Delicate Ape (16 page)

Piers sank to the stool again. “Have a drink, Bert?” His voice seemed to waver.

“Yes.” Watkins sat next him but he was dubious.

Piers said, “I’m glad you could come. I won’t take another. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“Let’s eat now.”

“Have your drink first. Do you know a place we can go? I don’t know Washington well. I’d rather not stay here. I want to talk without Gordon hearing.” He knew he was saying too much but his voice ran on in spite of himself. “The way you hesitated about coming I thought maybe you’d been warned already to stay away from me.”

“For God’s sake,” Watkins breathed and sympathy came over his square face. “Bad as that, is it? I was supposed to be on tap for a call from the Lud and a state dinner. I slipped out.”

“You’re a friend,” Piers said dreamily. He wanted to put his head on the cool silvery bar and sleep.

Watkins downed his drink, took Piers’ arm. “We’ll eat now, old man.”

Piers’ legs were brittle. He let the Briton guide him. He repeated, “You’re a friend, Bert. I’ll be all right when I’ve had some food. I hadn’t a chance to eat today. I’ve been with the President—fancy that!—and
Secretary
Gordon.” He felt Watkins’ fingers tighten. “Fancy that, too!” They were outside in the mildness of night. He saw the curious passersby in a blur. He drew back as the taxi rolled up to the curb. “You’re going to take a cab?”

“Too far to walk.”

He hadn’t the strength to resist. Watkins pushed him in, gave an address. “We’re going to my digs, Piers. We can talk there.”

“He could have put something in the brandy,” Piers said through the dream.

“Who?” Watkins was sharp.

“
Secretary
Gordon. I didn’t think of it before. I hardly believe he would—yet. But he could have.” And he could have appeared, opportune, regretful for an employee under liquor. He could have moved Piers to his room, the kind Gordon, the great Gordon. There’d be no further need for surveillance in German hands. Such a small favor delivering him to Schern—to force the papers. Or—it wouldn’t matter about the papers if Piers were dead. No, they wouldn’t kill, not yet, not until they knew the whereabouts of Anstruther.

They were at another hotel. He couldn’t distinguish the name but Watkins’ hand was firm. The elevator crept. And then he was in a hotel room, nothing of grandeur, just a room. Watkins urging, “Don’t lie down there. Get under the shower, cold.” And Watkins speaking into the phone while Piers wavered to the bath, “Send up two of the biggest steaks in the kitchen. All that goes with it. Plenty of strong coffee.”

Piers let the cold water smash at him. He wasn’t so sleepy when he came out but his head was still light.

Watkins asked, “Better?”

“Yes, thanks. I need food.”

“It’s coming. What were you saying about Gordon—
Secretary
Gordon?”

Piers put on the dirty suit again. No wonder the glances of the men on the street had been strange. The substantial Watkins upholding a man in a grimy gray suit.

“Yes.”

“Anstruther isn’t coming back?”

“Did I say that?” His eyes focused hard now. “It must be between us, Bertie. I can trust you as before?”

“Yes.” Watkins’ mouth was tight. “God help us, yes.”

“How much do you know?”

“Anstruther’s missing. That’s no secret. Evanhurst is keeping me holed here just to listen in, to get word to him fast. Any crumb.”

“I’ve given you a loaf.”

“Don’t worry. Tell me what’s happened.”

He couldn’t tell Watkins all despite his trust. “No one knows. He hasn’t been heard from. Since he left Alex.”

“And you saw him off.”

“You know that.” He spoke wearily. “Everyone knows that. It ends right there.”

“And Gordon?”

“He’s Secretary. This afternoon. By official decree. It won’t be announced until the Conclave opens.”

Watkins repeated his prayer. “God help us.”

“You know Gordon?”

“He’s Evanhurst’s delight. An example to us duds.” He broke off. “There’s food.”

The waiter wheeled in the table. The scent of the meat made Piers’ head turn faster.

“Don’t get up,” Watkins said. “We’ll put it there.”

The waiter fixed the table in front of Piers, uncovered dishes.

Watkins said, “We’ll manage the rest.” He shut the man from the room, pulled up a chair and seated himself across. “Eat now. Don’t talk until you’ve eaten.”

Piers wolfed at the food. He felt better at once. If Gordon had tried to put him out, the dinner was counteracting the drug.

“How did it happen to be Gordon?”

“Who else? The President didn’t know me; he doesn’t know I’d have been Anstruther’s choice. Gordon got there first. Not that it would have made any difference.”

