The Menacers (5 page)

“Hokay,” I said. “Carry on.”

“Secondly, your descriptions of the agents already on the scene check out perfectly. Is there any valid reason to doubt their identities? If not, just take it you’re dealing with the right people and get on with the job. Hokay?”

“Hokay,” I said.

“Item number three: a broad-shouldered blonde with a mannish haircut. You asked about her.”

“That’s right,” I said. “I was told locally that she’s absolutely harmless. That always makes me suspicious as hell.”

“And now, my nosy friend, you are told to stop playing detective and do the assignment you were given in the way it was given you to do. The lady about whom you inquire is none of your business, it says here, friend Eric. I will leave you to guess by whom it was said. That individual states further that I am to do whatever is necessary to make you understand that it is not your job to check up on your associates, or the people they choose to associate with. I am to make it very clear to you that your assignment is only a small part of a larger scheme, the details of which do not concern you, and that’s an order! Any comments?”

“Yes, one,” I said, and made it.

The man in Mexico City laughed. “Señor, I will forward your brief remark, all four letters of it.
Vaya con Dios
.”

It wasn’t a conversation calculated to promote a relaxed frame of mind and a peaceful
siesta
, so I put on my damp trunks and took another swim. Bucking the big waves was a good way to use up surplus steam, and I’d generated a certain amount of pressure, being slapped on the wrist like a naughty boy.

Gradually, my temper cooled and my common sense returned. It occurred to me that Mac, although he could be high-handed enough upon occasion, wasn’t usually unreasonable and dictatorial towards agents who were merely taking common sense precautions. It could just be, Washington politics being what they were, that he’d deliberately passed along an arrogant message that had been delivered to him, so I’d know there were other forces at work here and govern myself accordingly…

I was in the hotel lobby promptly at seven-thirty. Vadya made me wait only a few minutes before making her appearance.

“Observe the coat and tie as ordered, ma’am,” I said when she arrived. “I do believe you have hit upon a new and subtle method of assassination. When I die of heat stroke, it will go down in the books as death from natural causes.”

She didn’t laugh. “Let’s not talk about murder and death tonight, darling, not even in fun. How do I look?”

I guess the question was prompted by the way I was regarding her; I still wasn’t quite used to thinking of this smartly slender woman as Vadya. She was wearing a straight, short, sleeveless white dress that touched her only lightly and only in the more significant places. In a way, hinting at untold secrets, it was more provocative than the more obviously revealing white bathing suit had been.

“You look indecent,” I said. “Or perhaps the term is fashionably nude. Have you got anything at all on under that skimpy garment?”

She did laugh at this. “No comment from the lady. I’ll let you guess—until the time comes for you to make your determination, shall we say, empirically?”

I grinned. “Jesus, what a complicated way she’s got of telling the gentleman she’s expecting to be disrobed and ravished later in the evening. Empirically, yet!”

Vadya laughed again, and stopped laughing. “Matt.”

“Yes?”

“I am not tricking you. Not tonight.”

“Sure.” I regarded her soberly for a moment. “And I am not bluffing you, doll. Not tonight. The orders have been given.”

“I know.” She smiled. “I just heard them played back on the electronic machine.”

I grinned. “So you do have the room bugged. Then you know that if anything happens around here while I’m out with you, one person gets a bullet and nobody else gets anything. So let’s relax and have fun. What was the name of that restaurant you recommended? The Glass of Milk?”

“Yes, the Copa de Leche. It’s downtown; we’ll have to take a cab…”

It was a peculiar evening. I mean, this Mexican encounter made the third time we’d run up against each other like this, in the line of duty; and each time before, we’d managed to avoid a fatal showdown, although the last time we’d cut it very close.

Each time before, also, we’d managed to chisel a little honest pleasure out of all the lies and intrigue. It was an odd relationship we had, perhaps an unhealthy one. It was also a doomed relationship, and we both knew it. Sooner or later our respective superiors would set us on firm collision courses and we’d have to remember that we weren’t human beings at all; we were just well-programmed robots representing two great hostile societies.

