Chapter 13 Chapter Thirteen

"It's like a school," Hillary said. She returned to her room again to find that the clothes she had chosen had arrived.So she hung her clothes in the closet and arranged the rest of the room to her liking. "I know," Betterton said, "I started off feeling the same way you did." The conversation between them was discreet and somewhat artificial.There may be a bug, hanging over their hearts like a shadow.He said in a roundabout way: "I think it's a good place, you know, maybe I'm overthinking it, but anyway..." That's all he said.Hillary understood what he hadn't said: "But anyway, we better not take it lightly."

Hillary thought the whole thing was an unimaginable nightmare.Here she was, sharing a bedroom with a complete stranger.But the uncertainty and the sense of danger were so strong that this intimacy was not embarrassing for either of them.She thought, just like mountaineering in Switzerland, it is natural to share a hut with guides and other climbers, leaning against each other.After a minute or two Betterton said: "It takes a bit of work to get used to, you know, and we can let it go. A normal couple, roughly as if we were still in our own home." She realized it was wise to do so.That sense of unreality remains, and, she reckons, will be for some time to come.Betterton's reasons for leaving England, his thoughts, and how he came to his senses, are questions that cannot be touched at the moment.It can be said that there are two people acting, but there are unspeakable threats of life and death hanging over their heads.She immediately said:

"I was taken through a lot of formalities, physical examinations, psychological tests, things like that." "Yes, it's always been done that way. I suppose it's the custom." "Do you have to go through these procedures when you come?" "Approximately." "Later, I went to see...the vice president, that's what you call him." "Very good. He runs the place, is competent, and an ideal executive." "But he is not the highest chief here, is he?" "Oh, no. We still have the dean." "Does one--do I--want to see the Abbot?"

"I guess sooner or later. But he doesn't come very often. He gives us reports sometimes—he's a very exciting character." Betterton's brow furrowed a little again, and Hilary felt it was best to drop the subject.Betterton looked at his watch and said: "Supper at eight. That's eight to eight-thirty. We'll go downstairs when you're ready, shall we?" He spoke as if they were staying in a hotel. Hilary had already changed into the clothes she had chosen.The soft gray-blue color against her red hair is very pleasing to the eye.Now, with a rather attractive jeweled necklace adorning her neck, she said she was ready.They strolled down the stairs and down the aisle to the spacious dining room.Miss Johnson came forward.

"Tom, I have arranged a larger table for you," he said to Betterton. .” They walked to the assigned table.Most of the restaurants are small tables that can seat four, eight or ten people.Peters and Erickson, who were already sitting there, stood up as Hilary and Tom approached.Hillary introduced her "husband" to the two of them.They sat down, and after a while, another couple came.Betterton introduces them as Dr. and Mrs. Murchison. "Simon works in the same lab as me," he explained. Simon Murchison was a tall, pale young man of about twenty-six.His wife was black-haired and short and stocky.She spoke with a foreign accent, and Hilary never determined that she was Italian.Her Christian name is Bianca.She exchanged polite greetings with Hilary, but Hilary thought she seemed more measured.

"Tomorrow," she said, "I'm going to show you around. You're not a scientist, are you?" "Sorry," Hilary said, "I don't have any scientific training." She added, "I was a secretary before I got married." "Bianca has studied law," said her husband. "She has studied economics and business law. Sometimes she lectures here, but it is difficult to do more and not be idle." Bianca shrugged. "I'll see what I can do," she said. "After all, Simon, I'm here to be with you, and I think there's a lot here that could be better organized. I'm studying the living conditions here. In all likelihood, Mrs Betterton, who does not do any scientific work, will help me."

Hillary hastily agreed to the plan.And Peters made everyone laugh when he said this depressing statement: "I feel like a kid who just started boarding school and gets homesick. I'm going to settle down and get a job." "This place has excellent working conditions." Simon Murchison introduced enthusiastically, "There is no interference, and all the equipment and equipment are available." "What do you study?" Peters asked. Now the three men were talking in their own jargon, which Hilary could not understand at all.So she turned to Eriksson, who leaned back in the chair, looking absent-minded.

