第37节
orbidden music track ended with a triumphant crescendo on brass
and percussion instruments. Chisum put the small cassette player away
then pulled the video-tape of Roz and Steve out of the recorder and put
a call through to Fran's men. 'Be right with you,' promised the voice
on the other end. Chisum picked up his emergency aid case and went
into Unit 8.
Roz and Steve were still lying where they had keeled over when the
drugged grass took effect. Chisum put the half-burnt reafs back in the
box and put the box in his case, then he injected Roz with a strong
dose of barbiturates, dressed her quickly and expertly and laid her out
alongside Steve. He then rearranged Steve's clothing and was in the
process of zipping him up when the four-man Q-squad came through the
door. All four were dressed in black and silver-blue jump-suits - the
mark of men from the Black Tower: Amtrak Execs, one step below the
First Family. And, as Chisum knew, any or all of them could be
Family.
It was one of their favourite disguises.
'Where you going to pump him?" asked Chisum.
'Here." The man who spoke had the kind of face and voice that said
'I'm in charge'. 'It'll save time. How long have we got?"
'As long as you want,' replied Chisum diplomatically.
'But ideally, I should have him back in the White House before 0600
hours."
'No problem,' said the man. 'Leave it with us. How about the girl?"
'She'll be out cold till 10 or 1100. I'll ship her back to Inner State
U later."
'Have you got the tape?"
Chisum took the video-recording of Steve and Roz from his emergency aid
case and handed it over. 'Interesting stuff."
The man nodded. 'Yes. We were watching." He checked the time. 'Come
back at 0530?
'Wilco,' said Chisum. He left the accommodation unit without a
backward glance.
'Okay, let's get to work,' said the man.
Two of his companions lifted Steve off the bunk and !aid him out on the
couch. The third man, who had brought a case similar to that carried
by Chisum, bared Steve's forearm and injected him with a carefully
measured dose of Sodium Pentothal. The other two pulled a tall camera
tripod from another bag and connected up a portable video-camera to a
monitor and the nearest power socket. With the aid of a
counterbalanced extension arm, they set the camera pointing straight
down at Steve, adjusting the focus so that his head and shoulders
filled the screen on the monitor. One of them slotted the number 3552
into a clapper board that carried a digital time/date display and held
it briefly in front of Steve's face. 'Subject 3552, Operation
Overlord, Q-squad 6..."
His companion checked the picture balance and sound levels on the
equipment and gave a satisfied nod. 'llp and running..."
The Exec who had administered the 'truth' drug went into the galley to
make coffee, humming in tune to the endless music-track that drifted
through the ceiling-mounted speakers.
The man in charge took a chair from the set around the table and placed
it by the arm of the couch on which Steve's head lay. He sat down and
placed a gentle hand on Steve's forehead. 'Steven? Can you hear me?
I want you to nod your head if you can hear my voice."
Eyes closed, face totally relaxed under the effects of the drug, Steve
responded with a slight movement of the head.
'Good . . . very good,' said the man. His voice was deep-pitched, the
cadence measured, reassuring. 'Now, I want you to help me. I want you
to tell me who you are.
First, tell me your full name."
Steve breathed deeply. His mouth moved soundlessly
for a moment then he replied in a slurred, detached voice. 'Steven
Roosevelt Brickman..."
'Thank you. That's a great help. Now, tell me your number . . ."
CHAPTER EIGHT
When Steve opened his eyes, he found Chisum sitting beside him on the
edge of the bunk, shaking him by the shoulder and gently slapping his
face. 'Hey, hey, c'mon!
Wake up! Wake up!" *Wassa...?" Steve sat up woozily and was seized
with a fit of coughing. The smell of burning rainbow grass filled his
nostrils and the taste of it coated his tongue.