Now it was excelling itself.
24
Most of these attacks, though very vocal, were not representative of the great mass of the people. Along the frontiers that would soon be gone forever the guards had been doubled
-but the soldiers eyed each other with a still inarticulate friendliness. The politicians and the generals might storm and rave, but the silently waiting millions felt that, none too soon, a long and bloody chapter of history was coming to an end.
And now Stormgren had gone, no-one knew where. The tumult suddenly subsided as the world realized that it had lost the only man through whom the Overlords, for their own strange reasons, would speak to Earth. A paralysis seemed to descend upon the press and radio commentators: but in the silence could be heard the voice of the Freedom League, anxiously protesting its innocence.
It was utterly dark when Stormgren awoke. For a moment he was too sleepy to realize how strange that was. Then, as full consciousness dawned, he sat up with a start and felt for the switch beside his bed.
In the darkness his hand encountered a bare stone wall, cold to the touch. He froze instantly, mind and body paralysed by the impact of the unexpected. Then, scarcely believing his senses, he kneeled on the bed and began to explore with his finger-tips that shockingly unfamiliar wall.
He had been doing this only for a moment when there was a sudden click and a section of the darkness slid aside. He caught a glimpse of a man silhouetted against a dimly lit background: then the door closed again and the darkness returned. It happened so swiftly that he had no chance to see anything of the room in which he was lying.
An instant later, he was dazzled by the light of a powerful electric torch. The beam ffickered across his face, held him steadily for a moment, then dipped to illuminate the whole bed
-which was, he now saw, nothing more than a mattress supported on rough planks.
Out of the darkness a soft voice spoke to him in excellent English, but with an accent which Stormgren could not at first identif~~.
“Au, Mr. Secretary-I’m glad to see you’re awake. I hope you feel quite all right.”
There was something about the last sentence that caught
25
Stormgren’s attention, so that the angry questions he had been about to ask died upon his lips. He stared back into the darkness, then replied calmly: “How long have I been UflCOfl scious?”
The other chuckled.
“Several days. We were promised there’d be no after-effects. I’m glad to see it’s true.”
Partly to gain time, partly to test his own reactions, Stormgren swung his legs over the side of the bed. He was sqil wearing his night-clothes, but they were badly crumpled and seemed to have gathered considerable dirt. As he moved he felt a slight dizziness-not enough to be unpleasant but sufficient to convince him that he had indeed been drugged.
He turned towards the light.
“Where am I?” he said sharply. “Does Wainwright know about this?”
“Now, don’t get excited,” replied the shadowy figure. “We won’t talk about that sort of thing yet. I guess you’re pretty hungry. Get dressed and come along to dinner.”
The oval of light slipped across the room and for the first time Stormgren had an idea of its dimensions. It was scarcely a room at all, for the walls seemed bare rock, roughly smoothed into shape. He realized that he was underground, possibly at a great depth. And if he had been unconscious for several days, he might be anywhere on Earth.
The torch-light illuminated a pile of clothes draped over a packing-case.
“This should be enough for you,” said the voice from the darkness. “Laundry’s rather a problem here, so we grabbed a couple of your suits and half a dozen shirts.”
“That,” said Stormgren without humour, “was very considerate of you.”
“We’re sorry about the absence of furniture and electric Light. This place is convenient in some ways, but it rather lacks amenities.”
“Convenient for what?” asked Stormgren as he climbed into a shirt. The feel of the familiar cloth beneath his fingers was strangely reassuring.
“Just-convenient,” said the voice. “And by the way, since we’re likely to spend a good deal of time together, you’d better call me Joe.
“Despite your nationality,” retorted Stormgren, “you’re
26
E’olish, aren’t you?-I think I could pronounce your real name.
Et won’t be worse than many Finnish ones.”
There was a slight pause and the light flickered for an distant.
‘Well, I should have expected it,” said Joe resignedly.
“You must have plenty of practice at this sort of thing.”
“It’s a useful hobby for a man in my position. At a guess I ihould say you were brought up in the United States but didn’t ~eave Poland Until-”
“That,” said Joe firmly, “is quite enough. As you seem to save finished dressing-thank you.”
The door opened as Stormgren walked towards it, feeling nildly elated by his small victory. As Joe stood aside to let aim pass, he wondered if his captor was armed. Almost cer~ainly he would be, and in any case he would have friends around.
The corridor was dimly lit by oil lamps at intervals, and for the first time Stormgren could see Joe clearly. He was a man Df about fifty, and must have weighed well over two hundred pounds. Everything about him was outsize, from the stained battledress that might have come from any of half a dozen armed forces, to the startlingly large signet ring on his left band. A man built on this scale probably would not bother to carry a gun. It should not be difficult to trace him, thought Stormgren, if he ever got out of this place. He was a little de-. pressed to realize that Joe must also be perfectly well aware of this fact.
The walls around them, though occasionally faced with concrete, were mostly bare rock. It was dear to Stormgren that he was in some disused mine, and he could think of few more effective prisons. Until now the fact of his kidnapping had failed to worry him greatly. He had felt that, whatever happened, the immense resources of the Overlords would soon locate and rescue him. Now he was not so sure. He had already been gone several days-and nothing had happened. There must be a limit even to Karellen’s power, and if he were indeed buried in some remote continent, all the science of the Overlords might be unable to trace him.
There were two other men sitting at the table in the bare, dimly lit room. They looked up with interCst, and more than a little respect, as Stormgren entered. One of them pushed across a bundle of sandwiches which Stormgren accepted
27
eagerly. Though he felt extremely hungry, he could have done with a more interesting meal, but it was probable that his captors had dined no better.
As he ate, he glanced quickly at the three men around him.
~oe was by far the most outstanding character, and not merely In the matter of physical bulk. The others were clearly his assistants-nondescript individuals, whose origins Stormgren would be able to place when he heard them talk.
Some wine had been produced in a not-too-aseptic glass,
and Stormgren washed down the last of the sandwiches.
Feeling now more fully in command of the situation, he turned to the huge Pole.
‘Well,” he said evenly, “perhaps you’ll tell me what all this Is about, and just what you hope to get out of it.”
Joe cleared his throat.
“I’d like to make one thing straight,” he said. “This is nothing to do with Wainwright. He’ll be as surprised as anyone.’,
Stormgren had half expected this, though he wondered why Joe was confirming his suspicions. He had long suspected the existence of an extremist movement inside-or on the frontiers of-the Freedom League.
“As a matter of interest,” he said, “how did you kidnap me?”
He hardly expected a reply to this, and was somewhat taken aback by the other’s readiness-even eagerness-to answer.
“It was all rather like a Hollywood thriller,” said Joe cheerfully. “We weren’t sure if Karellen kept a watch on you, so we took somewhat elaborate precautions. You were knocked out by gas in the air-conditioner—that was easy. Then we carried you out into the car-no trouble at all. All this, I might say, wasn’t done by any of our people. We hired-er-professionals fur the job. Karellen may get them-in fact, he’s supposed to
-but he’ll be no wiser. When it left your house, the car drove into a long road tunnel not a thousand kilometres from New York. It came out again on schedule at the opposite end, still carrying a drugged man extraordinarily like the Secretary-General. Quite a while later a large truck loaded with metal cases emerged in the opposite direction and drove to a certain airfield where the cases were loaded aboard a freighter on perfectly legitimate business. I’m sure the owners of those cases would be horrified to know how we employed them.