The Eiger Sanction (33 page)

“I don't do it anymore. I've quit.”

Ben looked at him seriously. “That's good, Jon.” Then he returned to watching the traffic crawl through the darkening streets. His voice was dry when he spoke. “One day this Miles Mellough shows up out of nowhere and says he has a proposition for me. He'd set me up with a posh resort and a little climbing school on the side, and all I have to do is let his people come and go with no questions. I knew it was some kind of illegal. Matter of fact, Mellough never pretended it wasn't. But I was pretty far in debt and...” His voice trailed off.

Jonathan broke through the nicotine-colored cellophane and took an apple out of the basket. “Miles was big-leaguing dope. I imagine your place doubled as a rest camp for his wholesale hustlers and a depot for east-west traffic.”

“That's about it. It went on for a couple of years. And all that time I never knew that you and Mellough were enemies. I didn't even know you knew each other.”

“All right, that ties you to Mellough. It doesn't explain why you went to Montreal.”

“I don't get much kick out of talking about it.”

“I think you owe me an explanation. I would never have gone on the mountain if you'd told me before.”

Ben snorted. “No! You'd have shot me and collected your pay.”

“I don't think so.”

“You're telling me you'd have given up your house and paintings and everything?”

Jonathan was silent.

“You're not sure, are you, Jon?”

“No. I'm not sure.”

“Honesty isn't enough, Jon. Anyway, for what it's worth, I tried many times to talk you out of going on the hill. I didn't want to die, but I didn't want you to die on the mountain because of me.”

Jonathan was not going to be side-tracked. “Tell me how you got to Montreal.”

Ben sighed stertorously. “Oh, I did some stupid things, ol' buddy. Things an experienced hand like you would never do. I signed for some shipments—things like that. Then, my...” He squeezed his eyes closed and pressed his thumb and forefinger into the sockets. “Then, my daughter got messed up with drugs and... Mellough took care of her. He brought her to a place where they cleaned her up. After that, he had me. And I owed him.”

Jonathan frowned. “Your daughter, Ben?”

Ben's eyes chilled over. “Yes. Something you didn't know, Doctor. George Hotfort is my little girl”

Jonathan remembered making love to her and later slapping her around. He lowered his eyes to the un-bitten apple and began polishing it slowly on the sheet. “You're right. It's something I didn't know.”

Ben did not choose to linger on the subject of George. “All this time, Mellough knew, of course, that you and I were friends. He was angling for a way to set me up in big trouble so he could swap me in return for your taking him off your list and letting him breathe easy for a change.”

“It's his kind of con. He always did things obliquely.”

“And this Montreal business gave him the chance to set me up. He told me I had to come along. I had to go with some turd named Kruger while he received a paper or something. I didn't know anyone was going to get killed. Even if I had, I didn't have a whole lot of choice.”

“But you didn't have anything to do with the killing, did you?”

“I guess you can't say that. I didn't stop it, did I? I just stood there and watched it happen.” His voice was bitter with self-disgust. “And when Kruger started to cut him open, I...”

“You threw up.”

“Yeah, that's right! I guess I'm not the killer type.” He turned back to the window. “Not like you, ol' buddy.”

“Spare me that crap. You don't have anything against killing in the abstract. You were perfectly willing to have me kill Mellough for you. It's just that you can't do it yourself.”

“I suppose.”

Jonathan dropped the apple back into the basket. It had been a gift from Ben. “Tell me. Why did you come up and get me off the face? If I had died with the others, you would have been home free.”

Ben smiled and shook his head. “Don't imagine for a minute I didn't consider it, ol' buddy.”

“But you're not the killer type?”

“That, and I owed you one for the time you walked me down off the Aconcagua.” Ben turned squarely to Jonathan. “What happens now?”

“Nothing.”

“You wouldn't bullshit an old buddy, would you?”

“The CII people are satisfied that they have their man. And I don't see any reason to disabuse them. Especially since I've already been paid.”

“What about you? I know how you are about friends who let you down.”

“I don't have any friends who have let me down.”

Ben thought that over. “I see. Tell me, ol' buddy. Do you have any friends at all?”

“Your solicitude is touching, Ben. When do you catch your plane?”

“I've got to get going right now.”

“Fine.”

Ben paused at the door. “Take care of yourself, ol' buddy.”

“Thanks for the fruit.”

Jonathan stared at the door for several minutes after it closed behind Ben. He felt hollow inside. For several days he had known that he would never climb again. He had lost his nerve. And Ben was gone. And Jemima was gone. And he was tired of counting holes in the ceiling.

He turned the light off and the blue of late evening filled the room. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

What the hell. He didn't need them. He didn't need any of it. When he got back to the States, he was going to sell the goddam church.

But not the paintings!

Copyright © 1972 by Trevanian. Published by Avon books. ISBN: 0-380-00176-4

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