Universe Twister - Keith Laumer [225]
"Me—single-handed—plus one Field Agent you're apparently ready to abandon? What can we do?"
"I'm afraid that's up to you, Lafayette," Nicodaeus said, his voice fainter now as the crackling on the line increased. "I have great confidence in you, you know."
"What does this Quelius look like?" Lafayette shouted.
"He's an elderly man—about five three—bald as an egg."
"Did you say five three, elderly—and bald as an egg?"
"Correct. Not very formidable in appearance, but a deadly antagonist—"
"With a squeaky voice?"
"Why—yes! Have you seen him?"
"Oh, yes, I've seen him," Lafayette said, and uttered a hollow laugh. "I got him into the palace, past the guards, hid him until they were gone, gave him explicit directions for reaching Adoranne's apartment, patted him on the head, and sent him on his way . . ."
" . . . fayette—what's that . . . hear you . . . fading . . ." The static rose to drown the faint voice.
"Chee, boss, what's duh matter?" Clarence inquired as O'Leary hung up the phone. "Youse are as white as a tombstone!"
"Under the circumstances, that's an apt simile." Lafayette chewed his lower lip, thinking hard. Lom—or Quelius—at least hadn't lied when he named the villain of the piece—had used him like a paper towel. He'd gotten himself thrown in the same dungeon, pumped him dry of information, and then removed himself to a place of safety, leaving a gullible O'Leary to fare forth into the waiting arms of the enemy.
"Well, I'll fool him on that point, anyway," O'Leary said aloud. "Clarence—how would you like to have a real undercover assignment?"
"Chee, boss! Great!"
"All right, listen carefully . . ."
2
"Wait five minutes," O'Leary completed his instructions. "Then go into action. And remember: stick to your story, no matter what—until I give you the signal."
"Got it, Chief."
"Well—so long, and good luck." Lafayette opened the double glass doors that led onto the small balcony, stepped out into a drizzling rain under a sky the color of aged pewter.
"Splendid," he commented. "It fits right in with the overall picture." The iron railing was cold and slippery under his hands as he climbed over, lowered himself to find a foothold in the dense growth of vines below.
"Hey," Clarence said, leaning over to stare down at him. "A guy could like get hurt iff'n he was to fall offa dere."
"I've made this climb before," O'Leary reassured him. "In the dark. Now go back inside before you catch cold." He started down, wet leaves slapping at his face, icy water running down inside his sleeves. By the time he reached the stone coping twenty feet below, he was soaking wet. Carefully not looking down at the paved court a hundred feet beneath him, he made his way around the tower to a point above the slanting, copper-shingled roof of the residential wing. It was another fifteen-foot climb down to a point where he could plant a foot on the gable, which looked far steeper and more slippery than he had remembered.
No time now for second thoughts, he told himself firmly, and leaped, throwing himself flat. His hands scrabbled at the wet surface; he slid down until his feet went over the edge, his shins, his knees—and stopped.
All right, heart; slow down. The heavy copper gutter was under his belt buckle. He hitched himself sideways to a point which he estimated was approximately opposite the window to a small storeroom, then lowered himself over the edge. The window was there, directly before him, three feet away under the overhanging eave. Lafayette swung a toe at the latch securing the shutters; they sprang open, banging in the wind. A second kick, lightly administered, shattered the glass. He tapped with his boot, clearing the shards away.
"All right, O'Leary," he whispered, eyeing the dark opening. "Here's where that book you read on acrobatics will come in handy."
He swung himself forward, back, forward, back—
On the forward swing he let go, shot feetfirst through the window to slam the floor of the room rump-first.
3
"Nothing broken," O'Leary concluded after struggling to his feet