SAMPLE THE STORY BY READING CHAPTER ONE

The telephone bell shrilled loudly.

It rang again and again.

I kicked out with a foot, disturbing the covers which were pulled up all over my naked body. I usually sleep in the raw. I do not like constriction of any sort when I am relaxing.

I opened one eye and looked at the world. The telephone was still shrilling.

“Oh, drat!”

My hand fumbled, reaching toward my bed table. After a few seconds—during which the phone went on yelling—I caught hold of the phone and lifted it, putting it to my ear.

“Do you know what time it is, whoever you are?”

“I do. It is now five minutes past high noon. Don’t tell me you’re still asleep?”

“Not any more, I’m not,” I mumbled, and sat up in bed, the covers falling from my breasts.

The voice belonged to my bossman, Fletcher Atkinson. Fletch was an Englishman who had been appointed by D.U.E. to supervise my activities for that organization. Fletch is a good guy, but he has the most annoying habit of coming on me when I am least suspecting it.

“Good. Time to be up and moving, darling. I have a job for you.”

So what else was new?

“A job,” I muttered.

“Oh, you’ll like this one. It involves ‘God.’”

I blinked. “How’s that again?”

“God—you know...”

My name is Cherry Delight. Actually, of course, I was christened Cherisse Dellissio. I am of Italian extraction, though I am an all-American girl, and I was raised in the Roman Catholic faith. So I knew a little about God, having gone to all the Christian Doctrine lessons that the nuns used to give us kids who went to a public school.

“If this is your idea of a joke...”

“No joke. The man calls himself ‘God’ and lives on a huge estate just over the New York border, in Connecticut.”

“You’re kidding.”

There was a pause. Then Fletch said, “I forgot. You’ve been busy in Europe lately. And I have to assume you don’t read newspapers or listen to the radio.”

“Go on, have your fun.”

“Well, if you really haven’t heard about this man who calls himself God, then you have been living in a sort of vacuum, pet.”

I nibbled on my lower lip. Then I said, “I suppose this telephone summons is in the nature of a call to arms.”

“Now you have it. Can you get down to the office in—oh, say—an hour?”

“If I struggle.”

“Struggle then, doll. See you.”

He hung up. Scowling, I looked at the phone I held and then cradled it. I sighed. I would dearly have loved to floop down and draw those covers up over me again—I hadn’t come in until close to five in the morning—but I did have a job, and Fletcher Atkinson looked down his nose at people who didn’t work like goddamned beavers.

I slithered the bod out onto the carpet and stretched. I ran for the shower and stood under it, lathering my skin with Dove soap. I washed it off and dried myself.

Now for clothes. I chose a Van Raalte Chemisette that was both bra and slip, and then slithered a creation by Dior over it. This outfit, called a safari suit, was in off-white and had a gold belt for my middle. There was a hat, too, in the same color, with a fancy chin strap.

I told myself, as I stared back at my reflection in the full-length mirror, that I might well have stepped out of a fashion magazine.

I didn’t bother with breakfast. Fletch always had a pot of tea or coffee bubbling away in his office. Coffee would do me fine.

It took me half an hour to locate a taxi and fifteen minutes for the taxi to deliver me to the huge skyscraper in which D.U.E.—the Department of Unusual Events—had its offices. An elevator whisked me upward.

An aroma of coffee caught me where I lived as soon as I stepped onto Fletch’s thick rug. He was sitting behind his desk, going over papers. Me, I marched myself toward the coffee, filled a cup, took a sip, then carried it toward the big desk.

Fletch was glaring at me.

“Make yourself to home, don’t you?”

“You were busy, angel. My daddy taught me years ago never to interrupt a man who’s busy.”

I sat down and crossed my legs. I have very good legs, along with several very good other things. Fletch eyed them a moment, fought to keep his scowl, then grinned.

“Did your daddy teach you about God?”

“No, but the nuns did.”

He digested that, nodding. “Well, this God and the God you learned about are not the same—though the man we’re talking about would love you to believe it. Still! This man claims to be eternal. He was never born; he cannot die; he has miraculous powers.”

“You’re putting me on.”

“No, I’m quite serious. He has a place over the state line, and he has a lot of disciples. Unfortunately, one of them committed suicide two nights ago by jumping out a bedroom window.”

“And?”

