A Crying Shame (92 page)

Soon, boys,” he said.

The swamp seemed to sigh in reply.

Jon glanced at his watch: 2000 hours. He smiled. If he knew Von Pappen and Lewis—and he did, very well—they would be breaking all records getting to Despair. Should be pulling in at any moment. It would surprise Jon if they didn't.

The dead Links from the front yard were now cooling in the large freezers in the old servants' quarters just behind the big house. There was ample room in Paul's workshop to set up a small lab.

Seventy-two hours. Jon sighed. Not enough time. He would have to call Governor Parker, abort the mission. He...

Jon looked up at the sound of a fast-moving vehicle. A van. The driver whipped the van into the drive and Jon recognized that driver as Karl von Pappen. The burly German always drove—no matter where—as if he were on the unlimited Autobahn; wide open. The scientists had wasted no time in getting here. Von Pappen slammed on the brakes: the van slid to a stop. Dr. Walter Lewis bounced around in the front seat, cursing the German for his driving habits, calling him nine kinds of a bloody fool and tracing his family back through the ages . . . profanely.

The oaths would be shrugged off without comment. Von Pappen had been listening to them for fifteen years and they had no more effect on him than water on a duck. The men were good friends, each sharing a common pet theory: somewhere in this shrinking world was living evidence of a missing link.

Well, Jon smiled in the artificial light, in about five minutes they both would see that heretofore missing bit of physical and cultural development.

Walter's private secretary, traveling companion, and bedmate was in the rear of the van. Debbie would be cool and unflappable, listening to the constant exchange of dialogue—often heated—between the two scientists. Occasionally she would tell them both to please close their great flapping mouths and give her head a rest.

She would be completely ignored.

The English scientist was married, but his wife was a duchess or a lady—one of those fancy English titles—who looked like a steam locomotive, and flatly did not like sex. She knew of her husband's involvement with Debbie, and privately condoned it. Anything to keep him away from her precious cunt.

Jon again smiled, a thought leaping into his brain. He would sic Von Pappen on Tammy. The German was built like a stud horse and once in the saddle would ride all night. Unlike Lewis, Karl was not married . . . or married to his work would be more like it.

The men shook hands, slapped each other on the back, and exchanged a few friendly insults. They grinned broadly at one another. They were best of friends. Von Pappen—as was his style—came right to the point.

It is true? What you said, Jon? What you told me? You have found the missing link?”

Jon laughed openly at the man's excitement.
Judge for yourself.” He pointed toward the shed and the servants' quarters.

Von Pappen beamed.
Mit grosse Vergnugung, Herr Badon.”

The pleasure will be mine, as well, Karl,” Jon replied in English, although he spoke fluent German, sometimes acting as interpreter when the big German doctor became excited and shifted into his mother tongue.

The Englishman stood by in silence. Jon could read doubt in his eyes.
You will forgive me, old boy, if I allow doubt to prevail for a few more moments?”

Sixty seconds from now you won't be doubting.”

We shall see,” Walter said, looking around at the lovely old home.
How beautiful. The aestheticism alone would make the trip valuable.”

Bah!” Karl snorted.

Jon's eyes traveled over the lushness of Debbie. She met his wandering eyes.
Jon.” She smiled.