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The _DEADLY_ Daughters
By WINSTON K. MARKS
ILLUSTRATOR NOVICK
_These gorgeous fanatics were equally at home with men, murder, or matrimony, and they used all three with amazing success._
Dr. Hubert Long, 40, bachelor and assistant professor of politicalscience at Mentioch University, thrust his rugged, unlovely faceforward, sticking out his neck literally and figuratively.
"The Humanist Party," he shouted at the 800 odd students in the lecturehall, "is not a political party at all. It's an oligarchy, so firmlyestablished in Washington that our electoral form of government is anempty ritual, a ridiculous myth. Our elections are rigged to perpetuatea select group of feminists in absolute power."
Saving Dr. Long came in the line of duty.]
The mixed group of seniors stirred in their seats with wide eyes, andmany began taking notes.
"This may cost me my position at the university," he said grimly, "butthe time has come for all responsible citizens to face the fact that theGovernment of the United States of America has degenerated into littlebetter than an absolute dictatorship!"
This time a rustle of whispering grew to restless buzzing. A young manin a bowtie leaped to his feet breaking the no-questions rule in Long'sover-size classes. "May the _Mentioch Bugle_ quote you, Dr. Long?"
"You may headline those views, and I hope you do," Long declaredbelligerently, adding extra emphasis.
* * * * *
"Exactly what do you imply when you call the Humanist Party a group offeminists?" the young man asked, encouraged.
Long's gaze swept out, noting the mild amusement on the faces of the menstudents, the growing annoyance in the women. He fixed the reporter forthe campus paper with a level stare. "I suppose you feel that becauseonly 30 percent of our legislatures are women, that men still dominateCongress?"
"I think that is the popular conception," the reporter said in apatronizing tone.
"Then think again, young man. Analyze the composition of the Senate andHouse, and break down the key committee appointments by sexes. You willfind three-fourths of these posts held by women, and the balance areheld by men whose wives are members of the top-level Humanist Partymovement. I say to you that our whole nation is dominated by a handfulof female fanatics to whom intellectual integrity is unknown."
"What are your indictments? Please enumerate--"
"I will, I will," Long shouted, ignoring the microphone before him."Without consideration of our national prestige the Humanist Party hasemasculated our influence as a world power with its pacifistic actions.On the domestic front, the Party has initiated a program of so-calledInternal Security, a cradle-to-the-grave pampering that amounts to themost vicious State-Socialism the world has seen since the fall of SovietRussia. We are fast becoming slaves to the soft, gutless bureaucracy inWashington that feeds us, wipes our noses, encourages excessive breedingand enforces its fantastic policies by use of goon squads!"
"Goon squads?" The young reporter lost his smile. "You had betterclarify that, Dr. Long. I wouldn't want to join you in a libel action."
"Keep quoting me," Long snarled. "I said goon squads, and I meant justthat. Once I belonged to a scholarly fraternity of political scientistswho were critical of our government. Of some eighteen members, I am theonly one left in public life. The rest have all disappeared, and I haveno doubt that my previous silence on these matters is all that has savedme. But the time for discretion is past. If we are to save ourindependence and democratic freedoms the time for action is now! I sayto you--"
* * * * *
It made more than the headlines of the college campus at Mentioch. Thenews-wire services picked it up, and Dr. Long's radical views made pagestwo and three all over the nation.
Emily Bogarth, head of Internal Security, raged at her assistant,bald-headed Terman Donlup. "Must I read about these things in the papersto keep up on subversive activity?"
"But the man's record shows complete stability," Donlup defended. "Hesimply blew up without any warning at all. The Dean of Women atMentioch tells me that Dr. Long has never had a word of criticism fromhis department head. I suppose we had better remove him from hisposition at once, eh?"
Madame Secretary Bogarth shook her head. "That's not enough. This callsfor liquidation. I want a special squad on this one." She began writingnames on a sheet of paper, names of some of the most effectiveunscrupulous yet faithful operators in the party's top echelon.
She handed it to Donlup. "This man is dangerous. He could force us intoopen control of the press and higher education. Get these people herenot later than tomorrow. We can't waste time."
"Yes, Madame Secretary," Donlup saluted with a full bow and went towork.
* * * * *
The following afternoon Emily Bogarth faced the squad with itsbrilliant, green-eyed leader. She told them their mission and thendismissed all but one. "I'm sorry to hand this one to you. I know what apromising career you had before you. But this man is deadly to ourpurpose. Believe me, I am not wasting your special aptitudes."
"If it's for the good of the Party--"
"Dr. Hubert Long is a lighted fuse," Emily Bogarth said, her cold eyeshard on her operator, "that could blow the Humanist movement sky-high. Iwant you to snuff out that fuse." She squeezed a forefinger against herspatulate thumb.
The operator nodded and the green eyes flashed with the same fanaticspark that electrified American politics at the turn of the 21st centuryand launched the Humanist Party into its 30-year tenure of power.