"And you?" she asked, "do you feel like a homesick little kid too?" He looked at her as if he were far away from her. "I don't need a home," he said. "All that: a family, a love union, parents, children, all that is a burden. A man who wants to work should be completely free." .” "So, do you think you'll be free here?" "It's still hard to say. Let's hope so." Bianca said to Hillary: "After dinner, there are many things you can do at your disposal. There is a card room where you can play bridge; there is also a movie theater, and there are three drama performances a week, and sometimes there are dances."

Eriksson frowned lamely, disapprovingly. "All of this is unnecessary," he said. "It's a waste of energy." "It's not like that for us women," Bianca said. "It's necessary for us women." He glared at her with an almost cold and inhuman disgust. Hilary thought: "For him, even women are unnecessary." "I'm going to bed early," Hillary said.She yawned deliberately, "I don't want to watch a movie or play cards tonight." "Well, dear," said Betterton hastily, "you'd better go to bed early and get a good night's sleep. Don't forget, it was a very tiring journey."

When they stood up, Betterton said: "At night, the air here is very fresh. After dinner, we often take a walk on the roof garden for a while, and then separate, some go to entertainment activities, some go back to work and study. We go up for a while, and then you go to rest." They go up in the elevator.The elevator was driven by a handsome scholar in white.The waiters were not like the thin, fair-skinned Berbers, they were darker and more stocky-something, Hilary thought, from a desert people.She hadn't expected such a magnificent roof garden, and she was taken aback.Also, it must have cost a lot of money to build these luxurious facilities.Tons and tons of soil were carried up here.Just like the fairy tales in "Arabian Nights".There are fountains, tall oak trees, tropical banana trees and other plants, and paths paved with beautiful colored tiles in the pattern of Persian flowers.

