“That’ll be taken care of, you just pass on the orders. Remember that I tol’ you we were going to make Davy’s place into a real nice whorehouse. Not for real, of course, but it’s goin’ to look that way.” “I still can’t buy it.”
“You will, when you see how it works out. Has Cedric Culp been playing up to Mary like I said?”
“Yes, but not too much. He’s married, remember.”
“I know, but he could be playing around a little. It’s been known to happen.”
“Hell, yes.”
“Now we’re goin’ to be showing some stag movies at the house tonight and you’re to come, got it?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll pick you up about eight-thirty. You’ll find out more after you get there.”
As Hewlitt let himself into his apartment he reflected that the stag movies were a good gag — it would account for his presence in a questionable neighborhood and his associating with a cab driver if that fact ever came to light. And because of the prudishness of his own country, Zalinsky would believe it. Whether the invisible but deadly Colonel Rostovitch would was another question.
A few minutes after eight Hewlitt put on a turtle-necked sweater, a pair of dark slacks, and the most inconspicuous jacket that he owned. He exchanged the leather shoes he had worn all day for a softer suede pair with rubber soles and then slipped a few extra dollars into his wallet. He did not know what lay ahead for the evening, but he knew that he was not going to be wasting time watching stag films.
When he went outside at eight-twenty-five Frank was just pulling up. Hewlitt got in without making the mistake of looking around first.
As soon as they were under way Frank inquired about his girl friend and then provided some news. “You’re goin’ to meet my boss tonight. He was mighty pleased with that idea of yours about Scott. He wants to talk to you directly. He is a sharp boy; you’ll find that out.”
“Has he a code name?”
“Yes, it’s Percival — not Percy; remember that.”
“And you absolutely vouch for him.”
“Hew, if he ain’t straight, you can forget about the whole thing.”
“Have you any idea what’s on the program for tonight?”
“Not too much. I think it has to do with Scott, but I don’t know for sure. Anyhow, there’s more goin’ on now and maybe Percival will have some things to tell you.”
A half hour latej, Frank pulled the cab into an unpaved driveway next to the house. A battered service truck parked at the end carried a legend for Jones’ TV Service. Frank pulled up behind it and pointed toward a side door which badly needed painting. When they opened it to go inside, Hewlitt noticed that despite its weatherbeaten appearance it swung silently on its hinges.
There was a smaller group in the living room this time although the same volunteer bartender was on duty. “How about a drink?” Frank asked.
“I could go for a bourbon and water.”
When Frank came back from the bar with two drinks Hewlitt looked around and asked, “Do you know who that Chinese fellow is?”
“You oughta know him,” Frank answered. “He works in the restaurant where you ate with Scott.”
Memory focused then and he recognized the quiet-mannered headwaiter. “I figured that you’d tumble to that,” Frank continued, “when you got that fixed-up fortune cookie.”
He hadn’t tumbled and it bit into his confidence. “Is he your boss?” he asked.
“No, but he’s a real good man. He thought up the fortune cookie trick and fixed the slip. And he got a good tape of your talk with Scott.”
Hewlitt looked at him. “That place is bugged?”
Frank tasted his drink. “Sure, but this time we’re doing it. Like I told you, this is no kid setup.”
As he was speaking the bartender set up a small table and then loaded it with an eight-millimeter projector and five rolls of film. As someone else set up a screen he threaded the machine and adjusted the focus. “O.K., you guys?” he asked.
For answer the man nearest the door turned off the light switch. A hazy cone of light crossed the room from the projector to the screen and a not too clear image appeared. In what was obviously a motel room a man and a girl began to embrace while they were seated on a small davenport.
“All right, let’s go,” Frank said. He opened the rear door of the room and waited until Hewlitt had followed him into the narrow corridor. “Sorry you’ll have to miss the show,” he added, “but you know the plot anyway.”
He led the way upstairs and then back to a rear room where he paused and knocked.
The man who opened the door was an even six feet tall, of narrow athletic build, and had on a suit which was trimly cut to his figure. He wore his hair in a near crew cut which suggested at once a military officer or a highly skilled technician accustomed to an active life. “Come in, gentlemen,” he invited.
Frank performed the introduction. “This is Raleigh Hewlitt. Hew, this is Percival.”
The man called Percival offered Hewlitt a hand that had steel in its fingers, then motioned toward two chairs which helped to fill what was essentially a sparse office. He sat down himself behind a simple desk with the manner of a man who knows precisely what he is about. Hewlitt estimated his age as between thirty-five and forty, but sensed at the same time that he could be wrong in either direction. Also he noted that there were no distinguishing characteristics in the man’s features, they were normal and regular and that was all.
“Hew, I hope that you’ll excuse me if I don’t give you my name at this point,” he said. “That isn’t because of any lack of confidence in you; it’s the way we have things set up.”
“That’s all right,” Hewlitt answered.
“I’ve been authorized to give you some information,” Percival continued. “I believe that Bob Landers told you that this organization was set up quite a while before we got into the late war; the President read the handwriting on the wall and prepared for what might happen. And did. You know which President I mean.”
“Yes, sir.”
Percival pulled out a drawer and stretched his legs across the top, tipping back in his chair as he did so. “Contrary to some press reports you might have seen, we had, and still have, a pretty competent intelligence organization going for us. Through it we got some very clear indications about what was coming, but the temper of the times — the public mood all across the country — made things difficult. The Orberg decision didn’t help us, and there were other problems.”
“Fitzhugh, for example.”
“Exactly. He didn’t consciously try to wreck things the way that Orberg and Wattles did, among others, but he’s been a damn nuisance.”
“Do you want me to leave you two guys alone?” Frank interrupted.
Percival gave him a half gesture. “I’d rather you’d stay; some of this may concern you.”
Frank nodded his compliance and lapsed back into silence.
“By the way,” Percival said. “I understand that you had a meeting with Fitzhugh the other day.”
“I did. He thought he was going to negotiate for us and save the country.”
“A little late for that, as far as he’s concerned.” He laid his arms on the desk. “Getting back to cases, we’ve been keeping a file on you for some time, largely because of your language capability. We thought of using you to translate intercepted messages and other material that we might get our hands on. All of the reports that we have had on you have been good, particularly as regards your ability to keep your mouth shut.”
“There isn’t any choice about that,” Hewlitt said.
Percival nodded his approval. “Glad that you see it that way. We had thought of pulling you into our headquarters, but as things have worked out, we want to leave you where you are for the time being. You seem to have established a certain rapport with Zalinsky that could be vitally important at the right time.”