Memories of Midnight

The offices of the Hellenic Trade Corporation closed at six o'clock. A few minutes before six, Evelyn and the other employees were preparing to leave.



Evelyn walked into Catherine's office. "Miracle on 34th Street is playing at the Criterion. It's had great reviews. Would you like to see it tonight?"



"I can't," Catherine said. "Thanks, Evelyn. I promised Jerry Haley I'd go to the theater with him."



"They really keep you busy, don't they? All right. Have a good time."



Catherine heard the sounds of the others leaving. Finally, there was silence. She took a last look at her desk, made sure everything was in order, put on her coat, picked up her purse, and started down the corridor. She had almost reached the front door when the telephone rang. Catherine hesitated, debating whether to answer it. She looked at her watch; she was going to be late. The telephone kept ringing. She ran back to her office and picked up the phone. "Hello."



"Catherine." It was Alan Hamilton. He sounded out of breath. "Thank God I reached you."



"Is something wrong?"



"You're in great danger. I believe someone is trying to kill you."



She made a low moaning sound. Her worst nightmares were coming true. She felt suddenly dizzy. "Who?"



"I don't know. But I want you to stay where you are. Don't leave the office. Don't talk to anyone. I'm coming to get you."



"Alan, I..."



"Don't worry, I'm on my way. Lock yourself in. Everything will be all right."



The line went dead.



Catherine slowly replaced the receiver. "Oh, my God!"



Atanas appeared in the doorway. He took one look at Catherine's pale face and hurried to her side. "Is something wrong, Miss Alexander?"



She turned to him. "Someone...someone is trying to kill me."



He was gaping at her. "Why? Who...who would want to do that?"



"I'm not sure."



They heard a knock at the front door.



Atanas looked at Catherine. "Should I...?"



"No," she said quickly. "Don't let anyone in. Dr. Hamilton's on his way here."



The knock at the front door was repeated, louder.



"You could hide in the basement," Atanas whispered. "You'll be safe there."



She nodded nervously. "Right."



They moved toward the back of the corridor, to the door that led to the basement. "When Dr. Hamilton comes, tell him where I am."



"You won't be afraid down there?"



"No," Catherine said.



Atanas turned on a light and led the way down the basement stairs.



"No one will ever find you here," Atanas assured her. "Don't you have any idea who would want to kill you?"



She thought of Constantin Demiris and her dreams. He's going to kill you. But that was only a dream. "I'm not sure."



Atanas looked at her and whispered, "I think I know."



Catherine stared at him. "Who?"



"Me." There was suddenly a switchblade in his hand and he was holding it to her throat.



"Atanas, this is no time to play..."



She felt the knife pressing deeper into her throat.



"Did you ever read Appointment in Samarra, Catherine? No? Well, it's too late now, isn't it? It's about someone who tried to escape death. He went to Samarra and death was waiting for him there. This is your Samarra, Catherine."



It was obscene, listening to these terrifying words coming from the mouth of this innocent-looking boy.



"Atanas, please. You can't..."



He slapped her hard across the face. "I can't do it because I'm a young boy? Did I surprise you? That's because I'm a brilliant actor. I'm thirty years old, Catherine. Do you know why I look like a young boy? Because when I was growing up I never had enough to eat. I lived on garbage that I stole from trash cans at night." He was holding the knife at her throat, backing her toward a wall. "When I was a young boy I watched the soldiers rape my mother and father and then slash them both to death, and then they raped me and left me for dead."



He was forcing her back, deeper into the basement.



"Atanas, I - I've never done anything to hurt you. I..."



He smiled his boyish smile. "This is nothing personal. This is business. You're worth fifty thousand dollars to me, dead."



It was as though a curtain had come down in front of her eyes and she was seeing everything through a red haze. A part of her was outside, looking down at what was happening.



"I had a wonderful plan worked out for you. But the boss is in a hurry now, so we'll have to improvise, won't we?"



Catherine could feel the point of the knife digging hard into her neck. He moved the knife and slit open the front of her dress.



"Pretty," he said. "Very pretty. I was planning a party for us first, but since your doctor friend is coming, we won't have time, will we? Too bad for you. I'm a great lover."



Catherine stood there suffocated, barely able to breathe.



Atanas reached into his jacket and took a pint bottle from his pocket. In it was a pale, pink-colored liquid. "Have you ever had slivovic? We'll drink to your accident, huh?" He moved the knife away to open the bottle and, for an instant, Catherine was tempted to flee.



"Go ahead," Atanas said softly. "Try it. Please."



Catherine licked her lips. "Look, I...I'll pay you. I'll..."



"Save your breath." Atanas took a deep swallow from the bottle and handed it to her. "Drink," he said.



"No. I don't..."



"Drink!"



Catherine took the bottle and took a small sip. The fierce bite of the brandy burned her throat. Atanas took the bottle back and took another deep swallow.



"Who tipped off your doctor friend that someone was going to kill you?"



"I - I don't know."



"It doesn't matter anyway." Atanas pointed to one of the thick wooden posts that supported the ceiling. "Get over there."



Catherine's eyes glanced toward the door. She felt the steel blade press into her neck. "Don't make me tell you again."



Catherine moved over to the wooden post.



"That's a good girl," Atanas said. "Sit down." He turned away for an instant. And in that moment, Catherine made a break for it.



