Control, Page 32

  Or thought he did, at any rate. Now it came again, from some distance through the chill twilight air. “… Bell… Bell…”

  Aleck peered across the pond and there, although he could not see the face clearly, was a small man calling his name over and over. I must know him, Aleck thought, but it was too far and too dim to see clearly. He had friends in New York, but a few only, and this clearly was not one of them.

  Perhaps a fellow Bostonian. More than likely. The calling continued on. “… Bell… Bell…” No one else was answering. There were, in fact, few around to answer. He must mean me, Aleck decided, but what a fool he’d be if such was not the case.

  Risking it, Aleck raised his hand, shouted “Over here.”

  The small figure broke into a run around the pond. Aleck waited where he was. A wild run. The fellow was certainly in a terrible hurry. And when he was halfway round the pond, Aleck was fairly sure he had made a mistake, that in fact, he did not know the fellow at all. When the man was less than twenty yards away, Aleck knew without question it was most definitely a mistake, because no one of his acquaintance had the wild-eyed look of this one running now.

  The size of the mistake Aleck realized only when it was too late for him to move, and he saw the knife brandished so tightly in the tiny madman’s hand …

  Theo stood in Central Park and turned around and around and around. It had been so essential that he get to it, and now that he was there, now that the great trees surrounded him, he hadn’t the least idea what to do.

  So he turned.

  Now a departing couple were looking at him, the man so well-dressed, cravat and cashmere coat, the woman lovely, clinging tight, laughing.

  I better stop turning, Theo decided. I think she’s laughing at me.

  So he stopped.

  What to do, what to do?

  He took out the knife, fingered it.

  Why the knife?

  It was sharp. Cook kept the kitchen immaculate, and this knife was honed.

  But why the knife?

  He looked toward the pond, as if to find solutions in the dark waters. None were there. Pond was a fair word, if you were a poet. There were some rhymes—blond, bond, beyond—that were useful, but few that were more than that. Frond was difficult to make anything but obvious—a frond in a pond, who cared? If you were a poet, a real poet, then that was all you did, you cared, nothing mattered so much to you as words and their grace and their sounds and the pictures they brought forth when they were linked unexpectedly—

  —and I am a poet, Theo remembered. A real one.

  So why am I here with a knife in my hand?

  What use had a poet for a knife?

  Not a bad opening line, that: “What use had the poet for a knife? What use had the child for a life?”—no, wrong turn, simpleminded, no echoes, wrong, wrong—

  —Kell filled his mind then.

  Theo could feel his heart. Was that a word? Kell? Did it have a meaning? It was in his brain, it was filling his brain, his head was swollen with the constant repetition: Kell KELL. KELL!!!

  Theo began to turn again, his hands pressing against his ears to still the nonsense word—

  —then the word divided, the last letters going with a name, the first with the word “kill.” “Kill Bell. Kill Bell.”

  Why?

  And who was Bell?

  The why didn’t matter. Bell was evil. Bell was evil and had to be taken away.

  Now he understood the knife.

  “Bell,” Theo shouted. “Bell. Bell. Bell. Bell.” He turned toward the pond and went on with his litany. “Bell. BELL.”

  Now, from across the pond, from a large bearded man, a raised hand, the shouted words “Over here.”

  Theo began to run. He had never been a runner but he was racing now. He had never been fast but he was flying now. He was not surprised. He had never been strong but the pigs had been sent flying, the policeman had fallen senseless to the floor.

  Theo went even faster. Halfway round the pond, halfway more to go. Faster. Now the knife was in his hand. Quarter to go now. He could see the evil ahead of him. He could see fear in the evil eyes. He could see the evil wanting to move, but no time, as Theo leapt with a wild cry into the air and landed on the much larger man, and together they went staggering back as Theo struck with the knife, could feel the blade rip the thick overcoat, slice through it toward the heart…

  As Billy Boy began to roll from side to side, Trude watched, wondering what it all meant. Now the giant’s hands were moving —one moment they made fists, the next the fingers spread and were attacking his own throat.

