The Wrecking Crew mh-2

by Donald Hamilton

  When you act like a nice guy, everybody examines your motives with a microscope. When you act like a conscienceless louse, they generally take you at face value.

  Lou licked her lips again. "What's that, Matt? What do you want for your films? Money?"

  I said, "Folks have been known to get smacked talking like that, ma'am… No, I don't want money. I just want a look, one quick look, at a man's face. Lacking that, his name will do; the name he goes under in this country. I figure I've earned that much."

  "A quick look." she said tightly, "so you can kill him!"

  We were suddenly a long way apart, even though my hands were still on her shoulders. I took them away.

  "The man we're talking about is the man who's probably responsible for your husband's death," I said. "Why should you worry what happens to him? That is, if your husband's really dead." A funny look came briefly into her eyes and went away. She didn't speak. I went on: "Anyway, I think you know what my orders are. Until they're changed, I'm harmless. I just want to find out who the hell I'm dealing with. I'd like to get that much of the job accomplished."

  I moved my shoulders. "I'm offering you a bargain. Make up your mind. I'm not asking you to set him up for me. All I'm asking is who he is. There are your films, all together for the first and maybe the last time. You can have them easy or you can have them tough. Hell, I'm just one man, doll, and my hands are officially tied. What harm can I do? Check with Caselius himself. I don't think he's scared of letting me know who he is. I think he'll agree it's a good deal for him. His identity in exchange for the pix without fuss or trouble. What does he lose?"

  She said, "You'd betray a friendly country, a country from which your people came-"

  "Lou," I said, "cut it out. Let's not use big words like betray. I've got a job to do. It's not my business to protect the security of the mines and railroads of northern Sweden, a neutral country that's no ally of my country-it's not even a member of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization, to the best of my knowledge. The Swedes can damn well look out for themselves. I've got a man to find. You want your films, give me my man."

  "If you got other orders," she said, "would you really-" I said irritably, "Let's not go into the morality lecture, honey. I've heard it before."

  "But it doesn't make sense!" she cried with sudden vigor. "You're a… an intelligent person. You're even kind of kind of nice at times. And still you'd hunt down a human being like… like…" She drew a long breath. "Don't you realize that if this man Caselius is so evil and dangerous that he must be removed, there are other ways, legal ways… Can't you see that by resorting to violence, you just bring yourself down to his level, the level of animals? Even if you should win that way, it wouldn't mean anything!"

  There was a change in her attitude that puzzled me, a kind of honest indignation that was incongruous and disconcerting under the circumstances. A day earlier, a few hours earlier, I'd have spent some time trying to figure it out, but it was too late now.

  There comes a time in every operation when the wheels are turning, the die is cast, the cards are dealt, if you please, and you've got to carry on as planned and hope for the best. I can name you names, too many of them, of men I've known-and women, too-who died because some, last-minute piece of information made them try to pull a switcheroo after the ball had been snapped and the backfield was in motion. When that point comes, to scramble the similes even further, you just take the phone off the hook and walk away from it. You don't want to hear what the guy at the other end of the line has to say. You've done your best, you've learned everything possible in the time at your disposal, and you don't want any more dope on any part of the situation, because it's too late and you can't do anything about it, anyway.

  I said, "That's kind of a funny speech from you, Lou. It seems to be kind of a set speech in these parts. Sara Lundgren-I think you've heard the name-made it, too, a few minutes before your Caselius put a nice accurate burst from a machine pistol into her face and chest."

  I made an impatient gesture. "What the hell makes everybody feel so damn superior to this fellow Caselius? As far as I can make out, he's a bright, ruthless guy working like hell for his country, just like I'm a bright, ruthless guy working like hell for mine. His country doesn't happen to like my country. He's responsible for the deaths of a couple of people I'd rather have seen keep on living. I've even got some sentimental objections to his methods. Therefore it's not going to grieve me deeply if I get orders to go ahead and make the touch.

