Chapter One

 

Through the partially opened, frosted-glass door I saw a shadow emerge from the semi-darkness of the third floor corridor. A revolver was clutched in its hand.

"Honey West?" a deep voice asked, as the office door closed.

"Yes."

"Stand up. Take two steps toward me."

"What is this?" I said, getting to my feet.

"Don't ask questions. Just take off your clothes."

"What?"

"You heard me. You have exactly one minute. Get started!"

"Look," I said angrily, "it's three o'clock in the morning. Too late to play games. My office hours begin at nine. Come around tomorrow and we'll begin all over again."

"I said strip down," the man in the shadows growled. "You've got fifty seconds."

A chill raced up my spine. "Put down the gun. I'm not going anywhere."

He laughed. "That's what you think. Forty seconds, Miss West. I'm not kidding!"

The tone of his voice told me he wasn't, I reached for the top button of my sweater. "What's the angle? What happens when I'm finished with my strip tease?"

He took a package from under his arm and tossed it at my feet. "Get into this outfit! You've got exactly half a minute."

I opened two buttons, keeping my eyes riveted on his dark bulk. I could see that he wore a trench coat and a hat and I noticed that his gun hand trembled.

"Are you sure you've got the right party?" I asked, slipping a third button loose.

"I have it memorized," he said. "Female. Private detective. Third floor of the Wilks Building. Blonde. Blue eyes. Twenty-eight years old. Five feet five. About one hundred and twenty pounds. You figure it out!"

"I'm trying, but nothing makes sense. What's this outfit in the package?"

"A Marine uniform," the man said. "You've been drafted."

"Is the world situation that bad?" I asked. "Come on now, this doesn't add up."

The revolver raised threateningly at my head. "It adds up to me, Miss West. That's all that matters. Now are you going to wear that uniform while you're alive—or after you're dead?"

I slipped off the sweater and reached for the zipper on my skirt. In the distance, a ship moving through the night fog of Long Beach harbor moaned its awesome warning.

"I hope I brought the right size bra," he said.

My skirt and slip dropped to the floor. "Thirty-eight," I said, trying to focus my eyes in the semi-darkness. "Like the revolver of the same caliber. Is that what you're carrying?"

"In the package, yes," the man said. He waved the gun. "This is a little out of your class. Forty-five. Finish the job, please."

I grinned. "I'm glad you said 'please'. That makes every difference. You know this could add up to all sorts of charges, including kidnapping, if you walk out of here with me."

"That's right. And it could add up to murder if I don't. The bra and panties, Miss West!"

"But I don't even know your name," I said stalling.

"Just call me G.I. Joe. Time's up."

His finger tightened on the trigger.

I picked up the package and removed the uniform. Second Lieutenant's bar glistened on the shirt collar. "I thought people were drafted into the rank of private," I asked.

"We're giving you a head start," the man answered. "We thought you'd like that."

"We?"

"The General and me. You're so clever, Miss West, with your questions. How many cases have you solved anyway?"

"Not enough," I said quickly. "I'd give a lot to solve this one right now. How about it?"

His fingers tightened again. "The bra and panties, Lieutenant. You don't want to be out of uniform at reveille."

I examined the shirt in the dim light. The name Sylvia Verse and a serial number 089099 were stamped inside the collar. "Old issue," I said. "What's the matter with the Marine Corps? Don't you know officers are supposed to buy their own uniforms?"

"We've changed our policy," the man said. "This one is on the house. No more stalling, Lieutenant. We've got an important roll call to make."

He moved toward me menacingly. The hat couldn't hide the narrow eyes harshly glinting in the desk lamp's dim light. I turned around. "Undo my bra, please! I'll be glad to take it off if you'll unhook it for me."

He took another step and then stopped. "You're smart, Lieutenant. Real smart. You know it takes two hands to undo one of those things."

"I haven't got a gun," I said, my back to him. "I'm sure you'll agree to that. What could I do against a big man like you?"

He laughed cynically. "Miss West, you're a riot. I know all about you, so you can quit fooling. You know more judo than half the Japanese army. Now, no more tricks, understand?"

I whirled. He was only a foot away and his revolver nearly touched my bare stomach. His face, coated with thick black grease, grimaced.

"What beachhead are you aiming for?" I demanded. "Or is it a party for ghouls?"

"Wouldn't you like to know? I'm enjoying this, Miss West. Really enjoying it. Reminds me of my soldiering days in the infantry. I remember one time we came into this little town in Italy, and there was this little Italian girl. Imagine that? A real blonde Malian. She was built like you. Built for action. Twice as big across the top as she was in the middle and could she make love! Brother!