  It must be a reaction to what we’ve done, Trude decided. He had never had control this long or this closely.

  That’s it. Yes. It must be simply that A normal reaction to what we’ve accomplished. Then Billy Boy began to cry out wildly.

  “… STOY… STOY… STOY.

  What in the world was that supposed to mean? Trude wondered. Now there were other sounds. Pouring out.

  “… UZ-BEET-ZU—UZ-BEET-ZU.

  The words were coming so fast they meant nothing—they all were a terrible blend of gibberish at this time when nothing mattered but fact. Now, at this moment of pure scientific truth, insanity seemed to have taken over. Here came more sounds, louder than the ones before.

  “INATCHI-YA UB-EE’-YU-TIBYA—TIBYA—BANDEET—BANDEET—UZ-BEET-ZU!!!”

  Madness, Trude thought as the giant was starting to writhe. It was impossible to ask questions, to find out what it all meant, there were no questions that could penetrate the screaming.

  “…TIB-YA… TlB-YA—TIB-YA!!!”

  Son of a bitch, Trude thought. Goddam rotten fucking son of a bitch—-what was going on back there… ?

  The instant he jumped, knife ready, onto the bearded man, Theo felt something land on him; the instant he plunged his knife through the coat toward the heart, Theo saw a hand cover his own—

  —and try to pull it back.

  Theo merely shoved harder-—this was the hand that had felled the cop, this was the arm that had lifted the pigs—nothing could force it back—

  —but something was. This hand that was covering his hand, this hand that was pulling at his hand, pulling the knife away from flesh, it was, for the moment, stronger.

  The three of them fell then, the bearded man, balance gone, twisting down, Theo slipping off, rolling away, knife held ready, and in an instant he was on his feet and staring at the one who had so intruded on the disposing of evil.

  Theo stared at a half-man.

  Huge chest and shoulders, great bulging eyes. “Stoy,” the half-man said.

  Bell was getting to his feet slowly, shaken and terrified.

  Theo raised the knife again and ran at him.

  The half-man threw his body at Theo’s legs and they both went sprawling. “Uz-beet-zu.”

  Bell was starting to run away now.

  Theo scrambled up, gave chase.

  But the half-man scuttled into his path, grabbed Theo’s scarf, twisted it around his throat and began to take away Theo’s air. Theo slashed out with the knife.

  The half-man released the scarf, ducked away from the blow, muttered more words.

  Bell was in full flight now, away from the park. Full speed.

  Theo looked at the half-man—more evil. More evil that had to be disposed of. The half-man was making more sounds. Theo ignored them and silently closed for the kill…

  As Billy Boy became silent, Trude stepped alongside and asked some questions, received some answers. Now Billy Boy was saying the words again, but slower.

  “… STOYINATCHI-YA UB-EE’-YU TIBYA …”

  “Stop or I’ll kill you,” Trude translated. He was not a great linguist—four fluent, smatterings of half a dozen more. Not great, but good enough to know Russian when he heard it. Trude wanted to throw his head back and shriek in wild fury.

  Trying for the least semblance of control, he left the Infinity Room to call Washington, because
there was no doubt about it: The Russians were back there too.

  Theo held the knife balanced well in front of him as he advanced on the freak.

  The half-man scuttled backward, staying clear.

  Theo continued his advance. The pond was coming up behind the enemy now, so the/etreat could not last forever. Now the freak noticed the water, glanced to one side, then the other, looking for a place to scurry to. Theo continued his gradual advance—

  —and the half-man leapt on him—

  —yes’ “leapt” was what4ie did, somehow he thrust his arms hard into the earth and bent them and straightened them and then that horrid body was in the air and then it landed crablike across Theo’s chest and clung to the knife arm, trying to force the weapon free—

  —but Theo hung on.

