Anana had dropped behind him so that anyone watching would not know she was with Kickaha. Her long, glossy black hair was coiled up into a Psyche knot, and she wore a white low-cut frilly blouse and very tight green-and-red stripped culottes. Dark glasses covered her eyes, and she carried an artists’ sketch pad and pencils. She also carried a big leather purse which contained a number of items that would have startled any scientifically knowledgeable Earthling.
While Kickaha hailed down a cab, she walked slowly across the grass. Kickaha gave the cab driver a twenty-dollar bill as evidence of his good intentions and of the tip to come. He told him to wait in the parking lot, motor running, ready to take off when Kickaha gave the word. The cab driver raised his eyebrows and said, “You aren’t planning on robbing the museum?”
I’m planning on nothing illegal,” Kickaha said. “Call me eccentric. I just like to leave in a hurry sometimes.”
“If there’s any shooting, I’m taking off,” the driver said. “With or without you. And I’m reporting to the cops. Just so you know, see?”
Kickaha liked to have more than one avenue of escape. If Cambring’s men should be cruising around the neighborhood, they might spot their stolen car and set a trap for Kickaha. In fact, he was betting that they would. But if the way to the cab was blocked, and he had to take the route to the car, and that wasn’t blocked, he would use the car.
However, he felt that the driver was untrustworthy, not that he blamed him for feeling suspicious.
He added a ten to the twenty and said, “Call the cops now, if you want. I don’t care, I’m clean.”
Hoping that the cabbie wouldn’t take him up, he turned and strode across the cement of the parking lot and then across the grass to the tar pit. Anana was sitting down on a concrete bench and sketching life-sized statue of a mammoth which seemed to be sinking into the black liquid. She was an excellent artist, so that anybody who looked over her shoulder would see that she knew her business.
Kickaha wore dark glasses, a purple sleeveless and neckless shirt, a big leather belt with fancy silver buckle, and Levis. Under his long red hair, against the bone behind his ear, was a receiver. The device he wore on his wrist contained an audio transmitter and a beamer six times as powerful as that in his ring.
Kickaha took his station at the other end of the tar pit. He stood near the fence beyond which was the statue of a huge prehistoric bear. There were about fifty people scattered here and there, none of whom looked as if they would be Cambring’s men. This, of course, meant nothing.
A minute later, he saw a large gray Rolls Royce swing into the parking lot. Two men got out and crossed the grass in a straight line toward him. One was Ramos. The other was tall and gangly and wore a business suit, dark glasses, and a hat. When he came closer, Kickaha saw a horse-faced man of about fifty. Kickaha doubted then that he would be Red Orc, because no Lord, not even if he were twenty thousand years old, looked as if he were over thirty.
Anana’s voice sounded in his ear. “It’s not Red Orc.”
He looked around again. There were two men on his left, standing near the fountain by the museum and two men on his right, about twenty yards beyond Anana. They could be Cambring’s men.
His heart beat faster. The back of his neck felt chilled. He looked through the fence across the tar pit at Wilshire Boulevard. Parking was forbidden there at anytime. But a car was there, its hood up and a man looking under it. A man sat in the front seat and another in the rear.
“He’s going to try to grab me,” Kickaha said. “I’ve spotted seven of his men, I think.”
“Do you want to abandon your plan?” she said.
“If I do, you know the word,” he said. “Watch it! Here they come!”
Ramos and the gangly man stopped before him. The gangly man said, “Paul?” using the name Kickaha had given Cambring.
Kickaha nodded. He saw another big car enter the parking lot. It was too far for him to distinguish features, but the driver, wearing a hat and dark glasses, could be Cambring. There were three others in his car.
“Are you Red Orc?” Kickaha said, knowing that the tall man was probably carrying a device which would transmit the conversation to the Lord, wherever he was.
“Who? Who’s Redark?” the tall man said. “My name is Kleist. Now, Mr. Paul, would you mind telling me what you want?”
