The Deadly Daughters by Winston K. Marks (latest books to read .txt) 📗

"I regret," she intoned, "that I have but one life to give to my country!" Then her lip curled. "Very well, brainy, if that's the best you can think up. Let's make it better yet. How about this for a headline: Dr. Long and Lovely Model Murdered by Federal Hoods!"

"Are you insane?"

She shook her head. "I'm dead serious. I'm sticking right in the line of fire until you figure out a way to stay alive at a profit."

He argued, pleaded and even lost his temper, pulling her to her feet and trying to force her out the door. He didn't make it. Somehow his arms slipped too far around her, and she clamped herself to him in a defiant embrace. The soft warmth of her body, her sweet breath in his nostrils, the faint essence of her perfume enveloped him in a befuddling weakness.

Live at a profit? How could a man want to die with Julie Stone in his arms?

He knew it was supremely idiotic, but the thought of her fabulous form crumpled and riddled with bullets slashed at the tendons of his resolve, and he clutched her lips to his with the hunger of the condemned man he was.

"Julie, Julie! Why did you have to—"

"One bullet, a single bullet will do it now." Her lips peeled back from her white teeth. "Let's stay this way, darling. That's the way you want it."

Her low, black sedan nibbled at the 100-mile-per-hour limit on the Freeway as they crossed the state line. In the back seat, reclining out of sight, his head pillowed on his brief case full of his documented case against the Humanist Party, was a very thoughtful Dr. Hubert Long, recently of Mentioch University.

He had driven until dawn while Julie Stone slept, and now, after a brief nap, he was waking to some of the realities of the morning.

This flight was utterly absurd. When the federal people discovered he was not dead they would come after him again and again. All he had done was involve this lovely woman. Long since he had controlled fear for his own life, but now he knew the exquisite torment of fearing for the woman he loved.

The emotion was genuine and no less raging for its swift eruption in the space of a single evening. Dr. Hubert Long was hopelessly and deeply in love with Julie Stone.

"Quit worrying," she called back to him. "They couldn't have spotted my car. I parked it a block from your house, remember?"

"I hope you have a plan," Long muttered. "I certainly don't. Where are we heading?"

"Florida. To my brother's winter place. You know, I just had a thought. Tom and I are both on the board of regents of Toppinhout College down there, and there'll be an opening next quarter in the faculty. A professorship, in fact."

Long grunted. "No dice. They'll have every political scientist in the country under scrutiny for years."

"This is the chair of anthropology," she said. "We can change your name, and after this first excitement of your disappearance dies down—"

"But I don't want it to die down!" he objected.

"I thought we settled that. You've got to stay alive to talk to important people. Tom and I will round them up secretly, and you can present your case to them. My brother is the senior Senator, you know, and he's been itching to bolt the Humanist Party for the last two terms."

"What can I accomplish in secret conferences? The people are the ones who must be aroused."

"I know, I know, from a soapbox in Times Square, I suppose. Darling, you can't accomplish this alone. They've proved they are willing to take the chance of killing you, so they must be stronger than you think. Your facts must come to the attention of the right people. Over a period of time we can organize a truly effective underground."

"Toppinhout is a girls' college."

"So?"

"I've never taught anthropology before."

"You've never been married before, either," she pointed out, "but I predict you'll be a success at both."

"Married?" Long popped his head up.

She smiled at him in the rear-view mirror. "Get your head down before you get it blown off. Yes, I said married. I'm not trusting that pug-ugly, beautiful mug of yours out of my sight from now on. And I'm afraid Tom will shoot you himself if you don't make it conventional. Tom's old-fashioned."

"But—I couldn't support you on—"

"A full professor's salary? Don't be foolish. Besides, I'm retiring from my agency. Selling out. That'll set us up housekeeping."

That such a prosaic term as "set us up housekeeping" should send molten lava racing through his veins, did not seem strange to Dr. Hubert Long. How could a man successfully keep his mind on dying when at last a work of art like Julie seemed within his reach? He knew that his plans were irrevocably changed.

Emily Bogarth turned to the phone speaker as her assistant made the circuit and signalled to her.

"On the Hubert Long mission—" the speaker said. "Mission accomplished from this end. I trust you have a likely story for the press?"

"Never mind that. Did it come off as planned?"

"Precisely. Your marksmen were quite effective."

Emily Bogarth sighed. "Sorry to sacrifice you, honey, but the other way is just too messy."

"Don't mention it. This chap has a very interesting mind. He's a challenge—in more ways than one. By the way, get word to Senator Stone, will you? Have him fly down to his winter home at once. He'll be needed. Some Party members, too."

"Of course. That's all set up. Good luck!"

"Thanks, but you can put your mind at rest. Dr. Hubert Long is positively liquidated."

Julie stepped from the phone booth and paid the service attendant for the gasoline. He looked at her as he dropped the change into her hand and wondered who the lucky chap in the back seat might be. A man would sell his soul for the right kind of a look from those green eyes.

THE END