The Scorpio Illusion Part 39

His back against the wall, Hawthorne stood by the shattered gla.s.s frame as Neilsen went to the desk. "Theres a large plastic square that must have covered an index on the front of the phone," said Cathy. "Its been ripped out; there are pieces of thick paper around the edges, as if someone had trouble removing it."

"Look in the drawers, the wastebaskets, anyplace it might have been thrown."

Drawers were rapidly pulled open and slammed shut. "Theyre empty," she said, picking up a bra.s.s wastebasket and putting it on the desk chair. "Not much here-oh, wait a minute."

"What?"

"Its a receipt from a shipping company, Sea Lane Containers. I know that firm; the high bra.s.s use it when theyre being transferred to an overseas post for a couple of years."

"What does it say?"

" 'N. Van Nostrand, thirty-day storage, Lisbon, Portugal. Then, below under Items: 'Twenty-seven cartons, personal effects, resealable tapes for customs inspection. Its signed by a G. Alvarado, secretary to N.V.N."

"Thats all?"

"Only other thing is a line after Instructions. It says: 'Sender will claim at S.L.C. Lisbon depot. Thats it.... Why would anybody discard a receipt for twenty-seven cartons of personal possessions when a great many of them have to be terribly valuable?"

"The first thing that comes to mind is that if youre a Van Nostrand, you dont need a receipt to claim your shipment. What else is in the wastebasket?"

"Nothing, really.... Three candy wrappers, a couple of crumpled-up memo pages with nothing on them, and a stock market computer printout dated today."

"Useless," said Tyrell, his eyes on the grounds outside. "Or maybe not," he added. "Why would Van Nostrand throw away that receipt? Or, put another way, why would he even bother to throw it away?"

"Are you taking lessons from Poole? Youve lost me."

"He had a secretary; why didnt he simply give it to her? She was obviously handling everything, so why did he keep it?"

"To claim the shipment in Lisbon-oh, oh, forget it, as you would say. He threw it away."

"Why?"

"d.a.m.ned if I know, Commander. Im a pilot, not a psychiatrist."

"Neither am I, but I know a plant when a cactus is shoved down my throat."

"That sounds clever, but I dont know what you mean."

"Im not clever, just experienced. Van Nostrand, for reasons I cant understand, wanted that receipt to be found."

"After his death?"

"Of course not. He had no idea he was going to die; he was on his way to Charlotte, North Carolina, but he wanted it to be found."

"By whom?"

"By someone who would make a connection with something that hasnt happened-maybe. Call it warped intuition, but its pretty strong.... Look around. Everywhere. Pull what books are left out of the shelves, check the cabinets, the bar, everything."

"What am I looking for?"

"Anything thats hidden-" He stopped abruptly, then said, "Hold it! Turn off the lights!"

Neilsen switched off an upright lamp and then the light on the desk. The room went dark. "What is it, Tye?"

"Someone with a penlight-a tiny circle on the gra.s.s-our undeparted stranger."

"Whats he doing?"

"Walking straight toward this window-"

"With the lights off?"

"Good question. He didnt stop or even pause when you put them out. He just keeps walking forward like some kind of robot."

"I found a flashlight!" Neilsen whispered from behind the desk. "I thought I saw one in the bottom drawer; I was right."

"Crawl around and roll it to me."

Cathy did so and Tyrell flagged it with his left hand, pulling it to his side as the zombielike figure kept marching toward the house. In seconds it had reached the window. Suddenly a hysterical scream pierced the silence.

"Get out of there! You have no right in his private quarters! Ill tell Mr. Van. h.e.l.l have you killed!"

Hawthorne snapped on the flashlight, the .38 aimed at the figures head. To his amazement, the figure was an old woman, her face deeply lined, with perfectly coiffed white hair and wearing an expensive dark print dress. She clutched the blood-stained gatehouse log under her left arm. She held no weapon, only a drugstore penlight in her right hand. She was pathetic, her eyes wild with unfocused fury.

"Why would Mr. Van Nostrand want to kill us?" asked Tyrell calmly, softly. "Were here at his request; in fact, his plane brought us here. As you can see by this broken window, he had every reason to ask for our a.s.sistance."

