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  "Mr. Bilge. Ms. Plain," the speakerphone said. "We hereby deputize the two of you as Project Illusion operatives. Do you agree?"

  "We do," Bigelow and Paula said almost together. Were they finally about to find out what this was all about? Without illusion?

  "You will be added to our payroll and issued appropriate papers. On condition that you keep strict confidence about this matter."

  Bigelow exchanged a glance with Paula. She nodded. They had concluded this was a secret operation. "We agree. What's it about?"

  "We will answer," the phone said. "But first you must clean up the mess. As members of the group, this is now your responsibility."

  "Oh, we have to do your dirty work?" Bigelow asked, bridling. "That's why you were so agreeable to signing us up?"

  "Frankly, yes," the phone said. "There is no one else to do it, and more clients will be arriving soon. We need your help."

  Bigelow opened his mouth angrily, but Paula put a hand on his arm, shaking her head. "Okay," he said somewhat gruffly. She smiled. That somehow made it worthwhile. Besides, obviously help was needed, and Bigelow and Paula were on the spot. They eyed the bodies.

  Then something occurred to Bigelow. "How do you know that we didn't murder those folk? We're the only ones here."

  "The door camera showed the two of you entering after it happened," the phone said. "We knew you were innocent."

  "Did the camera see who really did it?" Paula asked. When there was no immediate answer, she continued. "So you know who did it."

  "We do," the phone admitted reluctantly. "But there was nothing we could do about it. We're shorthanded at the moment."

  Bigelow looked at the bodies. They had not improved with age. "Where do you want us to put them?" Bigelow asked. "The freezer?"

  "Yes, actually. Until we can arrange to have them removed from the premises. There's a large freezer in back. There should be room."

  Bigelow had thought he was making a grim joke. But he had never been very good at jokes. They found the mostly empty chest freezer. Then they braced themselves. They took hold of the man's body, one on each arm, and dragged him across the floor to the freezer. Then they wrestled him up onto the open freezer and let his body thunk down into it, flat. It looked as if he were sleeping there. They tackled the woman next. They dragged her to the freezer and dumped her down on top of the man. She landed face down on him.

  "Lovers' tryst," Paula said, grimacing. Bigelow winced as he smiled. They closed the lid on the grimly embracing couple. Ugh!

  Now they had to clean up the floor. Blood was streaked from the dragging, and pooled in the center where the bodies had been. They got a bucket and mop. Paula knew how to use it, first diluting the blood, then mopping it up and squeezing it into the bucket.

  "While we work, tell us about the project," Bigelow said to the phone. "Exactly why does it exist? What do you hope to accomplish?"

  "That is an unfortunate story," the phone said. "We got a report that a foreign country was about to attack us with illusions."

  "Illusions!" Paula exclaimed. "Like the ones you threw at us? That scared us and finally brought us here, for good or ill?"

  "Similar," the phone said. "Only worse. We understand they can project them to anyone, so that several can see the same ones."

  "No setting folk up with eye-ear exams?" Bigelow asked. "Like a holographic projection everyone can see at the same time?"

  "Yes. That could wreak havoc and maybe be a critical distraction, so that we could be attacked and not be able to defend ourselves."

  "That's serious," Bigelow said. "So you set up a small trial group to find out how people would react, so you'd know what to do?"

  "Yes. It's very private, because we don't want the unknown enemy to know we're doing it. They might attack sooner, if they knew."

  "Only it went wrong," Paula said. Then she paused in her cleanup. "Could the enemy have done it? To mess up any possible defense?"

  "That's our fear," the phone said. "Still, the killer was one of our subjects, so probably he acted on his own. This must be quiet."

  "We understand," Bigelow said. "But maybe you should have had a guard on duty, to prevent anything like this from happening."

  "Yes. But we suffered a budget cut, and are short of personnel. We could afford only those two, and now you. It's difficult."

  Before long they had the floor clean. Just in time, because another client was arriving. They heard the footsteps beyond the door.

