"That's not the way they tell it here."
"Believe them or believe me, dear. But remember I give them their orders."
He was persuasive … goddamned persuasive. He seemed nearly harmless-but that wasn't exactly true, was it? That feeling only came from seeing that he was a man … or something that looked like a man. There was enough relief in just that to turn her into something like Silly Putty. He had a presence, and a politician's knack of knocking all your best arguments into a cocked hat … but he did it in a way she found very disturbing.
"If you don't mean war, why the jets and all the other stuff you've got out at Indian Springs?"
"Defensive measures," he said promptly. "We're doing similar things at Searles Lake in California, and at Edwards Air Force Base. There's another group at the atomic reactor on Yakima Ridge in Washington. Your folks will be doing the same thing … if they're not already."
Dayna shook her head, very slowly. "When I left the Zone, they were still trying to get the electric lights working again."
"And I'd be happy to send them two or three technicians, except I happen to know that your Brad Kitchner already has things going nicely. They had a brief outage yesterday, but he solved the problem very quickly. It was a power overload out on Arapahoe."
"How do you know all that?"
"Oh, I have my ways," Flagg said genially. "The old woman came back, by the way. Sweet old woman."
"Mother Abagail?"
"Yes." His eyes were distant and murky; sad, perhaps. "She's dead. A pity. I really had hoped to meet her in person."
"Dead? Mother Abagail is dead?"
The murky look cleared, and he smiled at her. "Does that really surprise you so much?"
"No. But it surprises me that she came back. And it surprises me even more that you know."
"She came back to die."
"Did she say anything?"
For just a moment Flagg's mask of genial composure slipped, showing black and angry bafflement.
"No," he said. "I thought she might … might speak. But she died in a coma."
"Are you sure?"
His smile reappeared, as radiant as the summer sun burning off ground-fog.
"Never mind her, Dayna. Let's talk of more pleasant things, such as your return to the Zone. I'm sure you'd rather be there than here. I have something for you to take back." He reached into his shirt, removed a chamois bag, and took three service station maps from it. He handed them to Dayna, who looked at them with growing bewilderment. They showed the seven Western states. Certain areas were shaded in red. The hand-lettered key at the bottom of each map identified them as the areas where population had again begun to spring up.
"You want me to take these?"
"Yes. I know where your people are; I want you to know where mine are. As a gesture of good faith and friendship. And when you get back, I want you to tell them this: that Flagg means them no harm, and Flagg's people mean them no harm. Tell them not to send any more spies. If they want to send people over here, have them call it a diplomatic mission … or exchange students … or any damn thing. But have them come openly. Will you tell them that?"
She felt dazed, punchy. "Sure. I'll tell them. But-"
"That's all." He lifted his open, empty palms again. She saw something and leaned forward, unsettled.
"What are you looking at?" There was an edge in his voice.
"Nothing."
But she had seen, and she knew from the narrow expression on his face that he knew she had. There were no lines on Flagg's palms. They were as smooth and as blank as the skin on an infant's stomach. No lifeline, no loveline, no rings or bracelets or loops. Just … blank.
They looked at each other for what seemed a very long time.
Then Flagg bounced to his feet and went toward the desk. Dayna also rose. She had actually begun to believe that he might let her go. He sat on the edge of the desk and drew the intercom toward him.
"I'll tell Lloyd to have the oil and the plugs and points changed on your cycle," he said. "I'll also tell him to have it gassed up. No more worries about gas or oil shortages now, hey? Plenty for all. Although there was a day-I remember it, and probably you do too, Dayna, when it seemed as if the whole world might go up in a series of nuclear fireballs over a lack of premium unleaded gasoline." He shook his head. "People were very, very stupid." He thumbed the button on the intercom. "Lloyd?"
"Yeah, right here."
"Will you have Dayna's bike gassed and tuned up and left in front of the hotel? She's going to be leaving us."
"Yes."
Flagg clicked off. "Well, that's it, dear."
"I can … just go?"
