Yula’s Ark - Chapter 13

“I tell you he’s cooperating,” Steadman told Beck.

“Didn’t say he wasn’t,” Beck replied, watching the FAX machine.

“Then why all this?” Steadman asked, gesturing from the machine to the back of his office, where FBI agent James Johannsen hovered over Scott.

“Their names,” Johannsen breathed into Scott’s face.

“I told you. Yula, Tenner and Xavier,” Scott replied.

“What kind of names are those?” Johannsen threatened.

Despite his fear, Scott couldn’t resist: “Communist names, sir. Died-in-the-wool communists. Fellow travelers. Commie sympathizers. Reds, sir.”

Johannsen fought the impulse to hit Scott.

On the other side of the room, Beck watched more paper print off the FAX machine. Beck picked up the telephone.

“Okay, that oughtta do it,” Beck said. He hung up, folded up FAX paper stretching to the floor, and took the pile to Johannsen. Scott shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

Johannsen studied the paper, taking his time, poker-faced. When he found what he wanted, Johannsen elaborately folded up the paper to reveal one slick page.

“Recognize this?” Johannsen asked.

Scott tried to read, but his eyes wouldn’t focus. Concentrate, damn it!

“Dear Mr. President,” Scott said out loud. This is it! The letter you sent to Nixon! Scott looked to the bottom of the page. There was a copy of his draft card he hadn’t seen in twenty years. Scott laughed.

“It’s always the political stuff, isn’t it boys?” Scott said bitterly, too loudly to be polite. “J. Edgar is dead, or didn’t they tell you that?”

“We aren’t asking much,” Beck said in a soft, kindly, fatherly voice, though he was years younger than Scott.

Here it comes. Good cop, bad cop.

“We know you’re not one of them,” Beck went on, sitting close by in another chair. “We just want to know what they’re doing.”

“He told you,” Scott said, pointing at Steadman across the room. Steadman turned away. This wasn’t what he had in mind.

“It’s a little hard to believe, isn’t it?” Beck said.

“I didn’t believe it at first, either,” Scott replied.

“Couldn’t it be possible,” Beck said in a measured voice, “that they aren’t as innocent as they claim? Maybe this device you’re helping them to build is some sort of a bomb?”

“No.”

“Not even a teeny little chance?”

“I said no.”

Goons and ginks and company finks. Which side are you on, boys, Which side are you on?

Steadman pretended to clean his desk. Beck stared at Scott like he’d never had occasion to see a human being before. Johannsen went through the FAX sheets one by one, emitting little “hmms” between each one.

“There’s a lot of stuff here,” Johannsen said when he’d finished.

“So arrest me,” Scott challenged.

“We could,” Johannsen said, tapping paper on the desk. Scott reached forward, Johannsen pulled the evidence away.

“Oh, no,” Johannsen admonished.

“It’s customary for the blackmailer to show his hand,” Scott reminded Johannsen.

“Who said anything about blackmail?” the agent broke in.

“All we want is a little information.”

“I told the sheriff everything,” Scott said.

“But you can get us more information, can’t you?” Beck asked.

“What do you mean?” Scott asked, though he knew exactly what they meant.

Kerry was handing out leaflets again, down the street from the sheriff’s office, when Scott, the sheriff and another man came out. She saw the sheriff walk Scott down the street while the other man watched. The sheriff was talking rapidly, trying to convince Scott of something, it seemed to Kerry. When they turned in the protesters’ direction, Kerry turned her back and drifted behind the others to avoid being seen.

He must be in trouble, Kerry thought. Maybe they found the body of the old man.

There was another possibility. Gault had warned them about informers. Kerry had put the idea aside as Gault’s usual paranoia.

“Where’s Armstrong?” Kerry asked one of the other protesters. The other woman shook her head.

Kerry gave Leigh the stack of pamphlets.

“Do you know where Armstrong is?” Kerry asked.

“Back at the motel, I think,” Leigh said.

Kerry watched Scott and the sheriff walk back to the sheriff’s office. They met the other man there, talked briefly and went inside.

Kerry started walking, keeping her eyes on the office. Suddenly, she stopped. She shaded her eyes against the sun and peered through the window.

Raymond Beck huddled with the sheriff and the other man while Scott stood off to one side.

When Kerry’s shivering legs and frozen feet would allow it, she scurried down Main Street. To warn Gault that people are being questioned, she thought. There was so much Kerry hadn’t told Gault. Most importantly, she hadn’t told him about seeing Scott shoot the man who disappeared in the shower of sparks.

She’d told Raymond Beck that night. How had he reacted? She had tried several times to find the words to describe the expression on his face. Like he knew already. Kerry wondered what she would do if someone told her they’d seen a man shoot another man. Something, she reasoned. You’d do something, wouldn’t you?

Kerry slowed her steps. There were too many secrets to keep track of, too much guilt on her back. She would tell Armstrong now. Everything. Well, not everything. Not why she’d gone out to the woods that night, not what she’d done when she returned to the motel.

Is it over with Armstrong? Do you really owe him anything? He’s the leader of the group, after all. The cause was still important, even if it had become a police matter, even if there was danger involved. You should at least warn him.

Kerry thought about her own predicament. If Scott is talking to the police and so is Raymond, will they be looking for you next? Has Raymond told them the story you told him?

Weary, Kerry climbed the motel steps and knocked on Armstrong Gault’s door.

The sound of panicked shuffling met Kerry’s ears.

“Who is it?!” Gault called.

“It’s me–Kerry.”

Silence, then Kerry thought she heard whispers. Does he have a girl in there? Is that what he’s been doing? He likes women–you know that.

“Just a minute,” Gault said.

There was movement inside. Kerry guessed he was hiding her in the bathroom or something. Oh well, Kerry decided, no need to make a scene. She’d done it too, with Raymond.

“I’ll come back later,” Kerry suggested.

The door opened. Gault stood fully-dressed, blocking the way. Beyond, there was a man, rough-looking, with a mean, threatening look on his face.

“Come on in,” Gault said, seeing the fear on Kerry’s face. He’s trying too hard to make everything seem normal. “This is Max,” Gault introduced the man when Kerry came into the room.

Max nodded an unfriendly hello. Kerry knew better than to offer to shake hands. Whatever they’d been doing, they felt guilty about it, Kerry could see. The idea that Max and Gault were lovers flashed in Kerry’s mind, but it was so absurd she let it fly right through and out the door.

“I need to talk to you,” Kerry said, still looking at Max. “It’s kinda important.”

“In a couple minutes, okay?” Gault said, fear overcoming his attempt at nonchalance.

“Okay,” Kerry agreed. “I’ll wait in my room.”

Kerry’s eyes swept the room as she turned to go out.

There was a shape, some kind of irregular box, the size of a basketball, covered with a pillowcase. Kerry closed the door behind her. She made loud footsteps all the way to her room, to assure Gault and the man–Max, or whoever he was–that she was no threat.

copyright 2007 Brenda H all rights reserved

[tags]Brenda H, sci-fi, novel, thriller[/tags]