  "Get into your places," the phone said urgently. "You will have to acquaint the next client with the situation, and enlist his silence."

  "How?" Paula asked. "He is unlikely to be pleased about the illusions. A handshake probably won't be sufficient."

  "In the desk there are citations made out to each participant. Also gift cards for a thousand dollars. That's all we can afford."

  They checked the desk and found the citations and cards. It did not seem like much, but it would have to do. Paula organized them.

  In a moment the door opened and a nondescript man appeared. He looked across the room at them. "Are you real or illusory?" he asked.

  "We are real," Bigelow said. "Congratulations! You have successfully navigated the labyrinth and reached the conclusion."

  "The conclusion of what?" the man asked, stepping cautiously into the room. "I was just minding my own business, when—"

  "We understand," Paula said. "We suffered similar effects. It was weird and frightening, until we realized they weren't real."

  "For sure," the man agreed. "Once I realized I could just close my eyes, I got through. Then I wondered what it was all about."

  "So you came here," Bigelow said. "As we did. Well, this is an experiment to determine how ordinary folk like us react."

  "Because our government fears that another country is going to attack us using exactly this kind of illusion," Paula said, smiling.

  The man took visible stock. "So there is a reason for this remarkable experience I just suffered? I wasn't just being teased?"

  "There was a reason," Bigelow agreed. "As appreciation for your service to our country, you get a citation and a gift card."

  "A citation!" the man exclaimed. "I go through a day of doubting my sanity, and I get a citation?" Then he paused. "How much?"

  "A thousand dollars," Paula said with her most winning smile, the one that dazzled Bigelow. "But please don't tell how you got it."

  "Because we don't want the enemy country to learn that we are on to their foul plot," Bigelow said. "This project is secret."

  The man considered. Paula smiled at him again, and he decided to go along. He accepted the citation and card, and departed.

  Bigelow and Paula made a joint sign of relief. One down, several to go. "Congratulations," the phone said. "You're real pros."

  "I suppose we are, now," Bigelow agreed, pleased. Paula kissed him on the ear. That magnified his pleasure. He patted her butt.

  Soon the door opened again. This time it was a nondescript woman. She looked at them, then closed her eyes. They knew why.

  "We are not illusions," Bigelow said. "We are real people. Congratulations on successfully navigating the illusions to get here."

  "Oh what a relief!" the woman said. "I wasn't completely sure of my sanity. But what's this all about? It has been a nightmare."

  They explained things to the woman, and gave her her citation and gift card, and sent her on her way. This was almost routine.

  "Trouble," the phone said. "The murderer is returning. He still has his knife." Bigelow and Paula stared at each other, appalled.

  "What are we supposed to do?" Bigelow asked. "We don't have any weapons. I'm surprised you don't have a metal alarm set up."

  "We do have a metal alarm," the phone said. "But his knife is made of obsidian or ceramics or some other nonmetallic substance."

  "So he came fully prepared," Bigelow said. "He knew what he was going to do. He must be a professional killer, or a real fanatic."

&n
bsp; "Both, we fear," the phone said. "He will not be easy to handle. Unfortunately there are no weapons of any kind in the office."

  "Great," Bigelow muttered. "So what do you recommend? I don't suppose there's a private rear exit so we can escape? A fire escape?"

  "Nothing," the phone said. "You will simply have to improvise. We were not prepared for such a savage reaction, and made no plans."

  Paula desperately checked through the desk. "Handcuffs!" she exclaimed. "We can put them on him. That will slow him down."

  "How?" Bigelow asked. "He's not going to stand there and put his hands behind his back. He'll be coming after us with the knife."

  "Maybe I can distract him so you can grab him from behind," Paula said. "By—" She flushed. "By using my, my feminine wiles?"

  Bigelow would have protested, but realized it was probably their best chance. If she flashed the man, he might pause long enough.

  At any rate, it was their only chance. If they did nothing, they would get knifed to death, just as the prior couple had been.

  "I'll wait behind the door," Bigelow said. "You do what you have to do." Paula nodded, and he went to stand to the side of the door.

  It burst open and the attacker hurtled into the room, his glossy black knife drawn. He didn't say a word; he simply charged ahead. Bigelow was caught off-guard by the suddenness of the man's action. He stood there for a moment, uncertain what to do.

  Fortunately, Paula acted. "Hello, handsome," she said, opening her shirt to show her pink bra. "What can we do for you today?"

  Now it was the killer who was taken aback. Obviously he had never expected this kind of welcome. He paused in place.

  Bigelow moved quietly up behind the man, holding the handcuffs. But being there wasn't enough; the hands needed to be behind.

  Then the killer jumped forward. "You'll do," he said, sheathing his knife and reaching for Paula. "Are you alone?"

  "Of course not," Paula said, smiling determinedly. "There's an army on the way here." She removed her shirt and unsnapped her bra.

  "You know I'll kill you immediately after," the killer said. "I can't afford to leave witnesses. So I'll have to tie you up first."

  "Of course," Paula said. "You can't afford to trust me one minute. I'm your enemy. But you forgot about the man behind you."

  "Ha-ha. Old joke," the man said, not laughing. He produced a length of nylon cord. "Now turn around and put your hands behind you."

  "Like this?" Paula asked. She raised one hand with a small can. Suddenly spray shot out and caught the man right in the face.

  "Oww!" the man cried, clapping his hands to his eyes.

  Bigelow immediately jumped forward and snapped one handcuff on one wrist. Then he wrenched the man's other hand around and clapped the other handcuff on. The man's hands were in front, not behind; too bad.

  "You did it!" Paula cried. "You captured him!" She grabbed the nylon cord and wrapped it around the man's legs, tying them together.

  "You were the one who did it," Bigelow said. "If you hadn't distracted him so effectively, I could not have done anything with him."

  "Thank you," Paula said faintly, realizing how exposed she was. She put her bra and shirt back on, somewhat to Bigelow's regret.

  "What was that you used on him?" Bigelow asked. "I thought we had no weapons. Was it mace or pepper spray? Something worse?"

  "Much worse," she agreed with half a smile. "It was perfume. The atomizer is alcohol based, and can really sting the eyes."

  Bigelow sniffed the man, who was recovering. He smelled of sweet violets. Paula's perfume. "Genius!" he exclaimed, laughing.

  "If you two idiots are quite done complimenting each other," the killer said sourly, "What are you going to do next? Kill me?"

  Bigelow and Paula exchanged a look. They had saved their own lives, but neither had any idea where to go from here. Kill him? Ouch!

  "That's what I thought," the man said. "You are amateurs, maybe spot recruited after I terminated the prior pair. You have no idea."

  "We'll just have to turn you over to the police," Bigelow said. "They'll know what to do with you. You killed two innocent people."

  "Innocent, my eye! They were agents of the government. What I did was an act of war. I'd do it again, if I got the chance."

  "What government do you represent?" Paula asked him cannily. "Obviously it's not the one we represent. Who are you, anyway?"

  "Why don't you torture me to find out?" the man demanded. He laughed harshly. "You amateurs didn't even take my knife."

  Oops! Bigelow hastily removed the man's sheath and knife. But he wondered: why had the man called their attention to it?

  "You know we won't torture you," Paula said. "You want to bargain for your freedom. What do you have to offer us?"

  "So you're not a total loss, apart from your boobs," the man said. "You've got half a notion where we stand, maybe. Or maybe not."

  "What should we do with this guy?" Bigelow asked the phone. "We're amateurs, as he says, while he's a pro. We need advice."

  "He also knows we can't afford to turn him over to the police," the phone said. "This project must remain strictly private."

  "So the boss is listening in," the man said. "Good enough. Sure, I'll bargain. My freedom in exchange for some information."

  "You can trust us," Paula said. "Because you know we're amateurs, with amateur ideals. But how can we trust your information?"

  "Your spook on the phone will be able to verify it as we speak," the man said. "So when he is satisfied, you will let me go free."