Kickaha spoke in the language of the Lords, “Red Orc! I am not a Lord but an Earthling who found a gate to the universe of Jadawin, whom you may remember. I came back to Earth, though I did not want to, to hunt down the Beller. I have no desire to stay here; I wish only to kill the Beller and get back to my adopted world. I have no interest in challenging you.”
Kleist said, “What the hell you gibbering about? Speak English, man!”
Ramos looked uneasy. He said, “He’s flipped.”
Kleist suddenly looked dumbfounded. Kickaha guessed that he was getting orders.
“Mr. Paul,” Kleist said, “I am empowered to offer you complete amnesty. Just come with us and we will introduce you to the man you want to see.”
“Nothing doing,” Kickaha said. “I’ll work with your boss, but I won’t put myself in his power. He may be all right, but I have no reason to trust him. I would like to cooperate with him, however, in tracking down the Beller.”
Kickaha looked around again. The men on his left and right were drifting closer. The two men in the car on Wilshire had gotten out. One was looking under the hood with the other man, but the third was gazing through the fence at Kickaha. When he saw Kickaha looking at him, he slowly turned away.
Kickaha said angrily, “You were told that only two of you should come! You’re trying to spring a trap on me! You surely don’t think you can kidnap me here in the middle of all these people?”
“Now, now, Mr. Paul!” Kleist said, “You’re mistaken! Don’t be nervous! There’s only two of us, and we’re here to talk to you, only that.”
Anana said, “A police car has just pulled up behind that car on the street.”
Kleist and Ramos looked at each other; it was evident that they had also seen the police car. But they looked as if no intention of leaving.
Kickaha said, “If your boss would like me to help, he’ll have to think of some way of guaranteeing me passage back.”
He decided he might as well spring his surprise now. The Lord knew that there was a woman with Kickaha, and while he had no way of knowing that she was a Lord, he must suspect it. Kickaha had only been on Earth a short time when the Lord’s men had seen her with him. And since he knew that the gate had been activated twice before Kickaha came along, he must suspect that the other party—or parties—was also a Lord.
Now was the time to tell Red Orc about them. This would strengthen Kickaha’s bargaining position and it might stop the effort to take him prisoner just now.
“You tell your boss,” he said, “that there are four other Lords now on Earth.”
Kickaha was not backward about exaggerating if it might confuse or upset the enemy. There might come a time when he could use the two nonexistent Lords as leverage.
“Also,” he added, “there are two Earthlings who have come from Jadawin’s world. Myself and a woman who is with Jadawin.”
That ought to rock him, he thought. Arouse his curiosity even more. He must be wondering how two Earthlings got into Jadawin’s world in the first place and how they got back here.
“You tell your boss,” Kickaha said, “that none of us, except for the Beller, mean him any harm. We just want to kill the Beller and get the hell out of this stinking universe.”
Kickaha thought that Red Orc should be able to understand that. What Lord in his right mind would want to take control of Earth from another Lord? What Lord would want to stay here when he could go to a much better, if much smaller, universe?
Kleist was silent for a moment. His head was slightly cocked as if he were listening to an invisible demon on his shoulder. Then he said, “What difference does it make
if there are four Lords?”
It was obvious that Kleist was relaying the message and that he did not understand the references.
Kickaha spoke in the language of the Lords. “Red Orc! You have forgotten the device that every Lord carries in his brain. The alarm that rings in every Lord’s head when he gets close to the metal bell of a Beller! With four Lords searching for the Beller, the chances for finding him are greater!”
Kleist had dropped any pretense that he was not in direct communication with his chief. He said, “How does he know that you are not the Beller?”
“If I were a Beller, why would I get into contact with you, let you know you had a dangerous enemy loose in your world?”
“He says,” Kleist reported, his face becoming blanker as he talked, as if he were turning into a mechanical transceiver, “that a Beller would try to locate all Lords as quickly as possible. After all, a Lord is the only one besides a Beller who knows that Bellers exist. Or who can do anything about them. So you would try to find him, just as you are now doing. Even if it meant your life. Bellers are notorious for sacrificing one of their number if they can gain an advantage thereby.
“He also says how does he know that these so called Lords are not your fellow Bellers?”
