Survival... ZERO! mh-11 Page 5

  here ... and all you need to start the action is one little push."

  "You're not under arrest, Hammer," the fat one said.

  "Believe it, buddy, that I'm not. But I'm sure interested in getting that way."

  When they looked at each other wondering what kind of a cat they had caught in their trap I knew I had the bull on them and I wasn't about to let go. For the first time I looked directly at Pat "I saw Eddie Dandy's show tonight myself. You've already been informed by Captain Chambers here that I was a recipient of confidential information. It was given me in way of explanation so I wouldn't do any loose talking, so I assume everyone here figures I picked up a few fast bucks by passing that information on. Okay, right now, hear this just once. It was Eddie Dandy who suggested the idea and I just made a few discreet inquiries that shook up my good pal Pat to the point where he had to fill me in on the rest." I tapped out another butt and lit it. Somebody shoved the ashtray my way. "Pat, I said nothing, you got that?"

  He was still the cop. His expression didn't change an iota. "Sorry, Mike."

  "Okay, forget it."

  "It can't be forgotten," the fat guy said. "Do you know who we are?"

  "Who the hell are you trying to kid?" I asked him. "You're all D.C. characters playing political football with something you can't handle. Now you got Eddie Dandy on your backs and can't get him off."

  One of the others snapped a pencil in two and stared at me, his face tight with rage. "He'll be here to explain his part in this."

  "There isn't any part, you nut. All you can do now is offer excuses or start lying. Which is it? Or do you discredit Eddie? Tell me, is it true?"

  Everybody wanted to talk at once, but the fat guy at the end silenced them with one word. Then he looked down the table at me and folded his hands with all the innocence of a bear trap. "Tell me, Mr. Hammer, why are you so militant?"

  "Because I don't dig you goons. You're all bureaucratic nonsense, tax happy, self-centered socialistic slobs who think the public's a game you can run for your own benefit. One day you'll realize that it's the individual who pulls the strings, not committees."

  "And you're that individual?"

  "I can pull more than strings, friend, that's why you got me here. Right now I'm all for going out and really sounding off about what I know. How about that?" I sat back and listened to the quiet.

  Pat broke the eerie stillness. "Don't push him, Mr. Crane. The whole thing shook me for a minute, but I'd rather have him on our side."

  "Protecting yourself, Captain?"

  "Another remark like that and you'll be protecting yourself, Mr. Crane. I'll rap you right in the mouth."

  The big man from the State Department took one look at Pat's face and the knuckles of his interlocking fingers whitened. "Captain ..."

  "You'll be better off just telling him, Mr. Crane. He isn't kidding."

  They could talk with their eyes, this bunch. They could just look at each other and have a conversation, hash the problem out and come to a decision. When it was made, Crane gave an almost imperceptible nod and stared at me again, his eyes cold. "Very well. I don't approve, but considering how far out on a limb we are, we'll give you the story."

  "Why?" I asked.

  "Simply because we can't afford to have anyone prying into this affair. After Eddie Dandy's report we'll have everyone in the news media asking questions. They don't like negative answers. They'll go directly to Dandy and we're hoping you can influence him to state that he was wrong in his premises."

  "Brother!" I snubbed my butt out and sat back in my chair. "You don't know reporters very well, do you? Where is Eddie now?"

  "Being briefed on the incident. He'll be here shortly."

  "You better have something good to tell him. Or me."

  Crane nodded. "I think we have."

  "I'm listening."

  "Of course you realize the confidential nature of this matter?"

  "I did before," I said.

  Mr. Crane managed a little of his State Department pomp and leaned back, mentally choosing his words. When he was satisfied, he said, "In 1946 a Soviet agent was planted in this country by the regime then in power with specific instructions that at a certain time, when the economic and political factors were right, to totally sabotage certain key cities through the use of biological or chemical means. His orders were irrevocable. He was given the properties to accomplish his mission, and the persons he could contact who would relay the schedule of destruction. This was a top secret project that could in no way be canceled out. This agent had one contact who, like him, was only to relay the information of when it would take place, then set in motion the machinery that would take over after the destruction finished our present system of government"

  "And that gay is dead," I said.

