Famine Page 8

“I might be involved. My husband might have known the creatures were in the field, and they might have got out of his control. They might have followed me because I can tell you much more about them than they want you to know. So you have to doubt me.”

  “So I do,” Palfrey smiled almost angelically, and said the thing which came into his mind spontaneously. “But trusting and liking aren’t the same thing. I’ve enjoyed this breakfast talk more than I have enjoyed anything for many weeks, yet at a time when I’m gravely worried. It’s done me more good than I can say.” He held out both his hands, and she placed hers on them. “Thank you.”

  “Dr. Palfrey,” she said, not letting his hands go.

  “Yes?”

  “You can trust me. I know that in your responsible position you can’t as yet, but in fact I am really absolutely trustworthy.”

  “I believe you are,” Palfrey said. They stood studying each other for a long time, until he thought he would never forget a line or feature of her face. “Now – I must go! Will you stay here until you hear from us?”

  “Will I hear?”

  “Yes. We’ll certainly need to question you again. There may be some details you’ve forgotten and which we can help you to remember. You’d be surprised what expert questioning can make you recall! And there are some elementary facts about Z5 which you can learn while you’re on – what shall I say? – probation.”

  Her eyes lit up.

  “Am I on probation?”

  “In principle, I hope very much that you will soon be working for us,” said Palfrey.

  Betty Fordham began to smile, and the corners of her lips curved upwards, revealing two dimples. They gave her a young, almost mischievous appearance. Good as bread, Palfrey thought again, but even though all his inclination was to trust her, the warning note was clear and vivid in his mind.

  “I’ll be at Brown’s until I’m sent for,” she said. “There’s one thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “What shall I say if I’m questioned by reporters? Someone might know the little brute came at me, or connect me with it somehow.”

  Palfrey eyed her quizzically: “Use your own judgement,” he advised. “If you join Z5 you’ll have to.”

  “And this is as good a way as any of finding out whether I can be discreet.” She actually laughed. “I’ll be interested to find out, too.”

  Palfrey said quickly. “I’m sure you will. Meanwhile don’t worry about being followed. I shall have you watched for your own safety.”

  As he walked slowly to the head of the stairs, he watched the floor and doorways, subconsciously on the look-out, but consciously thinking of Betty Fordham. What was Betty short for? Elizabeth? Beth would suit her better than Betty. He preferred it. Beth was comforting, and that she most certainly was. He was aware that his feeling of relaxation was largely due to her. In a way she had drawn not only tensions out of him, but also something of the sense of urgency. Was that a good or a bad thing? He went into Green Park station and was halfway towards the door leading to his lift when he saw a tiny, furry animal streaking towards him.

  Fear burned his chest, with a sudden furious heat.

  Then he saw it was a dog, which raced along to the stairs and up them, a black lead trailing. Poor frightened creature. Poor, frightened Palfrey! He actually laughed aloud as he turned into the lift, and his step was lighter as he went along the passage and opened Joyce’s door.

  “Anything new in?” he demanded.

  She stared at him, as if surprised.

  “Is there?”

  “Er—some more reports,” she said, recovering. She stood up, and almost immediately became her normal self, pleasant, precise. “Yes, I’m afraid so. Another four reports have come in that rabbit men have been seen singly in Staines, Guildford, Dorking and Andover.” She looked at him, puzzled because he showed no reaction. “Reports from overseas are coming in so fast we can hardly keep up with the decoding,” she added. “Some reports are of cats – but the claws all seem to be the same.”

  “In all future messages, say that the creatures might be in the guise of any small animal which would be familiar in the district it was seen in.” Palfrey pondered, and then asked: “Are there more food losses?”

  “Yes – as far apart as Stockholm and Sydney, San Paulo and Port Said. I’ve put an analysis on your desk for the ambassadors’ meeting.” After a pause, Joyce went on: “The Prime Minister would like you to be at the Foreign Office Assembly Room at eleven forty-five, with up-to-the-minute information.”