“You know where Gordon stands?”

“Yes.”

“There’s no doubt?”

“None at all.” He thought of Morgen’s flesh. “None at all.”

Watkins lifted his coffee cup.

“I’m not beaten yet,” Piers said. “I’m whipped but I’m not beaten. I won’t be.”

“You can’t be. There’s so few of us to stand for peace.”

Piers hesitated. “You’d be named if anything happened to Evanhurst?”

Watkins was motionless. “Yes.”

“He’s an old man. Something could happen.”

“These opportune events do not often occur.” Watkins scooped a spoon of ice cream.

“Something could happen to him,” Piers repeated stubbornly.

For a moment nothing changed, then the man’s face turned dusty. The spoon clanged to the table. He shook a fierce head. “No. No. Nothing like that.”

“I’m not suggesting death, Bert,” Piers told him quickly. “But if he could be prevented from attending the Conclave—”

“You’re drunk,” Watkins said.

“Not now. A recall to London. A mission to India.”

“He checks too carefully.”

“A slight sickness,” Piers persisted. “A stomach attack. A cold—”

There was no expression on Watkins’ face while he thought about it. He made decision. “No. I couldn’t be a party to it, Piers. I’ve worked my way up to the place I hold in International Peace. I’ve worked against plenty of odds—with him at the top, there’s always plenty. But I’ve kept the peace. Some day I’ll have his place and be able to carry on as I want. Until then I’ll keep plodding. I’m a man of peace. I can’t deny peace.”

Piers accepted the finality but he accused, “You won’t deny peace but you’ll let the Germans take it away from you.”

“I don’t believe they can.”

“You don’t? With Evanhurst and Gordon as lead sheep? Who do you think can stop the withdrawal? Poor old Mancianargo? Dessaye? The Asiatics have their own problems, all they’ll do is cast a courtesy vote with Britain and America. Even Fabian’s on their side. Who is going to speak for peace?”

“The people.”

He too had once had eternal faith in the people. But that was when the people had had a leader, when Anstruther had given them voice. “The people,” Piers shook his head. “Give them bright pretty peace and they’ll take peace. Give them war all dressed up in shiny slogans and they’ll take war. You can’t count on the people.”

“The people didn’t want the Last War, Piers. There was never any spirit for it, not even in its necessity. Not in any country. You can’t give the people another war. They are through with war.”

“God knows I hope you’re right,” Piers said without hope. “But they haven’t a voice.”

“They will be heard.” Watkins passed his cigarettes. “What’s this about Fabian going over?”

“I don’t know. He sent a man to talk with me at gunpoint the other night. Schern’s men are after me too, and there’s New York detectives.”

Watkins frowned.

“They’re all after Anstruther’s papers. I’m supposed to have them.”

Watkins caught at a hope. “You do?”

“I don’t.”

“But, Piers—”

Let suspicion tweak Watkins’ eyebrows. He was too tired to care. “If I could speak to Fabian, then I’d believe we could beat the Germans.”

“You could try. He knows Anstruther gave you his trust.”

“I’ve been refused.” He put his hand to his head. “I haven’t been accused of murder yet. It will come.”

“Anstruther is dead,” Watkins said somberly.

“No one knows.” He spoke out of passion. “Only two things have counted with me in twelve years, Bert. Anstruther and peace. I won’t watch peace go too.” He said, “Will you ride with me to the airport? I’m afraid to be alone tonight.”

“Stay over with me.”

He shook his head. “I must go back.” David might come tonight. “Fabian’s there. I keep hoping. Maybe he’ll realize I can help him. And the Germans. Maybe I can beat them yet. Alone.”

Watkins’ face was sad. “I can’t go along with you on violent means. I can’t betray peace.”

“I understand. Only I know better. We’ll have to fight for peace this time. The apes are getting strong again.” He put his hand in Watkins’. “Whatever you may hear of me between now and the Conclave, withhold judgment. I don’t know how I’ll have to play it from here on out. Just believe that whatever I do or say will be for one thing—peace in the world.”

Watkins’ clasp was strong. Stronger than his own.

I
T WASN’T MIDNIGHT WHEN
he entered the Astor Bar. They were there waiting for him. He hadn’t expected them to be here tonight; they should be celebrating their victory in a more fitting way than a casual drink. But they couldn’t celebrate properly without the skull of their enemy for a cup. The witchery of Morgen’s face, the curve of her arm beckoned him. He wanted to turn on his heel but he dare not. He couldn’t admit to them his defeat without admitting to himself his despair. He pushed himself to the table and stood above them.