  "Very dead. Now we know the system he used. It was bacteriological. He's set everything in motion. It's a time delay affair. Unfortunately, he somehow got exposed himself and died."

  I looked over at Pat. "You said it came out of our labs."

  Crane didn't let him answer. "All research seems to come to the same conclusions. The strain of bacteria was similar, but not identical."

  "You got troubles, Mr. Crane, haven't you? We have ICBM's, Polaris, all the new goodies stored up in silos around the country that can reach anywhere around the world, and now that you know what's on our necks we can get in there for a first strike, only you're not striking. Why?"

  That caught them a little off base. Maybe they thought I couldn't figure it out. Crane gave me a perceptive brush of his eyes and said, "Because the Soviets are caught on their own horns. They don't want it either. They want it stopped right now and they're cooperating. There's a new regime in power and their entire political system has been changed in view of the Chinese situation. They can't afford to be hit from both sides. Only one of their personnel was able to hint at this development, but that was enough to get leads, process them and get the story. Do you see now why we can't afford a panic?"

  "So you're buying time."

  "Exactly."

  Before he could answer another of the gray flannel boys came in, walked up and spoke to him. Crane nodded and said, "Bring him in."

  Eddie Dandy looked like he had been wrung out in an old Maytag. Sweat had plastered his hair to his forehead, his sports jacket was rumpled and he couldn't keep his hands still at all. But his face still bore that hard stamp of the veteran newscaster with the "show me or else" look. Apparently they hadn't mentioned me to him at all and his eyes registered momentary surprise when he saw me sitting there. I waved nonchalantly and winked and I knew damn well things were beginning to add up to him.

  They gave him the same rundown they gave me, but he had saved up his little shocker for them. When Crane insisted just a little too hard on Eddie divulging his source of information, he simply said, "Why it was you and Mr. Rollings who tipped me off." I applauded with a laugh nobody appreciated. Pat gave me a tap with his foot.

  "Please don't think everybody is stupid," Eddie told them. "I have to research news items and the death of that guy in the subway had certain earmarks that were familiar to me. Or did you forget the death of all those sheep out west when that nerve gas went in the wrong direction? Or the two lab workers whose families raised such hell about the cover-up when they kicked off? Seeing you two in the hospital was all it took to pin the probability down . . . that and a few inquiries made to knowledgeable scientists who don't approve of the more sophisticated methods of modern warfare."

  Somehow they all seemed to stop communicating then. Their exchanges of looks didn't bring any responses. Red-faced, Crane mustered all his eloquence and put the proposition right on the line. Eddie could be the turning point of panic. Until the location of the destruct cannisters could be determined and destroyed, Eddie was to retract his broadcast and maintain that position.

  He looked at me and I shrugged. I said, "There's a possibility a mass search for the stuff might help."

  "You'll
get mass exodus from the cities and panic, Mr. Hammer," Crane told me. "No, we have competent people experienced in these matters and with help from the Soviets I'm confident it can be accomplished."

  "Sure, you trust the Soviets and you know what you'll get. You get screwed every time and you slobs are all afraid of screwing back. What happens if you don't find the stuff?"

  "We're not even considering that possibility," he shot back. "No . .."

  But Eddie cut him off right there. "You're forgetting something. Now my neck is out with the network and the audience. I'll be coming off looking like a bumbling amateur. I'll be lucky if I can hang on to my job. So we make a deal."

  "Yes?"

  "No other reporter, broadcaster or what-have-you gets any part of this story if you pull it off. All I need is a hint that this has been leaked and I'll blow the whole thing all

  over your faces. If you manage to lock this thing up, I get first crack at releasing it along with verbal progress reports in the meantime. You haven't got much choice, so you can take it or leave it."