Kickaha spoke in the Lords’ tongue. “Red Orc! You are trying my patience. I have appealed to you because I know of your vast resources! You haven’t got much choice, Red Orc! If you force me to cut off contact with you, then you won’t know that I’m not a Beller and your sleep will be hideous with nightmares about the Bellers at large! In fact, the only way you can be sure that I’m not a Beller is to work with me, but under my terms! I insist on that!”
The only way to impress a Lord was to be even more arrogant than he.
Anana’s voice said, “The car’s gone. The police must have scared them out. The police car’s going now.”
Kickaha raised his arm and muttered into the transceiver, “Where are the others?”
“Closing in. They’re standing by the fence and pretending to look at the statues. But they’re working toward you.”
He looked past Kleist and Ramos across the grass. The two cars he had suspected were now empty except for one man whom he thought would be Cambring. The others were among the picnickers on the grass. He saw two men who looked grim and determined and tough; they could be Cambring’s.
“We’ll take off to my left,” he said. “Around the fence and across Wilshire. If they follow us, it’ll have to be on foot. At first, at least.”
He flicked a look toward Anana. She had gotten up from the bench and was strolling toward him.
Kleist said, “Very well. I am authorized to accept your terms.”
He smiled disarmingly and stepped closer. Ramos tensed.
“Couldn’t we go elsewhere? It’s difficult to carry on a conversation here. But it’ll be wherever you say.”
Kickaha was disgusted. He had just been about to agree that it would be best to tie in with Red Orc. Through him, the Beller and Wolff and Chryseis might be found, and after that the dam could break and the devil take the hindmost. But the Lord was following the bent of his kind; he was trusting his power, his ability to get anything or anybody he wanted.
Kickaha made one last try. “Hold it! Not a step closer! You ask your boss if he remembers Anana, his niece, or Jadawin, his nephew? Remembers how they looked? If he can identify them, then he’ll know I’m telling the truth.”
Kleist was silent and then nodded his head. He said, “Of course. My boss agrees. Just let him have a chance to see them.”
It was no use. Kickaha knew then what Red Orc was thinking. The brains of Anana and Wolff could be housing the minds of the Bellers.
Kleist, still smiling, reached into his jacket slowly, so that Kickaha would not be thinking he was reaching for a gun. He brought out a pen and pad of paper and said, “I’ll write down this number for you to call, and …”
Not for a second did Kickaha believe that the pen was only a pen. Evidently Orc had entrusted Kleist with a beamer. Kleist did not know it, but he was doomed. He had heard too much during the conversation, and he knew about a device which should not be existing on Earth as yet.
There was no time to tell Kleist that in the hope that he could be persuaded to desert the Lord.
Kickaha leaped to one side just as Kleist pointed the pen at him. Kickaha was quick, but he was touched by the beam on the shoulder and hurled sideways to the ground. He rolled on, seeing Kleist throw his hands up into the air, the pen flying away, and then Kleist staggered back one step and fell onto his back. Kickaha leaped up and dived toward the pen, even though his left shoulder and arm felt as if a two-by-four had slammed into it. Ramos, however, made no effort to grab the pen. Probably, he did not know what it really was.
Women were shrieking, men were yelling, and there was much running around.
When he got to his feet, he saw why. Kleist and three of his men were unconscious on the ground. Six men were running toward them—these must have been the latecomers—and were shoving people out of their way.
The fourth man who had been sneaking up on him was pulling a gun from an underarm holster.
Ramos, seeing this, shouted, “No! No guns! You know that!” Kickaha aimed the beamer-pen, which, fortunately, was activated by pressing a slide, not by code words, and the man seemed to fold up and be lifted off the ground. He sailed back, hit on his buttocks, straightened out, and lay still, arms outspread, his face gray. The gun lay on the ground several feet before him.
Kickaha turned and saw Anana running toward him. She had shot a beam at the same time that Kickaha shot his, and the gunman had gotten a double impact.
