Chapter Seven

The first thing Paul really processed was the feeling that the floor was moving under him. He woke up more, squinting and grimacing in the near-darkness. His head was killing him. And . . . was he alone? He hadn't been before. He shouldn't be now.

Then again, he shouldn't be being shanghaied, either.

"Della?" he rasped. "Andy?"

He received two answering groans.

"Where . . . do you get off . . . calling me Andy?"

". . . Paul? Mr. Anderson?"

That woke Paul up the rest of the way. "Della?" he exclaimed. "You just called me Paul. Do you remember?"

". . . What? Oh. Mr. Drake. No, I'm sorry, I don't. I don't know why I did that just now."

Paul was not deterred. "Well, I do," he insisted. "It means you still remember the truth, deep down! You weren't thinking and it came out."

"Right now I think we have more important things to think about," Andy interjected. A tiny light clicked on. "Such as, where are we and why are we being abducted?"

Paul blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the penlight. "The last thing I remember is the lights going out in Della's house. Then that knockout gas bamboozled me and out I went."

"That's what I remember too," Andy said.

Della slowly pulled herself into a sitting position. A hand immediately flew to her head. "I smelled the gas when I was at the sink," she said. "I tried to call to both of you, but it overwhelmed me before I could."

"And now we're in a van or a truck or something bound for who knows where!" Paul cried. "Oh brother. They really don't want you and Perry to meet!"

"What?" Della stared. "You honestly think that's what this is about?"

"Why, that's preposterous," objected Andy. "There's no earthly reason for such a wild assumption!"

"Unless I'm right," Paul said. "Look, as long as we're moving, and at this speed, there's not much we can do but talk. My cellphone's been taken. Yours is probably gone too, if you brought it. So we won't be able to call for help."

"What are you proposing, Mr. Drake?" Andy asked as he checked his pockets. Paul was right; his phone was missing.

"Della's heard some of the truth," Paul said. "How about you hear it too?"

Andy was silent for a moment. "I suppose that's fair enough. Alright, Mr. Drake. Start talking."

xxxx

Hamilton was worried. He could not believe that Della would deliberately stand Perry up, even without remembering him. And Paul had still not contacted him, nor could Hamilton reach him.

"Perry, I have Della's address," he spoke now. They were walking back to his car in the Club Caribe's parking lot. "We should go there and find out what happened."

"Oh, I was a fool to think this would work," Perry said in disgust. "She probably thinks I'm some sort of sick pervert."

"You said she was bringing a chaperone," Hamilton said. "Perry, I'm afraid something is wrong. I'm going to drive out to her house and try to find out. If you'd rather think she jilted you, you can stay here and take a cab somewhere else."

Perry stiffened. ". . . One thing I've appreciated about you is that you've always been frank with me," he said. "You're right, of course. We should explore all possible angles. I'll come with you."

"Good," Hamilton retorted. Despite being relieved, he did not show it much now. He was too exasperated and worried.

He pondered on his earlier outburst as he drove to the Valley several minutes later. He had agreed with Perry that he wanted Perry's involvement in a plan, but had countered that it was a plan that would benefit all of them. That was true, every bit of it. But he had been so stunned by Perry's accusation that he had honed in on that aspect and had not even addressed anything else.

He had not told Perry how upset he had been when Tragg had told him about the accident. He had said nothing about the dire predictions concerning Perry's state of being that he had concocted in his mind while driving to the hospital or how he had wondered if Perry would even survive. And he had not acknowledged that the other reason he had offered to drive Perry to the Club Caribe was because he wanted to make sure Perry would get there safely.

Actually, he had thought the fact that he cared was obvious and he did not need to say anything. In the past, his actions had been enough. Perry had always known. But this Perry did not.

"Perry, I . . ." He hesitated, uncomfortable in the darkness. He kept his eyes on the road and gripped the steering wheel. ". . . When Lieutenant Tragg called and told me about the accident, I was worried."

"Worried?" Perry looked to him sharply. "Why?"

"Well . . . neither of us even knew how bad off you were. I didn't find out you were going to be alright until I got to the hospital."

"So you were concerned that this great plan of yours would fail without me," Perry said.

"No!" Hamilton exclaimed. "Perry, would you please stop dwelling on this thing about a plan? I care about you. I don't want you to be hurt! Why is that so hard to believe?"

