Mission Earth Volume 5: Fortune of Fear

by L. Ron Hubbard

  Crobe’s screen letters were reading:

  TRIPLE TERROR

  He was struggling. His eye suddenly focused outside the building and he thought, apparently, he was falling, for he abruptly slumped. The letters shifted to:

  OUT COLD

  “What do we do?” the chief guard asked me.

  THAT was the question. If they brought him back to the base in Turkey, Faht Bey would scream and rant and try to get me to pay for the wasted air passage and maybe even shoot Crobe. A destructive person like the doctor was far too valuable to be shot. In the Apparatus we value a planet-wrecker. Crobe must be saved!

  Suddenly, inspiration came to me. There was only one other person I knew who was as potentially destructive as Crobe: Madison!

  Only Madison would know how to use this lethal weapon in the war to destroy Heller.

  I told the guards to collect Crobe’s bag and get him to 42 Mess Street.

  That (bleep), (bleep), (bleep) Krak had ruined my first plan but there was still hope.

  It was early. There were only the remains of the night watch when they carried Crobe into 42 Mess. The reporter on duty offhandedly told them to wait in Mad’s office. They went in and began to fan Crobe with press releases. He revived, possibly from the stink. One of the guards got some hot coffee from a machine, found a bottle of whiskey in Mad’s desk and put some of it in the coffee. This further revived Crobe.

  There was a roar outside. The Excalibur. J. Walter Madison had arrived.

  “Now, put your radio to your ear and tell him what I say,” I told the chief guard.

  Crobe looked at Madison. The public relations man was all groomed and sleek, the perfect example of the sincere, honest and appealing young American executive.

  Repeating what I said, the chief guard addressed Madison. “Mr. Smith has sent us. We are here to present you with a perfect weapon in the war against the Whiz Kid.”

  “War?” said Madison. “Oh, no, you have it very wrong. We are engaged in the purest possible public relations and our motives are far beyond reproach.”

  Acting on my orders, the chief guard said, “May we introduce Dr. Phetus P. Crobe, the eminent psychiatrist.”

  “Who’s talking on that radio?” said Madison. And before the guard could grab it back, he took it. “Hello. Who is this?”

  “Smith,” I said.

  “You must be awfully nearby to be using such a little walkie-talkie,” said Madison. “Why didn’t you come in yourself?”

  I realized I had to think fast. It was awfully close to a Code break. All he had to do was look at the nameplate on that radio to read:

  Voltar Communications Industries

  “I’m using Miss Peace’s equipment,” I said. “I have to be quick because it’s in heavy demand. Look over the credentials of Dr. Crobe and I am sure you will be able to use him.”

  Madison sat down at his desk, laid the radio on his blotter and put out his hand for the credentials. He inspected them.

  Unfortunately, Crobe got in the act. He reached across the desk and tapped Madison on the nose. He said, “Deed eet effer oggur to you dat you voot loook moch butter mit a libido instad of a nose dare? Or maybe a bellybutton? Unt your hands. Dey voot loook nicer mit fish flippers.” And he got out an electric knife! A guard grabbed him from behind.

  Madison stared at him. Then he snatched his telephone. He push-buttoned very fast.

  I raised the sound volume on Crobe’s viewer. The answering voice came through from the phone, “Bellevue Psychiatric Section,” and then in a musical, lilting voice, “Good morning.”

  “This is J. Walter Madison, 42 Mess Street. Send a wagon quick.”

  The guard had retrieved his radio. But he wasn’t listening to it. The other one was holding Crobe back from the desk, trying to get the electric knife away from him.

  Madison pointed at the outer office with a quivering finger. “You hold him down at the foot of the stairs until the wagon comes!”

  There was nothing I could do.

  The Bellevue loony wagon shortly came, with all bells clanging. Two white-uniformed attendants leaped out and grabbed Crobe.

  The guards, (bleep) them, handed Crobe’s suitcase in. They pushed Crobe in. The doors closed.

  In a terribly smug voice, the chief guard said into the radio, “Well, that’s that, Officer Gris.”

