Red Dragon

by Jerry Pournelle

  "Dr. Prufro one of your true believers?" I asked her.

  "I guess so. He's very effective. Quite a good scientist." I got the impression that Prufro knew something about nuclei. He seemed to have made most of his discoveries in government laboratories and resented hell out of the fact that he couldn't sell his talents on the open market.

  Steen and the boy talked for an hour. After a little while Dick got out a clipboard and wrote furiously. I gathered he was getting what he wanted. Finally they finished and had a last drink. Dick nodded, gave us a half smile. "You do know the subject, Dr. Hoorne. We won't have any trouble selling your information. There's just one problem—can you get to Los Angles?"

  "Los Angeles? For God's sake, who'd go there?" Steen demanded.

  "Our buyers. They're very cautious. They will want to talk to you themselves. I'm sure you know you haven't given us anything worth the kind of money you ask. Since their expert won't come up here, we'll have to go to him."

  "L.A." Hoorne turned to me. "Can we get there?"

  While I was supposedly thinking about that, Dick reached under the bed, took out a paper sack. "This is yours, it may help your decision." I shook out a pile of money, twenties and tens mostly. "There's four thousand as agreed," Dick told us. "We've been honest with you. And a trip out of the rain will do you good. Help that cough, Dr. Hoorne."

  Steen had coughed a couple of times, but I hadn't paid any attention. He wasn't sick. "When do you want us there?" I asked.

  "May fourth. A little less than three weeks. You'll take Miss Youngs, of course?"

  "What the hell has she got to do with this?"

  "Nothing. It seemed to me as good a way to make contact as any. Have her register in the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel and we'll get a message to her. That way you won't be asked to trust us." He didn't add that it was unlikely that we would, but he thought it.

  "When we get there we'll want to see some money before anything else happens," I warned them. "Real money, not little stuff like this."

  "I don't call four thousand dollars tax-free little stuff," he told us. "But you're right, we'll show you some money. We're very businesslike, Mr. Crane, it isn't our fault that we have to go through these mysterious ceremonies to meet. We've a right to do what we're doing, but the government doesn't agree. We'll keep our part of the agreement."

  "Maybe," I grunted. "OK. Janie registers at the Hollywood Roosevelt and you'll let her know how to find you. She's not in on any of this, you know. Be careful what you say to her."

  Dick was good, he didn't react at all, but behind me I could hear Bev give a little snort, choking back a laugh. I didn't look around because I didn't want them to know I'd caught it. Dick covered for her nicely. "Surely she knows that Dr. Hoorne is wanted by the FBI and that he is in your house. If she doesn't know he's wanted, she's the only person in Seattle."

  "Yeah," I growled. "I forgot you had my house watched. OK, she knows he's wanted and she doesn't give a damn. He's my friend and she's on my side. I'd still rather she didn't find out about treason. It might upset her."

  "We'll spare her feelings," Dick said smoothly. "Well, that's about it. You go east and we'll go west. We'll wait until you've driven away if you don't mind."

  I nodded. If the boys outside hadn't got a look at the car by now—nuts, I thought. They knew about this before I did. I kept forgetting exactly where Janie fit into all this.

  Chapter Six

  We left them standing by cabin four and drove east on the road. The country around there was flat, nothing but a few farmhouses a mile or so apart, the road a two-lane asphalt ribbon lined with tall trees. I wasn't sure of the way, having looked at the map only to find the route we'd taken from Seattle. I remembered that east of Carnation the road joined up with another highway to the ski areas in the pass, but I wasn't too familiar with it. It didn't seem to matter, we'd find a gas station somewhere and ask directions. For that matter we could turn around and go back, although I hated to do that.

  The road started to climb up the side of a bluff, and I knew we'd missed a turn somewhere. We were headed up into the logging country where the trout streams were. I thought I might even remember the road, and if I was right it wouldn't take us back to Seattle.

  "About time to look for another route," I told Steen.

  "There's a car behind us," he said slowly.

  "I expect there is. Probably Shearing's troops wondering where in hell we're leading them. I think we're lost, boys," I added loudly.

  "Yeah," He lit his pipe and I wished I weren't driving so I could fill mine. "They're catching up to us," he observed.

  I could see that in the rear-view mirror, and slowed down to make it easier. The car came up fast, a big Detroit job. It got bumper to bumper with us, honked a couple of times although there was plenty of room to pass.

  "If he does and it's Shearing's people, he knows the signal," I pulled over to the right to let them get by, and the car came up nearly alongside. The window rolled down, and somebody pointed a gun at us.

