark rubbed his chin. “I don’t want to stick my neck out either, but it’s probably our best bet. Where is she?”
“In my bedroom closet, all trussed up for the kill.” Kirkland was feeling relieved now that Clark was taking over the responsibility for the girl. “Well, let’s get moving,” Clark said. Together they went into the bedroom and Kirkland unlocked the closet door. The two men lifted the girl’s slight figure and stretched her out on the bed. Her eyes were alive, switching desperately back and forth between Clark and Kirkland.
“Put her dress and shoes in a bag or something,” Clark said, “and get me one of your coats. I’ll take her down the back stairs, and get rid of her so that nobody will be suspicious.”
Kirkland hurried off and returned a few seconds later with a camel’s hair coat, which Clark draped about the girl’s body. While he was doing this Kirkland scooped up her dress and shoes and put them in a traveling bag.
“All set,” Clark said, lifting the girl in his arms. Kirkland pulled the lapels of the camel’s hair coat across her taped mouth, and tucked the folds about her feet.
“How long will you be?” he asked.
“I shouldn’t be more than an hour.”
Kirkland nodded with satisfaction as Clark carried the girl’s bundled figure out of the bedroom and down the corridor to the kitchen, where a door led to the rear stairway.
He sighed sadly as he lit a cigarette. He was remembering the girl he had known as Jane Reynolds. She had been lovely, animated, exciting. It was sad that all this appealing beauty must be destroyed. Still, he thought, shrugging, the world was full of personable young women.
And there was only one Kirkland.
CLARK WENT swiftly down the rear steps and reached the rear courtyard of the hotel without having met anyone. There he followed an entrance-way to the alley, turned to the right and walked with long purposeful strides to the next street. Pedestrians on the sidewalk glanced at him curiously as he hurried down the block with the bundled figure in his arms; but aside from this casual interest, no one bothered, him. He came to a parked car two blocks from the hotel, and, shifting the girl’s weight temporarily to one arm, opened the front door and deposited her on the seat. Slamming the door, he went around the car, climbed in beside her, and, when the motor turned over, roared off down the street.
Clark drove expertly and swiftly through the dark city, The girl struggled to a sitting position, and the lapels of the coat fell away from her face. She stared at Clark’s grim profile with terror-stricken eyes. She tried desperately to call out, but the sound was muffled and meaningless.
Clark glanced at her impassively; then turned away and concentrated on his driving.
He turned into a dark driveway ten minutes later. A figure stepped from the shadows of a tall building and put a light in his face.
“Private property, friend,” he said.
“I know,” Clark said.
The light snapped off and the man said, “Sorry, I didn’t recognize you. Need a hand?”
“No, I’m all right.”
Clark went around the car and opened the door on the girl’s side. He scooped her into his arms and carried her through a dark doorway and a long corridor to an elevator. The elevator took them swiftly to the fifteenth floor, where the doors slid open noiselessly. The corridor was dark, but Clark walked ahead surely for twenty-five or thirty yards until he came to an office door. No light showed beyond the glazed-glass upper portion of the door. Clark fumbled for a key, unlocked the door, and went into the office. He snapped on a light, kicked the door shut, and deposited the girl on a leather sofa.
A door opened on the opposite side of the office and a young man entered and nodded to Clark. This young man was built like a professional football player and his hair was cropped short on his round skull. He was in his shirt sleeves and there was a gun hanging in a holster at his shoulder.
“Progress?” he said to Clark, nodding at the girl.
“Maybe.”
CLARK sat down beside the girl and patted her shoulder. “This may hurt a little,” he said, and, with one strong motion, jerked the tape from her mouth. “Believe me, it’s easier that way,” he said, sympathetically, as she gave a cry of pain. He removed the tape from her wrists and ankles, while she stared at him in bewilderment and fear. Pathetically, she raised her eyes to him.
“What are you going to do with me?”
“Nothing at all,”
Clark said casually, a faint smile on his lean dark face. “Relax, get your circulation working again. Here, this will help.” He rubbed her arms, and then her legs, with strong brisk hands.
“That—that will do,” the girl said. “Okay.” Clark nodded at the other young man who was sitting on the edge of the desk smoking a cigarette. “Meet Jerry Trenton. He’s going to take care of you for the next few days.”
“Who—who are you?”
“Department of Justice, Bureau of Investigation,” Clark said. “Now just who are you?”
“You’re Federal agents?” The girl’s voice was incredulous; but near the breaking point with hope.
“That’s right,” Clark said. “Kirkland said tonight that you were the sister of a girl he had killed. I take it, you aren’t Jane Reynolds.”
“No, no, I’m not. My name is Masterson, Denise Masterson. My sister, Carol, died a few weeks ago. Apparently, she jumped to her death, but I knew that wasn’t true. I knew her, you see, and I knew how happy, how full her life was—” She stopped, and rubbed her forehead tiredly. “I suppose I was a fool. I learned that she had stopped at someone’s room just before she—died. An elevator man at the hotel told me that much. I didn’t go to the police, as I should have. I checked with the hotel manager and discovered that Kirkland was one of the few people in his room at that time. And the others seemed beyond any possible suspicion. One was a woman in her seventies, another a semi-invalided man who has lived at the hotel for twenty years. I couldn’t see how Kirkland could have caused my sister’s death, but I had to find out everything I could. So I followed Kirkland to his new hotel and arranged to meet him.” Denise Masterson shrugged and pushed a strand of dark hair away from her forehead. “I’ve made a mess of everything.”
“It took a lot of courage and brains,” Clark said in a gentle voice. “We’re not interested in Kirkland, however. He’s a paranoid, a comic-opera Napoleon-type. The man we want is a German doctor, a man presently using the name of Rilke. We traced Rilke to Kirkland, and lost him. That’s why I moved in on Kirkland. Have you ever heard Kirkland talk about a man named Rilke?”
Collected Fiction (1940-1963) Page 273
