Джон Болл - The First Team

“When this is all over, I’d like to know who you really are,” he said. “That is, if you’ll be able to tell me.”

“I think so,” Percival said. “I won’t break the cell system now for reasons that you fully understand; part of your own protection comes from the fact that we know that we’re playing for keeps and we don’t take any chances that we can possibly avoid.”

“I fully understand that.”

“Good, because there’s something I want to discuss with you. Would you like to get a little closer to the First Team in this operation?”

“I’d like that very much.”

“At an increased risk?”

“That’s part of the game, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Percival agreed, “it is. There’s another thing: after what we’ve just done to them, they’re going to try twice as hard to ferret us out now. There’s a man named Rostovitch…”

“I know,” Hewlitt interrupted without thinking, “I’ve heard about him. He’s supposed to be a very hard case.”

“He is, and I have that directly from a man who faced him once. He won’t show any mercy of any kind; if he gets you that’s it and we won’t be able to help you — at least you won’t be able to count on it.”

“What are my orders?” Hewlitt asked.

“For the moment — none. We’re going to play this a little differently; you’ll know in time what to do. Settle for that. Are you still willing?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Good, I’ll pass your decision on up. At least one member of the First Team knows all about you; he’ll be handling this personally.” “I hope I’m to meet him.”

“Very possibly you will.”

“By the way,” Hewlitt said, “who is Amy Thornbush?”

“I don’t know — why?”

“The first time I met Zalinsky he said to me, ‘You know Amy Thornbush.’ It was a statement not a question. I don’t know any Amy Thornbush and I wondered if you did.”

Percival took out a small notebook and a pen. “I’ll look into that; there isn’t any Percival either, if you follow me.”

“I do, and I hadn’t thought of that.”

“You have a good memory.”

“I’ve had some training — self-administered.”

“That could come in very handy. From now on your conduct, particularly as regards this house, is to remain unchanged, but you are out of the White House cell; you’ll report directly to me and not to anyone else — all right?”

“Yes, of course. Do you mean by that that I’m not to confide in Frank anymore?”

“Not at all: in fact if you need to see me in a hurry he has certain contacts that can help you. But you’re going to play a new role and I don’t want you to be going through intermediaries. If all goes well, you may be in at the most interesting part.”

“I’d like that.”

“Good. Go to bed.”

Hewlitt did not know when Percival left the house, and he did not concern himself with it. He went up to the small room that he used for his overnight visits, undressed, washed his face and hands in one of the two available bathrooms, and turned in. The bed was not as comfortable as it might have been, but as it had before, it would do.

He had no recollection of anything before he went to sleep. The next thing that he knew was that he was being vigorously shaken and that a flashlight was burning in the room. Then he heard

Davy’s voice cutting through to his sleep-charged brain. “Hew, hurry! Into Barbara’s room — now. We’re being raided!”

As he came to, Davy literally yanked him to his feet and pushed him into the corridor. Barbara’s room was opposite; without ceremony Davy opened the door and shoved him inside. Hewlitt turned quickly to ask a fast question but he had no chance; the tall Negro was whipping the sheets off his bed and destroying the signs of recent occupancy.

“Hew, hurry!” He heard Barbara’s voice come out of the semidarkness, then he saw her sitting up in the double bed. With a quick sweep of her arm she gestured. When he stayed at the safe house he slept in his shorts; he had them on now and nothing else. Barbara apparently wore nothing at all; he had a stabbing glance toward her and saw a magnificent pair of breasts, then her urgent voice caught him once more. “Strip,” she urged. “Get into bed, fast!” He had been in bed with women before, but for a fraction of a moment he hesitated. He was fully awake now, but this was not just a girl — this was Barbara which made things different. Then he heard a sound from her, it was not a spoken word but an almost animal gasp of desperation. After that it took him only four seconds to get out^of his shorts, fling them into a chair, and run the three or four steps to the side of her bed. As he did so he heard sudden noises downstairs, sounds of abrupt forceful entry.

He had been slow to waken, it had cost several seconds, but he made up for it now. As Barbara held the covers up for him he sprang into her bed. “Hold me,” she commanded. He put his arms around her and pressed her naked body to his own. He did not have time to react to the feel of her; within seconds the corridor outside was suddenly full of men.

The door to the bedroom was jerked open and the beam of a powerful light cut through the darkness. It found the bed and held steady, blindingly, on the two heads that were close together. Hewlitt raised himself on one elbow and, in a voice he managed to make sound startled, called out, “What the hell!”

Two men came in, one holding the light. Unceremoniously the other jerked back the covers and surveyed the two naked bodies pressed together. He hesitated for several seconds, drinking in as much of Barbara’s body as was visible. Then with one hand he pushed her shoulder, turning her onto her back.

The man studied the body revealed before him, then tossed the covers back into position. For a few seconds the other swept the light around the room, then they were gone.

“God damn them!” Hewlitt raged. “I’ll kill every one of them!”

It was for their benefit, of course, if they heard him, and Barbara knew that; she pressed an arm across his chest commanding him to remain in bed. Hewlitt thought and realized that that would be the natural thing to do; charging naked through the corridors in pursuit of armed men would be idiotic and no sane person would do it, no matter how furious he might be.

They heard a scream from Mary’s room, but it was one of fright and not terror. “Stay here,” Barbara whispered in his ear. “She’s all right. I know.”

He could do little else; his clothes, apart from his shorts, had been left in the other room and in a few fast seconds Davy had probably taken them away. There was the sound of a man going downstairs and more tramping in the corridor, but the bedroom door remained shut.

“What if any more of them come in here to look at you?” Hewlitt asked her softly.

“Let them,” she answered. It was not tight-lipped, simply practical — the only possible solution to an acutely dangerous situation.

Hewlitt thought next of Davy and wondered if he needed help. He half-started to rise when once more Barbara held him down. “Don’t,” she said. “You can’t do anything.”

Tense as he was, he knew that she was right. How any girl could keep her cool in the midst of an enemy raid with an unexpected man in her bed he did not know, but Barbara managed it. He took comfort in the realization that he had heard no sounds of violence, no scuffling, no cries of distress or pain. Mary had made no further outcry; the whole noise level seemed to be dropping. Then he heard at least two men going downstairs, which could mean that for the moment at least they were alone.

Then he felt Barbara’s finger across his lips. At that moment he remembered a story he had read as a boy — about someone who was pretending sleep in a flophouse that was being raided. He had heard the intruders depart in just the same way, but he had lain perfectly still for a full half hour, breathing steadily as though he had been in deep slumber. Then, finally, he had heard the man who had been waiting patiently and noiselessly just outside his door at last give up his vigil and walk away.