"It's unbelievable!" Hilary exclaimed, "It's surrounded by deserts!" She expressed her feelings: "It's like a fairy tale in "The Arabian Nights." "I quite agree, Mrs. Betterton," said Murchison, "that it's as if you've prayed to God! Why—I suppose there's nothing you can't do, even in the desert." , as long as there is water and money—both in abundance.” "Where does the water come from?" "The spring water drawn from the deep mountain. This is the root of this unit's survival." There used to be quite a few people standing around in the roof garden, but they gradually disappeared without a trace. The Murchisons also resigned.They go to the ballet. There are not many people left.Betterton took Hilary by the arm and led her to a secluded clearing near the railing.The sky is full of stars and the air is cool and pleasant.It's just the two of them.Hilary sat down on a low concrete plinth with Betterton standing in front of her. "Hi!" He lowered his voice and asked nervously, "Who the hell are you?" She looked up at him for a moment, silent.Because, before she could answer, she herself had to know something. "Why do you take me for your wife?" she asked.They looked at each other without blinking.No one wants to be the first to answer each other's questions.It was a duel of wills between the two of them.But Hillary decided that whatever Tom Betterton was when he left England, he certainly had less willpower than her own at the moment.Because, she had come here confident, to organize her own life—while Tom Betterton lived according to someone else's plan.So, she is strong. He looked away from her at last, and murmured vaguely, "That was just an idea. I must have been a bloody fool. I thought you were sent to...get me out." "So, you want to get out of here?" "My God, is that even a question?" "How did you get here from Paris?" Tom Betterton smiled a little wryly. "I didn't come here by kidnapping or anything like that, if that's what you mean. I came here voluntarily, and figured it out on my own. I came here excitedly and with a sense of urgency." "Do you know you're here?" "I had no idea it was going to Africa, if you ask. I fell for the simplest trap easily. World peace, global scientists sharing scientific secrets, downing capitalist warmongers, and all that hoax. That The same goes for Peters who came with you, he fell into the same trap." "But when you get here, it's not like that at all?" He smiled wryly again. "You'll know for yourself. Well, that might be more or less what it is. But it's not what you think it is. It's not—freedom." Sitting next to her, he frowned. "You know I used to be in England, and that's what got me down. Always felt like I was being watched, spied on. All these security measures, like, you have to tell everything you do, you have to tell all your friends and family. . . Say, everything is necessary. But, in the end, it breaks people down. So when someone makes a claim—well, you hear me, it all sounds very moving." He smiled wryly, "But The final outcome—it came here.” Hilary said slowly, "Are you saying you came into exactly the same environment as the one you managed to escape from? The same surveillance?—even worse?" Nervously, Betterton brushed his hair back from his forehead. "I don't know," he said. "Honestly, I really don't know. I'm not sure. Or maybe it's just my imagination. I don't even know if I'm being watched. Why am I being watched? Why are they bothering? They Got me here—in jail." "Isn't it at all what you imagined?" "That's the blame here. I think in a way, it's exactly what I want. The working conditions are fine. All kinds of equipment and equipment are available. You can work as long as you want, or as long as you want to work less." Work less. Life is comfortable and abundant. Food, clothing, lodging, everything. It’s just that you always feel like you’re in prison.” "I know. When we came in today, the iron gate slammed shut behind us. It was horrible." Hilary shuddered. "Okay," Betterton seemed to cheer up. "I've answered your question, it's your turn to answer mine. What are you pretending Oliver is doing here?" "Olive..." She paused, searching for words. "Yes, how is Olive? What happened to her? What do you want to say?" She gazed at his haggard, tense face with pity. "I'm afraid to tell you." "You mean...something happened to her?" "Yes, what a misfortune, what a misfortune . . . Your wife died . . . She had come to join you, but the plane crashed. She was taken to the hospital and died two days later." He stared straight ahead.As if he was determined not to show any emotion.He said peacefully, "So Olive is dead? I see..." There was a long silence.Then he said to her, "Well, let's go on from here. What is your purpose here instead of her?" This time, Hillary had already prepared her answer.Tom Betterton once thought she was sent - as he said - "to get him out".This is not the case.Hillary is a spy.She was sent to spy on intelligence, not to rescue a person like him who was willing to throw himself into the trap.Besides, she herself was a prisoner like him, so what could she do to save him? She thought it would be very dangerous to confide in him.Betterton was about to collapse.There is a possibility that he will soon collapse to the bottom.Under such circumstances, the ghost believed that he could keep some secrets. So she said, "I was in the hospital when your wife died. I offered to take her place and tried to find you. She was eager to give you a message." He frowned. "But it does..." She picked it up quickly—he hadn't had time to realize the loopholes in this fabricated story. "It's not as implausible as it sounds. You know I sympathize with all of those views - the ones you just said. Nations sharing scientific secrets - a new world order. I would have been enthusiastic about all of that. And My hair — if they're expecting a red-haired