An hour later I was given cold scrambled eggs and cold toast on a pie tin, with another plastic spoon. They had changed cooks.
At midmorning I saw an interesting tableau from my window. I do not think they realized that I could see it. I had to get my face close to the screen and look slantwise. Two couples. Nena and a young man. Stella and a young man. Out of uni- form. Casual clothes. Each carried luggage. Suitcase, or small bedroll or duffel bag. Chuck stood off to one side, watching them closely. He had a whistle in his mouth and what was apparently a stopwatch in his hand. I could not understand the instructions he yelled at them. They walked close and lovingly, laughing and talking together, looking at each other, not at their surroundings. When the whistle blew, they would snatch at the luggage, yank it open, remove an automatic weapon, let the luggage fall to the ground, stand with their backs to each other, leaning against each other, almost, in a little deadly square formation, hold the weapons aiming out in four directions, and revolve slowly.
Then they would repack and do it again. I think
The Green Ripper
I watched fifteen rehearsals. Their time improved noticeably. I guessed that they had it down to just about four seconds before Chuck ended the exercise. Four seconds to change from two couples, lounging along, laughing together, to an engine of destruction.
I disobeyed one of Meyer’s rules. I made an assumption or two. I assumed that they planned to put on their little act in a crowded place, like an airport or a shopping plaza, and the guns would be loaded, and people would be blown apart while still caught up in a horror of disbelief.
But why? They worked so very hard at it. They seemed so dedicated and intent. These were bright young people, very fit and disciplined. Playing a strange, strange game.
The noon meal was more venison stew. Still tasty.
The black van arrived in the late afternoon. It passed my window before I could see anyone in it. But I saw the gold cross painted on the side.
At least twenty minutes passed before my door was unlocked. Chuck said, “Step and pile everything on the floor right in front of the door here. Fold it and pile it. Everything.”
“Damn it all, I want to know why I’m ”
“Look. This is an order and it’s serious. You want to strip, or be stripped?”
I did as I was told. They backed me into a corner and inspected the room to see if there was any thing of mine hidden in it. That search didn’t take long. They went off with everything.
It could have been an hour later before anybody came near me. Then it was Mr. Persival himself. A tall stooped figure, shaggy tousled dark hair flecked with gray. Long face and a lantern jaw. Eyes set deep in the bony sockets. The sports clothes looked unlikely on him, as did the big glasses with the slight amber tint, the boldface watch, water resistant to three hundred feet. He was an actor playing a contemporary Lincoln, or a Vermont storekeeper who’d built one store into a chain. He walked with care, the way the ill walk. The girl called Nena slid into the room with her weapon aimed at my chest and moved over to the side to keep Persival out of the line of fire. She was lithe and quick.
“My name is Persival, Mr. McGraw.” A deep voice, soft and gentle. An air of total command, total assurance. “My young associates and I would be grateful for some explanation of this.”
He held out a big slow hand, and resting on the palm was the cartridge case I had picked up. I spoke without hesitation, blessing the Susan I had known long ago for teaching me how to live a part. “Explanation? I picked that up out there. I never saw one just like it. I put it in my pocket. I mean, if that’s the same one.”
‘I think we will go outside and you will show me where you found it.”