  “Quick, quick,” I said. “Follow that wagon! You’ve got to rescue him.”

  “As I was saying, Officer Gris. That’s that. Those attendants looked pretty competent. One even had a blackjack handy. Our charge has been delivered into safe hands.”

  “WAIT!”

  “I’ll hand this radio over to Agent Raht at the office. If you want to discuss this further, you can talk to him. We’re coming home. End of transmission.” The radio gave a final emphatic click and went dead.

  I mourned.

  PART FORTY

  Chapter 6

  Bitter in my defeat, I wandered out into the yard. The day was very cold. The sky was gray. A wind was snarling through the bleak shrubs like a hunting wolf. And it was after me.

  I saw Ters. I walked over to him and said, “Where is the taxi driver?”

  He gave his evil laugh. “I think he giving Utanc new car a test drive.”

  “New car?”

  “Just deliver this noon. Mercedes-Benz. Brand-new. Very nice. Taxi driver have friend who sell.”

  I frowned. I suddenly realized that Utanc had not come crawling on her knees to me for money as expected. And here she was with a new Mercedes-Benz! They cost a double fortune! Where was she getting any money? Credit cards? A surge of rage raced through me. I would have it out with her!

  “Where did they go?” I demanded. “Which way?”

  “I think Agricultural Station.” And he laughed his evil laugh.

  I jumped into the car. “Take me there!” I demanded. The station contained Faht Bey’s office. Was this some sort of plot to impoverish me?

  We roared away. I was looking up and down the road, trying to spot Utanc and the new car. We pulled up at the station. No sign of that car.

  I rushed into the hall just outside Faht Bey’s office. I was on the brink of stepping through the door. Fortunately, my reflexes are very fast. Faht Bey was in some sort of a conference. I stopped. Several Turkish women and men were sitting around his desk, backs to me.

  Faht Bey saw me. He made a motion with his hand, a sign to go away. I backed up quickly.

  As I backed, one of the women looked toward the door.

  Yikes! Even through the veil, I recognized her as one of the first women I had had in the car!

  Faht Bey crossed the room. He came into the hall and closed the door behind him. “Listen,” he said, “I wouldn’t go in there right now if I were you.”

  “Some kind of trouble?” I said.

  “I don’t know yet,” said Faht Bey. “In fact, I don’t know what it is all about yet. About an hour ago, that woman of yours, Utanc, came by to tell me that some people wanted to see me, and they’ve just now arrived.”

  “Have they said anything?” I pleaded.

  “Only something about pregnancy. Listen, why don’t you come back later? I may know what it is by then.”

  “Pregnancy?” I said. “Listen, if there’s any trouble with pregnancy, it can be handled. Don’t promise anything! But it can be handled!”

  I rushed out. I jumped into the car. “Take me to the hospital!” I demanded.

  If one of those women was pregnant, the answer was very plain. I had not been a Rockecenter family “spi” without learning anything. You handled pregnancy with abortion every time! And Prahd was the man to see on this. I would get his agreement to do an abortion on that woman and everything would be all right.

  I rushed into the hospital, through the lobby and to Prahd’s office. I leaped in. He was sitting at his desk.

  “Pregnancy!” I said. “You’ve got to handle it!”

  Young Dr. Prahd Bittlestiffender looked
at me. In a sad voice he said, “I am glad you have finally come to confess.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” I said. “It was an accident. She looked so beautiful lying there, I could not resist.”

  “And you took no precautions.”

  “How was I to know she would get pregnant just that one time! It was up to her to take precautions!”

  “And you expect a young girl to know these things?” he said.

  “She’s not that young!” I disputed.

  “She’s young enough that her father is raving mad about it! And she isn’t even of age.”

  A horrible thought struck me. “Who are we talking about?”

  “Nurse Bildirjin,” said Prahd. “Oh, Officer Gris, to think that you would contribute to the delinquency of a minor behind my back, to leap on her and rape her—”

  “Hold it!” I cried. “If we’re talking about Nurse Bildirjin, SHE raped me!”