"Youre from his army, then?" the old woman asked, her voice lower, more controlled, yet still harsh and slightly accented.

"His army?" Tye moved the flashlight beam above the old womans head, away from her eyes.

"His and Marss, of course." The woman paused, as if gasping for elusive breath.

"Of course.... Neptune and Mars, isnt that right?"

"Certainly. He said he would call you one day; we both knew it was coming, you see."

"What was coming?"

"The uprising, naturally." Again the woman breathed deeply, her eyes eerily straying. "We must protect ourselves as well as our own-everyone whos with us!"

"From the rebels, of course." Hawthorne studied the intense face. Though she was clearly unbalanced, her appearance and demeanor, even in anger and fear, bespoke an aristocracy ... in South America? That was the accent, Hispanic or Portuguese.... Portuguese, Rio de Janeiro? Mars and Neptune-Rio!

"From the human garbage, thats who!" Her voice was as close to a shriek as her breeding would permit. "Nils has worked all his life to improve their lot, to make things better, when all they want is more and more and more! And they deserve nothing! Theyre lazy, indulgent; they only make babies, they dont work!"

"Nils ...?"

"Mr. Van to you!" The woman coughed, the rattle hoa.r.s.e, vibrating in her throat.

"But not to you ... naturally."

"My dear young man, Ive been with the boys for years, from the beginning. In the early days I was their hostess ... all those glorious parties and banquets, even their own carnavales! Marvelous!"

"They must have been great," agreed Tyrell, nodding. "Still, we have to protect our own, everyone whos with us. Thats why you took the gatehouse register, isnt it? I hid it in the dirt, under the bushes."

"It was you? Then you are a fool! Nothing of consequence must be left behind, dont you realize that? Ive a mind to tell Nils about your negligence."

"Left behind ...?"

"Were leaving in the morning!" whispered the former hostess of Mars and Neptune, once again coughing. "Hasnt he told you that?"

"Yes, he has. Were making preparations."

"Theyve all been made, you a.s.s! Brian just flew out in our plane to make the final arrangements. Portugal! Isnt it wonderful? Our belongings have already been sent.... Where is Nils-Mr. Van? I must tell him Im finished."

"Hes upstairs, checking on ... his personal effects."

"Thats ridiculous. Brian and I cleaned everything out this morning, and we dont miss a thing. I laid out his clothing, a pair of pajamas, and his toiletries, which can be left behind for those Arabs!"

"Arabs? Forget it! What did you just finish for him-Miss Alvarado ... that is your name, isnt it?"

"Of course it is, Madame Gretchen Alvarado. My mothers first husband was a great hero in the war, a member of the High Command."

"Youre the whole ball of wax, lady," said Tyrell quietly.

"Madre de Dios," continued G. Alvarado dreamily. "Those early days with Mars and Neptune were truly magnificent, but naturally we never talk about them."

"What did you just finish for Mr. Van?"

"Praying, naturally. He asked me to go to our stone chapel on the hill and pray to our Savior for safe deliverance. As Im sure youre aware, Mr. Van Nostrand is as devout as any priest you or I have ever known.... In truth, young man, my prayers were somewhat shortened, as theres apparently a malfunction in the air circulation machinery. My eyes teared and I could hardly breathe. Dont tell him, but theres still a terrible pain in my chest. Say nothing. Hed worry so about me."

"You left the chapel ...?"

"I walked down the road and saw you running-I thought it was Brian-so I ran after you and watched you put the gatehouse book on the ground and cover it with dirt."

"Then what?"

"Im not sure. I was upset, naturally, and tried to shout at you, but I suddenly found it terribly difficult to breathe-dont tell Nils-then everything went dark. When things became clear-clearer-I was on the ground, and there were fires everywhere! Do I look presentable? Nils always wants me to look quite grand."

"You look fine, Madame Alvarado, but I have to ask you a question-quickly. Mr. Van told me to call one of the limousines. Its an emergency. How do I do that?"

"Oh, its quite simple.... When I saw the lights over here, I had to find out just who-" The aristocratic old secretary could not go on; she went into convulsions, so severe the thick entry log fell away from her arm as she brought her hands to her chest. Her face appeared swollen, her eyes bulging.

"Easy!" shouted Tyrell, unable to reach the woman through the window. "Lean against the side-but youve got to tell me! How do I call the limousines? You say its simple-what do I do?"

"It ... was ... simple." She struggled with the words, gasping for air. "Not now. Nils had me ... delete everything in ... the phone system."

"What are the numbers?"

"I... dont know-its been years." Suddenly, the old woman let out a strangled cry. She was holding her throat, her swollen face turning blue under the wash of Tyes flashlight.

Hawthorne leapt through the window, crouching on the gra.s.s as he hit the ground, the flashlight flying out of his hand. He got up and ran to Alvarado as Catherine Neilsen appeared above in the shattered frame. "The wet bar inside," shouted Tyrell. "Turn on a lamp and get some water!"

Hawthorne had started to ma.s.sage the old womans throat when the lights went on in the library, throwing a glow over the outside. Tye froze, the sight of the face beneath him sickening. It was grotesque, the contorted flesh a dark grayish-blue, the eyes red, the pupils dilated, the perfectly coiffed white hair a wig, halfway up her bald head. Madame Gretchen Alvarado was dead.

"Here!" Cathy was at the window, holding out a crystal pitcher filled with water. Then she saw the face below at Hawthornes side. "Oh, my G.o.d," she whispered, turning away, as if she might vomit, instantly forcing herself to turn back. "What happened to her?" she asked, more of a plea than a question.

"Youd know if you smelled the odor down here-or maybe you wouldnt. The more macho chemists call it crash gas; you inhale it for a moment or two and it spreads like a lethal fungus in your lungs, choking off all exhalation. Unless its washed out instantly-literally washed out-a person will die within an hour, usually less."

"And unless an experienced doctor handles the flushing process," said Poole, emerging out of the shadows, "the patient drowns. Ive read about that stuff; it was a max-priority in Desert Storm.... Who is she?"

"Mars and Neptunes loyal factotum and once-celebrated hostess," answered Tyrell. "She just got her pension while praying for them all at their chapel. A cylinder in the air ducts is my guess."

"Nice fellas."

"Top drawer, Jackson. Come on, give me a hand. Lets put her in the library next to her beloved employer and get out of here."

"Get out?" Catherine Neilsen was stunned. "I thought you wanted to tear this place apart."

"ltd be a waste of time, Cathy." Hawthorne reached down for the bloodied gatehouse entry log and shoved it awkwardly under his belt. "This lady may not have been playing with a full deck, but she was a d.a.m.ned efficient robot for Van Nostrand. If she said the place was cleaned out, it was.... Get that shipping receipt, I want to take it with us."

The chauffeur was still naked, bound, and unconscious, and for convenience would stay where he was, so Poole drove the limousine, in deference, he said, to the extreme physical stress placed upon an aging former naval officer. "All that runnin and leapin in and out of windows-mah word!"

"Your execution is not yet out of the question," said Tyrell, alone in the back seat, stretching out his unacknowledged painful legs. "Major, check the telephone up there," he ordered Neilsen, who was in front with her lieutenant. "See if there are any instructions or numbers to reach the other limo. Look in the glove compartment too."

"Theres nothing," said Cathy as Poole raced down the entrance road after raising the gate under Hawthornes instructions. "Maybe I can call the operator, ask her to trace it."

"Youd have to have the number, or at least a license plate," said Jackson. "Otherwise they wont give it to you."

"Are you sure?"

"More than sure, its FCC regulations."

"s.h.i.t!"

"What about Captain Stevens?"

"Ill try anything!" exclaimed Hawthorne, reaching for the back seat phone attached to the strip between the doors. He pressed the numbers rapidly, telling a navy subordinate that he was in a car nearby and his call was urgent. "Four-zero emergency, sailor!"

"What are you doing up here?" shouted the head of naval intelligence. "Youre in Puerto Rico, G.o.dd.a.m.n it!"

"No time, Henry! Theres a limousine owned by a Nils Van Nostrand, Virginia license plate, but I dont know the number-"

"The Van Nostrand?" an astonished Stevens interrupted.

"Thats who. Ive got to have the telephone number of that limo."

"Do you know how many limousines there are in the state of Virginia, especially this close to Washington?"

"How many are carrying Bajaratt?"