  Now the half-man pounded a fist into Theo’s face and blood spurted from his nose.

  Theo cried out and lifted the freak off him—lifted him with his own blood still pouring down, and threw the enemy like he had thrown the pigs—-

  —the freak rolled over, pushed down with his mighty arms, and was ready for more.

  Theo ran at him then, slashed with the knife but it was a fake and when the freak went for it, Theo kicked out with his shoe and caught the enemy on the side of the head, knocking him off balance, stunning him, and then Theo went with the knife again, meaning it this time, and he was thrilled at the scream of pain as his weapon entered the left forearm of the enemy.

  But with his right arm, the freak grabbed a rock and threw it, missed, grabbed another, and Theo’s mind was gone for a moment as the rock glanced off his forehead and in that moment the freak was behind him and again he had the scarf, pulling it tighter and tighter around Theo’s throat, and Theo could not reach the monster, could not make physical contact, and now he was gasping for any air at all, but there wasn’t much, and the scarf was tighter than ever and if Theo had not slashed the scarf with his knife and cut it free he would have never survived that.

  But he did. Survive. Gasping terribly. Retreating. With the half-man advancing now. It was incredible. He, Theo, had the weapon, but the enemy was doing the attacking.

  Theo waited.

  Now they began circling each other. Like animals circling some prehistoric fire. Only now, the fire was within them. The half-man’s eyes glowed. The park was silent.

  Circling… Circling …

  “Tibya.”

  Circling.

  “Tibya.”

  Circling’

  Theo began to growl…

  Trude threw the door to his office open, stormed to his desk, started to dial Washington, momentarily forgot the area code, told himself to get a grip, dialed 202 and then Kilgore’s number. As he waited he thought he saw a shadow outside in the corridor, decided it had to be the policeman shadowing him, but he didn’t care. There were no secrets anymore.

  “What is it?” Kilgore said.

  Trude tried very hard to make his voice seem calm. “The Russians are controlling someone as we are controlling Duncan. They are in violent confrontation now.”

  “How, for Jesus’ sake?”

  “I don’t know how—I don’t care how—we know what they’re doing, why shouldn’t they know what we’re doing, it doesn’t matter htm— what matters is what we do about it. I need your approval to alter plans so completely. Do we continue on? Do we call a halt? Do we forget about Bell and concentrate on Trotsky? That would be my suggestion—Duncan may be dead by now—”

  “—I’ll have to ask Beulah—you need my approval, I need his —stay right where you are—I’ll have him call you directly …”

  “—there is no time!”

  “Are you falling apart on me now?—you sound it—fm telling you to wait—”

  Trude took a breath. “I’m perfectly fine. And of course I’ll wait. When I said there was no time I meant I left Winslow as he was —I did not want to risk bringing him out, the control was too strong—but that does not mean he can’t come out of it by himself —if I leave him too long, that may happen.”

  (It had already happened, but Trude did not know it yet—Billy Boy was on the loose in the Infinity Room, but that would not become common knowledge for at least another minute, when the nurse with the light brown hair would begin to scream…)

  At first, staring at the strings of lights above his head, Billy Boy could blink and wonder. He was alone, he realized then. Trude had left him.

  He blinked again, made as little movement as possible, got a sense of the room. The control room was the obvious place to go, but he did not want to start until he was ready. He tensed his legs; they felt strong. So did his arms. He took a breath, another. He was fine. There was some pain in his head but nothing like the other times. He was fine, and then he was off the couch and running so fast and the control room door, it was like paper it gave so fast and he was through it and the blue suits were stunned he was on them so quick, and the near one got his gun only into his hand while the far one got his raised, but shit, that was nothing, they weren’t about to use their guns on him, he was too valuable for them to do a goddam thing and before any firing he was on them and creaming them and then he had their pistols and the nurse with the light brown hair began to scream and Billy Boy thought what the hell, kill her and shut her up, kill her and kill the blue suits too, except that was dumb, that wasted bullets, and bullets were what he needed now as he broke toward the stairs and freedom …