"I'll bet," I said, edging nearer.

"Then I got back and all I knew was how to handle a gun. Funny isn't it? I went to college once. Played around too much. Never really learned anything."

I touched his coat and the gun barrel sank into my stomach. He trembled again as he looked down at me. "You're awful smart, Miss West. And awful pretty. I'd hate to spoil all that. Now, please? For the last time!"

"Who's paying you to do this?" I asked, moving back into the shadows and undoing my bra."

"Last time, Lieutenant," was the curt reply. "One more question and they'll bury you without military honors."

I removed the bra and threw it in his face. He flinched and grinned.

"You got a lot of guts, lady. And that's not all you got a lot of. I could go for you in a big way. A real big way. But that isn't what I'm here for. Now finish it and be quick. I'm taking you out of here one way or the other. So you'd just better make up your mind which way right now."

My fingers gripped the top of my panties. "Who's Lieutenant Sylvia Verse?"

"No more questions!"

"Is she dead?"

"Damn you!" the man cursed angrily. "Why did they have to send me after a woman? Now get into that uniform!" he roared.

"You won't kill me!" I said, reaching for the package. "You need me! Why?"

The man flattened against the wall, his gun hand trembling with emotion. "Lady, I can understand now why you're a private detective. You just don't give up, do you?" His massive shadow slanted crookedly across the ceiling. "You finish getting undressed and put those clothes on fast, understand? I won't answer for what I might do if you don't."

His voice stopped as he inhaled a deep breath. "You're right! I won't kill you. But you'll wish you were dead, because I'm strong and I'm lonesome. And I need somebody like you. Just the way you are. Mad enough to hit me and soft enough to—for Lord's sake get those clothes on!"

Again I knew he meant what he said. The bra and underpants in the package were both stamped with the name Sylvia Verse. I slipped them on quickly.

"That's better, Lieutenant." He breathed a little more easily. "Now you're acting like a real lady officer."

"Where are we going?"

He grinned faintly. "El Toro Marine Air Station."

"Why?"

"I'm supposed to deliver you there by five o'clock this morning. And we're going to be there on time."

I put on the uniform. It fit as if it had been made for me, everything including the shoes. I saluted when I finished dressing. "I'm ready. Remember, though, this is still against the law. You can quit now and be ahead."

He gestured toward the door. "March, Lieutenant. My car is parked down in front. One false move and..."

"I know."

In the hallway, he slipped the gun under his trench coat. We went down the stairs and onto the street. Neon lights winked eerily in the wet fog. There was no one on the sidewalk. He opened his door on the driver's side.

"Crawl through," he said. "And don't bother to try the other door. It's jammed."

I got in and pushed the passenger side handle. It wouldn't budge. "You've figured it all out," I said.

He nodded, climbed in behind the wheel and started the engine. "With you, lady, it's a necessity. Now lean back and relax. We should be there in about an hour."

 

Fog pressed in tightly as we reached the outer fringes of Long Beach. He flicked on the windshield wipers, cursed and brought the car to a slow crawl. As we moved cautiously through the swirling mist, I tried to fill in the complicated holes of this jigsaw puzzle. One of the biggest gaps belonged to Sylvia Verse. She was obviously a woman exactly my size. Probably attached to the El Toro Marine Air Station. But what had happened to her? And why was I chosen to take her place?

My mind fled back to the minutes before the grease faced hunk had emerged from the shadows of my office building corridor. I had received two phone calls. One from Lieutenant Mark Storm of the Sheriff's office, homicide, asking about a date for Saturday night and the other from a muffled-voiced man who drunkenly begged my pardon for dialing a wrong number. The last had undoubtedly been the final check on my whereabouts before the actual kidnapping. Now I recalled a similar wrong number several days ago. A woman had asked for—for Sylvia! I knew that name had rung some sort of bell.

The man rolled down his window and peered out at the elusive white line snarled grimly in fog. "We've got to be there by five," he said, almost to himself. "They won't wait."

"Who won't wait?"

"Nobody," he snapped.

"Why am I supposed to pose as Sylvia Verse?"

"Be quiet!"

I leaned toward him. "Look, if you need money..."

"Stay back!" he said. "I'm warning you." He took the revolver from inside his coat and pointed it at me again. "This is a big thing. I don't know why it's so big, but it is, you understand? You add up to about a hundred dollars a pound. And when somebody pays that kind of money for livestock, sister, I'm willing to supply and deliver. Can you match that officer?"

"Not exactly."

"I thought not." He reached over the seat. "Here, take this! But don't open it!"

He tossed a shoulder-bag in my lap. It was Marine style with the initials SLV stamped into the leather.