Perry frowned deeply, leaning back in the seat. "To be honest, if things are as you say, it shouldn't be," he admitted. "If things are as I say, it is. But . . ." He shook his head. "The way I remember you is not the way you've acted today. And I know you wouldn't lie to me. Yet at the same time I find myself wondering what kind of trick you're pulling." He shook his head. "This is something that will take me some time to get used to. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is."

". . . At least if you admit you're trying to get used to it," Hamilton said quietly.

"I haven't tried very hard," Perry confessed. "It's too strange."

Hamilton shook his head. "Vivalene really did a number on me in this place," he muttered.

The rest of the drive was completed in silence. When they arrived at Della's house they received three surprises.

"The lights are all off," Hamilton noted with a frown. "And that's Paul's car in the driveway, along with those other cars. If they're in the house, why are they in the dark? And if they're gone, where did they go?"

"And who's that?" Perry exclaimed, leaning forward to have a better look. A strange man in a fedora and trenchcoat was walking around the perimeter of the property, gazing up at the house.

"I don't know, but we're going to find out!" Hamilton declared. He pushed open the door and stepped out, hurrying up the walk. "Hey!" he called. "What do you think you're doing?"

The other man jumped a mile. As he turned, his eyes were hidden under the brim of his hat. But the disapproving way he tensed was very clear. "You!" he declared.

Hamilton ground to a halt. "Steve?" he said in disbelief. "Lieutenant Steve Drumm?"

"I don't know what you're going on about," was the retort. "Yes, my name is Steve Drumm, but I'm a private investigator—as you know very well, Mr. Burger. I heard that you're taking steps to revoke Paul Drake's license."

Hamilton cringed. So this was what had become of Lieutenant Drumm in this strange world. He doubted that the Drumm he knew would be pleased.

"Then I guess you didn't hear that I determined the charges were false and dropped them," he said.

Drumm's eyes flickered with surprise. "No," he said. "I didn't. It's funny Mr. Drake hasn't mentioned it anywhere."

"He's probably too busy," Hamilton said. "Now, would you mind telling us what you're doing outside the house of Miss Della Street?"

Drumm glanced from Hamilton to Perry and back again, looking unsure if he minded or not.

"That's Mr. Drake's car parked here," Perry supplied. "Mr. Burger was concerned that something might be wrong with both him and Miss Street. I'm starting to wonder the same. Are you here on a case?"

"Why, no," Drumm exclaimed. Worried now, he hastened to clarify. "I know one of the neighbors. He told me he thought something odd was happening here, so I thought I'd come over and look before bothering the police."

"Exactly what did he think was happening here that was so odd?" Hamilton wanted to know.

"He said he saw an unmarked van parked in front," Drumm said. "He knew Miss Street had no intention of moving, so it seemed strange. Then all the lights went out in the house at once."

"Did he keep watching?" Perry queried.

"He wanted to, but there was a Christmas party going on at his house right then," Drumm said. "He was called away. When he went back, the van was gone and the house was just as it is now, cars and all."

Hamilton pulled out his cellphone. "I'm calling the police," he said.

"And I'm not going to wait for them," Perry declared. He headed up to the porch and tried the knob. "It's not locked." He pushed open the door and stepped inside. "Paul? Miss Street?"

The unpleasant air in the house had him gasping for breath in a matter of seconds. He clapped a hand over his nose and mouth.

"Knockout gas," Drumm deduced from behind him.

That was all Perry needed to hear. He barreled in deeper, continuing to call for the missing people. Once Hamilton had alerted the police, he cautiously entered the house as well. But neither of them had much hope. Della and Paul and whoever might have been with them—perhaps Andy—had likely been abducted. Once the house turned up empty, the police were of the same opinion.

"I can't understand it," Tragg frowned as he stood outside the house with Hamilton a while later. "You honestly think this ties in with someone trying to kill Perry Mason?"

"Tragg . . ." Hamilton sighed. "Even if you don't want to believe that what I've been telling you has any merit, look at the facts. Perry was going to meet Della tonight. Someone tampered with the brakes on his car and nearly killed him. But he came out alright and was still trying to keep the date. Only now Della is missing."

Tragg considered it and gave a grudging nod. "It could be a coincidence," he said. "But on the other hand we have to investigate every angle. Alright, Mr. Burger. Let's see if we can find a connection."

Hamilton relaxed. "Thank you," he said in all sincerity.