  "But as far as feeling superior to the guy, nuts! I'm perfectly happy to be on his level, doll. It's the level of a tough, intelligent, courageous man who could probably make a better living selling automobiles or insurance or whatever they sell in Russia, but who prefers to serve his country in the front lines, such as they are today. I don't hate him. I don't despise him. I don't look down upon him, as everybody else seems to, from some kind of a higher moral plane. I'm just prepared to kill him when and if I get instructions to do so, whether it means anything or not. Meanwhile, I'd like to find out who he is."

  She said, rather stiffly. "Well, you certainly won't learn it from me, Matt." She glanced at her watch, and spoke in a different tone. "We'd better hurry. The Ridderswдrds were warned we'd be late, so they're holding dinner for us, but it's not very nice to keep them waiting unnecessarily."

  I looked at her. She was no longer a pretty girl whose company I'd kind of enjoyed. She was somebody who had some information I wanted. There are ways of getting information out of just about anybody, if you have a big enough need and a strong enough stomach..

  A funny, startled look came into her eyes. She said quietly, "No, Matt. I don't think you could make me talk."

  I said, "Another woman told me that once. Remind me to tell you the story some day." I picked up her coat. "Let's go."

  Chapter Twenty

  I AL~.rosT didn't recognize the von Hoffman kid, when I came into the Ridderswдrds' living room. She'd pulled her hair straight back and put it up in a big knot at the back of her head. It changed the apparent shape of her face and made her look older and more adult-~kind of serene and regal-but she still stuck loyally to her putrid-pink lipstick. She was wearing the gray flannel suit that's practically a daytime uniform for the Swedish women. It comes in all shapes, shades, and sizes, but the favorite model, which Elin was displaying tonight, has a short jacket and a full pleated skirt suitable for walking or bicycling. They all wear it.

  It wasn't as bad on her as the shiny blue party dress or the wild plaid pants. It didn't do anything for her, but then, she didn't really need to have anything done for her. The fact that she was wearing it, instead of dressing up, indicated that this was to be a much less formal affair than the last dinner we'd attended at this house. There were no visiting directors here tonight. Clearly this was just a little private get-together in the interests of company public relations: a graceful farewell gesture toward a couple of foreign journalists who'd finished their assignment and were about to leave.

  "I have written to Colonel Stjernhjelm," Elin said to me as we settled down at the table after the same old quick-and-lousy Manhattan. She said, "I wrote that you were a terrible person, a drunkard, and probably quite immoral as well." She glanced briefly toward Lou, at the other side of the table. Then she laughed quickly. "I am joking with you, Cousin Matthias," she murmured. "I wrote that you were a very nice man. I have a reply from Colonel Stjernhjeim. He is writing you directly, but in case the letter should miss you in your travels, I am to tell you that you are invited to Torsдter for the hunt next week and he is looking forward to meeting you."

  "That's very nice of him," I said. "And thank you for the recommendation."

  She said, "I will be there, too. If you come on Wednesday morning, we will have a day for me to show you around. Also to sight in your weapon, if you have not already done so. I have a new, light 8mm Huskvarna bolt-action rifle that I wish to try out before I use it."

  I glanced at her, a little s
urprised. "Oh," I said, "you'll be hunting, too."

  "Why, yes," she said. "As a matter of fact, we'll be hunting together, if you do not mind too much. Colonel Stjernhjelm is in charge of organizing the hunt this year, and he will be too busy to look after you properly, so he is making me responsible for you, since you are not acquainted with our customs and methods. We hunt on stand, you know, each shooter assigned to a post, and the game is driven toward the guns by jдgare and dogs. It is very exciting when you hear the dogs approaching and know that the дlg-moose-is close ahead of them, and you pray that they will pass your stand and not somebody else's. I hope you are a good shot on running game. So many Americans seem to practice on nothing but stationary targets, when they bother to practice at all."

  I said, "I've shot at a few moving targets in my time, Cousin Elin."

  She laughed. "You make yourself sound quite ancient when you speak like that… We will be sharing a stand. As the guest, you will take the first shot. But do not worry. If ~'ou miss the game, I will kill it for you."