  "Stop!" he commanded. At least that's what I think he was saying. I wasn't staying around to find out. I dropped into second gear and slammed the accelerator to the floorboards as soon as I saw the gun, even before he had it really pointed at us. The big four-barrel carburetors cut in and we shot out ahead before they could react. Then I was covered with flying chunks of glass.

  "Jesus Christ, he shot at us!" Steen shouted. "The rear window's out."

  It sure was. That window makes up about half the aft surface area of the car, one of the biggest windows ever put in an automobile, and it's bent in a series of compound curves that must have a hell of a lot of internal stress because it hadn't just starred, the whole thing disintegrated into half-inch chunks of tinted glass. They were all over, in my hair, strung out across the dash, everywhere.

  I poured on the steam, letting the car reach her limits of skid on the twisting road. For a wonder the rain had stopped while we were in the motel but the road was still wet. We skidded around a corner, took a left-hand branch of a fork far too fast and I had to brake like hell for the blind corner just beyond it, dropping to second and taking her up to the redline on the tach coming out.

  "They're falling back a little," Steen shouted.

  "They ought to. You recognize anybody?"

  "No. Two men. I didn't get much of a look at them, I was watching the gun, but I don't think I've seen either of them before."

  We had a relatively long straight stretch, and I went through the gears to fourth, reaching for top speed, but the car behind had more power than we did. It was catching up fast, and I prayed for more curves. When it drew up behind us I saw orange flashes in the mirror. A reaction was trying to set in, but if I ever gave way to it I'd be too scared to drive. My hands on the wheel and shift knob were white, and I eased off on the grip. On the third flash something whizzed past my ear and took out the front windshield. A chunk of glass blew back, slashing my cheek.

  "Here," I told Steen. "Shoot back." I handed him the Luger I'd been packing around in my belt all evening. I hadn't even remembered it until then.

  I was glad to see he knew how to cock the piece, it meant he might have fired one before. He turned, braced himself against the seat, and fired three shots, slowly, aiming each one out the back where the rear window had been. The car behind us dropped back a few yards and he held his fire.

  "You hit anything?" I asked.

  "Possibly. There was a time when I wasn't too bad with one of these."

  "Good. How well do you drive?"

  "Not well at all."

  "Better." We had the right people in the right jobs. "My driving's a hell of a lot better than my shooting."

  The road seemed to lead us nowhere, curving back in the general direction of Carnation but there weren't any lights anymore. We ought to be getting out of the hills pretty soon at the speed we were going, but I saw no signs of it.

  "Hold on, here they come again," Steen shouted. "Yahoooo!"

/>   "Jesus Christ, an enthusiast," I started to say. I don't think I finished the comment. The big car got up closer and the orange flashes started again, the Luger went off with another string of three, and I lost control of the car. We skidded across the road, I caught her, overcorrected, and we went across to the other side, fishtailing down the blacktop, just at the edge of losing it, slowing down rapidly. "Save the bloody ammunition!" I shouted. "They hit a tire!"

  "They've stopped," Steen said. He was quite calm. "I think they crashed. There's another car coming up, it's stopped too." By that time I had control and we rolled to a halt, the blown-out rear tire thumping along. I pulled over to the side of the road and began to shake.

  There were more shots from behind us. It sounded like a regimental battle for a second, then it was quiet. A couple of crickets went back to their serenade, and somewhere way off an owl screamed.

  I pulled myself together. "Out of here!" I said. "Come on, man, into the woods!" Somehow I got hold of the money, although I don't know what I thought I'd do with it.

  "Yeah." We jumped out, dashed across the road and into the trees. Steen thundered along like a buffalo.

  "Keep quiet, you dolt," I growled. We stopped to listen.

  "Crane?" someone called. "Crane? This is George. Your escort, damn it. Get your ass out here."

  Steen looked at me. I nodded. "I know him. One of Shearing's local talent. Let's go see what he wants."

  The last time I'd seen George, he was a skinny little runt with buck teeth and glasses and I thought he was ugly. His appearance hadn't changed a bit, but he looked damn good to me now. He was standing by the wrecked car, which I saw was one of the larger Pontiacs. The windshield was out, a bullet had plowed a long furrow across the hood, and there were a lot of neat holes punched in one side. Two big guys in dark suits were stretched out beside it, and they weren't moving.

  "Know them?" George asked.

  I shook my head and Steen said, "No." We looked at them carefully to make sure, and I started shaking again.

  "Pull yourself together, man," George muttered. "Get him a drink, Stevens. I've got something in the glove compartment." He took me by the shoulders, digging his fingers into my collarbone. They were strong fingers for a little guy. "Come on, Crane, you did fine. You guys moved out of there so fast I thought we'd never catch you. Who did the shooting?"

  I pointed to Hoorne.