  “I’ll be there,” Palfrey promised.

  “Are you—all right?”

  “Yes, of course.’”

  “The creature didn’t hurt you?”

  “No,” Palfrey answered. “But all of us who might be attacked ought to be protected. We need some kind of neckband.” He thought of the silver one which Betty ‘Beth’ Fordham had worn. “I wonder who I ought to talk to about that?”

  “Weapon Research?” hazarded Joyce.

  The Weapon Research Department was a branch of the laboratory domiciled on the floor below. Agents involved in the deadly business were necessarily those possessing ingenious and inventive minds, for the department both created weapons and devised protective steps needed against them.

  “Yes,” said Palfrey. “Will you tell them exactly what we want? A necklet that will resist a knife thrust, not be too hot or tight, and can be slipped on and off easily.”

  “There are ordinary bracelets like that,” Joyce said. “I’ll see to it right away.”

  “Good,” said Palfrey. “Now I’ll go and soak myself in the reports.”

  He found nearly fifty of them on his desk, and read each one with a detachment he had not felt for a long time. He absorbed them, too. Everything he read had some deep significance and increased the gravity of their problem, but he did not feel so utterly hopeless and dejected as he had; he was on top of himself, in spite of the horror. Yet he hadn’t been until he had seen Beth. Not Betty; Beth.

  The Prime Minister studied a summary of the reports, looked down his nose, and said: “I’ll simply set the tone of the meeting, Palfrey. You put the facts to them as directly as you can.”

  Palfrey said: “I’ll do just that, sir.”

  The Assembly Room, often used for great State occasions, had a high, beautifully decorated ceiling, drapes of grey and silver, and three huge chandeliers. One long table was laden with a selection of cold meats, fish, salads, fruit, cream and wines. Behind this stood Secret Service and Intelligence men and women who would be briefed by Palfrey. There were ten Z5 agents among them, seven men and three women.

  As Palfrey followed the Rt. Honourable James Mason into the great room, there was a lull in the buzz of conversation. Palfrey, walking down a flight of wide stairs, fully aware of the fact that the Prime Minister attracted all the attention, and that very few of the assembled diplomats noticed him. He himself recognised dozens, as he took them in with a few sweeping glances. The ambassadors of France, Western Germany, the United States and Japan were in a group together. The Russian, Yugoslavian and Polish ambassadors stood with two from newly emergent African countries, one from Kenya, the other not known to Palfrey. Among the gathering thirty at least were black or dark-skinned. There were three women, engulfed by the horde of well-dressed men. Several African and Arab leaders lent magnificence to the gathering by the vivid colour of their voluminous robes.

  Slowly silence fell.

  Palfrey and Mason climbed onto a small platform, behind which was a white screen; and as they did so a Z5 man moved into the room, with a slide projector, and another put a table into place for it.

  “Your excellencies,” the Prime Minister said in a clear, carrying voice, “I have little to say myself, except to prepare you for what may well be a very grave and serious situation. It has sufficien
t urgency for me to feel that the best way to advise your governments is through the Assembly. In this way, each one of you will know exactly as much as all the others know, each will be able to inform his government at the same time.” He paused, timing the moment admirably, looking round at faces which had suddenly become anxious, from which both frowns and good humour had faded. A sea of gravely expectant faces were below Palfrey, and he noticed several of them turned towards him. The Brazilian ambassador, Carlos, deftly nudged the Portuguese ambassador, who immediately looked at Palfrey. So did the handsome Clemente Taza of Lozania.

  “I heard of this emergency only fifteen hours ago,” the Prime Minister went on, “and I believe that Dr. Palfrey, whom you all know, had no reason to suspect the seriousness of the situation until a few hours before he asked me to convene this meeting.”

  In some parts of the room, the name ‘Palfrey’ caused an uneasy consternation. Practically everyone looked towards him, as the clear, precise voice went on.