Kickaha leaped forward, scooped up the gun, and hurled it over the fence into the tar pit. He and Anana ran around the fence and up the slope onto the sidewalk. There was no crosswalk here, and the traffic was heavy. But it was also slow because the traffic light a half block away was red.
The two ran between the cars, forcing them to slam on their brakes. Horns blatted, and several people yelled at them out the windows.
Once they reached the other side, they looked behind them. The traffic had started up again, and the seven men after them were, for the moment, helpless.
“Things didn’t work out right,” Kickaha said. “I was hoping that I could grab Kleist and get away with him. He might’ve been the lead to Red Orc.”
Anana laughed, though a little nervously. “Nobody can accuse you of being underconfident,” she said. “What now?”
“The cops’ll be here pretty quick,” he said. “Yeah, look, Cambring’s men are all going back. I bet they got orders to get Kleist and the others out before the cops get here.”
He grabbed Anana’s hand and began running east toward the corner. She said, “What’re you doing?”
“We’ll cross back at the traffic light while they’re busy and then run like hell down Curson Street. Cambring’s there!”
She did not ask any more. But to get away from the enemy and then to run right back into his mouth seemed suicidal.
The two were now opposite the men about a hundred yards away. Kickaha looked between the trees lining the street and saw the unwounded men supporting Kleist and three others. In the distance, a siren wailed. From the way Cambring’s men hurried, they had no doubt that it was coming after them.
Cambring, looking anxious, was standing by the car. He stiffened when he felt the pen touch his back and heard Kickaha’s voice.
Cambring did not look around but got into the front seat as directed. Anana and Kickaha got into the rear seat and ducked down. Kickaha kept the pen jammed against Cambring’s back.
Cambring protested once. “You can’t get away with this! You’re crazy!”
“Just shut up!” Kickaha said.
Thirty seconds later, Kleist, supported by two men reached the car. Kickaha swung out the back door and pointed the pen at them, saying, “Put Kleist into the front seat.”
The tw
o holding Kleist halted. The others, forming a rear guard, reached for their guns, but Kickaha shouted, “I’ll kill Kleist and Cambring both! And you, too, with this!”
CHAPTER FIVE
He waved the pen. The others knew by now that the pen was a weapon of some sort even if they did not know its exact nature. They seemed to fear it more than a gun, probably because its nature was in doubt.
They stopped. Kickaha said, “I’m taking these two! The cops’ll be here in a minute! You better take off, look out for yourselves!”
The two holding Kleist carried him forward and shoved him into the front seat. Cambring had to push against Kleist to keep him from falling on him like a sack full of garbage. Kickaha quickly got out of the car and went around to get into the driver’s seat, while Anana held the pen on the others.
He started the motor, backed up with a screech of tires, jerked it to a stop, turned, and roared out of the parking lot. The car went up and down violently as they jumped the dip between the lot entrance and the street. Kickaha shouted to Anana, and she reached over the seat, felt behind Kleist’s ear, and came up with the transceiver. It was a metal disc thin as a postage stamp and the size of a dime.
She stuck it behind her ear and also removed Kleist’s wristwatch and put it on her own wrist.
He now had Cambring and Kleist. What could he do with them?
Anana suddenly gasped and pushed at Cambring, who had slumped over against Kickaha. In a swift reaction, he had shoved out with his elbow, thinking for a second that Cambring was attacking him. Then he understood that Cambring had fallen against him. He was unconscious.
Another look convinced him that Cambring was dead or close to death. His skin was the gray-blue of a corpse.
Anana said, “They’re both dead!”
Kickaha pulled the car over to the curb and stopped. He pointed frantically at her. She stared a moment, and then saw what he was trying to communicate. She quickly shed the receiver and Kleist’s wristwatch as if she had discovered that she was wearing a leper’s clothing.
Kickaha reached over and pulled her close to him and whispered in her ear, “I’ll pick up the watch and receiver with a handkerchief and stick them in the trunk until we can get rid of them. I think you’d be able to hear Red Orc’s voice now, if you still had that receiver behind your ear. He’d be telling you he’d just killed Cambring and he was going to kill you unless we surrendered to him.”