To The Stars

They both laughed at that and some of the tension went out of the air. “You had better think carefully before you answer,” Sara said. “There are very great dangers involved.”

“I think I made the decision the moment I lied to Security. I’m in too deep now and I know so little. I must know it all.”

“And so you shall. Tonight.” She went to the window, opened the curtains, and looked out. Then closed them again and sat down.

“John will be here in a few minutes and will answer all your questions. This meeting was difficult to set up so it was agreed to make the most of it if you went along. I’ve just let them know that. John is not his real name of course. And you will be called Bill for the same reason. And he will be wearing one of these. Just slip it over your head.”

She passed over a soft, masklike object.

“What is it?”

“Face-changer. It has built in thickenings and pressure plates. Your chin will be wider, nose flatter, cheeks hollower, that kind of thing. And dark glasses will hide your eyes. Then, if the worst happens, you can’t identify John — he can’t accuse you.”

“But you know me. What if you are caught?”

Before Sara could answer there was a rapid bleeping from the turned-off radio. Four quick notes and no more. The effect was remarkable.

She was on her feet in an instant, tearing the face-changer from his hand and running swiftly into the other room. “Take your jacket off, open your shirt,” she called back over her shoulder. She returned in a few moments wearing a very transparent black gown trimmed with pink lace. There was a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” she asked, calling through the thin paneling.

“Police,” was the short, shocking answer.

Nine

When the door was opened the uniformed officer ignored Sara, just pushing past her and crossing to Jan who was still sitting in the chair, glass in hand. The policeman had a riot helmet on with its transparent faceplate lowered. His uniform was thick, padded with layers of woven armor, while his fingers stayed close to the large automatic that swung arrogantly from his hip. He stopped in front of Jan and looked him up and down slowly.

Jan took a sip from the glass and was determined to show no guilt, no matter how bad the situation was.

“What are you doing here?” Jan snapped.

“Sorry, your honor. Routine.” The policeman’s words were muffled by the faceplate and he swung it open. His expression was blank, professional. “We’ve had some gentlemen molested by the tarts, sir, and their fancy men. Can’t have that in a law-abiding city. Straightened up now, but this one is a new one. Foreigner. Italian, just over here for a while on a temporary. Don’t mind her making a bit of extra crumble on the side, novelty for the gentlemen you might say, but we also don’t want any trouble. Everything all right, sir?”

“Quite all right — until you came barging in.”

“I can understand your feelings, sir. But it is illegal, don’t you forget, your honor.” There was steel beneath the calm words; Jan knew better than to force the issue. “Just looking after your best interests. Have you been in the other rooms yet?”

“Then I’ll just have a look-round. Never know what you’ll find under these beds sometimes.”

Jan and Sara looked at each other in silence while the policeman stamped heavily through the rooms and finally returned.

“All in order, your honor. Enjoy yourself. Good night.”

He let himself out and Jan found himself shaking with rage, flushed and angry. He raised his fist to the closed door as Sara grabbed him around the shoulders and pressed her finger to his lips.

“They do that all the time, your honor. Bust in, boom, looking for trouble. They lie, all of them. Now we have a nice time and you forget.”

She held him tightly while she talked and his anger waned as he became aware of the warmth and closeness of her firm body through the thin material of her gown.

“Have another of this good Italian drink” she said, pulling away and crossing to the table. She rattled her glass against the bottle with her left hand while she quickly scribbled a note on a pad with her right. When she came back it was the note she gave him, not the drink.

MAYBE RECORDER OTHER ROOM. YOU ANGRY LEAVE NOW

“I’m not sure I want another drink. Do you usually have the police bursting through your door at all hours?”

“It means nothing…”

“lt means a lot to me. Get my coat. I’m getting out of here.”

“But money. You promised.”

“Two pounds for the drinks is all you’ll get.”

When she handed him the coat she had another note ready. YOU’LL BE CONTACTED it read. She squeezed his hand in hers — then kissed him swiftly on the cheek before she let him out.