Fear is the Key

I saw Vyland and Royale exchange glances, a mere flicker, and the faint shrug of Vyland's shoulders. They were tough all right, those two, tough and cool and ruthless and calculating and dangerous. For the past twelve hours they must have lived with the knowledge or the possibility that Federal agents would be around their necks any moment but they had shown no awareness of pressure, no signs of strain. I wondered what they would have thought, how they would have reacted, had they known that Federal agents could have been on to them all of three months ago. But the time had not then been ripe. Nor was it yet.

"Well, gentlemen, is there any need for further delay?" It was the first time the general had spoken, and for all his calmness there was a harsh burred edge of strain beneath. "Let's get it over with. The weather is deteriorating rapidly and there's a hurricane warning out. We should leave as soon as possible."

He was right about the weather, except in the tense he used. It had deteriorated. Period. The wind was no longer a moan, it was a high sustained keening howl through the swaying oaks, accompanied by intermittent squally showers of brief duration but extraordinary intensity. There was much low cloud in the sky, steadily thickening. I'd glanced at the barometer in the hall, and it was creeping down towards 27, which promised something very unpleasant indeed. Whether the centre of the storm was going to bit or pass by us I didn't know: but if we stood in its path we'd have it in less than twelve hours. Probably much less.

"We're just leaving, General. Everything's set. Petersen is waiting for us down in the bay." Petersen, I guessed, would be the helicopter pilot. "A couple of fast trips and we should all be out there in an hour or so. Then Talbot here can get to work."

"All?" asked the general. "Who?"

"Yourself, myself, Royale, Talbot, Larry and, of course, your daughter."

"Mary. Is it necessary?"

Vyland said nothing, he didn't even use the eyebrow routine again, he just looked steadily at the general. Five seconds, perhaps more, then the general's hands unclenched and his shoulders drooped a fraction of an inch. Picture without words.

There came the quick light tap of feminine footsteps from the passage inside and Mary Ruthven walked in through the open door. She was dressed in a lime-coloured two-piece costume with an open-necked green blouse beneath. She had shadows under her eyes, she looked pale and tired and I thought she was wonderful. Kennedy was behind her, but he remained respectfully in the passage, hat in hand, a rhapsody in maroon and shining high leather boots, his face set in the remote unseeing, unhearing expression of the perfectly trained family chauffeur. I started to move aimlessly towards the door, waiting for Mary to do what I'd told her less than two hours previously, just before she'd gone back to her own room.

"I'm going in to Marble Springs with Kennedy, Father," Mary began without preamble. It was phrased as a statement of fact, but was in effect a request for permission.

"But — well, we're going to the rig, my dear," her father said unhappily. "You said last night-"

"I'm coming," she said with a touch of impatience. "But we can't all go at once. I'll come on the second trip. We won't be more than twenty minutes. Do you mind, Mr. Vylaad?" she asked sweetly.

"I'm afraid it's rather difficult, Miss Ruthven," Vyland said urbanely. "You see, Gunther has hurt himself-"

"Good!"

He worked his eyebrow again. "Not so good for you, Miss Ruthven. You know how your father likes you to have protection when-"

"Kennedy used to be all the protection I ever needed," she said coldly. "He still is. What is more, I'm not going out to the rig with you and Royale and that — that creature there " — she left no doubt but that she meant Larry — " unless Kennedy comes with me. And that's final. And I must go into Marble Springs. Now."

I wondered when anyone had last talked to Vyland like that. But the veneer never even cracked.

"Why must you, Miss Ruthven?"

"There are some questions a gentleman never asks," she said icily.

That floored him. He didn't 'know what she meant, the same as I wouldn't have known what she meant, and the net result was to leave him stranded. Every eye in the room was on the two of them, except mine: mine were on Kennedy's and his were on mine. I was near the door now, with my back turned to the company. It had been easy to slip out the piece of paper from under my collar and now I held it against my chest so that he could see Judge Mollison's name on it. His expression didn't alter and it would have taken a micrometer to measure his nod. But he was with me. Everything was fine — but for the chance that Royale might get me with a snapshot before I cleared the doorway.

And it was Royale who broke the tension in the room, giving Vyland an easy out. "I'd like some fresh air, Mr. Vyland. I could go along with them for the ride."