Target, page 29
Jones waited, wanting the other man to make an assessment first. “The President seems pleased,” said Flood, avoiding any personal commitment.
“The amount of intelligence from inside the complex has been remarkable,” said Jones, irritated by the man’s attitude but careful not to show it.
“There’s still no guarantee we can abort the launch,” said Flood.
“I don’t see how there could be, at this stage,” said the deputy.
“I didn’t ask you to come to talk about Africa,” announced Flood unexpectedly.
Once more Jones waited.
“You’ve heard the stories?” demanded Flood.
“Stories?”
“The smears about me … something that happened a long time ago.”
“They’re pretty prevalent,” said Jones.
“It’s filthy,” said the foreign affairs advisor, adamantly. “It’s a filthy, disgusting campaign … someone’s out to damage me.”
“Who?” said Jones, ingenuously.
Flood smiled, a conspiratorial expression.
“That’s what I want you to find out,” he said. “Me?”
“Who else? There’s no other agency with the resources that you’ve got. And it’s a personal thing — not a problem I could ask the FBI to involve themselves in.”
“It won’t be easy, mounting something like this within the country,” said Jones, entering another charade.
“It won’t be difficult at all,” refuted Flood, unoffended at the token objection. He smiled again. “You know and I know that when I leave this office for the last time, it will not be to go back to some campus in Massachusetts. I’m going to be an important man in this city and anyone who links with me early enough is going to share in all the advantages that’s going to mean.…”
He took his hands away from his chin so he could lean forward urgently. “Throw in with me now, Walt,” he urged. “Show your loyalty by helping me with this thing and you’ll not find me ungrateful.”
“I’m flattered,” said Jones, keeping any reaction from his face.
“You’ll do it?”
“I’d like time to think about it.”
“Of course. But not too much time, Walt. I want to find the bastard and I want slowly to strip his skin away and then nail it to the wall to dry. It’ll be an example to anyone who imagines they can try to destroy Herbert Flood.”
With the properly thought-out responses, this approach meant they could have Flood rebounding from suspicion to suspicion like a bee ricochetted from the inside of a honey pot, decided the Deputy Director.
“I won’t take long,” he promised.
“It’s important for you to get it right,” said Flood. “This could be one of the most important decisions you’ve ever made in your life.”
“I realize that,” said Jones.
“Be sure you do,” said Flood. “Be very sure you do.”
As Jones stood, the foreign affairs advisor said, “You know the thing that upsets me?”
“What?” said Jones.
“The unfairness of it,” said Flood. “That’s what it is, damned unfair. Why the hell would anyone want to mount a personal attack on me?”
“Have you contacted the person with whom your name’s being linked?” asked Jones, curiously.
Flood frowned up, as if he found the question difficult to understand. “Of course not,” he said. “Why ever should I have?”
“Just wondered,” said Jones, moving towards the door.
27
The atmosphere was discernible as soon as they entered Muller’s apartments and Bohler looked curiously from the Director to Hannah Bloor. And then he remained looking at the project leader. The change in the woman was startling. He had guessed at her figure beneath the shapeless laboratory uniform and done it badly, he decided. She was quite remarkably attractive, heavy-busted but slim-hipped, her skin toasted to a chocolate milk brown and accentuated by the violet, halter-topped dress that she wore. Her hair didn’t seem mannish now. It was perfect for the long ovalness of her face: for the first time, because of the dress perhaps, he became aware that her eyes were violet, too.
She shifted under his stare and he looked away, embarrassed. Gerda was regarding him steadily, her face unmoving.
Muller hurried to meet them, retaining Gerda’s hand in his and leading her to the couch where Hannah sat. The German scientist smiled at the approach, moving as if to make room. Gerda didn’t smile in return. Seeming not to notice, Hannah bent forward and began to talk, creating a perfect contrast between the two women. Gerda had kept her hair down, because she knew he liked it worn that way, but alongside the other woman it looked untidy and disarrayed: she appeared aware of it, constantly moving her hand to replace some escaping strand into position. When Bohler had met Gerda outside her room, he had thought the dress attractive, a cut-to-the-knee affair of muted greys. Next to Hannah’s it appeared functional; one woman seemed dressed for a day at the office, the other for a sophisticated party.
Muller came between him and the women, breaking the comparison, offering a glass. Bohler took it, smiling his thanks.
“Satisfied with the day?” asked the old man.
“Very,” responded Bohler, honestly. “I’ve spent a lot of the afternoon assembling my report.” He had left his transmission notes openly visible in the room, deciding that if any sort of security check were made, it would look more suspicious if there were no record of what he was being shown in evidence.
“Always so much paperwork,” sighed the Director, “I seem to find so little time for practical research these days.”
“I am grateful for your kindness in allowing us the freedom of your establishment,” said Bohler. He glanced towards the couch. Both women seemed to be deep in conversation, paying no attention to him. “It would be an inconvenience if we had to bother you constantly to escort us to the control room. Or ask Dr. Bloor to come to the surface and admit us.”
Muller stood head to one side, frowning at his difficulty in recognizing Bohler’s point.