  ***

  When Trude left Billy Boy alone in the Infinity Room and stormed through the control area, Eric had never seen a look of such blind anger. It drew him, that look, there was nothing doing in the room now but that look must have meant a lot, so when Trude got to his office Eric was outside and he didn’t get the whole call, just Trude’s part of it, and he didn’t really learn that much, and he was set to return to the Infinity Room anyway when the screams of the nurse made him ran. He passed The Fruits on the way and they looked some the worse for wear and when he reached the control room the brown-haired nurse made enough sense to point to the stairwell and Eric raced toward it, getting his own gun ready as he moved. He assumed Billy Boy was armed too, he didn’t know but it was always best to figure on the worst and the worst would have been Billy Boy had one of The Fruits’ guns. What Eric did not know was that he had them both, a piece of information that, before too much longer, would cost him, alas, dearly …

  By the time they reached Trude’s office, Apple and Berry were rearmed and ready. So was Trude—he handed one of them the pistol that stunned Billy Boy unconscious, along with a dozen pellets; he handed the other a walkie-talkie so they could maintain contact. When the phone rang and he heard the southern voice of R.E.L. Beulah, they were already out the door on the fly…

  —where?—where the fuck was he?— Billy Boy glanced up through the storm and he saw a street sign but it meant shit to him —he was in the 50’s, he was near First—who gave a shit?—

  —where was he?—

  —he glanced back at the building he’d just left and even though he was only maybe half a block away it was hard getting a decent look at it. The sidewalks were pretty much empty on account of the snow and it was dark and cold and who the hell knew what time or cared—

  —what was he gonna do?—

  —maybe the Duchess, maybe not a bad idea, he was lucky again, you didn’t make escapes on days when you weren’t lucky, so maybe she could tell him what to do—

  —but where was she?—

  —near the bus place, she was near that, but what was the name of the bus place, in a town like this there were probably a bunch of them and maybe he’d get the wrong one and freeze to death-walking around—

  —ahead of him now a bunch of asshole kids sledding—-sledding for Chrissakes—running along and crying out loud and here came a kid right at him on his sled and Billy Boy lashed out, gave the kid a good kick, caught him on the heck, sent him shrieking into the side of a parked car and that felt like the old days, a good solid
shot, you aimed and you hit and that was what it was like when you were lucky and—-

  —and he glanced back again toward the hospital and here he came running down the stairs, the nightmare. Billy Boy stopped, and fired a shot and was about to fire another when he thought, “Asshole, you can’t hit shit from here, run…”

  Eric felt terrific when he heard the gunshot. One bullet gone, five more to go. And it was a fool shot, you couldn’t hit a thing from that distance in this snow, and you only fired if you were panicked.

  Eric felt terrific about that, too.

  At last it was back to where it belonged, just the two of them, one gun against the other and it crossed Eric’s quirky mind that what a cosmic joke it would all turn out to be if it was just him against Billy Boy and Billy Boy won—

  —the face of the boy with the sled made him stop. Blood came from his ear and his neck was tilted all wrong, like the very first moment he knew of the invasion of the monster up ahead, when he’d seen the neck of the dead woman at the terrible angle. Eric dropped beside the kid, shouted to the others around not to move him, gave them the number to phone for an emergency ambulance, threw off his own topcoat, placed it so it guarded the wounded boy from the storm. He did all this quickly and was back on his feet in no time. But no time was too much time.

  When he reached the corner, Billy Boy was gone…

  As his beautiful Mercedes crawled inch by fucking inch down Second Avenue, Hubert J. Hutner could never remember having been as angry at his wife.

  She sat beside him now, a silent fireplug. Silent except for cracking her gum. “Almost there; well be at the Waldorf any sec,” Mrs. Hubert J. Hutner said.