“We don’t like this ‘God’ and what he stands for. We’ve had a lot of kooks and nuts in this country over the last ten or twenty years, but this one is really after the cake.”

“So?”

I wasn’t adding much to the flow of conversation, but I was mentally groping. I honestly hadn’t heard about this man who called himself God. Maybe Fletch was right, maybe I should spend more time reading newspapers or listening to the radio or watching television.

“So, we want to know more about him.”

He sat back and smiled at me, and there was a challenge in his hard eyes. Fletcher Atkinson has a craggy face under a mop of black hair. He is a big man with a rangy build that hides a lot of muscle. I believe he is also something of a sadist. At least, where little old me is concerned.

I gave a big sigh. I knew what was coming.

“So I go up to this place of his and I offer myself as a sacrifice.”

“A pupil, rather,” he corrected.

“Whatever. I get in to see for myself what goes on, and figure out some way the law can bring him to his knees.”

Fletch gave me a big smile. “That’s the idea in a nutshell.” Then he frowned. “However, it won’t be as easy as all that. I’ve tried to learn what I could about these meetings of his, but I haven’t been able to come up with very much.”

His hand moved a letter opener around on the desk top. “He has some very unusual powers. We’ve talked to some of his disciples—when they go out to beg for money—and what we’ve heard disturbs me.”

It must be something to disturb Fletcher Atkinson, I thought. I leaned forward on the edge of the chair where I was sitting.

“Like what?”

His eyes met mine. “The man can levitate. He can rise up off the ground, and float through the air.”

“Come off it.”

“He can heal, too—merely by the laying on of hands.”

“Oh, Fletch—honestly, now!”

His broad shoulders moved in a shrug. “That’s what we’ve been told. His disciples believe him. They think he really is God, come down to earth to claim those who believe in him. The second coming, you know.”

I stared at him while my blood ran a little chilly. Oh, I heard what he was saying, but I didn’t believe a word of it. The man was a charlatan. He had to be. He could fool kids, but he didn’t dare risk any investigation by scientists.

When I mentioned this, Fletch nodded. “We’ve challenged him. We’ve offered to have him demonstrate his powers under controlled conditions. He’s always put us off, claiming he isn’t here to bother about unbelievers.”

“So, then, I drive up there to Connecticut, and I ask to be accepted as a disciple. Right? Then I do some snooping. After that I contact you for help or break up his organization on my own.”

“That’s about it. You’ll need money, of course.”

I blinked. “Money?”

His smile was cold. “The girl who threw herself out that window—or was thrown—was contributing a thousand dollars a month to God. That isn’t hay, as you Americans say so well. You, too, will have to offer something like that.”

“Not my money, I hope,” I muttered.

“No, no, the department will cover all your costs, as it always does. A thousand a month, remember. You’ll offer this amount to God, and you will pose as a starry-eyed worshiper”

His eyes ran over my outfit. “You can’t go up there in that, you know. You’ll have to wear jeans and whatever else it is the young people wear these days.” “Nonsense. I’ll go in this, and I’ll drive a fancy car. A Cadillac. If I can afford to throw away a thousand bucks a month, I’m no pauper.”

“I’m not so sure—”

“I am, Fletch. Let me do it my way. I’m the one who’s sticking her neck out.”

His eyes studied me for long moments. Then he nodded firmly. “Very well. You’ve been through the wars before. You know what might happen to you. Incidentally, he also uses the name Hamilkar.”

He waited a moment, then added, “Keep in touch. If you can. This man guards his property with dogs and keepers who are armed. Once you get inside those iron gates, it might not be so easy to get out.”

Coldness went down inside me and ran around, giggling. But—hell! I’ve always faced danger in my assignments. It was no stranger to me. I reached for my fancy handbag and stood up.

“Today? You want me up there this afternoon?”

“In an hour. Sit down while I make the arrangements. I have to get you a Caddy, I want to transfer monies to your account in your bank. We’ll lay a false trail for you. We’ll have one of our agents at a phone at all times, day and night, in case there’s an emergency.”

I sat and sipped coffee while Fletch got busy with his phone. One thing I’ll give D.U.E., it’s quite an organization. It can literally pull rabbits out of hats. Well, it has the entire U.S.A. behind it, and that’s quite a lot of power right there. What it wants, D.U.E. gets.