In the meantime, however, we could at least pretend to be real people. Riding in the cab through Mazatlán we chatted like ordinary tourists, she telling me various things she’d learned about the city and its points of interest. She had the driver show me the view from the top of Icebox Hill, so-called because it held a cave in which, in the days before electric refrigeration, ice from the north was stored. She also had us driven by the docks where a good-sized freighter was being loaded with a certain kind of locally produced seed or grain, the name of which I didn’t catch.

The restaurant at which we wound up turned out to be thoroughly modern and, as she’d promised, efficiently air-conditioned, so that I was glad of the jacket I’d been made to wear. The service was excellent and the Martinis were passable, although it’s not a drink that Mexican bartenders really understand. The food was very good, even the meat, and they’ve been known to do some strange things to meat down there.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said at last. “I would say this is a thoroughly satisfactory establishment, ma’am, and I take off my hat to your judgment.”

She smiled faintly. “And all the time you are wondering just what is happening back at the hotel, are you not, Matthew? You would very much like to telephone and learn if, perhaps, Harsek has struck already, even though I have assured you that he has not yet arrived on the scene. Why would we have waited if he had? Do you not think we could have got that girl away from those two young agents of yours, Harsek and I? Now that we have you to deal with, it will be more difficult.”

I grinned. “I appreciate the flattery. And I’m not really worried about what’s happening at the hotel. You’ve had plenty of chances to deal with the kids already and you haven’t done it.” I grimaced. “That’s what I don’t understand.”

“What, darling?”

“Just what
is
everybody waiting for? Here you’ve been sitting on your hands instead of clobbering our two juveniles and walking off with the redhead—and don’t tell me you couldn’t have done it without Harsek’s help. And as for my eager young associates, what the hell have they been marking time for? They could have tried to get out of Mazatlán with the O’Leary, couldn’t they, instead of just locking her up in a hotel room and waiting for me. It’s almost as if—” I stopped.

“As if what, Matthew?”

“Maybe I’m getting delusions of grandeur, but I’ve got a funny feeling everybody’s been waiting for the dramatic entrance of The Great Helm, in person.”

Vadya gave an odd little laugh. “You
are
getting conceited, aren’t you, darling?”

“No,” I said. “Not really. Because my funny feeling says everybody’s been waiting for me to make a patsy of me somehow.” There was a space of silence. I knew that I’d got hold of the thin, tail end of a shining truth, and I knew that, now I had it, I might as well let it go, for the moment. Vadya knew she’d made a slip and wouldn’t let it happen again. I made a face and said plaintively, “Well, I just wish I knew what the hell is going on around here. What did that red-haired girl see out on the water, anyway?”

Vadya laughed. “If we knew, we wouldn’t be so anxious to have her tell us, would we?”

I said, “To hell with that. You know
what
it was; what you want is details, not simple identification. Something apparently landed in the drink out there, something that’s got a couple of large nations very worried indeed. Flying saucers, for God’s sake! Your people must have pretty strong reasons for climbing out on
that
limb! They’re even less fond of getting themselves laughed at than we are.”

Vadya smiled faintly. “Are you trying to get me to tell you how much we know? You are wasting your time. And if you’re going to be dull and serious, I want to leave.”

“You started it, teasing me with what Harsek might be doing, back at the ranch,” I said. “Hell, I don’t think there is any Harsek. Or if there is, he’s doing the Lawrence bit over in Arabia somewhere, camel, burnoose, and all. With his little Luger clutched firmly in his sandy little fist. No dessert?”

“No, thank you. Their desserts are too starchy for my glorious new figure.”

“Brandy?”

“No, darling. I am not in the mood to make a drinking night of it. Just take me back to the hotel and make love to me.”

I grinned and started to make a smart-alecky response; then I saw that her face was serious, maybe even a little sad, and I cut off the humor, paid the bill, and escorted her outside. We were greeted by rain-wet pavements and a crash of thunder; a tropical storm had sneaked up on us unheard while we were having our air-conditioned meal. I beckoned to a taxi waiting in front of a neighboring hotel, and we made a dash for it as it pulled up.