  "We'll take it, Mr. Dandy," Crane said. This time the communication was complete. Everybody else agreed too.

  Pat took Eddie Dandy and me to a late supper at Dewey Wong's wild restaurant on East Fifty-eighth Street as a way of apology. I gave him a little private hell, but it didn't take long to get back on our old footing. He was red-faced about it, but too much cop to let it bother him. What really had him going was the maximum effort order that was out in the department, recalling all officers from vacation, assigning extra working hours, canceling days off and hoping to keep the reason for the project secret long enough to get the job done. With the same thing going on all over the country, it wasn't going to be easy. Until it was finished, every other investigation was going to be at a standstill. When we finished, Eddie took off to start working on his end and I rode back downtown with Pat. In the car I said, "Velda told me about Lippy working the theater areas."

  "I hope it satisfies you."

  "Ahh ..."

  "Come on, Mike, stay loose. It's pretty damn obvious, isn't it?"

  "There's still a killer around."

  "More than one, buddy, and we're not concentrating any on your old pal. From now on we'll be going after the biggest and the best for one reason only ... to give the papers all the hot news they can handle so maybe they'll skip over this latest incident. We're in trouble, Mike."

  "Never changes. There's always trouble."

  "And I don't need any with you."

  I handed him the insurance papers and note Heidi had given me. He glanced at them and handed them back, his face masked with total astonishment. "By damn, you land right in the middle of the biggest mess we've ever had and all you want is a passkey to some broad's tail. Man, you never change! You damn horny ..."

  "Lay off, Pat. I could have had that for free yesterday."

  "Then why ..."

  "It'll keep you off my back if for no other reason."

  "For that I'll do anything. Look, take every one of those wallets and give them back personally. It won't be

  hard to arrange at all. Then go get drunk or shack up for a week or get lost in the mountains ... just anything at all!"

  "My pleasure," I said.

  He slammed his hand down on his knee with a disgusted gesture and shut up again. But he meant what he said. He packaged the whole lot for me, had me sign for each item and let me leave so he could handle all the traffic that was beginning to jam the room.

  Outside, I set my watch with the clock in a jeweler's window. It was a quarter to eleven. The night was clear and an offshore breeze had blown the smog inland. You could see some of the stars that were able to shine through the reflected glow of the city lights. Traffic was thin downtown, but up farther, New York would be coming to life. Or death, whichever way you looked at it. For me, I couldn't care less because it had always been that way anyway. At least the little episode with all the forces of national and international governments had bought me the same thing it had bought them .. time. Everybody would be too busy to be clawing at my back now. I grinned silently and flagged down a cruising cab.

  Finero's Steak House was jammed with the after-theater crowd, a noisy bunch three deep around the bar and a couple dozen others waiting patiently in the lobby for a table. I waved the maitre d" over, told him all I wanted was to see Ballinger and he let the velvet rope down so I could go in.

  He was like something out of a late-late movie, sitting there flanked by two full-blown blondes in dresses cut so low they seemed more like stage costumes than evening wear. His tux was the latest style, but on him it was all eyewash because he was still the dock-type hood and no tailor was ever going to change him. One of the blondes kept feeling his five o'clock shadow and murmuring about his virility. The other was doing something else and Ballinger was enjoying the mutual attention. The others respectfully ignored the play, paying due attention to their own dates. The original pair were there, but a new one had been added, a punk named Larry Beers who had been a pistolero with the Gomez Swan mob when he was nineteen and graduated into the upper echelon brackets when he had beaten a rap for gunning down two of the Benson Hill bunch. I didn't know- Ballinger had him on his side until now. Old Woodring was paying high for his services, whatever they were, that was for sure.

  This time Woody put on an act for everybody's benefit.

  I got a big smile, an introduction to the girls whose names all sounded alike, the pair named Carl and Sammy, but when he came to Larry Beers I said, "We've met," His handshake was very wary. "Been a long time Larry.