Inside the hour, everything was ready. A messenger came in with a set of keys, and laid them on Fletch’s desk top. Another messenger reported with an envelope that held a couple of thousand dollars in old bills.

Fletch gave me the keys and the envelope.

I tucked the cash into my handbag, tore the envelope across and tossed the remains into a wastebasket. Then I blew him a kiss and sashayed across the thick rug, waggling my behind. I heard Fletch chuckle.

The Cadillac was the latest model, a maroon car with maroon leather seats. It was a real beauty. I settled myself behind the wheel, inserted the key into the ignition slot and the motor hummed to life.

I drove carefully through New York City street traffic, getting the feel of the car, and when I was on the Deegan Expressway, I pushed down on the throttle. The car leaped forward. I slowed down, not wanting to attract the attention of a policeman, and at a sedate fifty-five an hour proceeded northward.

In Yonkers, I swung off to get on the Cross County Parkway, and drove up to the Merritt. It was a pleasant day, the sun was out, and there was the smell of growing things in the air. I thought about this man who called himself God, and I told myself he was an actor, first of all, and perhaps a man who really did have certain powers.

But not to the extent that Fletch had described. Imagine! Levitating one’s self! Or curing people by a laying on of hands! The man was a charlatan. He had to be... didn’t he?

I stopped at the Red Barn for lunch, then drove on.

Toward mid-afternoon, I slowed to a stop before a set of big iron gates hung on a huge stone wall. That wall went for as far as I could see. Probably around the entire estate, I reflected.

I honked my horn.

Almost instantly, a man in a black outfit was at the iron bars, peering out. I leaned from the car and waved to him.

“Hi. Isn’t this the place where God lives?”

“May I ask your business?”

“I’ve come to offer myself to him,” I called gaily.

The man scowled. Maybe my levity was not appropriate. But I went on smiling at him and I saw that his eyes were going over the Cadillac and over what he could see of me.

“Are you alone?” he asked.

“Sure am.”

“Wait,” he muttered, and went away.

After a few moments, he was back, opening the gates. I gathered that he had made a phone call to somebody. I drove through slowly and along the drive that wound around between trees and some clumps of bushes, neatly clipped. Then I came in sight of the house.

I blinked when I saw it. It was a huge building, of gray stone and red tile on the rooftops. There were chimneys all over the roof, and whoever had the job of keeping all those windows clean really had himself a tough task. But it was beautiful, with the afternoon sunlight shining on it.

I slowed the Caddy, braked it.

A door opened and two men came out. They wore the same black uniforms that the gate man had been wearing. I noticed that they carried big revolvers in holsters at their sides.

“Hello there,” I called. “Are you the reception committee?”

Their suspicious scowls informed me that my levity was not appreciated. They moved up on either side of the car and peered in. Looking for someone I might be smuggling in, no doubt. When they saw I was the only one in the car, they seemed to relax a little. One of them even opened the door for me.

“Word has been sent to God that you have come,” he told me. “Blessings be upon you, if you are of the faith.”

“And on you,” I murmured back.

He seemed pleased. I fell into step beside him, and behind me, the other guard came also, walking with so light a step that I could hardly hear him. In my mind, the thought occurred to me that God or whoever kept himself pretty well protected.

“What’s the custom here?” I asked. “Do I get to see God or does someone else interview me?”

“God himself will see you. He welcomes all newcomers himself. He wants to make certain that they are of the true faith, that they are not imposters or sensation seekers.”

“One can’t be too careful,” I agreed.

We went into a hallway and down it to a closed door. The guard knocked gently, and a voice answered, “Yes, my child? Please enter.”

The guard opened the door and gestured me through. I walked forward.

I don’t really know what I expected to see. Some madman, I guess, with a fanatic look in his eyes. The reality was something else again.

The man who sat in a high-backed chair was clad in a simple gray robe, like that of a monk. A white cord served as a belt. His face was handsome, lean, almost ascetic. Yet his black eyes glowed when they saw me, and they roved over my body in the Christian Dior creation.

He leaned forward a little, and he smiled.

“You have come to test me,” he almost whispered. “You do not believe in me. You feel that I am an ordinary man, that I have no powers which are godlike.”

He took my breath away. Could he read my mind?

I stammered. “Tha—that's not re-really true. I have heard of you, and I have come to meet you, hoping—oh, so desperately—that you are what people say you are.”