I shook my head. "You've got her uniform, her shoes, her purse—even her underwear. Where'd you bury the body?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Up until now," I said, "it might have been an accident that all the pieces to this uniform were marked with the name Sylvia Verse." I held up the bag. "But, this was no accident. It smells more like murder."

"You got me," he said, peering through the open window at the fogbound highway. "I don't know the lady. You're my sole claim to fame in this lashup and I don't plan to pull any triggers to get my money."

"Who hired you?"

"Kilroy," he said grinning.

"Did you call me a couple of hours ago?"

"Sure. I've had your building covered since this afternoon. I would pick a night when you were working late. Don't you ever go home?"

"Who's the payoff man?"

"Never met him. This is a C.O.D. order. Cash on the line when I hand you over."

"How do you know there won't be a double-cross?"

He grinned again. "I don't. That's where you come in, beautiful. They want you; I want the money. An even exchange or no deal. For your sake you'd better hope they forget their wallets."

"What do they want me for?"

"I don't know and I don't care. Any more questions?"

"You don't strike me as the kind of guy people hire for this kind of work."

"It takes all kinds of people to make a world," he said. "Now you, for instance. If I didn't know for sure, I'd never take you for a private eye."

"They used to say the same thing about my dad. He was in this racket until he caught a bullet one night in a dark alley. Funny though how a private eye always looks like a private eye when he's found dead."

"What do you mean?"

"They have such nice broad backs for characters like you to take a few pot shots."

He stiffened. "I never ambushed anybody in my life, understand?"

I didn't answer. He pulled off to the side of the road and cut his engine.

Through the mist I could make out a high wire fence on one side of the road and a grove of eucalyptus trees on the other.

"El Toro?" I asked, gesturing toward the fence.

"Yep."

"Where's my honor guard?"

He glanced at his wrist watch. "They should be here shortly. Don't be nervous, they won't let us down."

Headlights suddenly flashed about a hundred yards down the road and then blinked out.

"Last chance to reconsider," I said. "Kidnapping is a federal offense. You could get the gas chamber."

The headlights went on again. He trained his gun at my head.

"That's them," he said. "Come on, let's go."

He got out onto the road and I followed slowly. The fog was damp and dripped from eucalyptus branches as we walked up the road toward the two glaring yellow cones. He kept the gun at my back.

Ten yards from the car he ordered me to stop, then shouted, "Lieutenant Verse, reporting for duty as ordered!"

We heard a door open and slam shut.

"Advance and be recognized!" a harsh voice commanded.

The man pushed me forward. Our shoes cracked audibly on the wet asphalt. Suddenly I had an uneasy feeling that I was about to die. Etched in the brilliance of headlights I saw two shadowy figures. One held a snub-nosed submachine gun. I dove for the pavement. My massive, trench-coated escort swore, took one step toward the trees and then literally fell apart from a furious blast of bullets."

"Get the girl!" one of the men shouted.

I rolled toward a ditch along the edge of the wire fence as another hail of lead from the machine gun zinged off the pavement, barely missing my head. Darkness and fog swirled over me as I fell into the ditch and started crawling on hands and knees. Sharp stones tore at my legs. The clatter of metal-tipped heels rang in the night.

"Come back, Sylvia!" a man called. "We mean you no harm. It was all a mistake!"

I visualized my grease-faced friend sprawled headlong on the road and I knew their only mistake was that they hadn't nailed two with the same blast. Gears clashed behind me as an engine exploded into action. Then tires squealed on wet pavement and one of the cars droned away.

The silence that followed was disturbed by the distant howl of Marine jets winding up for their morning fights.

Cold fear touched my insides as I listened. One of the men might still be around and waiting for me to come out of hiding. I couldn't believe they were both gone. The character with the machine gun had been too anxious to drill a few new openings in my hide.

Footsteps came again, running close by. I slumped down, holding my breath.

"This way!" a voice yelled.

A light pierced the darkness.

"Over here!"

A yellow wedge sliced through the fog about five yards away. I got to my feet and ran in the other direction. Another beam stabbed into my eyes.

"Halt or I'll shoot!"

Three Marines clutching pistols converged on me and one of them, with three stripes on his sleeve, shoved a flashlight in my face.

"Here, Major!" the sergeant called.

"A tall, thin officer with sloping shoulders and a graying handlebar mustache strode out of the fog. He peered at me hard.

I breathed a sigh of relief. "You don't know how glad I am to see you gentlemen."

"I'll bet you are," the major growled. "Welcome back aboard, Lieutenant. We've missed you." His eyes darted to the dark pool swiftly spreading under the twisted body on the road. "Looks like you didn't miss him."