  "Good work. You took the driver out. One right in the chest. Don't know how he stopped the car before he died. Only left us the other one." He took the bottle his partner was holding out, opened it and handed it to me. "Have a big slug, you won't be driving home."

  I got the liquor down, not noticing what it was. It burned my throat, but it felt good, and my legs decided to hold still. "Thanks. Thanks for being back there, too."

  "We weren't needed. Told you, you killed the driver. One shot. All that's left for us is the cleanup, which could be a bit sticky if somebody runs across us here. Good thing there's no traffic. Come on, get in the car, Stevens can stand watch until I send reinforcements."

  "You can't radio for them?"

  He laughed. "No. This little short-range bug to your car is pretty secure, but we don't go in for radio calls much. Come on, we've got to get to a phone and report."

  I let myself be loaded into the front seat of George's Buick, while Steen climbed in back. "You going to keep that bottle all night?" Hoorne asked. I took another slug and passed it back.

  "Want to tell me about it?" George asked. I nodded and got it out, found it was easier after I got started. Hell, these were tough friends, I didn't want to look like a coward. I started to apologize about the shakes, but George cut me off. "You came through all right when you were needed. Everybody gets a little shook when it's over. So they made one try at stopping you, then bang! huh? Not too serious a try to stop you either, like they were supposed to make the attempt but weren't really very enthusiastic about it. Those guys were mainly out to kill you, you got any theories why?"

  "Nothing but the obvious ones . . . but there aren't any obvious ones, are there? Dead, Steen's no more use to them. Could it be the money?" I showed him the bag I was still holding on to.

  "How would anybody know you had it? The information people sure wouldn't give you three grand, then try to kill you for four."

  "For that matter," Steen asked, "how did they know we would be there? It had to be someone from the Information Associates group, no one else knew we would be out here tonight. Remember the elaborate precautions they took to keep it a secret."

  "Yeah." George looked thoughtful. "Well, here's a gas station. Excuse me while I use the phone.

  Crane, you better stand by, the chief might want to talk to you."

  "Sure." I got my pipe out, began filling it, remembering how I'd almost slowed down to do it before and wondering if they'd have caught us if I had. George was gone a long time, came back with a puzzled look. "You better go talk to him, Paul, there's something funny happening tonight."

  "You're telling me?" I went to the phone booth. "Crane."

  "On the telephone, you're Larry. You never remember, do you?"

  "Yeah. All right, sir, Larry reporting." There wasn't much question about it being Shearing. He's the only guy I know who sounds the same over the telephone, over a radio, or in the room with you. There's a flat electronic quality to his voice that I've never quite figured out.

  "Report on your meeting," he said. I did, describing the two kids and how we were supposed to meet them in Los Angeles.

  "Excellent. You'd have had problems staying in Seattle anyway, the Bureau's looking for you."

  "What?"

  "Someone gave the Bureau a tip that Hoorne was staying with you, and a couple of their agents went out to your house with a search warrant an hour ago. They almost got Janie, but she was lucky, she saw them when they went in. They're waiting there for you now. Add that to the two gentlemen in the Pontiac, and it looks very much as if someone doesn't like you."

  I thought about that one for a minute. "Any idea who?"

  "None. The Bureau's tip was anonymous, as I understand it. I could be wrong, but I don't think so. The two gunmen tonight are hired talent. I doubt they made any serious attempt to take you alive."

  "They didn't."

  "So George says. I haven't made any sense out of this yet." He was quiet for a while, then asked, "Is there anything in your house to connect you with Dr. Hoorne?"

  I thought that one over. The only thing Steen had brought with him was his clothes, and he was wearing them. "Nothing but fingerprints. If they think to take those, they'll know."

  Shearing chuckled. "No they won't. The prints they have on file are not Dr. Hoorne's. Excellent. Then they won't be looking for you that hard. They might put out a bulletin on you, but you won't get your picture in the papers or anything like that if we can keep the local police from connecting you with the shooting tonight. Of course, your cars are out as means of transportation."

  "The TR's out. The Barracuda's in pretty bad shape any way."

  "We'll get it fixed for you. We'll cover your tracks in the shooting too. The thing now is to arrange transportation for you to Los Angeles."

  "I can arrange my own," I growled. "I'm not sure who's tipped who about what, Mr. Shearing, but the only two outfits who knew where I was going tonight were Information Associates and your crowd. It doesn't make sense that one of your people put the finger on us, but it makes as much as saying that the information boys wanted to kill their meal ticket. I'd rather do without your transportation if you don't mind."

  "How do you expect to get over a thousand miles with every road watched? You can't just go to an airport or bus station, you know. They're serious about trying to find Dr. Hoorne."

  "I know. