The Avenger 31 - The Cartoon Crimes (13 page)

“Go away!” She stamped her feet again.

Fear got the better of the bold rat. He flopped awkwardly over on his side, feet fluttering in the air, got rightsided and went running, wide-legged, back to the pack.

Jeanne didn’t want to call to Wayne Harmon for help. But if they actually came over and . . .

“Go away, get out of here!”

The brave rat was approaching again, head tilted, sharp yellowed teeth showing.

“Get back, damn you!”

The fat gray rat halted again, this time only four feet from the ruined sofa. He watched her. Then he rose up on his hind legs, forefeet held together in prayerful fashion. He made a chickering noise.

Jeanne struggled and got herself up from the sofa. Standing, awkwardly, she made a hopping movement in the direction of the watching rat. “Get out of here!”

That scared him. He did a back flop, struggled, and ran away to the threshold.

“Maybe,” said Jeanne to herself, “just maybe, I can get across this room and outside.”

Suddenly something made a thumping sound inside the dead fireplace. Something black and sooty came flopping out.

It was another rat. Apparently he’d climbed onto the roof and fallen into what was left of the fireplace.

He ran straight at the girl, brushed against her legs, and went smacking into the wall. He got his balance, shedding flecks of soot and black, and ran out of the room.

Jeanne stood perfectly still. Then she began to shake.

“Get hold of yourself!” she said. “One silly little rat touching you . . . don’t lose control.”

She realized she’d closed her eyes. Opening them, she looked toward the doorway.

Still there.

Okay, but they’d probably scatter as she came near.

Before she could try anything further, she heard shots. Rifle shots from outside somewhere.

Early said, “We’re going to find Harmon out here. I’m certain.”

“I wish I shared your optimism,” said Lieutenant Allen.

“What’s that?”

“I said I’m not as dead sure as you are.”

Their motor launch was cutting through the water toward Grimm’s Island.

The spray and the wind felt pleasant on Early’s face. He smiled. “Going to put the lid on this whole case,” he said. “Catch Harmon, rescue Mrs. Lewing. Okay, maybe the Avenger did bring in Pournelle and his mob. Collaring Harmon, though, is no mean feat.”

“We haven’t caught the guy yet.”

“Matter of time,” said Early. He watched the island grow ever larger ahead of them. “Don’t want you to think that the important thing to me isn’t catching spies and saboteurs. Whether I catch them or the Avenger’s gang does, it really doesn’t matter as far as the security of the United States is concerned. But . . . well, when I get back to the Washington office . . . you know how it is.”

“You’re doing the best you can.”

“That’s what I keep telling them at the office,” said Early.

“These flashy guys like the Avenger,” said Lieutenant Allen, “they’re the ones who get all the attention. But it’s people like you and me who do the real police work. We’re—you know—the foot soldiers in this war.”

Early’s smile left him. “Yeah, that’s what bothers me. Who wants to be an infantryman?”

“What do you know about that?” said the boatman, more or less to himself. He’d noticed the monoplane that was circling the island. “Haven’t seen many of them advertising stunts since the war started.”

Early scrowled up at the plane. “Got a premonition.”

“The Avenger?”

Early nodded, not trusting himself to speak for a moment.

“Hot dog,” said the boatman, “going to be some aerial stunts, too.”

“Parachutes,” said Lieutenant Allen.

Early didn’t look up. “How many?”

“Two.”

“One of them is the Avenger,” said Early. “You can bet on that.”

“Wonder what they’re selling?” said the boatman.

Something went whistling by Cole’s feet.

It was a bullet.

“Obviously,” he said, “the natives are not friendly.” As he floated down, he narrowed his eyes to survey the trees that were coming up to meet him. “There’s the chap there, just saw his rifle glint.” He pulled a pistol out of his jacket.

Before he could fire, a second rifle shot tore into his chute, ripping a hole in the silk. This had a noticeable effect on Cole’s rate of descent.