  “You just confessed that she was just lying there and you could not resist jumping on her!”

  “No, no! That was somebody else!” My head was spinning. Suddenly I got a grip on it. “Wait, you sleep with Nurse Bildirjin all the time!”

  “No, no,” said Prahd. “I take the most careful precautions. You don’t think a qualified cellologist would take a chance like that—she being a minor and all. Besides, I’ve made scope tests and examined the gene pattern, and just like the Widow Tayl’s, it’s indubitably yours. And now you infer there is some other woman, too! Officer Gris, you should control yourself! You can’t just run around impregnating women left and right, day in and day out. And on two different planets, too!”

  “Listen,” I said. “As a cellologist you would have no trouble at all terminating these pregnancies. I tell you the planets are overpopulated anyway. Just perform some abortions and that will be that.”

  “That would not be that,” said young Dr. Prahd. “That would be murder. And murder is something not even you can make me do, Officer Gris. Unlike some I know, I have my own moral standards, to say nothing of the cellologist’s code. Murder is out!”

  “Then what can I do?” I cried, wringing my hands.

  “You’re asking me after you seduce my girl?”

  “Prahd, remember that we are friends, and what is a girl between friends?”

  “Trouble,” said Prahd. “You see, it wouldn’t be so bad if she had not been morning-sick. Her father is the leading doctor of the area and noticed it. And she told him. You probably know that his favorite sport is quail hunting. That’s why he named his daughter Bildirjin, which means ‘quail’ in Turkish. He’s one of the best shots in the country and he has one of the biggest shotguns. And as she is a minor, you could also go to prison. Have you ever seen the inside of a Turkish jail?”

  I was beginning to moan.

  He continued, “I think he has a thing about cutting off testicles, so possibly shooting off yours would be how his mind is running right now. However, if you would really take my suggestion . . .”

  It was too much. I could no longer stand his sadistic chatter. It was obvious he, too, was after me!

  I rushed out of his office. I looked up and down the corridor. Thank Gods, it was way past hours when the town doctors worked in the free clinic.

  I sped to the car. I leaped in.

  “Take me home, quick!” I pleaded. In the villa I would be able to fort up and defend myself!

  In the yard, I was out of the car before it stopped moving. I raced across the patio and into my room. I barred the door and stood there with my back against it, breathing hard.

  What a disaster! How was I going to get out of it?

  There was a knock. For a moment I thought that Nurse Bildirjin’s father had followed me up. Then I realized that the sound came from the secret tunnel door.

  The father would not know about that. I opened it cautiously.

  There stood Faht Bey.

  He came in looking over his shoulder fearfully.

  He spoke in a very low voice, “This is real trouble, Gris. I told you I would let you know when I had found out. Well, unfortunately, I have found out. It is pretty awful.”

  I got a grip on the bottom of the bed. I would take it like a man. “Tell me,” I said.

  Faht Bey shook his head sadly. “Are you sure that you can take this?”

  “Go ahead,” I said, bracing myself further.

  “It’s pretty bad news,” he said.

  “For Gods’ sake, tell me,” I pleaded.

  “You know the taxi driver, Ahmed.”

  “Yes, I know the taxi driver, Ahmed!”

  “He’s going to testify that it was at your orders.”

  “WHAT was at my orders?” I screeched.

  “And it very well could get him off.”

  “Testify to WHAT?” I begged.

  “Maybe you better sit down in the chair there,” said Faht Bey. “This is pretty awful.”

  I collapsed.

  “Here,” said Faht Bey, taking a bullet out of his shoulder gun and putting it between my teeth. “Bite on that and you won’t break your molars when I tell you.”

  I bit on it.

  “You know that the taxi driver they call Ahmed is really a convicted criminal from Modon.”

  I nodded.

  “Did you know that the driver Ters is a Turkish communist who just served twenty-seven years in jail for murdering the general?”

  I shook my head the other way. This was not going very well.