  "Let's make it longer the next time."

  "Why not?"

  Ballinger gave me a big smile that was all snake with the fangs out, his heavy-lidded eyes asking for trouble. "Join us, Hammer?"

  "Not tonight, Woody. I got better things to do."

  "Ah, come on, I'll get you a broad and ..."

  "I'm a leg man, myself," I said.

  The blonde on his left stuck her tongue out at me. "I have those too, you know."

  "I hope so. It's just that I enjoy a certain style and design."

  She laughed and put both her hands on the table. Woody seemed annoyed at the sudden attention I was getting and let his smile fade. "You want something?"

  I reached in my pocket, took out his wallet and tossed it on the table. "Just saving some embarrassment by having you go down and get it. Seems funny, an old pro like you letting a dip grab his poke. You do what I asked you?"

  He was too happy to know I was leaving not to answer me. He stuck the wallet back in his pocket without looking at it and said, "Not yet, but soon."

  "Real soon, okay?"

  I looked at them all briefly, remembering their faces, nodded and went back to the street. I could feel Woody Ballinger's eyes boring into my back all the way.

  On the way to the East Side I stopped in a gin mill on Sixth Avenue and put in a call to Velda at her apartment. I let the phone ring a dozen times, but there was no answer. I tried the office too in case she decided to work late. Same thing. The answering service for my apartment number told me there had been no calls for me at all. I wasn't about to worry about her. She had a P.I. ticket and a nasty little .32 hammerless automatic to go with it and when the chips were down she could take care of herself. Right now she probably was following orders, purse swinging with the come-on look in Lippy's neighborhood, seeing how the other half lived.

  Near-midnight callers on actress tenants mustn't have seemed unusual to the doorman. He was the same one who had admitted me earlier and when I asked him if he ever slept he chuckled and said, "Changed shifts with

  Barney. He's courting and the night work was ruining his love life. You want to see Miss Anders, go right up. She got in a little while ago and for her it's like the middle of the afternoon." He gave me a knowing look and added, "You want I should call her?"

  "Give her a buzz. Hammer's the name.

  "Yes, sir." He plugged in the jack, flipped the tog
gle twice and waited. Then: "Miss Anders, I have a Mr. Hammer ..."

  Her voice, ringing with that odd quality that could carry right through a phone, came right over his, but this time with a hurried urgency that seemed to have a catch in it. "Yes, please, send him right up."

  The doorman hung up and made a wry face at me. "Funny broad, that."

  "How come?"

  "Any guy she can get, but always picks the wrong ones who give her a hard time. Like tonight she comes home, eyes all red, sniffling and jumpy. You'd think she'd blow this coop and start over somewheres."

  "The mortality rate is pretty high in show business. Those dames can attract some oddballs."

  "Yeah, but no reason to. They're just people same as anybody else. They got a face and a body and you'd think they'd make out okay, but this one is always miserable. It's a wonder she'll even speak to a guy any more. A big star, plenty of money and always down in the dumps. Me, I'm plain glad to be what I am."

  "I know the feeling," I said.

  This tune I didn't have to touch the bell. The door was cracked and she was waiting for me, a pert thing with crazy ash-blonde hair, belted into a sheer black housecoat that clung so magically to all the curves and hollows that it seemed like she didn't have anything on at all.

  But she wasn't quite as pretty as the last time. Her eyes were too red and feverish looking. The nervousness was more acute and the smile she gave me was strained to its limit. She swallowed with a tiny, jerky motion of her head and reached for my sleeve. "Come in, Mike. Please come in. I guess you must think Fm awfully strange to be having guests so late, but it's really nothing for me. Nothing at all." She tried a laugh on as she shut the door and took my hat. It had a hollow, flat sound. "You'll have to excuse me if I'm not at my best. It's just that. . . well, I imagine everyone has personal problems and ..."