Hugo rose insolently, Brecklein with fat reluctance. Bianca’s cold young face was watching something far away. Piers’ eyes traveled over Morgen, her throat, the rose-red stuff folded over her shoulders and breast. He said, “You’ve been on my mind all evening, Frau
General
Schern.”

“Brecklein,” Hugo’s voice was flat.

“My mistake.” He sat down in Brecklein’s chair and he laid his hand on Morgen’s arm.

She said, “Did Gordon return with you?”

They knew as he had known that they knew. They knew where he had been this day. They knew what the outcome must have been. He said, “No. He had business that held him. Excellent brandy, Gordon has.” His lips twisted. “Drinking brandy with Gordon, I thought of you.”

Brecklein asked dubiously, “Gordon remained in Washington?”

“Yes.” He craned up, scowling. “Get a chair. I can’t talk to you up there.” He moved his finger over Morgen’s flesh. “You’re warm,” he said.

Brecklein managed a chair. “Gordon did not say how long he would remain in Washington?”

Gordon hadn’t communicated with them as yet. They didn’t know the deal had been consummated. They wouldn’t know from him. He said, “Gordon sent no messages, Herr Brecklein.” He hated the touch of her. She burned like acid into the bones of his fingers. “I’ll have a brandy. A pity there is no Napoleon.”

Morgen said, “Witt asked us to meet him here.”

“Important business.” He shut out the others. “Do you remember, Morgen,—the snow and the shell of the Adlon? We found champagne, iced by winter. Do you remember that night, Liebchen?”

Her eyes were wary, perhaps her mouth curved remembrance but he couldn’t know. He put his elbows on the table and he leaned himself to the frozen young girl across from him. “You don’t remember the war, Bianca, do you? You were too young to know it.” He forced her hostile face to notice. “And the bombs didn’t drop over here, tearing to pieces children and women and the old men. Like mad dogs, chewing up human flesh and spewing it out on rotten earth. War is only a word to you, an outmoded word like feudalism and plague and slavery. You don’t believe in it any more than you believe in those forgotten evils.”

Morgen warned, “The war has been over for many years.”

“I keep forgetting.” He came back to the table, turned his head slowly to see her. “You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever known, Morgen.” He touched the gossamer of her shoulders. “You wore an old shawl, do you remember? We met during that raid. You were wandering, lost, and so was I. Two lost babes in the broken Adlon.”

“It has been rebuilt,” Brecklein inserted with ponderous pride. His red face glistened from recall of the past, he wiped excrescence with the finest linen from Belgium. “Most modern. The rehabilitation of Berlin has been astounding to all who have seen.”

“Piers has seen,” Morgen said impatiently. “He’s been in Berlin since the war.”

They knew that. Not from a casual remark from someone he’d bumped into there. It wouldn’t be from that.

“You know?” Brecklein said. “Astounding, is it not?”

“Astounding indeed,” Piers bowed. “Germany is a remarkable country.”

Morgen watched, uneasy, because he had forgotten stability and might forget again. Hugo watched, uneasy, because he didn’t want Bianca to be disenchanted, or even Brecklein to know too much.

Piers lifted his glass. “I should toast Germany, that remarkable nation.” The liquid spilled as he set it down untasted. And he saw by the door the familiar watching face of Cassidy. He called out, “There’s Cassidy.” His hand signaled. “Hugo, you must invite Cassidy over for a drink.” If Cassidy came, saw their faces, the detective would know. And the chill that covered Piers here at this table would be thawed, he would be warm again. He called out, “Cassidy, there! The old elephant in the doorway, Hugo. He’s my private bodyguard, you know.” He shouted, “Cassidy!”

The detective had to come, to quiet him. He lumbered over but he wasn’t pleased. “So you’re back?”

“Safe and sound, if not tidy. Did you miss me? Or were you with me? To the very door of the White House. You will join my friends for a drink? Allow me to present Frau
General
Brecklein. Her husband, Herr
General
Brecklein. And her beloved brother, Hugo
General
von Eynar.” Their hostility closed round him. But he wasn’t afraid with Cassidy planted there. “All of Germany’s Peace Commission. You didn’t know Germany too had a Peace Commission? And this young lady is Miss Bianca Anstruther. You remember Secretary Anstruther?”