  She might look like a tall and lovely young lady, but she talked like a cocky kid. "Thanks," I said dryly.

  "I am a very good shot," she said calmly. "I have written ~. Colonel Stjernhjelm that you do not much like to walk, so we will be assigned to one of the easier stands, but it is all right. We have just as good a chance there as elsewhere."

  "That's good," I said. "I wouldn't want to think you'd lost any opportunities on my account."

  She laughed. "Am I being terribly undiplomatic? But we do want you to enjoy this hunt, and some of the stands are far back in quite rough country. And I am afraid we do not have the jeeps or horses available to which. you are accustomed in your American hunting."

  Her voice was a little scornful. I had a momentary impulse to invite her to come elk hunting in the high Rockies some time. After a couple of hard days in the saddle, she might change her opinion about American hunting.

  Later in the evening, while I was talking with my host, I saw her sitting with Lou on the far side of the living room. Both girls were smiling sweetly and talking in syrupy voices that made me want to knock their heads together. I couldn't hear what they were talking about.

  Riding back to the hotel, I asked Lou, "What the hell have you and the von Hoffman kid got against each other, anyway?" -

  Lou gave me a surprised look that wasn't as convincing as it might have been. "Got against… I haven't got anything against her. I just don't go for that innocent, nature-girl type. I told you so before." She glanced at me. "I'll give you a word of advice, buster. Don't get mixed up with that one." Her voice was flat.

  "What do you mean?" I asked.

  She didn't look at me. "Skip it," she said. "It was just a friendly warning. I just mean she's a screwball, that's what I mean. What were you two talking about at dinner, anyway, that was so fascinating?"

  I said, "Well, if you must know, we were comparing the killing power of the American.30-06 cartridge, as applied to big game, with that of the European 8mm. She's a strong eight-millimeter fan, you'll be interested to hear."

  "Oh, for God's sake," Lou said. "Well, I told you she was a screwball."

  Then the taxi was pulling up at the hotel. I paid-I was getting quite handy with the local currency-and followed Lou insitle. We climbed the stairs in silence and stopped in front of her door.

  She hesitated, and turned to look at m~ie. "Well, I guess that's it," she said. "It's been quite an experience, anyway you look at it, hasn't it?" After a moment, she said, "We really ought to have a farewell drink on it, don't you think? I've still got some bourbon left. Come on in and help me polish it off."

  It wasn't very subtle. Behind me was the door to my room, and behind that door, on the dresser top, were the films-if they were still there-the films I'd threatened to send off to America at the crack of dawn. I'd figured that time limit would draw some action, but I won't say I'd anticipated it would take this form.

  "All right," I said. "I'll come in, but just for a minute, if you don't mind. It's been a long day."

  It had been a long day, and it wasn't over yet.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  CLOSING the door behind me, I had the funny tight feeling you get when you know what's coming, you just don't know what she's going to insist upon in the way of suitable, civilized preliminaries. There would be preliminaries, I was sure of that. Tonight it wouldn't -be the quick, casual, what-the-hell-we're-both-adults approach she'd used before. That wouldn't take up enough time.

  Tonight she had to keep me busy for a while, out of that room across the hall, until somebody passed her the all-clear signal somehow. I wondered how they were going to manage that. The wrong-number trick wouldn't work here, since there were no room phones in this arctic hotel. I watched her carry her coat to the closet and hang it up. She emerged with a bottle that had a homelike American look, and gave me a quick smile.

  "I'll be with you in a minute."

  "No rush," I said.

  She started to say something else, changed her mind, and went behind the curtain of the rudimentary bathroom in the corner for glasses and water. Waiting for her to emerge, I looked around the room. It was pretty much like mine. Being on the opposite side of the building, it didn't have a window overlooking a vista of lake and trees-as a matter of fact, it faced the railroad station-but at night with the shade pulled down the view didn't matter. Like any hotel room, it had a couple of beds for its primary pieces of furniture. These were large, old-fashioned iron bedsteads with brass knobs-wonderful old beds, really; I hadn't seen any like them in actual use since I w~s a boy in Minnesota, although I'd seen plenty gathering dust in junk shops and antique stores.

