Edward Llewellyn - Prelude to Chaos

She shook her head. “Even before I went to med school 1 knew that Believers didn’t get far in the medical profession. And I’ve never had to tell anybody I was. It’s not each Believer’s light that’s supposed to shine, but only the True Light Believers who don’t join a Settlement are expected to live good lives, but not to hold themselves up as something special. And not to try for martyrdom unless there’s a good reason. As all the great religions have some access to the Light we can use the one most natural for us. The Teacher says—”

“Damn the Teacher! You mean that when the Service sifted your background they didn’t find out you were a Believer? That your mother lived at Sutton Cove?”

“Even my father couldn’t find out where my mother was. .And he employed the most expensive outfit in your business—Gratton and Gsrrard. Heard of them?”

“They’re not in my business! But I’ve heard of them all right. Pay them enough, give them the data, and they’ll find you if you’re hiding in hell!”

“My father paid them a lot. He wanted to get mother back. Not because he loved her—or me. He wanted to make her break the deed of gift under which I got a lot of money when I became eighteen. My father was good at making things and breaking people. He was never able to have a second go at mother. Or at me after I was eighteen.” She paused. “That’s why I’ve no brothers or sisters. No family. And he’s dead.”

“And those visits to your mother? Those clinics you ran in Maine? Didn’t anybody know where you were going?”

She shook her head. “My father’s lawyers went on looking for mother for years after he died. To try to collect from her. In the end I paid them off myself. My friends knew that I had a lover somewhere in Vermont. A passionate lover with a jealous-hearted wife!” She laughed. “And so I did. But he only had my company at irregular intervals.”

“So!” I studied her laughing face, irrationally angry with her for being skilled in certain types of deception. “Your Teacher doesn’t seem to bother much about the usual morals!”

Her laughter died on the instant. “Oh yes he does!” She looked at the carpet, then at me. “Not for making love, but for hurting that wife. And I learned how much it hurt when Jim dumped me.” She stood up. “So if things go wrong I’ve a refuge. At least—I had one. Now I’ve told you, so it may not be safe anymore. Not after what you said about interrogation. If they catch you—”

“I’ll be too dead to talk. I’ve already covered that possibility. There was a silencer capsule in Gramps’ grave. And it’s in place!” I pointed to my mouth. “So if we’re both hunted I may come to Sutton, but I won’t be bringing anyone with me.”

“Gavin!” She bent down and kissed me. “That’s in return for the kiss in the mall.”

Sam’s was a bar where blue and white collars mingled and nobody questioned anybody. The small man sitting on the edge of his seat in the next booth was the kind of midager who could disappear in a crowd of ten. I studied him as I enjoyed a bourbon and he toyed with a Martini. His changing expression was worth watching; the eyes may be the mirror of the soul but you need the movements of the mouth to glimpse the character. Doctor Drummond was chewing his knuckles and licking his lips.

An intellectual, a scientist, a weak man determined to be strong, carrying his courage in both hands. He had told the barman that his name was Slammer and he was expecting a phone call. Now he was watching the waiter as if it were the waiter’s decision whether he got one.

The phone in his booth rang, and he grabbed it. He was too excited to speak softly, but I was the only drinker close enough to hear what he was saying. “Yes, this is Doctor Drummond…. Gene Drummond. Judy, is that you?… Thank God! Where are you?… But I’ve so much to explain!… Meet you where?… The parking lot?… I will! I will!… Yes, I know where it is…. Yes, I’ll make sure nobody’s following me. Judy, you were wise to phone me here!… Judy?”

She had evidently hung up. He looked at the phone, then stared at infinity. The instrument’s squeal brought him back to Sam’s and he went into a flurry of action: tossing back his Martini, calling for the waiter, paying his bill, rushing from the bar. Nobody took any notice, nobody followed him. After a few moments I followed him myself. Nobody followed me.

He trotted across the street, then seemed to remember that Judith had warned him about tails. He stopped, looked vaguely around, saw nothing that matched his image of a tail, and got into his car. I watched him drive away and waited until I was sure he was clean. Then I went to the Auditor, now equipped with Virginia plates.

“Juicy Fruit!” I called on the C.B. “Come in!”

“This is Juicy.” She was terse. “Go ahead.”

“No customers here. No signs of interest. I’m heading south.”

“See you. Over and out.”

It was still daylight when I reached the realtor disaster road—Lee Avenue in Buxton. The Superb was parked in the driveway of an empty house that did not look empty because it had curtains and lights, the desperate attempts of the developers to make the street appear populated. I circled the block and turned down the dirt road to park under the same oak tree as the night before. I had picked my back-up cache with some care. In fact during Gramps’ funeral I had spent most of the service deciding his grave was the place to bury the essentials for a fast move if I ever had to make one without official approval. I was then little more than a rookie in the Special Strike Force, but already experienced enough to know that to extract special equipment from any service always took too long. Over the years, as my career had changed direction, so had the nature of the essentials but the site itself was still prime.

I had known that if I ever had to use it things would have got hot or turned sour. That either I’d be after someone or someone would be after me. A clear takeoff would be important and the road behind the cemetery gave that. A kilometer farther on it joined a hardtop which dipped down a hill to an underpass and merged with a cloverleaf providing six separate exits.

Judith emerged from the back yard of the empty house as I got out of my car. “Gavin, Doctor Drummond’s honest. I could tell by his voice he was glad to hear me.”

“Excited, at any rate!”

“And he didn’t argue about meeting me here.” She looked around her and shivered. “Though I wish you’d chosen somewhere else.”

“Judy, you know why I did. It gives us the edge if we’re jumped. And we could be. Drummond seems honest. I think he is. But I’m still the careful type.” I eased the broken rail aside and motioned her through. “My car to hide our en-

trances and our exits. Trees for air cover. No lights. No visitor's left. It’s about lock-up time.” I caught her arm as she started forward. “There!” A clang came from across the cemetery as the gates were closed. “Nobody can wander in and we can leave fast.” I listened to the cemetery attendant’s car lading away. “Now we can move. But keep off the gravel.” "And walk on the graves?”

“They don’t crunch.”

She followed me, lagging a little, across the cemetery to (he main gates. “They’re shut! Will I have to talk to Doctor Drummond through bars?”

“Perhaps. But not here.” I went to work on the lock and left the gates ajar. “When Drummond arrives make sure it’s him and that he’s alone. Then call him over. Tell him to join you under the trees and to slam the gates behind him. They’ll lock. So nobody’ll be able to slip in after him. And he won’t be able to bolt.”