  “It is vital that no rumour of the true reason for this meeting is released to the Press, and following my statement of British Policy on World Food Shortages last night, I believe we should allow it to be thought that this meeting concerns that shortage. As in a way it does.” The Prime Minister turned to Palfrey, and went on: “Here is Dr. Palfrey, who needs no introduction to any of us.”

  As Palfrey stepped forward, the silence was absolute.

  He talked for fifteen minutes, feeling quite sure as he did so that he had never put a situation more lucidly nor more comprehensively; at least that was a cause for satisfaction. When he finished, the hush was as great as it had been when he had started, until the Italian ambassador, tall, dark-haired, elegantly bearded, spoke in a high-pitched voice: “If these creatures are so widespread, on several continents, then no country is safe from them. Do you know what they are doing? Why they are here?”

  “All we know is that they eat ravenously,” Palfrey said. “There is no indication that they have taken any course of action except in order to get food—and to protect themselves. They appear to be at varying stages of intellectual development. You will know from what I have told you that some have highly developed intelligence, while others seem to be primitive. They have many human characteristics.”

  “What are they like?” demanded Taza, the ambassador for Lozania, the smallest South American state.

  Palfrey said: “Let me show you.” He stood aside, and the man at the projector switched off the lights, and switched on the machine. Pictures of the dead creatures found on Fordham’s farm flashed vividly onto the screen in colour.

  As the company watched, there was a strange, almost awestruck silence.

  There were twelve pictures in all, and each was left on the screen for half-a-minute. Then they were taken away, as Palfrey went on: “Copies of these are being made as quickly as possible and will be available by tomorrow morning. You’ve noticed the marked difference between the fur-clad creatures, and those which are like midgets. As far as we can judge the furry ones are guards, or killers; and they seem to have a highly developed intelligence, although they appear to act stupidly from time to time.

  “How do you mean – stupidly?” asked Conlon, the American ambassador.

  “They don’t attempt to conceal themselves, but make an attack and rely on their physical strength to get away.” When no one commented, Palfrey went on: “We know some appear as rabbits, at least one as cat, so they might adopt other disguises to make themselves less noticeable.”

  “They’ve a hell of a lot of courage,” Conlon said. “Palfrey, what is your assessment of the danger?”

  Palfrey answered briskly: “Ten of these creatures in this room could probably kill us all. If the colony found near Salisbury is the only one in England we might be able to find and contain it, but, if there are others, food stocks throughout Britain will soon be in danger, and so will any people who attempt to protect them.”

  “This is absurd. They must be found and exterminated.” The voice was that of Hertz, the South African ambassador.

  “Where are they from?” Halik of Russia asked in his heavily-accented English.

  “Are they human?” another demanded.

  “Could they come from another planet?”

  “Now, that’s crazy!”

  “It is understandably alarming,” said the ambassador from Lozania. “But is there no hope that this has been grossly exaggerated?”

  “Palfrey would hardly exaggerate,” Conlon objected.

  “Gentlemen!” called the British Prime Minister sharply. “Each of you has been informed, each must report to his government as he thinks fit. We in Great Britain consider this to be potentially a very grave emergency, and arrangements are already in hand for the armed forces to help protect existing food supplies and crops. Dr. Palfrey will keep us all informed of new developments, and I shall continue to give him all facilities. Now, if you care to lunch–”

  In a few moments he was in the centre of a group of anxious, excited ambassadors, Palfrey in the midst of another. He saw the ambassador from Lozania looking at him with obvious anxiety, and saw several other ambassadors join Clemente Taza. Then he had a sudden, devastating shock. Taza was an unusually good-looking man, with regular features, smooth skin, and controlled grace of movements; Lozanians being renowned for their good looks, and that undefinable quality which marked them as a race apart.

  It came to him now that Clemente Taza’s features were quite unmistakably like those of the creatures he had seen. It was in the bone structure of the face, the set of the eyes, the shape of the mouth. The similarity could not be mistaken once it had been noticed.

