Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine Annual, No. 3, 1973

Finally she said, “Hello.” Her voice was low-pitched, modulated. Her eyes flicked to Sam. “Doctor,” she said in greeting. The eyes danced back to Desiree and examined thoroughly. She laughed softly. It was a bubbly sound. She looked at Gerald, continued to be amused. “Mr. Holly is training them young these days, it seems.”

“Doesn’t it?” Gerald said.

“Quite attractive.”

“Amen.”

“You’ve examined her?”

“She’s clean.”

“And Doctor Herchenfelder?”

Gerald said nothing. Desiree heard the shuffle of his feet. The woman’s eyes were briefly cold, briefly brilliant and hard, but the smile remained on her lips, and the eyes abruptly became soft again.

“You blundered, Gerald,” she admonished.

“But he’s an egghead.”

“Examine him, please.”

Gerald went over Sam with his hands. Sam started to protest. “Hey, what the devil—”

Gerald slammed a fist into Sam’s middle, doubling the scientist, then he straightened Sam again.

“Stand quiet,” Gerald ordered. He finished his examination, turned on the woman. “Nothing. Only a money belt. He’s wearing a money belt.”

“Examine it,” said the woman.

Gerald ripped the shirt bottom from the top of Sam’s trousers, removed the belt. Sam started to reach, then seemed to reconsider. He dropped his arm and stood rooted. His breathing was harsh, his eyes behind the black-rimmed glasses a bit glossy. Desiree caught his eyes, shook her head, attempted to tell him to remain quiet.

Gerald went through the money belt, pitched it to the woman. She examined it, pitched it back. Gerald stuffed it in the scientist’s coat pocket.

“All right. Put them in the middle bedroom, Gerald,” the woman said.

Gerald escorted them. He stood in the doorway.

“Look out the window,” he said.

Desiree looked, saw the sedan. The hood was up and the olive-colored man with the hearing aid was bent over the motor.

“Frank there?” asked Gerald.

“He’s there,” said Desiree.

“He’ll be there. As long as you don’t raise hell, you’re free to roam the room. If you try anything foolish, if you make a lot of racket, you’ve had it. Understand?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He backed from the bedroom and closed the door quietly. Desiree listened for the snap of a lock and heard nothing.

Sam burst then, “My God, who are these people? What’s going on? Why are we here? Why—”

“Easy.” Desiree interrupted. She went to the large double bed, sat on the edge, crossed her knees. “We should be dead, but we’re not, so we’ve still got a chance.” Reflexively, she thumbed a garter strap under her skirt and along the top of her thigh. She had been minutely searched, but she still had the single weapon.

“Who are these people?” Sam repeated.

Desiree went to the window and it was as if the man outside felt her presence. He looked up from the motor, his narrow face blank, dark eyes hard. He didn’t move. She turned back.

“You can wager the last dollar in your money belt they don’t represent the United States Government. And put your shirttail in. I want the man I’m going to die with to be neat in appearance.”

He gasped. Then he wrapped the money belt around his middle, stuffed the shirttail into his trouser top. “Desiree, are these people agents of another government?”

“Now you’re with it, boy.”

“But that woman out there in the front room! She doesn’t look like an agent! And that man! He looks like any business man you might see on a street!”

“And me?” Desiree asked with a cocked eyebrow.

Sam became flustered. “Well—”

“I’m an agent, too, remember?” she said.

Sam went to the window. “What’s that man doing out there? Hey, he was our driver! Why is he working on—”

“He’s there to make sure we don’t go out the back way, Sam. And those two in the front room are where they are to make sure we don’t—”

“They can’t do this to us!” he exploded.

“You tell them that,” said Desiree. Then she sat on the edge of the bed again. “Look, Sam, something about all of this isn’t right. We should be dead.”

“Can’t you quit talking about dying? I’ve got a meeting to—”

“It’s the part that isn’t right. Why haven’t we been killed? Why didn’t Gerald kill us in the hotel? I don’t like it, Sam.”

“Well, I hope you won’t be offended, Miss Fleming, if I admit aloud that I, for one, am happy to still be alive.”

“Get off the high horse, Sam. We haven’t been killed for a reason. One, it could be because they didn’t want to clutter up the hotel with bodies. Two, it could be they don’t want any bodies left lying around — anywhere. We might be just going to disappear. Or three — Sam, I think I’ve got it!”

“What?”

“How much of the TX project are you carrying around inside your skull?”

He looked confused. Desiree pressed: “If someone was to pick your brain, pick you clean, could you give them enough information so they’d know what the TX project is, how it operates?”

“I could give them one phase, but I won’t.”

“And the other two phases? You don’t know anything at all about the work of Blue and Gray?”

“Well, certainly, I do—”

“What’s been your end of this project? Design? Function? What?”

“Function.”

“It’s your discoveries that will make the TX tick?”