A frown crossed his features as he watched Tragg scratch down some notes. "You look exhausted," he observed.

"Yeah, I know," Tragg grumbled. "I don't know what it is. Maybe I've been taking your example and working too hard without realizing it."

"How long has it been going on?" Hamilton asked in concern.

Tragg shrugged. "Eh . . . I don't remember when it started." He paused, looking up. "I can never get enough sleep anymore. I'm always worn out no matter what I do."

"Have you seen a doctor?" Hamilton doubted it. Tragg was stubborn and not a fan of doctors or hospitals. Not that Hamilton blamed him in the least.

"Oh, he'd just want me to pop some pills or check into a sleep center," Tragg said. "I don't have time for either."

"He might not necessarily want that," Hamilton said. "Tragg, you need to find out what's wrong!"

"Well . . . maybe I'll take some time off next week," Tragg said.

"Yes, but you just said that nothing helps," Hamilton objected. "How will that do any good?"

"I won't know until I try. But enough about my problems! Let's find these people." Tragg looked back to his pad. "So Drake and this Miss Street are both missing. This other car in the driveway is registered to Andrew Anderson, the man Miss Street said she was going to bring as a chaperone to this meeting with Mason. He could either be another victim or maybe the perp."

Hamilton stared at him. It was beyond chilling, to hear him speak of Andy—a man whom he had called his surrogate son—in such a way. But no one would be more devastated than Tragg himself, if . . . no, when he remembered.

"Do you know anything else about Mr. Anderson?" he asked carefully, deciding it best not to even mention that Tragg was supposed to know him.

"He's the principal of Miss Street's school, according to a folder in her living room," Tragg said. "For now we're assuming that all three of them met with foul play. But if we find evidence later that makes it look bad for him, he'll become a person of interest." He walked away. "I'm going to call in."

Hamilton watched him go. Right now he felt absolutely helpless. Judging from how Perry looked, standing alone at the edge of the yard, he felt not only helpless but bewildered. Hamilton was not sure whether to go to him or not. Perhaps he wanted his space.

xxxx

By the time the vehicle was slowing at last, Paul had managed to enumerate the main points concerning their forgotten lives. He could barely see Andy's face in the heavily shadowed van or truck or whatever it was. But somehow he doubted that his words had made much of a mark—unless it was a negative one.

"What you're saying sounds absolutely insane," Andy said. "You realize that, don't you?"

"Yeah, I realize it," Paul growled. "So why would I go around saying it and getting branded a nut if I didn't think it was important?"

Andy sighed. "I don't know," he admitted. He looked to the third member of their group. "Miss Street, what do you think about this?"

Della was embarrassed to be put on the spot. "I'm really not sure," she said. "I haven't decided what to think. I was hoping that meeting with Mr. Mason would give me some answers."

She tensed as the van jerked. "But right now I'm afraid we have more important things to worry about," she said. "It feels like we're going to stop."

"Either that or we're going through a construction zone," Andy said.

The van ground to a halt within the next moments. Paul was fully at attention. He got up from the floor and walked over near the back. "The doors are locked," he reported. "Which isn't anything less than what we figured. But if they come around to let us out, we should take them by surprise and jump them."

"That's too dangerous!" Andy retorted. "What if they start shooting?"

"It's a risk we're going to have to take," Paul said. "Della, you get behind me."

Della stood, crossing the floor to where Paul was standing. As footsteps drew close from outside Paul pressed himself against the side wall. Andy scrambled to get into position on the opposite side. Whether or not he had determined that Paul was right was debatable. Or maybe it was his policeman's instinct.

The doors creaked open. Two men none of them had ever seen before were standing below, peering into the space. "Hey," exclaimed one, "where did they go?"

"Now!" Paul yelled. He and Andy leaped out of the van, tackling their shocked captors to the ground. "Della, run!" Paul ordered. "Find a phone and call for help!"

Della stared in horror at the vicious fight. How could she leave them here? They could be seriously injured before she could ever return. Of course, there wasn't much she could do anyway, other than to send for help. Rationally, she knew that was the best thing to do. But as she ran, jumped to the ground, and kept running, she still felt guilty. Forcing the sounds of the blows out of her mind, she tore for the nearest phone booth.

Paul bounced back from one particularly nasty punch, striking his enemy and forcing his shoulders hard into the asphalt. "Alright, give us some answers!" he barked. "Who are you and what were you trying to do with us?"

Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Andy was getting along alright too. Andy did not remember that he was a cop, but he still fought like one.

"Man, I don't know!" cried the guy Paul was restraining. "We were just hired to drive this rig and bring you guys out here. Someone else was going to take over then. We don't know who or why or what!"

"So you'll do anything for a buck," Paul said in disgust. "Is that it?"

"We didn't know what they wanted you for!" protested the second.

"You can't have thought it was anything good," Andy retorted. "You'll both be charged with abduction!"

"And don't look now, but the cavalry's coming," Paul said. "The enemy cavalry." He got to his feet, looking to a group of people just coming out of the expensive house they had parked in front of. From the looks of it, every one of them was armed.

Andy stared. "What are we going to do?"

"I've got an idea." Paul dug into the mercenary's pocket and pulled out a keyring. "I know how to drive these things. Let's take it, find Della, and get the heck out of here!"

Andy jumped up. "I like this idea of yours better than your others," he said.

With all of their newfound adversaries giving chase, Paul and Andy raced for the cab. Throwing open the doors, they climbed inside and pulled the doors shut after them. Paul had the engine running and was pulling out almost in one motion.

"Maybe I'll regret asking, but why exactly do you know how to drive this?" Andy asked, fumbling with the seatbelt.

"It's a long story," Paul returned. "Let's just say it has to do with a bizarre case involving paintings and a dirty cop."

He turned the truck around as fast as he dared. Several of the men were shooting at them. Bullets hit the van, the cab, and one drilled into the door. Paul clenched his teeth. "Not the tires," he prayed. "Just don't let them hit the tires."

He gathered speed as they went down the road. Before long Della came into view, running along the sidewalk. Andy flung open the passenger door. "Nevermind the phone call. Get in, quick!" he commanded.

Della looked up with a start. She needed no prodding. As Andy moved over she scrambled into the cab. He reached across her, pulling the door shut again.

"Are our friends still back there?" he asked.

Paul glanced out the window. "Oh yeah. They're still coming." He increased his speed. "Still shooting, too. Some of them are getting into a car. We're about to have even more unwelcome company."

"Shouldn't there be a radio in here?" Della wondered. "So the trucker can get in touch with his boss?"

"Della, you're a genius!" Paul proclaimed. "I've got to keep my eyes on the road. You and Andy look for a radio. Maybe we can call for help on that."

"I still say I don't know you well enough for you to call me Andy," Andy grumbled.

"You didn't say 'You don't know me,'" Paul noted. "That's an improvement."

Andy grunted. ". . . I don't see a radio," he said after a moment. "I think it's been removed."

Paul groaned. "I knew that would be too easy!" he berated. "Wait, is there a cellphone anywhere?"

"I don't see one," Della said as their search continued.

Another bullet hit its mark—the left side mirror. Paul flinched as it shattered. "Oh boy," he said. "Now we've got a blind spot. A big one." The dark car some of their pursuers had got into was probably gaining on them, but he could not even see for sure. "You'd think someone would see this procession and call the police!"

"This area is still under development," Andy said. "That house we were stopped at seems to be one of the only ones completed!" Indeed, they were speeding past houses in all states of incompletion. Construction equipment was in almost every yard.

"Nevermind the details!" Paul shot back. "Just worry about running out of road!"

Della looked up with a jerk. Up ahead, a mountain of dirt and a caterpillar blocked their path. "What are we going to do?" she exclaimed.

"Well, I don't think these things were built for this, but we don't have much choice. Hang on!" Paul pressed hard on the accelerator, forcing the rig to climb onto the browned grass and dirt just to the side of the road's end. They would have to travel over the ground reserved for new homes, praying for a shortcut to another real street.

The ride was jolting and jostling. Paul could do nothing but slow down, clenching his teeth and gripping the wheel. Behind them, the car was swiftly closing in the distance. It traveled much easier over the bumpy terrain, although its occupants were probably not pleased by the bouncing.

Della was clutching Andy's arm, her knuckles white. "We're not going to make it!" she cried. "They're catching up!"

"Oh, we're going to make it," Paul vowed. "We have to!"

A tire ran over a large rock. The truck veered and tipped dangerously, some of the tires on the right side beginning to rise into the air. Della screamed in terror. Paul and Andy braced themselves for the inevitable. They were going to crash!