“Would it be possible, I wonder,” said the American, “for Dr. Lintz or myself to be allowed one of the admission cards …?”
Muller began to speak and, anticipating refusal, Bohler hurried on: “We would never approach the project area without Dr. Bloor’s express permission, of course. I’m thinking solely of the establishment and causing as little trouble as possible.”
Muller smiled. “I’m aware of your security clearance from Bonn. It’s as high as that of anyone here.”
Bohler felt the uncertainty begin to leave him and grinned back. “Thank you,” he said.
Muller glanced up the room towards the office section, hesitated, and then, as if making a sudden decision, walked towards the small safe adjoining the desk. Hannah shifted slightly as the old man passed, half aware of his movement.
He returned with the square of serrated, index-punched card held out in his hand. “I’ve recorded it against your name,” he said. “There’s no point in issuing two, is there?”
“One will be perfectly adequate,” he said. He knew Gerda had been aware of their immediate success in gaining access and tensed against any look from her which Hannah might have intercepted. The Russian continued talking, ignoring him. There was the ritual examination and admiration of the sunset and then Muller led them to the table. Bohler decided there was something incongruous about sitting down to such linen and crystal and plate in the middle of the African jungle. Muller positioned him immediately opposite the project leader. As he helped her into her seat and then moved around the table, he became aware that more than just her appearance had changed. There was none of the hostility that she had shown earlier in the day. She smiled openly across at him, showing small but very even teeth.
“Settling down?”
“I think so.”
“It takes time. I was homesick for months.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Dr. Bloor was one of our pioneers,” intruded Muller. “Almost four years.”
“Where’s home?” said Gerda.
Bohler waited intently, admiring the Russian woman for the question. They could have been caught out attempting to lie about their own supposed home towns if, by coincidence, either of the Germans came from the same place.
“Berlin,” said Hannah, immediately.
“How often do you get back?” asked Bohler.
“There’s home-leave allocation every three months,” said the woman.
“But Dr. Bloor hasn’t taken it for the past year,” said Muller, proudly. “She claims the project is more important.
She smiled fondly at the old man, unembarrassed that his customary pride had grown to include her. “There’ll be time enough for a vacation when the launch is completed,” she said.
Africans moved unobtrusively around the table, placing and removing courses: two of them were assigned exclusively to pour wine. Tonight there was Rhine as well as Moselle.
“You sound very confident,” said Gerda, to the other woman.
For the first time Hannah’s smile faltered. “I’ve no reason not to be,” she said positively. “Nothing has been left to chance. Everything has been checked, checked and checked again. It’s as foolproof as it can ever be.”
The woman’s sudden intensity was almost embarrassing, and for several moments no one spoke. Gerda broke the silence. “When will you complete the satellite assembly?”
“Another thirty-six hours,” said the woman. “I want to finish the fuelling first.”
“Worried about volatility in this heat?” said Bohler.
“It’s one of the slight unpredictables,” conceded Hannah, withdrawing slightly from her earlier confidence.
“I’m sure it will be fine,” smiled Bohler.
The German woman looked up and their eyes held. She smiled back. “Thank you,” she said.
Hannah shifted away from Bohler’s stare, to include Gerda in her question. “Will you return to Germany immediately after the launch?”
“I suppose so,” said Gerda.
“There might be cause to remain for a few days,” contradicted Bohler. “The interest is in world reaction, remember.”
Gerda’s head came up at the correction. “Yes,” she mumbled. “Perhaps we’ll stay on for a few days.”
“Perhaps we might go on a camera safari together,” said Hannah, suddenly enthusiastic. “It was something we did quite a lot in the early days. It’s not uncomfortable at all, once you’ve adjusted to the climate. And there are some marvelous sights … lion, elephant, rhinoceros, giraffe, ostrich.…” She was ticking the animals off against her fingers, anxious not to forget any.
“We’d like that,” said Bohler, matching her enthusiasm.
“There isn’t any danger,” Hannah said to Gerda, as if she needed reassurance. “We can take some Africans with us to scout the area and establish the camps. We’ve even got machines that provide something near to airconditioning in the tents.”
“I’m sure it would be very interesting,” said Gerda. There was a tightness in her voice and, for a moment, Hannah looked at the other woman with the beginnings of curiosity.
“Why don’t we agree to do that then?” said the German woman, speaking quickly, as if to cover some awkwardness. “We could ask the Africans to start making arrangements.”
“Fine,” said Bohler. It would never happen, if they succeeded in destroying the launch. It would be an uncomfortable expedition if they were unable to interfere and had to go.
“The natives claim that the crocodiles near the lake are the biggest in Africa,” said Muller. “The lake people are very expert at tracking them.”
Gerda shuddered slightly. “I think I’d prefer the animals,” she said.
Whey they rose from the table, Muller paired with Gerda and Bohler was left to escort Hannah back to the wider living area.
“How long does it take to get a tan like that?” he said.
“You’ve got to be careful,” she warned. “During my first three months I was one big blister.”
“The scars don’t show.”