He leaned back, and there was suspicion in his eyes. “Who speaks of me, child?”

“Sally did. Sally Carmichael.”

I held my breath when I said that. I didn’t know Sally Carmichael from a hole in the wall, but as Fletch said, she had given God a thousand bucks a month, and if I was a rich person, I might possibly have known Sally Carmichael. At least, I hoped this man before me might think so.

He frowned. “Sally did not communicate with anyone while she was here.”

“Indeed, not. This was before she came here. She and I used to have talks whenever we met. She told me about you. She explained that she was going to come to you, hoping to be accepted into your flock.” I smiled. I made it a great big smile, into which I put as much friendliness as I could, together with a touch of sex. His eyes met mine and I was sure he read my message, because he straightened slowly in that high-backed chair.

“I see,” he said slowly. “In that case, she must have given you reasons for her wanting to join me.”

“But of course,” I enthused, lying through my teeth. “She told me how disappointed she was with the world as she knew it, that she yearned for a higher life. She hoped to find it with you.”

He nodded gravely, smiling faintly. “And she did. I was about to make her my acolyte when she fell to her death.” He sighed, shaking his head. “It was most unfortunate.”

“Perhaps,” I began, “perhaps I could replace her.”

Those black eyes regarded me gravely. “It is to be hoped so, my dear. We shall soon learn if you are worthy.”

I clasped my hands together and leaned toward him. “How may I prove myself?”

His smile grew wider. “All in good time. Right now, you must remove those garments you wear and adopt the more humble ones of my disciples.”

“Yes. I anticipated that. Humility is everything.”

“A very good spirit. As for your car—well, we shall put it in a safe place, until we have decided upon your status as a disciple.”

His hand made a little motion, which I took for a gesture of dismissal. I rose to my feet and walked toward the door, letting my hips roll slightly. One thing I knew about this guy who called himself God, he was as human as you or I.

Or maybe more so, because he had kept running those eyes of his over me as I sat before him with my skirt pulled up over my knees. He had studied my legs in the thin nylons, and he had tried to guess at the shape of my breasts.

He was human, that was for sure.

And being human, he would have a weakness.

I turned at the door when I opened it, and gave him another big smile. His black eyes had been studying me, there was a gleam in them that was not at all godlike.

At least, I had impressed him.

As I closed the door, a young man who had been standing off to one side came forward, bobbing his head. He was tall and thin, and looked like an ascetic. It came to my mind that he, in particular, would have been more at home in the robes of a monk.

“I am Bobby,” he breathed softly. “I am to take you to the dressing rooms where you will be given your garb.” He hesitated, and his hands shook a little. In religious ecstasy? Because of weakness? I didn’t know.

“That’s fine, Bobby. Let’s go.”

He conquered his hesitation. In almost a whisper, he murmured, “I must warn you. This is God’s house. If you are here for thrills, for excitement, you will be very disappointed.”

“I’m here because I’m tired of the life I lead,” I said slowly. “I want peace and contentment.”

He brightened. “Those I can promise you, if you will abide by God’s will.”

He turned and I walked after him, along a hallway the walls of which were painted an off-white. The dark woodwork of the doors past which we went added to the starkness of the place. It was like being in a nunnery.

Bobby put a hand to a knob and opened a door.

“This is the dressing room for new applicants. You will find a dress and a pair of shoes. You will please put them on, and leave your present clothing on a bench.”

He bowed his head and turned away. I stared after him. Could I have been mistaken? Was this setup really on the up-and-up? Were those who came here willing to renounce the world, just as those who entered the priesthood did?

I just couldn’t believe it.

There had to be an angle.

I put my hands to my safari suit jacket, sliding it down my arms. As I did, I glanced around me.

The first thing I saw was the mirror. It took up all of one wall and it positively glistened. Quickly, I averted my gaze from it and moved lazily, hips swinging, toward a plain wooden bench.

There was a dress—if you could call it that—on the bench. It was old and worn, the color of sackcloth, or what I imagined sackcloth would look like. There was a white cord which would serve me as a belt.

Ye Gods! The sacrifices I make for D.U.E.!

I sat down on the bench and raised my skirt high up, then lifted my hands to the snaps of the garter-belt I had on. I sat facing that huge mirror, and I was determined to put on a show.

Because I was damn certain that was a two-way mirror.

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