* * * * *
At first only a shocked, embarrassed silence greeted Dr. Long on thecampus of Mentioch University, but as the press notices of hisutterances grew in volume so did his prestige.
He began to have a number of local visitors who evinced sharp interestin his views. At the end of the first week he was holding forth eachevening to a sizable audience in his tiny bungalow on the edge offaculty row.
By nature a careful, practical man, Hubert Long now carried a smallpistol in his coat pocket, but being also a fearless, independentindividual, he admitted all callers and exposed himself daily to thepublic. It wasn't entirely personal bravado, however. He knew from hisyears of intense, discreet research that the goon squads rarely madetheir attacks in the public eye. When they liquidated him he ferventlyhoped they would make this mistake and prove his point concerning theiroperations.
Although he didn't seek martyrdom, Dr. Long was prepared for it, as heexplained to the informal seminar that had accumulated at his home thisSunday afternoon. It was now late evening and the endless questions werebeginning to grow wearying.
"How do you know," asked a skeptical businessman, "that I am not anassassin who will ambush you on the way to the bathroom tonight?"
There were several ladies present, and bachelor Long blushed withannoyance. "You might very well be," he retorted. "But probably I havesome measure of temporary protection from the publicity I have received.My death, if it occurs, will doubtless appear to be from natural causes,or perhaps from a most ordinary but unfortunate accident."
He arose. "It's rather late and I have an early class. Will you excuseme? Thanks for coming, everyone of you." He nodded, trying to smile, butthe chill thought from the businessman's remark persisted. Very possibleit was that one or more members of a goon squad was among thetwenty-some people now beginning to pick themselves off his worn carpet,footstool, coffee table and the meager furniture he could afford on hissalary.
With a small start he realized that a youngish w
oman, in her earlythirties, he guessed, was stalling as though she intended to remainbehind. Sure enough, she closed the door behind the others and turned avery lovely face to him. "I think you are magnificent, Dr. Long," shesaid impulsively. "I hope you will spare me just a few minutes alone?"
Long slipped his right hand into his coat pocket casually. On her feetthe woman displayed more than a beautiful face. Her figure wasalarmingly feminine and rather aggressively displayed, feet akimbo,hips forward, shoulders back. Her hair was nearly platinum, but soexpensively dressed it was impossible to determine whether it wasartificially so.
She caught his hesitation. "Perhaps you would feel better out on theporch," she offered, smiling with such relaxed understanding that Longfelt a little boorish.
"No. Sit down, please, I didn't catch your name earlier."
* * * * *
"Julie Stone," she introduced herself and held out a long, bare arm. Herhand squeezed his fingers warmly, more like a man's grip. "My brother isSenator Stone, and he asked me to stop by and meet you. Secretly heagrees with much of what you have said, but of course he is reluctant toexpose himself until something of a formal movement is under way."
Long relaxed a little. This was good news, about the first he had had todate. Political figures were remaining eloquently silent in the press,and this was the first overture he had enjoyed from anyone moreinfluential than the reporters.
She went on, "Specifically, my brother would like to know which of theother two political parties you favor, in the event you make an appealthrough such channels."
"Either party," Long asserted with some emphasis. "In fact I would liketo see a coalition of the Democratic and Republican Parties to overthrowthis unholy Humanist gang."
Her forehead wrinkled. "Precisely Tom's idea. He's not at all certain itcan be done, but he thinks that the press reaction you have hadindicates there is a possibility if it is played right."
"Yes, the so-called free press," he said. "Some people have thrown thatup to me. If the Humanists were dictators, they say, we wouldn't havethis free press that has given my remarks currency. I read itdifferently. The Humanists have sold the press a bill of goods, and sothey control the papers in the most effective way of all. You'll noticethat they have printed my speeches strictly as news, you might say asoddities in the news. Editorial comment has been extremelynoncommittal."
"I hope you are right," Long said. He made a pot of coffee, and theydiscussed the matter at some length. He liked this woman's direct, openapproach, but she startled him as she was leaving.
"I have much to tell my brother," she said. "For my own curiosity,though, are you certain that some personal distrust or dislike for womenhasn't influenced your attack against the government?"
It jarred him like an uppercut. Her detached manner had almost made himforget she was a woman herself. Now this.
"Why--why do you ask?"
She shrugged. "It was a natural thought. There aren't many confirmedbachelors these days."
"Oh, that!" He smiled. "You're quite right, there aren't many unattachedmen over twenty-one any more, what with the barrage of governmentpropaganda and their special tax deduction incentives. I assure you thatit's nothing personal, however. My tastes are simply too rich."
"Your tastes?" It was her turn to arch an eyebrow.
"That's right. A lovely woman is a work of art, but like any othermasterpiece, she is a luxury I can't afford. Anyway, this mug of minerather put me out of the running in the only leagues I've wanted to playin. Incidentally, you introduced yourself as _Miss_ Julie Stone, didn'tyou?"
"No, but it happens to be correct."
"What's your excuse?"
