N came over at that point, leaned on the desk between us, and said to P, “Chief, let me talk to Raxford a second.”
P gestured as though he’d given me up. “Go right ahead.”
N looked at me. “We could use your help, Mr. Raxford,” he said. “The Chief has a lot on his mind, you know; Eustaly and Ten Eyck aren’t the only subversives we’re trying to neutralize. In their case, you could do more to help than anyone else, and you can’t blame the Chief if he doesn’t understand why you wouldn’t want to help, can you?”
“I don’t want to help,” I said, “because I don’t want to be killed. Does that make it any clearer?”
“Then you want our help, too,” N pointed out. “Each of us needs the other, Mr. Raxford. Frankly, I think the Chief understands that more than you do.”
I looked at him, and looked at his bloody Chief, and looked at Angela, and looked at the airshaft, and looked at my left shoe, and gradually got myself used to the idea that I was in a bind. My brave talk about leaving New York, hiding out till this had all blown over, was so much bushwah, and I knew it just as much as they did. Through no fault of my own I was in this mess up to my neck, and no matter how much I disliked P and his cohorts personally, professionally, and philosophically, it remained true that I was more likely to survive with them than without them.
But I wasn’t prepared to give in quite that easily. “Maybe we can talk,” I said. “Maybe we can make a deal.”
P snorted, but N said, “What sort of deal?”
“Your Chief there said something about pulling the FBI surveillance off me,” I reminded him.
Quickly P said, “We’re not the FBI.”
“But you could arrange it,” I said. “Couldn’t you?”
P and N looked at each other, and then N said to me, “On what basis? Give us a reason we can use.”
“You scratch my back,” I said, “I scratch yours.”
N smiled briefly and frostily. “That wouldn’t look good in a memo.”
Angela said, “If Gene helps the government now, doesn’t that prove he isn’t subversive?”
N considered her, smiled a bit more warmly, and said, “That just might do it.” He turned to P, saying, “Eh, Chief? By volunteering his assistance in an emergency, J. Whatchamacallit Raxford demonstrated his—”
“Eugene,” I said.
“Wha? Oh, right. J. Eugene Raxford — I keep thinking it’s J. Edgar — J. Eugene Raxford demonstrated his loyalty beyond question, and we therefore recommend all surveillance of him and his organization cease as of date. What do you think?”
P looked doubtful. “You know how stiff-necked they can be.”
“They’ll go along, Chief,” N assured him.
P looked sternly at me and said, “I guarantee nothing. I’ll do my very best, that’s all I can say.”
“Then it’s on,” I said. “I’m yours. Do your worst.”
N beamed at me, patted my shoulder, and said, “Good man. You won’t regret this.”
“That’s what you think. I’m regretting it already.” I said to P, “What do you want me to do?”
“In a word,” he said, “infiltrate.”
“Infiltrate? What kind of word is that? What do you mean, infiltrate?”
P leaned forward over the desk, so intent it was obvious he had to be the one who’d thought this caper up, and said, “You’re going to be part of the League for New Beginnings, in a position to watch them from the inside and report their activities to us.”
I said, “Don’t look now, but your brains just fell out.”
He smiled thinly — a man with superior knowledge again. “Does there appear to you to be an insoluble problem, Mr. Raxford?”
“You betcha,” I said.
“Such as?”
“Such as the fact they already know I’m a ringer, so how do I infiltrate?”
He shook his head. “No, Mr. Raxford, that’s where you’re wrong. They do not know you are a ringer. They only know Miss Ten Eyck is a ringer, and at the moment they assume you are one as well.”
“Pretty good assumption, if you ask me,” I said.
“But,” said P, raising a hortatory finger, “what if you were to murder Miss Ten Eyck?”
“I’d get the chair.”
“Please, Mr. Raxford, this is serious.”
“You bet it is,” I said.
He said, “Listen to me, now. The afternoon papers tomorrow will report that Miss Ten Eyck has disappeared, and was last seen in the company of the notorious terrorist and subversive, J. Eugene Raxford of the Citizens’ Independence Union. For the next five days the newspapers will continue to report on the exhaustive search being undertaken for both of you, with constant references to your past history as a terrorist, culminating in the report of the discovery of Miss Ten Eyck’s murdered body. Shortly after which, you will contact Eustaly, pre—”
“How do I do that?”
“Through one of the others at the meeting. The Whelps, for instance, or Mrs. Bodkin. Several of these people live quite openly, very easy to find.”
“All right,” I said. “Then what?”
“You explain to Eustaly,” he told me, “that when you ran from the room you were not running away from the group but after Miss Ten Eyck. That you subsequently caught her and murdered her, since it had become obvious she was a spy of some sort of your organization, and have been hiding out ever since.” P spread his hands and said, “Eustaly will have no choice but to believe you.”
“I’d prefer it in writing from him,” I said. “All right, never mind that. In real life, such as it is, where will I be for the next five days?”
“At a site of ours,” he told me, “being prepared for the infiltration. Believe me, Mr. Raxford, we have no more desire to see harm come to you than you have. We will take every possible precaution, including a crash training program for you that will leave you equipped to handle almost any situation that may arise.”
I turned to Angela and said, “See? I carry my own net.”
She smiled encouragingly at me, squeezed my arm, and said, “You’re doing the right thing, Gene. I can feel it.”
“Wonderful.” To P, I said, “What about Angela? Where’s she going to be during all this?”
“We’ll hide her out at one of our sites till it’s all over,” he said.
“Make it the same site as me,” I said.
He lifted an eyebrow. “You two aren’t married, are you?”
“Don’t worry,” I told him, “we’ll sign the register Mr. and Mrs.”
He said, “I’m not sure we could get approval for that sort of thing.”
I turned to N, who seemed to be the nearest thing to a sane human being in the room, and said, “Tell him.”
N understood at once. He nodded at me and said, “Chief, I think in this case we can afford to look the other way. We show Mr. Raxford our willingness to co-operate with him, and then I’m sure he’ll be happy to cooperate with us.”
P considered, pursing his lips, brooding at his desk top, but sooner or later all of us compromise with our morals, allow the end to justify the means, permit our actions to fall short of our ideals, and P was no exception. “Very well,” he said grumpily. “But,” he said, giving me the gimlet eye, “I ask you to be discreet. I don’t want you contaminating my men.”
“Well!” said Angela. “I like that!”
“He meant morally,” I told her.
P cleared his throat, rather noisily, and said, “All right, that seems to be about all. You’ll be taken to the site now, by auto.” He nodded at L and N, who nodded back and got to their feet. P stood also, and put a good face on it as he said, “Allow me to express my appreciation, Mr. Raxford, for your offer of co-operation. Anything that can be done to make your task easier will, I assure you, be done.”