woman my age, I think I'll get by. Worth a try anyway." "That's right," he said, scanning her head with his eyes. "Your hair is exactly like Olive's." "And, you know, your wife insisted—that I should deliver that message to you." "Yes, a message. What message?" "Tell you to be careful—very careful: you're dangerous, and there's a Boris or something." "Boris? Do you mean Boris Glydel?" "By the way, do you know him?" He shook his head. "I've never met him, but I know his name. He's a relative of my wife. I've heard of him." "Why is he dangerous?" "what?" He said something absently. Hillary repeated her question. "Oh, that," he said, returning as if he had come a long way round, "I don't know why he's a danger to me. But, in every way, he's a dangerous fellow." "Where?" "Hey, he's one of those half-mad idealists who'll happily kill half the human race if they think it's good for some reason." "I know the kind of people you're talking about." She thinks she does know this kind of people - and they seem to be there (but why?). "Did Olive see him? What did he say to Olive?" "I can't tell. That's all she said. About the danger—oh, yes, and she said 'she couldn't believe it.'" "Believe in what?" "I don't know." She hesitated for a moment, then said, "You know—these are dying words..." Pain twitched across his face. "I know... I know... I'll get used to it in time. I can't turn the corner just yet. It's just about Boris, I'm a little puzzled. How could Boris treat me like I'm here?" The danger? If he sees Olive, he probably sees her in London." "Yes, he's in London." "I'm still a bit baffled... what does that matter? Fuck, it doesn't matter now. Here we are, in this bastard place, surrounded by inhuman robots." "I also have this feeling." "We can't escape," he thumped the concrete pier with his fist, "we can't escape." "No, we can escape," Hillary said. He turned and stared at her in great surprise. "What exactly do you mean?" "We'll figure it out," Hillary said. "My dear woman," he smiled contemptuously, "you have no idea what this place is." "People escaped from the most unlikely places during the war," she said stubbornly. She would never allow herself to despair. "They dug tunnels, or something like that." "How can we dig through all the rocks? Also, where can we dig? There is desert all around." "Then it's just 'something like'." He studied her.She smiled with a confidence that was tenacious, though not well-founded. "What an extraordinary woman you are! You sound quite sure of yourself." "There's always a way. It can take time, it can take careful planning." He looked sad again. "Time," he said, "time . . . I don't have much time." "why?" "I'm not sure if you'll understand me... well, I can't really—do anything here." She frowned. "what do you mean?" "How can I put it? I can't work, and I can't think. My line of work requires a lot of concentration. A lot of work is—how should I put it—creative. Since I've been here, I've almost Lost sense of urgency for work. All I can do is do a low-level job a little better than any crappy fellow science guy can do. But that's not what they brought me here for Well, what they want is something original, but I can't come up with anything original. And the more nervous and frightened I am, the less I can come up with anything of value. This situation is about to Driven me crazy, you understand?" She understood now, and she remembered a conversation Dr. Rubeck had given about divas and scientists. "What's going to happen to this establishment if I don't deliver? They're going to kill me." "Oh, where will it be?" "No, yes, they'll kill me. They're not sentimentalists. The only reason I haven't been killed so far is because I'm undergoing plastic surgery. You know, it only takes A little bit. Naturally, one cannot be expected to concentrate on a man who is constantly undergoing minor operations. However, this operation is over." "Why do you do this kind of operation? Why do you want to do this kind of operation?" "Oh, it's for safety, that is to say, for my safety. If...if you're the one who's 'looking for', they'll do it." "So, are you the one who was 'find'?" "Yes. Don't you know? I don't think they'd put that kind of ad in the papers, and maybe Olive didn't even know about it. But I'm the one they're looking for." "You mean—treason, that charge, don't you? You gave them the atomic secret, didn't you?" He dared not meet her eyes. "I betrayed nothing, I told them about our testing process - told them without reservation. If you can believe me, I told them of my own accord. Because, that's part of the whole system - the common Enjoy scientific secrets. Don't you understand what I mean?" She could understand it, she could understand Andy Peters doing it, she could imagine the eyes of that visionary in Eriksson, betraying his country with a noble passion. But Tom Betterton did the same, and it was very difficult for her.But she suddenly realized with astonishment why Betterton, who had been so fresh when he first arrived here a few months ago, was now terrified, nervous, depressed, and totally different when he broke down. While she was accepting this logical analysis, Betterton looked around anxiously, and said: "Everyone is downstairs, we'd better..." She stood up. "Oh, it's all right, they'll think it's natural—you're just here, so it won't arouse suspicion." He said embarrassingly: "You know we've got to get on with the play, I mean, you gotta keep playing my...wife." "Of course." "We still have to share a room and all that stuff. But it's going to be all right, I mean, you don't have to worry about…" He was so embarrassed that he couldn't go on. "How handsome he is!" She thought while looking at him, "Why can't he touch my heart at all..." "I think we don't need to worry about those things," she said happily. "The important thing is how to escape alive."