  The best man to work on Taza was Jim Baretta, Palfrey decided. He could not get to a telephone quickly enough.

  Chapter Ten

  The Anxious Ambassador

  Clemente Taza, one of the most efficient and successful career diplomats in South America and an outstanding representative of his own country toyed with a small sliver of pâté de foie gras, then hurried from the Assembly Room. His chauffeur was waiting for him, and he was driven off immediately. The Lozanian Embassy was in Prince’s Gate, and the traffic through Hyde Park Corner and Knightsbridge was very dense that lunch hour. By the time Taza reached the fine old Georgian house, Jim Baretta was already sitting, double-parked, in a Mini-Cooper which did not earn a second glance. Two more Z5 agents were also watching the house; and others would come. Until Taza had been completely cleared of suspicion, he would be watched day and night. Every move he made, even his telephone calls, would be reported. Inside the Embassy were two Lozanians, each fiercely loyal to Z5; Baretta would be in constant touch with them.

  Taza went inside. “Tense and worried,” Baretta later reported.

  Taza went straight to the first secretary.

  “They were together for an hour,” one of the Z5 agents reported. “A tape recording will be sent as soon as practicable. I do not know yet what subject was under discussion.”

  The first secretary left the house in Prince’s Gate immediately after his long talk with Taza.

  “He went direct to London Airport,” one of Z5’s agents reported.

  An hour later, another report from inside the Embassy reached Palfrey, who was now back at his office.

  “The first secretary was on board the eight o’clock flight to New York.”

  Within an hour, another message reached Palfrey from the Lozanian Consulate in New York City.

  “Two seats have been booked on tomorrow’s early flight from Kennedy Airport to Lozan.”

  Lozan was the capital of Lozania.

  “No other member of the Embassy staff appears to be aware of the reason for the first secretary’s journey,” stated another report. “The ambassador is now conducting normal daily business. He is obviously preoccupied.”

  Palfrey st
udied these, and many other reports, during the late afternoon, feeling a new weight of anxiety and depression. He kept his mind as unprejudiced as he could, but the possibility of early results made him hope that the secret of the rabbit men and the midgets might be found before too much damage was done. In the early evening he was standing and studying the spines of some of the leather bound books in his study, when Joyce telephoned. He snatched up the receiver.

  “Yes?”

  “The tape from the Lozanian Embassy is on the way. Baretta is bringing it.”

  “Thank God for that,” Palfrey said. “It’s almost certain that Lozania’s involved.”

  “How can you be so sure?” demanded Joyce.

  “No other message has gone to Lozan today. It is the only Embassy which has not sent coded messages back to the government at home.”

  “I see what you mean,” Joyce said. “Do you want to take extra copies of the tape?”

  “Yes” said Palfrey. “And I would like you, Galsworthy and Bonifacio to be present.” Bonifacio could make a simultaneous translation into English, both for his, Palfrey’s benefit and for the recordings which might be essential. He waited for the tape to reach Z5 headquarters with almost feverish anxiety. Baretta was one of the best agents, he would have a man in front and two behind him for protection, each wearing a plastic strip round his throat. There was every reason to believe they were strongly safeguarded.

  Certainly Jim Baretta was not worried. This short powerful Italian had steel bracelets round his wrists and neck, aware that he might have to fight off one of the creatures.

  Outside the Lozanian Embassy he noticed as did the men watching him, a small post office van pulled up near the house as the driver walked to a pillar box, opened it, and took out letters. None of the Z5 men gave this man any further thought. The agent who had planted the tape came out and placed it quite casually on the wing of a car parked nearby. Baretta strolled along and picked it up, slipped it into his pocket and got into the green/white Mini-Cooper. One agent in front was on a motor-cycle, two behind were in an open T.R.3, vivid scarlet; there were times when the best way to hide was to draw attention to oneself.