It had only one functioning windshield wiper, and that on the wrong side to be of any help to the driver, but he seemed accustomed to flying blind, and brought us to the Hotel Playa unscathed. I paid him and hurried after Vadya down the side of the hotel, more or less sheltered from the rain by the balcony serving the second-floor rooms above. She stopped at a door and turned to face me, a little breathless, holding out a key.

“Here we are,” she said. “Matt?”

“Yes?”

“Do you remember the motel in Tucson? And that nice lodge up in the Scottish Highlands?”

“I remember,” I said.

She hesitated, as if to say more; then she drew a long breath, like a sigh, and said, “Well, you’ve got the key, darling. What are we waiting for?”

I looked at her sharply. It seemed to me she was making a little more of opening a door than was absolutely necessary. Her face told me nothing. I unlocked the door and stepped aside to let her pass. I followed her inside and waited as she reached for the switch.

The light came on, and the man in the bathroom doorway fired.

It was a silenced pistol, which made it an automatic because, despite what you may have seen on TV, revolvers aren’t really amenable to silencing. The necessary clearance between the front of the rotating cylinder and the rear of the fixed barrel lets out too much noisy gas regardless of what magic gizmos you screw on the muzzle. The little plopping sound meant that it was a fairly small-caliber gun, probably a .22. The big blasters can’t be quieted so effectively, at least not by any device you’d want to smuggle into somebody’s hotel room.

I don’t mean I stood there figuring all this out; but it’s always useful to know what kind of a weapon you’re up against. As I got my reflexes working, I kept in mind that I was dealing with a fast-firing little gun probably holding in the neighborhood of ten shots, a gun with which the other guy would have to hit me dead center, since he didn’t have much shocking power at his disposal. Not that any pistol will really knock a man off his feet, but since the ambusher had missed his first shot I did have a bit of a fire-power edge with my heavier .38 special—if I could get it out in time.

I couldn’t use my right hand. That angle was blocked by Vadya, probably deliberately. I remembered the sadness I’d seen on her face when she’d suggested coming back here; and her odd hesitation outside. I remembered also that she did owe me a bullet for old times’ sake. Apparently this was the payoff. Well, one shot had already been fired and I wasn’t dead.

All kinds of fragmentary thoughts like this were flashing through my mind, but I was already going for the gun in my belt left-handed, twisting it free as I dove to the side. The maneuver is fairly awkward, and while I’m a pretty good shot I’m not really an expert gun-juggler. My performance wouldn’t have earned any applause from the boys with the big hats and the tied-down holsters who play fast-draw games with electronic timers. The silenced gun had time to spit once more before I could get lined up properly, but I still wasn’t hit.

Then the sawed-off .38 in my hand went off with a deafening report. I mean, in a situation like that, if you’ve had the training and practice, your gun kind of fires itself as it comes on target. I gave it free rein, so to speak: I don’t insist on economical one-shot kills. I’m willing to waste a little ammunition to insure that the other guy gets dead and I stay alive. I let the gun keep firing until the target went down.

It took three shots. Suddenly the room was very quiet again, until lightning flashed and thunder roared outside. I listened intently afterwards, expecting to hear excited voices and hurrying footsteps coming my way, but the hotel was silent. Whatever noises had been heard beyond this room, they’d apparently been attributed to the storm—or to the Mexican kids and their inevitable firecrackers.

I drew a long breath and shifted the revolver from my left hand to my right, which shoots better. Not that the left had done too badly tonight. Belatedly I looked around for Vadya. I found her lying on the floor almost at my feet.

This wasn’t on the program, or what I’d thought was the program. It was her room and her ambush, wasn’t it? She wasn’t supposed to be hurt; I was.

Bewildered, I glanced at the man I’d shot, lying face down across the bathroom threshold. He was wearing a light suit, almost white, but dark blood was crawling out from under his motionless body in large quantities and spreading across the tiled floor. I didn’t have to worry about him. They don’t make trouble when there’s that much blood.

I knelt beside Vadya and lifted her gently. There was some blood here, too; a round stain of it on the white dress over the breast, and a trickle across the face. She’d taken both of the dead man’s bullets, and both had been placed squarely in the spots most vulnerable for a small-caliber weapon: the heart and the head. One could have been an accident, not two.