  "But then you may blab about this project," Bigelow said. "We can't take your word you won't. You know we can't trust you."

  "You numb-skull!" the man exclaimed. "I represent the enemy. We already know about the project. I'm here to stop it."

  "Oh," Bigelow said, taken aback by his own naïveté. "And I guess you won't be advertising your part in it. You'll just disappear."

  "Right. My employer doesn't want the illusion matter publicized any more than yours does, albeit it maybe for a different reason."

  "So I guess we have a deal," Bigelow said. "You tell us what we want to know, and we'll turn you loose. But without your knife."

  "Deal," the man agreed. "To save time, I'll tell you that everything you need to know is accessible via the master unit. Here."

  "You brought it with you?" the phone asked, amazed. "That thing is invaluable. It should be in unbreakable code, locked in a safe."

  "There's no such thing as an unbreakable code, dolt," the man said. "And how could I quietly flee the country, towing a big safe?"

  So the killer was treating the phone man with the same contempt as Bigelow and Paula. Bigelow was privately amused. "Give it here."

  "It's in my pocket, opposite the knife," the man said. "You'll have to fetch it out yourself. I'm indisposed at the moment."

  Paula felt in the man's pocket while Bigelow watched closely in case he tried to grab her with his manacled hands. He didn't.

  Paula found a small box of featureless hard plastic. It did not look like a disc container. "Is this it?" she asked dubiously.

  "That's it, honey," the man said. "Maybe I should make you pay for it with a kiss and a feel. Want to take off your shirt again?"

  "No!" Paula snapped, blushing. She held up the box. "How do you open this thing? Is there a key or a sliding panel or something?"

  "You don't exactly open it," the man said. "You operate it. This is an operative unit, I think more advanced than your folk have."

  "So how do I operate it?" Paula asked, sliding her fingers across the smooth surfaces of the box. "I'm not finding any switches."

  "Let me see that," Bigelow said. Paula gave him the box and he ran his fingers over it, but couldn't find any sliding panels.

  "Oh, did I forget to mention it is coded?" the man asked with mock regret. "It's keyed to my fingerprints, ignoring all others."

  Naturally there was a catch. No wonder the man was not concerned about them get
ting hold of the device. They couldn't use it.

  "We need that information," the phone said. "We can't afford to wait to get it in our laboratory, where it might self destruct."

  "You got that right," the man agreed. "Any attempt to pry it open will wipe it out. Isn't that a pity." He smiled nastily.

  "So exactly what kind of a deal are you trying to make?" Bigelow asked, nettled. "Why should we free you for this useless thing?"

  "You can't use it, but I can," the man said. "I can activate it and make it perform. That's what you're really looking for."

  "We're looking for information," Bigelow said. "Who hired you, what kind of an illusion program do they have, stuff like that."

  "I'll tell you everything," the man said. "In exchange for my freedom. But you won't believe it unless I demonstrate the box."

  "I don't trust this," Paula said. "The box could be a bomb or something. He'll blow it up and us with it, covering his tracks."

  Bigelow knew the man was vicious enough to do that. If he couldn't win, he might see that all of them lost, a suicide bomber.

  "So what do we do now?" Bigelow asked the phone. "If we want the information now, we have to trust him, and I don't trust him."

  "We doubt he wants to blow himself up with you," the phone said. "Otherwise he would have done it instead of using the knife."

  "So you think we can trust him to that extent?" Paula asked. "As long as we keep him handcuffed and tied? And watch him closely?"

  "We think so," the phone agreed. "If he can demonstrate the box while in that condition. Otherwise we can't afford to risk a deal."

  "All right," Bigelow said more briskly than he felt. "We'll give you that much of a chance. But first, what's your name? Anonymous?"

  "Just call me Legion," he said. "In the Bible, when the man was asked about the evil spirits in him, he said 'our name is Legion.'"

  Bigelow whistled inwardly. If they had not known this man was trouble, this would have given them the hint. A host of evil spirits! But what could they do? They needed to get information Legion had, and this seemed to be the only feasible way, risky as it was.