She started to race toward the stairs, her heart pounding. She was running for her life. She reached the first step and then the second, and, as she was about to move up, she felt a hand grab her leg and pull her back. He was incredibly strong.



"Bitch!"



He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her face close to his. "You try that again and I'll break both your legs."



She could feel the knife between her shoulder blades.



"Move!"



Atanas marched her back to the wooden post and shoved her to the ground.



"Stay there."



Catherine watched as Atanas walked over to a pile of cardboard boxes bound with heavy cord. He cut two lengths of cord and carried them back to her.



"Put both hands in back of the post."



"No, Atanas. I..."



He slammed his fist against the side of her face, and the room blurred. Atanas leaned close and whispered, "Don't ever say no to me. Do what I tell you before I slice your fucking head off."



Catherine put her hands behind the post and a moment later she felt the cord bite into her wrists as Atanas tied them together. She could feel the circulation being cut off.



"Please," she said. "That's too tight."



"Good," he grinned. He took the second length of cord and tied her legs tightly together at the ankles. Then he got to his feet. "There we are," he said. "All nice and cozy." He took another swallow from the bottle. "Would you like another drink?"



Catherine shook her head.



He shrugged. "Okay."



She watched him put the bottle to his lips again. Maybe he'll get drunk and fall asleep, Catherine thought desperately.



"I used to drink a quart a day," Atanas boasted. He laid the empty bottle down on the cement floor. "Well, time to go to work."



"What - what are you going to do?"



"I'm going to make a little accident. This is going to be a masterpiece. I may even charge Demiris double."



Demiris! So it wasn't just a dream. He was behind this. But why?



Catherine watched Atanas walk across the room to the huge boiler. He removed the outside plate and examined the pilot light and the eight boilerplates that kept the unit hot. The safety valve was nested in a metal frame to protect it. Atanas picked up a small piece of wood and jammed it into the frame so that the safety valve was inoperative. The heat dial was set at 150 degrees. As Catherine watched, Atanas turned the dial up to the maximum. Satisfied, he walked back to Catherine.



"Do you remember how much trouble we had with that furnace?" Atanas asked. "Well, I'm afraid it's going to bust open, after all." He moved closer to Catherine. "When that dial reaches four hundred degrees, the boiler will blow up. Do you know what will happen then? The gas lines will rip open and the burner plates will set them on fire. The whole building will explode like a bomb."



"You're insane! There are innocent people out there who..."



"There are no innocent people. You Americans believe in happy endings, don't you? You're fools. There are no happy endings." He reached down and tested the rope that held Catherine's hands behind the post. Her wrists were bleeding. The rope was cutting into her flesh and the knots were tight. Atanas slowly ran his hands across Catherine's naked breasts, caressing them, and then he leaned down and kissed them. "It's too bad we don't have more time. You'll never know what you missed." He grabbed her by the hair and kissed her on the lips. His breath reeked of brandy. "Good-bye, Catherine." He stood up.



"Don't leave me," Catherine pleaded. "Let's talk and..."



"I have a plane to catch. I'm going back to Athens." She watched him start toward the steps. "I'll leave the light on for you so you can watch it happen." A moment later, Catherine heard the heavy basement door close and the snap of the outside bolt and then there was silence. She was alone. She looked up at the dial on the boiler. It was rapidly moving up. As she watched, it went from 160 degrees to 170 degrees and kept moving. She fought desperately to free her hands, but the more she pulled, the tighter the bonds became. She looked up again. The dial had reached 180 degrees and was climbing. There was no way out.



None.



Alan Hamilton was driving down Wimpole Street like a madman, cutting in and out of traffic, ignoring the yells and blaring of horns from irate drivers. The way ahead was blocked. He turned left and into Portland Place and headed toward Oxford Circus. Traffic was heavier here, slowing him down.



In the basement at 217 Bond Street, the needle on the boiler had climbed to 200 degrees. The basement was becoming warm.



The traffic was almost at a standstill. People were headed home, to dinner, to the theater. Alan Hamilton sat at the wheel of his car, frustrated. Should I have called the police? But what good would it have done? A neurotic patient of mine thinks someone is going to be murdered? The police would have laughed. No, I have to get to her. The traffic began to move again.



In the basement, the needle was climbing upward to 300. The room was becoming unbearably hot. She tried to free her hands again and her wrists were rubbed raw, but the rope stayed tight.



He turned into Oxford Street, speeding through a pedestrian lane with two old women crossing. In back of him he heard a shrill police whistle. For an instant, he was tempted to stop and enlist help. But there was no time to explain. He kept driving.



At an intersection, a huge truck pulled out, blocking his way. Alan Hamilton honked impatiently. He leaned his head out the window. "Move it!"



The truck driver turned to look at him. "What's the matter, mate, you going to a fire?"



The traffic had become a snarl of cars. When it finally cleared, Alan Hamilton started to drive again, racing toward Bond Street. A trip that should have taken ten minutes had taken him almost half an hour.



In the basement, the needle climbed to 400 degrees.



Finally, blessedly, the building was in sight. Alan Hamilton pulled his car over to the curb across the street and slammed on the brakes. He threw the door open and hurried out of the car. As he started to run toward the building, he stopped in horror. The ground shook as the entire building exploded like a giant bomb, filling the air with flame and debris. And death.