She laughed. “It was sore at the time,” she said. “The trick is to go out for the last three hours of the day and not to expose yourself for more than a few minutes at the beginning.”
“I don’t think I’ll have the time,” said Bohler. “It seems quite a production, just to go brown.”
“Perhaps on the safari,” she said.
“Perhaps,” he agreed.
“Have I upset Dr. Lintz?” asked the woman suddenly.
Bohler frowned at her. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t see how you could have.”
Hannah shrugged. “Neither do I,” she said. “It was a passing impression I had.”
There were coffee and liqueurs arranged on the table and Muller selected some Beethoven tapes. When Bohler admired the Director’s stereo-installation, the old man shook his head, indicating Hannah. “That’s the radio equipment you should see,” he said. “Mine is practically a crystal set by comparison.”
“Dr. Muller and I share an interest in music,” said Hannah. “It’s a way of relieving the inevitable boredom. It’s different now, with the excitement of a launch so near, but there are times when it can be tedious.”
“I would have thought you could find enough to entertain you,” said Gerda.
Everyone turned to looked at her, their faces mirroring different reactions to the remark. Gerda flushed, aware too late of its ineptness. “Safari … bathing … things like that,” she attempted to recover.
For a moment Bohler thought Hannah was going to refuse the other woman her escape, prodding her into more embarrassment, but instead she smiled and said, “You can’t keep on animal-spotting. And sunbathing becomes a bit monotonous after a while.”
Bohler excused them early, leaving Hannah and the Director with their Beethoven. He and Gerda walked silently up the corridor towards the living accommodation, the woman appearing intent upon maintaining a certain distance between them.
At the junction she said, shortly, “Goodnight.”
“I want to talk to you.”
“Well?”
“Not here. My room.”
“I don’t want to come.”
“What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“I thought of asking you the same question.”
“My room, Gerda,” he said, insistently. He thought she was going to refuse, but then she walked past him, towards the men’s quarters. Again neither attempted any conversation until they got inside.
“OK,” he said. “What is it?”
“What’s what?”
“This attitude.”
“There’s no attitude.”
From his pocket Bohler took the computer key for entry into the launch area, waving it before her. “Within fifteen minutes of going into Muller’s rooms tonight we get this,” he said. “Dr. Bloor starts to unbend and offers us courtesy, if not open friendship. And you come on like God knows what. I don’t understand you.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“There’s everything wrong with you,” he said. “There were times tonight when I thought you were openly setting out to screw the whole thing.”
She faltered under the pressure of his attack. “Nothing wrong with me,” she repeated, less defiantly this time.
He reached out, taking her shoulders. She moved her head, refusing to look at him. “I want to know what it is,” he said again, some of the anger leaving his voice. “We’re here to do a job and so far we’re having a lot of success. I don’t want it fouled up.”
“Flirted,” she said. She mumbled the word, awkward with it and still avoiding his eyes.
“What?” he said, genuinely not hearing her.
“Flirted,” she said again. “You flirted with her.”
“Oh darling!” he said, astonished. He cupped her chin, bringing her face around to his. “Don’t be so silly. “
“You did,” insisted Gerda.
“I was friendly,” he corrected. “She was making an effort and I responded to it. She’s the Project Director, for Christ’s sake. I want to get as much of her confidence as it’s possible to get.”
“She’s beautiful,” said Gerda.
“She’s the Project Director,” repeated Bohler. “That’s how I look at her.”
“I saw how you looked at her!”
“You’re being childish,” said Bohler. “Whatever I did tonight I did for a purpose. And it’s not the purpose you’re imagining.”
She sniggered, despite her anger; she was close to tears, Bohler realized. He brought her face to his again, bending forward to kiss her lightly. She’d fallen in love with him, Bohler thought, recognizing the collapse of all the training. The awareness worried him.
“You’ve no cause for jealousy,” he said. “No cause at all.”
“Not jealous,” she said petulantly.
“Yes you are,” said Bohler. “And I’m flattered. And I’m worried, too. Nothing can get in the way of what we’re trying to do.”
“I warned you it was an unnecessary complication,” she reminded him.
“Not if we’re adult about it.”
“I’m sorry,” she capitulated, at last. “I knew it was stupid, but it was as if I couldn’t help myself.”
“It was very stupid.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
He kissed her again. “I mean it,” he said. “There’s no cause.”
She came nearer to him and he put his arms around her — she was trembling. “Sorry,” she said. She looked up. “This afternoon was so wonderful,” she said.
“Didn’t you think it was for me?”
“I didn’t know.”
“You do now.”
“Take me to bed,” she said.
She was as demanding as she had been earlier, maybe even more frenzied because of her doubts. She made love to him, devouring him with her mouth, and then moving astride him and arcing her body as if she were trying to pull him inside her. He tried desperately to keep pace with her, knowing that if he failed, her uncertainty would remain. He managed it, just. He collapsed, shuddering under her, panting against her neck. He realized he felt very sore. It was a long time before she moved and when she did, it was only to take her head slightly away from his, so that she could talk more easily.
