of outer Rockland, a little known and highly classified scientific compound housing topsecret experiments. in micro-communications called in the authorities this morning, initially because the staff could not reach Dr. Rudolph Metz, the internationally renowned fiber optics scientist, on his telephone or on his beeper. Visits to his residence produced no response. The police, under warrant, broke in and found nothing irregular except for a minimal amount of clothing in the closets of a couple as well off as Dr. Metz and his wife. Later, the laboratory's technicians reported that the past year's entire research had been deleted from the computers, leaving in its stead a series of "frostbites" connoting a virus.
Dr. Metz, a seventy-three-year-old former wunderkind of
German science and a man who continuously extolled and "thanked the heavenly Father" for his American citizenship, was "a strange person," as was his fourth wife, according to neighbors in Rockland.
"They always kept to themselves, except when his wife would suddenly throw grand parties, showing off her jewelry, but nobody really knew them," said Mrs. Bess Thurgold, who lives next door.
"I couldn't relate to him," added Ben Marshall, an attorney who lives across the street.
"He'd clam up whenever I mentioned anything political, you know what I mean? I mean, here we were, a bunch of people who'd made it-hell, we couldn't afford to live here if we hadn't-but he never had an opinion. Not even about taxes!"
Unattributed speculation, at this juncture, centers on psychiatric distress induced by overwork, marital problems as a result of the disparity of age between his current wife and the oft-married Metz, and even kidnapping by terrorist organizations who could benefit by extracting his knowledge.
Latham and Stanley Witkowski drove the unconscious body of the false courier, directly to the colonel's apartment on the rue Diane. Using the delivery entrance, they took the neo up the freight elevator to Witkowski's floor and dragged him into the colonel's suite of rooms.
"This way we're not official, and that's bardzo dobrze," said Witkowski as they splayed the figure of the would-be killer on the couch.
"What?"
"It means that's 'good." Harry would have understood; he spoke Polish."
"Sorry about that."
"It's okay. You did all right tonight.. .. Now, we just have to get this cat awake and scare the shit out of him until he talks."
"How do we do that?"
"Do you smoke?"
"Actually, I'm trying to cut down."
"I'm not your conscience or someone from your support group.
Have you got a butt?"
"Well, I carry a few---emergencies, you know."
"Light one' and give it to me." The colonel began slapping the cheeks of the neo; the killer's eyes began to blink as Witkowski took the lighted cigarette from Latham.
"There's a bottle of Evian on my bar over there. Bring it to me."
"Here it is."
"Hey, Junge! " cried Witkowski, pouring the water over the face of their captive, whose eyes sprung wide.
"Keep those baby-blues open, fella, because I'm going to burn your eyeballs out, okay?" The colonel placed the burning cigarette a quarter of an inch above the neo's left eye.
"Ah-baal" screamed the Nazi.
"Please, nein!"
"Are you telling me you're not so tough after all? Hell, you burned people, eyes and all, bodies and all. Are you saying you can't take one eyeball-then, of course, maybe the next?" The lighted cigarette touched the outer jell of the neo's eye.
"Ahhyaa-ayahh!" The colonel slowly pulled the cigarette away.
"The sight may come back in that one, but only with proper treatment. Now, if I perform the same operation with your other, it will be different. I'll burn through the retina and, God knows, even I couldn't stand the pain, forget about the blindness." Witkowski moved the cigarette to the right eye, an ash falling into it.
"Here we go, -Wehrmacht, see how it feels."
I "Nein-nein! Ask me what you will, but do not do this!"
Moments later, the colonel continued while the neo held an ice pack over his left eye.
"Now you know what I'm capable of, Herman, or whatever your name is. just as you bastards were fifty years ago, when I lost a couple of grandparents in Auschwitz. As far as I'm concerned, I'll put you back on those pillows and not only burn your eyes out, but cut off your balls. Then I'll set you free and see how you handle the streets!"
"Cool it, Stosh," said Latham, gripping Witkowski's shoulder.
"Don't you tell me to cool anything, youngster! My people hid Jews and they were gassed for it!"
"Okay, okay, but right now we need information."
"Right .. . right." The colonel breathed deeply, then spoke quietly.