  “For the past several weeks,” said Faht Bey, “the taxi driver has been going out with this Turkish murderer in that car with your name all over it. The way they worked was to go to a farm and look over the women, and if they found a good-looking one, they would tell her husband and the family that it was at your orders that they burn the whole farm down unless the woman consented to spend an evening with you in your car. And that if anyone went to the police, that farm, nearby farms and the closest village would be put to the torch.”

  I bit on the bullet. The taxi driver had been keeping that fee for himself!

  “That’s not all,” said Faht Bey. “They told the woman that if she hadn’t pleased you, they would murder her husband.”

  I clamped down harder on the bullet. That explained those beseeching looks I had mistaken for a plea to be with me again in the future!

  “This all came out because they thought I knew you and somebody suggested they come see me for advice.”

  Utanc! In a jealous rage, she had set them on me!

  “But that’s not all,” said Faht Bey. “When the taxi driver and Ters came to the rendezvous, Ahmed and then Ters raped the woman first.”

  My teeth were sinking deeper and deeper into the brass. No wonder the women had been so tired. No wonder they had always been so moist! Those (bleeped) (bleepards) had kept me waiting for half an hour while they both (bleeped) away and then they had called me to take their leavings! They must have been shrieking with laughter over it!

  “One more thing,” said Faht Bey. “This is adultery. In the Qur’an it states that the punishment shall be one hundred lashes for unmarried persons. But these women were married, so the punishment for you would be entirely different. The Qur’an states that in such a case the offender shall be stoned to death.”

  That settled it. The powder in the cartridge case spilled bitterly into my mouth as my teeth pierced it through.

  I would have to leave Turkey.

  There was no other way.

  And I would have to leave Turkey AT ONCE!

  PART FORTY

  Chapter 7

  I grabbed a bag. I looked around wildly.

  Where would I go?

  What would I take?

  Faht Bey said, “If you are leaving, I want to remind you that the Blixo will be in, in a day or so. They always have something for you. What do I tell them?”

  My attention snapped painfully back to him. The Blixo? They were probably after me, too!

  Faht Bey went on: “Those homo cour
iers you get always demand postcards for some reason. You better give me some.”

  Postcards? Postcards? I made my mind focus. He was talking about the magic-mail cards. If they didn’t get mailed on time, their mothers would be killed. That would make the couriers go after me, too!

  I opened up the safe. I grabbed the whole pack of magic-mail cards. I threw them at Faht Bey.

  Where would I go?

  What should I take?

  I ran around the room looking under things.

  Faht Bey was still there. He said, “If you’re going to run out, there’s nobody here can stamp cargoes in. They have to be stamped in as received on Voltar before they leave. Why don’t you give me your identoplate?”

  I fished it out.

  I threw it at him.

  Enough was enough. “Get out! Get out! Get out!” I screamed at him. “Can’t you see my sanity is on the ragged edge? STOP BOTHERING ME! I have to think!”

  He gathered up the postcards and identoplate and left.

  Only then could I begin to get my wits in order.

  What should I take?

  A tough problem when you don’t know where you are going to go. The only destination I had was OUT!

  Blind instinct saved me.

  I opened the grip. Into it I packed guns and ammunition so I could defend myself. I packed the phony Inkswitch Federal ID so I could change my identity. I grabbed some instant gas pellets that would render any assailant unconscious and packed them. I snatched up the two-way-response radio and packed it. I stuffed in the three sets of viewers. I strapped the grip up. Then I realized I had forgotten to put in any clothes and unstrapped it. I put in a business suit, some shirts and ties and a combat camouflage dress. I strapped it up. I realized I had not put in any money. I unstrapped it. I looked in the safe and found I didn’t have any money. I strapped the grip up. I wondered if I had forgotten anything and unstrapped it to look. I grabbed some things at random and threw them in, just in case. I strapped it up again.

  It suddenly occurred to me I hadn’t left yet. I had better get going. I started out the door. Then I realized I was not dressed for travel. I came back. I got into a business suit. I couldn’t find any shoes so I put my military boots back on. I started out the door again and saw I had forgotten my bag. I went back. I needed something to discourage pursuit. I saw a pile of plunger time-fuse bombs in the gun case. I stuffed them in my pocket.