At the last possible moment the tires settled back onto solid ground. But as they plunged downhill, a sickening boom resounded through the night. One of the back tires had been hit. The truck careened forward.

Paul slammed on the brakes, pushing harder and harder until it felt like the pedal would break through the floor. As they ground to a halt on a road at the bottom of the incline, the sound of sirens filled the air. The people in the dark car, seeing the approaching squad car from above, quickly turned and fled.

Slowly everyone began to relax. Della released Andy's arm, her fingers tingling as sensation began to return. "I think that's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard," she declared. The sirens grew louder and then stopped as the squad car pulled up in front of the truck.

Paul let go of the steering wheel. "Well, kids, what have we learned tonight?" he asked, forcing a bit of levity into his voice.

"Never take a semi off the road," Andy said, rubbing at his arm.

"Always be grateful the police are around," Della added.

The officers were hurrying out of the car and over to the truck. One of them stared in disbelieving astonishment. "Andy?" he cried.

Andy pushed open the door. "Jimmy!" he greeted. "Well, fancy meeting you here."

"The whole police force has been looking for you!" Jimmy said. "What happened? We thought you'd been kidnapped!"

"We were," Paul interjected. "We stole their truck and ran for it."

Jimmy shook his head, taking a step back to look at the battered vehicle. "This is going to make one wild report," he declared.

"You don't know the half of it," Paul said.

xxxx

Mignon closed the last book, troubled as she sank back into her chair. She had not found anything conclusive. If Hamilton was telling the truth—and she believed that indeed he was—the villains masterminding this plot had removed all references in the books that might help reverse what they had done.

Perhaps in the end, all they could do would be to seek out this box and the slab. Would destroying them break the spell? Or could there be more to it? With such an intricate plot it seemed unlikely that it could be stopped so simply.

But what else could be the key?

She stood, walking to the window and looking out at the darkened streets. "Hamilton, you came to me for help," she said quietly. "I don't want to let you down."

Perhaps in the morning she could call on some of her friends. They might know something she could try.

Morning, however, was a long way off. And sleep would more than likely be elusive tonight.

xxxx

It wasn't long before Jimmy's radio call brought several more cars to their location. Bullets were removed from the truck and imprints were taken of the dark car's tire tracks. The house, however, mysteriously and strangely, was altogether empty. What was more, it did not look like anyone was living there or even had been.

"Curiouser and curiouser," Paul grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. "How did they all clear out so fast?"

"Now that's the sixty-four thousand dollar question," Tragg remarked. Paul looked up with a start. Tragg was ambling over to him, Perry and Hamilton in tow.

"Paul, are you alright?" Perry called.

"Yeah, Perry, I'm fine," Paul returned. "So are Della and Andy." They were both in the process of giving their statements.

Perry started. "Miss Street is still here?"

"She's still here," Paul said firmly. "And as soon as she's done talking to Officer Anderson, you two are going to meet."

"Good," Perry said. But something about his manner of speech and his body language indicated that he was awkward and nervous at the thought.

Paul shook his head. "I wouldn't believe it if I wasn't looking right at it," he said to Hamilton as Hamilton walked over. "Perry's got the jitters about meeting a woman. And not just any woman, but Miss Della Street! You know, I'm still not sure I believe it."

Hamilton chuckled. "Well, we'll just have to hope it'll do some good," he said. He sobered. "Paul, what happened out there? Are you and Della and Andy really okay?"

"As far as I know," Paul said. "But am I telling you, it was a madhouse!"

They both came to attention as Della stepped away from Jimmy. She started walking and then stopped short, catching sight of Perry. He, at the same time, had noticed her.

". . . Excuse me," Perry said at last. "Are you Della Street?"

Della smiled. "Yes," she said. "And you don't need an introduction, Mr. Mason."

"Well." Perry came to stand in front of her. "Would you like to take a late dinner?"

"I would like that very much," Della said.

Perry extended his arm. "Then shall we go?"

Della took it. "How are we getting there?" she wondered. "I don't see anything but police cars. And somehow I don't think they would appreciate one of those being borrowed."

"I sent for a cab," Perry said. "You see, I hoped you would say Yes." He looked ahead. "Here it comes now."

"The driver has perfect timing," Della said in approval.

Paul crossed his arms, observing while Perry held the door open for Della to enter before getting in himself. "And there they go," he said. "Keep your fingers crossed."

"At least they seem to be off to a good start," Hamilton remarked.