Conquest of the Planet of the Apes - Jakes John - Страница 10

He turned and walked sluggishly back along the tunnel. Caesar watched the man’s figure dwindle, passing in and out of the soft pools of fight, growing smaller until it disappeared altogether. The harbor horn sounded mournfully.

“An hour—two at most—that’s really a very short time,” Caesar said to himself. Yet huddled against the bare concrete wall, he was unable to avoid one chilling realization. For the first time in his entire existence, he was utterly alone. He kept staring after Armando with huge, rounded eyes, as if just wishing would bring his only friend back.

FIVE

Jason Breck stood on the terrace of his operations suite and studied the high rises of his city, brilliantly illuminated shafts piercing the night sky. It was his city. He took pride in the fact that he could claim that at age thirty-three.

The goal had not been won without immense effort, long hours, and some bureaucratic in-fighting he preferred not to remember—along with its victims. But he’d made it. Now he could stand at the rail gazing at the orderly rows of buildings—Breck delighted in order, neat arrangements, all loose ends tied—and take pleasure from the view. Perfect. Except for one problem waiting to be solved immediately, just inside, in his personal office. Perfect—Except for the dark stain in view on the pavement many stories below. There, earlier today, a gorilla had gone berserk.

Jason Breck refused to glance down at that stain again. With the delicate man-simian balance he was responsible for maintaining in the city, he would brook no slovenly discharge of housekeeping—or order-keeping—duties. Signs of such duties undone enraged him.

The stain, and the problem waiting in the office, erased much of his customary easygoing charm. He wanted to be neither charming nor agreeable tonight. Things were getting ever so slightly out of hand. He hadn’t slept well in recent weeks because of it.

To bring the waiting problem to a quicker solution, he had decided to stroll out on the terrace for a few minutes. His politician’s mind told him that a slight delay might actually speed matters along—by increasing the strain on the suspect.

Judging that the proper amount of time had now passed, Breck turned around. He saw that he was right, but no smile showed on his tanned face.

Inside the rolled-back doors, the flashily dressed suspect shifted in the chair on the other side of Breck’s priceless, genuine walnut desk. Three small lamps in the large office created vast islands of shadow—an intimidating effect. Near one of these lamps, Breck’s aide, MacDonald, hunched forward on the edge of a lounge, awaiting the next move. Opposite stood two other men.

Kolp was heavyset, bespectacled; Hoskyns, lean, wiry. Both held posts in the top echelon of the State Security Agency. Like MacDonald, both watched Breck on the terrace for a cue.

Walking with relaxed strides—another studied effect—Breck re-entered the office. He sat down opposite the suspect, folded his hands on the gleaming walnut desk top.

“Senor Armando,” he said. “I’m afraid I am still not satisfied with your explanation. Why did you say ‘human?’ It’s a decidedly odd term for another human to use.” Breck pinned the suspect with an emotionless stare. “Don’t you agree?”

The city governor could smell the circus owner’s sweat. It was most unpleasant. He concealed his distaste, and the nagging concern that underlay all his tension tonight, and continued to fix Armando with an authoritative stare.

Armando sputtered a few incoherent syllables—good sign—strategy working—before making sense: “Mr. Governor, I did not say ‘human’.”

“But Senor, a score of witnesses—”

“I don’t care; they are wrong. I said ‘inhuman!’ I said, ‘You lousy inhuman bastards.’ And by the Blessed Saint Francis who loved all animals, I meant it!”

For a moment Armando’s dark Latin eyes showed defiance. Breck was sure it wouldn’t last. It didn’t. Armando’s tone suddenly became conciliatory. “Sir, as I have told you several times, I came to you voluntarily. To explain that the animal has run away before. To clear up the misunderstanding. And to beg your permission to be allowed to search for my star performer again, unmolested. Would I have come here trying to deceive you? You, with the authority to command an entire city of police investigators?”

Armando indicated the silent Kolp and Hoskyns. But Breck noted the tremor in the gesture. Armando went on. “I could not hope to do such a thing, Mr. Governor! I am a plain, uneducated man. I run a circus, I—”

“We know you run a circus,” Kolp interrupted, lamplight flashing on his spectacles. He sounded irritated. Hoskyns added immediately: “We did some checking. We know that you’ve run the circus since twenty years ago—”

“The very year,” said Breck, “when the two talking apes arrived on Earth. And produced a baby whose survival could have threatened the future of the human race. You remember, don’t you?”

“Naturally, of course,” Armando nodded. “But—”

“Governor Breck.”

The governor swiveled in his silent, perfectly sprung chair. “What is it, Mr. MacDonald?”

“I don’t see where this line of questioning is leading us. It’s my understanding that the baby was shot dead along with his parents.”

“Or so the authorities believed,” Breck replied, annoyed with his aide for a moment. “However, there was some confusion about the shooting, and, since the incident down below involving this man and his animal, I’ve been wondering whether it was the right baby.”

Through narrowed eyes, Breck watched for a reaction on Armando’s face. He saw only bewilderment.

Taking off his spectacles and polishing them, Kolp began to hammer a little harder. “There’s plenty of room for suspicion. The apes could have switched their baby for one stolen from the zoo—”

“Or one from a circus,” Hoskyns said, with sharp meaning. Breck admired the way Kolp and Hoskyns worked. As a team, they were relentless. They never lost.

Abruptly, Armando began to laugh. Kolp scowled, jammed his spectacles back in place. Hoskyns licked his lips and started to say something. Breck raised one perfectly manicured hand to allow Armando to hold the floor a moment. He got the desired effect. Armando’s laugh weakened to a nervous chuckle. Then it stopped altogether. He sounded extremely defensive when he said, “Mr. Governor—you can’t be serious!”

“Oh, yes.” Breck unfolded his lean frame from the chair, walked around the desk and leaned over the circus owner. “We have here a recording of the report of the Presidential Security Commission, established twenty years ago to deal with the fate of the talking apes. They realized that Cornelius and Zira had, somehow, come out of the future, and that their descendants had subjugated the human race and all but destroyed Earth. They knew Zira to be pregnant, and recommended abortion and sterilization. We know that these procedures were not carried out because the apes escaped, were tracked down, and shot. But—what if the offspring of Cornelius and Zira somehow survived? Wouldn’t that be a matter for grave concern? Wouldn’t that be, in fact, a circumstance laden with unprecedented danger for this society?” He stormed forward, towering over Armando. “So let’s not have any more laughter, Senor! Let’s have your answer!”

Breck had to give the old man credit. He didn’t break under the sudden, deliberate pressure. If Armando were indeed lying—and all at once Breck had doubts—then some exceedingly strong motivation lent him unexpected strength.

Armando was smart enough not to incur further anger. He didn’t laugh. But his simple gesture was enough to express his continuing incredulity.

“I don’t see any way that what you suspect could have happened, sir. Every zoo in the state of California, public or private, was searched by state security officers. And every circus—including my own.”