“Next stop bargain basement,” he said as he went plummeting toward the twisted tree limbs.

“This way,” whispered Smitty.

They had stalked through the stunted forest, seeking the rifleman.

Josh saw him now, too. “That’s Harmon, ain’t it?”

“Yeah, that’s him.”

The freckled young man, eye to the telescopic rifle sight, was watching the sky.

“We got to put a stop to that target practice of his.” Josh dashed swiftly ahead. It was his intention to circle behind Harmon and jump him.

But, hurrying, he didn’t notice a broken branch protruding from a tree trunk. It gave him a sudden and unexpected whack in the side, against his sore rib. In spite of himself, the black man cried out in pain.

Harmon swung around, aimed the rifle at Josh, and fired.

Jeanne started moving again. Awkwardly, hopping like someone participating in a sack race, she went thumping across the ruined floor.

The watching rats scattered. The shots outside and the violent motion of the girl made them run.

She made it into the corridor and stopped to catch her breath.

“Is there someone out there besides Wayne? Somebody who’s come looking for me?”

She believed that Harmon was out of his mind, so there was no predicting what he might try.

Was he shooting a rifle out there only to make her step outside? Out in the open where he’d shoot her down?

“Let’s keep a cool head,” Jeanne told herself. “Whatever crazy threats he’s made, he needs me alive.”

Another shot.

Then another. But that one sounded different.

Someone shouted, someone who was hurt.

“Was that Wayne’s voice?”

The girl couldn’t tell.

She made herself struggle to the doorway that led outside. “You’ve got to go out there.”

She heard someone running. Not running this way, running off in another direction.

Hopping, stumbling, she got herself out onto the ruined porch.

The Avenger saw Cole hit the treetops, saw Josh go flat on the ground. He also saw where Wayne Harmon was. Mike, the deadly little .22, was in his hand as he floated down. He fired.

“Ow, my god!” The slug tore across Harmon’s hand, cutting a bloody furrow across it. He let go the rifle and slapped his other hand down over the escaping blood. “Look what you’ve done, look what you’ve done!” He grimaced up at Benson and shook a bloody fist at him.

Then he dodged away, running down a corridor of trees.

Smitty dropped beside Josh. “Hey, pal, are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah, but I figure why not stretch out here and rest awhile.”

“Slug hit you at all?”

“Nope, I was long gone from the spot when the bullet went by. Maybe my bulletproof vest would have handled it, but I don’t like getting bonged by bullets every day in the week.”

“You see about Cole, I’m going to run down that Harmon punk,” said the giant, rising up. “I got a score or two to settle.”

Like a bull moose on a rampage Smitty went loping off. Low-hanging branches that got in his way were snapped off by his bulk and his momentum.

“This is going to be a cinch, that guy can’t run.”

He was narrowing the distance between himself and Harmon.

“Harmon,” he shouted, “I’m going to get you!”

The young man snatched out a gun and threw a shot in Smitty’s direction.

He shouldn’t have done that. The shot missed, and in turning to get a bead on the giant Harmon’d taken his eyes off where he was going.

He slammed into a tree trunk. The wind went huffing out of him; the gun snapped out of his fingers.

Smitty rumbled closer.

Shaking his head, Harmon got to his feet. He staggered on.

The giant suddenly pulled up, realizing where they were heading. “Hey, kid, stop. You’re going to go over—”

Too late. Harmon was in midair. At the edge of the woods was a narrow strip of scrubby ground. Then a hundred-foot drop down to the beach.

Harmon screamed all the way down.

“Geeze,” said Smitty in a quiet voice. He rubbed a palm over his eyes. “Poor guy.”

He walked to the edge, gingerly, and looked down.

There was no hope, you could tell that from up here. No one alive and unbroken could lie like that down there.

Smitty shook his head. Then he frowned, and yelled, “Hey, get away from him!”

The rats had discovered the body. Hundreds of them. They were chittering down through the brush, easing across the sand toward it.

“Get away!”