"Yes, ma'am. It's been my pleasure." He lifted his hand to the door … palm side down.
She went to the door. Her hand had barely brushed the knob when he said: "There is one more thing. One … very minor thing."
Dayna turned to look at him. He was grinning at her, and it was a friendly grin, but for a flashing second she was reminded of a huge black mastiff, its tongue lolling over white spiked teeth that could rip off an arm as if it was a dishrag.
"What's that?"
"There's one more of your people over here," Flagg said. His smile widened. "Who might that be?"
"How in the world would I know?" Dayna asked, and her mind flashed: Tom Cullen! … Could it really have been him?
"Oh, come now, dear. I thought we had it all straightened out."
"Really," she said. "Look at it straight ahead and you'll see I'm being dead honest. The committee sent me … and the Judge … and who knows how many others … and they were very careful. Just so we couldn't tattle on each other if something … you know, happened."
"If we decided to pull some fingernails?"
"Okay, yes. I was approached by Sue Stern. I'd guess Larry Underwood … he's on the committee, too-"
"I know who Mr. Underwood is."
"Yes, well, I'd guess he asked the Judge. But as for anyone else … " She shook her head. "It could be anyone. Or anyones. For all I know each of the seven committee members was responsible for recruiting one spy."
"Yes, that could be, but it isn't. There's only one, and you know who it is." His grin widened yet more, and now it began to frighten her. It was not a natural thing. It began to remind her of dead fish, polluted water, the surface of the moon seen through a telescope. It made her bladder feel loose and full of hot liquid.
"You know," Flagg repeated.
"No, I-"
Flagg bent over the intercom again. "Has Lloyd left yet?"
"No, I'm right here." Expensive intercom, good reproduction.
"Hold off a bit on Dayna's cycle," he said. "We still have a matter to"-he looked at her, and his eyes glimmered speculatively-"to thrash out in here," he finished.
"Okay."
The intercom clicked off. Flagg looked at her, smiling, hands folded. He looked for a very long time. Dayna began to sweat. His eyes seemed to grow larger and darker. Looking into them was like looking into wells which were very old and very deep. This time when she tried to drag her gaze away, she couldn't.
"Tell me," he said, very softly. "Let's not have any unpleasantness, dear."
From far off, she heard her voice say, "This whole thing was a script, wasn't it? A little one-act play."
"Dear, I don't understand what you mean."
"Yes, you do. The mistake was having Lloyd answer so fast. When you say frog around here, they jump. He should have been halfway down the Strip with my cycle. Except you told him to stay put because you never intended to let me go."
"Dear, you've got a terrible case of unfounded paranoia. It was your experience with those men, I suspect. The ones with the traveling zoo. It must have been a terrible thing. This could be a terrible thing, too, and we don't want that, do we?"
Her strength was draining away; it seemed to be flowing down her legs in perfect lines of force. With the last of her will, she turned her numb right hand into a fist and struck herself above the right eye. There was an airburst of pain inside her skull and her vision went wavery. Her head rocked back and struck the door with a hollow whack. Her gaze snapped away from his, and she felt her will returning. And her strength to resist.
"Oh, you're good," she said raggedly.
"You know who it is," he said. He got off the desk and began to walk toward her. "You know and you're going to tell me. Punching yourself in the head won't help, dear."
"How come you don't know?" she cried at him. "You knew about the Judge and you knew about me! How come you don't know about-"
His hands descended on her shoulders with terrible power, and they were cold, as cold as marble. "Who?"
"I don't know."
He shook her like a ragdoll, his face grinning and fierce and terrible. His hands were cold, but his face gave off the baking oven heat of the desert. "You know. Tell me. Who?"
"Why don't you know? "
"Because I can't see it! " he roared, and flung her across the room. She went in a boneless, rolling heap, and when she saw the searchlight of his face bearing down upon her in the gloom, her bladder let go, spreading warmth down her legs. The soft and helpful face of reason was gone. Randy Flagg was gone. She was with the Walkin Dude now, the tall man, the big guy, and God help her.