"For being single? I'm a career girl. I have my own modeling agency. Toobusy for one thing. And I guess a woman gets bored looking at beautifulmen in my business. Not a brain in a barnful. Just beautiful brawn andwavy hair. Ugh! Animals! Everyone of them."
"Young woman, that's sedition. Don't you believe the governmentpropaganda?"
"If I did do you think I'd be here? No. Dr. Long, I find your argumentsquite valid. America is in the hands of the feminists, all right, andit's the fault of several generations of mama's boys. I just can'tget--"
* * * * *
She broke off as a heavy truck rolled by out front, back-firing heavily.They were both silhouetted in the open door. She glanced out, andsuddenly she threw herself upon him, pulling him to the floor. He caughther in his arms as they cascaded into a tangle of limbs and nylon.
The racket faded off down the street, but Dr. Long's mind was not on thenoise. The touch of this beautiful woman's flesh under his handsdominated his whole being. How different, how soft, incredibly soft!
Now she was clinging to him, trembling slightly and breathing deeply.Even at this range her pale hair looked natural. "Are you all right?"she asked at last.
"Of course," he said sitting up reluctantly. "It was only a truckback-firing."
"Look!" She pointed behind him at the wall opposite the door. A waveryline of small, deep holes cut across about heart-high. "I saw thegun-barrel stick out as the truck came up," she explained, untanglingherself. "It appears your temporary immunity is over. They're gettingactive."
Long stared half-unbelieving at the mean, business-like little holes.With the reactions of a trained semanticist he relaxed instead oftensing up with fear. He had made his decision days ago, and he knewfull well the risks he incurred.
"Thanks for nothing!" he said coldly.
Julie Stone looked up from straightening her dress and studied his linedface. "So you really were expecting an attack?" She shook her head indisgust. "I finally meet a man with some semblance of guts, and the onlyway he can think of to win his point is to let a goon squad spill themin the headlines!"
She threw herself into an armchair and crossed her knees. Long stood inthe middle of the floor staring down at the woman he had held in hisarms minutes ago, and his temples began throbbing. "What--what else isthere to do?" he asked hoarsely. "This was my best chance to drawattention to the reality of our police state. I have much more to diefor than to live for. This has been my life's work--gathering the factsand contriving to present them dramatically enough to attract nationalattention. My only fear was that they wouldn't come after me, and Imight be written off as a crackpot."
"I regret," she intoned, "that I have but one life to give to mycountry!" Then her lip curled. "Very well, brainy, if that's the bestyou can think up. Let's make it better yet. How about this for aheadline: _Dr. Long and Lovely Model Murdered by Federal Hoods!_"
"Are you insane?"
She shook her head. "I'm dead serious. I'm sticking right in the line offire until you figure out a way to stay alive at a profit."
He argued, pleaded and even lost his temper, pulling her to her feet andtrying to force her out the door. He didn't make it. Somehow his armsslipped too far around her, and she clamped herself to him in a defiantembrace. The soft warmth of her body, her sweet breath in his nostrils,the faint essence of her perfume enveloped him in a befuddling weakness.
Live at a profit? How could a man want to die with Julie Stone in hisarms?
He knew it was supremely idiotic, but the thought of her fabulous formcrumpled and riddled with bullets slashed at the tendons of his resolve,and he clutched her lips to his with the hunger of the condemned man hewas.
"Julie, Julie! Why did you have to--"
"One bullet, a single bullet will do it now." Her lips peeled back fromher white teeth. "Let's stay this way, darling. That's the way you wantit."
Her low, black sedan nibbled at the 100-mile-per-hour limit on theFreeway as they crossed the state line. In the back seat, reclining outof sight, his head pillowed on his brief case full of his documentedcase against the Humanist Party, was a very thoughtful Dr. Hubert Long,recently of Mentioch University.
He had driven until dawn while Julie Stone slept, and now, after a briefnap, he was waking to some of
the realities of the morning.
This flight was utterly absurd. When the federal people discovered hewas not dead they would come after him again and again. All he had donewas involve this lovely woman. Long since he had controlled fear for hisown life, but now he knew the exquisite torment of fearing for the womanhe loved.
The emotion was genuine and no less raging for its swift eruption in thespace of a single evening. Dr. Hubert Long was hopelessly and deeply inlove with Julie Stone.
"Quit worrying," she called back to him. "They couldn't have spotted mycar. I parked it a block from your house, remember?"
"I hope you have a plan," Long muttered. "I certainly don't. Where arewe heading?"
"Florida. To my brother's winter place. You know, I just had a thought.Tom and I are both on the board of regents of Toppinhout College downthere, and there'll be an opening next quarter in the faculty. Aprofessorship, in fact."
Long grunted. "No dice. They'll have every political scientist in thecountry under scrutiny for years."
"This is the chair of anthropology," she said. "We can change your name,and after this first excitement of your disappearance dies down--"
"But I don't want it to die down!" he objected.
"I thought we settled that.