The voice spoke again.
And Lee said, "I'll be very careful. I'm a little afraid."
She switched off the transceiver, hurried over to the muffler and deactivated it as well, then took it back into the office and hid it again.
Chapter Eighteen: Jeremiah Auburn
It soon came to Lee Garrett, when she attended the party in the ballroom of the Palazzo Colonna, why Sheila Duff-Roberts's position was so important. The Committee itself was undoubtedly the most informal presiding body of a large and influential organization of which she had never heard. Sheila's office held it all together. Present at the get-together were nine of the ten Central Committee members, about a score of candidate members, and another score or so of prominent supporters and employees of the World Club who had not as yet attained Central Committee rank, but were knowledgeable of its secret nature and headed various of the foundations, research groups, pressure groups, and lobbies. All were in formal dress but that was as near as Lee could see to it being a formal affair. She would have called it a cocktail party, at most. The buffet was one of the most elaborate she had ever seen, and Lee Garrett had attended many an embassy affair. There were tobacco fumes in the air as well as those of cannabis.
Men predominated by far. She noticed a dozen other women, most in their middle years, and most gave the impression of being the wives of male members. One wore a golden Indian sari but otherwise all were gowned most expensively in the latest styles. Two of the men wore Arab garb, but all the rest were in European dress, though at least half were of dark complexion, including one very black man who, unlike the others, didn't seem at ease in his black tie and tails. For a moment, as she surveyed them, she wondered about the conservatism in men's dress. Formal attire had changed precious little since the days of Abraham Lincoln. Sports and daily wear, yes; evening wear, no. A guest at a reception given by
Woodrow Wilson probably wouldn't have looked out of place here tonight.
When she first entered there were as many servants present as guests, tending bar and the buffet, carrying drinks and canapes, running the errands waiters run. But very shortly after she arrived they seemed magically to disappear, to her surprise. Then the realization came: those present were not in a position to be overheard. For the balance of the evening, the guests helped themselves to the buffet and the abundant drinks at the two bars.
She recognized only a few people—Sheila Duff-Roberts, of course, and Jerry Auburn, and Fong Hui, who inclined his bald head in salutation when their eyes met. Across the room was Nils Norden, an unconventionally jovial Swede who had been pointed out to her though thus far they hadn't met.
No, this was no formal party; merely a get-together of the bigwigs of the World Club. They stood or sat about the ballroom of the renaissance palace chatting, arguing, debating; sometimes friendly, sometimes in heat, and in groups of anywhere from two to eight. Most seemed to make a policy of circulating around, joining one conversation for a time, then drifting on to another individual or group.
Sheila had suggested Lee's presence as an opportunity to meet not only other members of the Central Committee but the other influentials of the World Club as well. For the moment, she didn't quite know where or how to begin. But then, from across the room, Jerry Auburn waved to her. He was standing with Sheila Duff-Roberts, who was dressed in a stunning, bright-blue evening gown which surely must have been designed with only her in mind. With them was a stranger who bore a fragile handkerchief with which he daintily touched his lips after each sip at the champagne he carried.
Lee approached hesitantly, wondering if the wave had meant she was to join them, and Jerry beamed at her. He held a highball glass in hand and, by the darkness of its contents, it was either straight spirits or nearly so. His shining eyes and flushed face indicated that the drink probably wasn't his first.
When she came up to the others, Jerry waved his glass in a gesture of welcome and said, "Honey, meet Carlo Brentanto.
Carlo, this is Lee Garrett, Sheila's new secretary. A knockout, which you wouldn't recognize, though Sheila does."
Sheila, who had a brandy glass in hand, murmured throat-ily, "You look stunning in that gown, darling."
Carlo Brentanto said, in almost a lisp, "Incantato," and bowed over Lee's hand gallantly.
Jerry said, "Carlo's been explaining that the gays should inherit the Earth."
"Certainly, they should have a greater say in its governing," the Italian told him coolly. "After all, my dears, they have been outstanding throughout history. It is ridiculous that there isn't a single homosexual in the Central Committee."
Jerry took a pull at his drink and said, "Well, we have our imposing Sheila.'' Sheila snorted.
"Over and over, the homosexual has proven himself down through history," Carlo argued, after daintily sipping. "Can you think of anyone more outstanding in the military and in government than Alexander the Great, Caesar, Frederick the Great, and many more prominent than Plato? Man has reached his heights when the homosexual was most widely understood— The Golden Age of Athens; the Renaissance here in Italy."
"Tolerated, but not exactly in power," Jerry said. "Off hand, the only governments I can think of that were ruled by the gays were Sodom and Gomorrah—and they came to a fiery end."
"I've always wondered what it was they did in Gomorrah," Lee murmured.
"You name it, they did it," said Jerry. Sheila gave her curt little laugh and said, "I'm gratified to see you have a sense of humor, darling."
The Italian fluttered the hand bearing his handkerchief and said, "Oh, all of you are quite hopeless. I think I shall go over and join the admiral."
"I have no doubt you'll try," Sheila purred. He left and the three of them looked after him for a moment.
Jerry said, "How in the hell did he ever get into the candidate class?"
"Actually, he's quite brilliant and the Brentantos are the wealthiest family in Italy," Sheila told him. "What was it you wanted to talk to me about, Jerry, before he interrupted us?"
He finished his drink and said, "Oh, yes. When I asked you yesterday what had happened to Pamela McGivern you said that I'd undoubtedly hear later. I haven't. In fact, I've asked a couple of the Committee and none of them seem to know, though Chase managed to mutter that it was good riddance. I don't believe that our Pamela was capable of hiding what she thought about his racist leanings."
Sheila said, "She was becoming quite impossible. It's one thing my being somewhat of a minister without portfolio in the Central Committee, but, after all, she was only my secretary, and there was no reason for their putting up with her opinions."
Jerry cocked his eye at her. "Minister without portfolio, eh? I didn't know that was how you regarded yourself, Sheila. I thought you were more like a Man Friday. You're sure that you're not beginning to take on responsibilities beyond those the Committee had in mind?"
Sheila's silent irritation was only partially concealed.
He said, "Now, what happened to Pamela? I, for one, liked the girl, and so did Fong Hui, among others."
"I dismissed her, giving her a bonus of fifty thousand psuedo-dollars."
"Without consulting anyone, eh?"
"I didn't think it necessary. After all, she was my secretary. I originally employed her on my own, without consulting anyone."
"What happened to her? Where is she now?"
Sheila frowned slightly. "I wouldn't know. Perhaps she returned to Ireland."
"Perhaps," he said. He looked at Lee. "Neither of us has a drink. Should we go on over to the bar and remedy that situation?"