  There was also a comfortable upholstered chair, a hard wooden one painted white, an old white-painted dresser, a couple of small tables, and a rag rug on the floor. Although rather short of facilities considered essential elsewhere, it had a pretty nice atmosphere for a hotel room; certainly it was much more pleasant and spacious than the efficient, soulless little cubicles you get for twice the price in more modern hostelries. But as I say, in just about any hotel room, you can't get away from the damn beds. I decided I'd be perverse and make the stalling she had to do as tough as possible. I walked over and sat down on the nearest bed, making the old springs creak plaintively.

  She was in the bathroom for quite a while. Then she came out with a glass in each hand, looking slender and smart and attractive in her narrow, long-sleeved, low-necked black dress. It occurred to me that I could get very fond of this girl, if I let myself. You can't work with someone for a week without coming to some conclusions about her, no matter how hard you try to avoid it. There was a moment, watching her approach, when I wanted very badly to break up this crummy business with a little injudicious honesty.

  All I had to do was indicate in some way that I hadn't the slightest intention of entering my own room until my presence there would embarrass nobody; that they were welcome as could be to the films on my dresser; and that there was no need whatever for her to buy them with her body. Of course, she'd have become suspicious instantly. Being as bright as the next person, or maybe a little brighter, she'd have wanted to know why I took such a casual attitude toward those all-important pix I hoped to trade for the information I needed.

  Nevertheless, I was tempted. I couldn't help thinking she was fundamentally a nice kid. I didn't know how she'd got mixed up in this mess, and I didn't care. If we could just get together and talk it out, instead of playing dirty games with liquor and sex, maybe we'd find that it was all a terrible misunderstanding… I was getting soft. I admit it. I was just about to break down and say something naпve like: Lou, honey, let's put our cards on the table before we do something lousy we'll both regret. Then I saw that she had no stockings on.

  She stopped before me and smiled down at me as I sat there on the big bed. "No ice, as usual," she said. "I swear to God, the next time I come across a real highball with ice cubes, I'm going to take the lovely thi
ngs out and suck them like candy, with tears in my eyes."

  I took the drink, and glanced again at her straight white legs, innocent of nylons. She'd been wearing them earlier, of course. I'd helped zip her up the back, remember; I'd patted her fanny in a friendly way. She'd been fully dressed then, completely enveloped in the ridiculous, delicate complex of nylon and elastic that holds the twentieth-century lady together. Well, I suppose it beats nineteenth-century whalebone, at that. But she wasn't wearing it now. That was what she'd been doing behind the curtain: shedding. Now there was just Lou, naked under her party dress, with her bare feet stuck into her slim-heeled party pumps, as on one carefree, light-hearted morning a week or so ago.

  It was like a kick in the teeth. She'd remembered, and carefully filed for reference, the fact that I'd once found her irresistible dressed-or undressed-a certain way. It was the one thing that had happened between us that had been wholly spontaneous and natural. Now she was deliberately using it against me.

  I made myself whistle softly. I said dryly, "This is the place for the line that goes: my girdle was killing me."

  She had the grace to blush. Then she laughed, set her glass aside, and smoothed the clinging black jersey down her body, watching the effect with interest.

  "I'm not very subtle, am I?" she murmured. "But then, what could I have worn, of the few things I have with me, that would have been subtle enough? I didn't pack for a honeymoon, you know. Should I go back and change into my nice warm flannel pajamas?"

  I didn't say anything. She glanced at me sharply. Something changed in her face. After a moment, she seated herself beside me on the bed, picked up her glass, and drank deeply.

  "I'm sorry, Matt." Her voice was stiff. "I didn't mean to… I wasn't trying to seduce you, damn you. I didn't think you needed it, to be perfectly honest."

  I didn't say anything. It was her party.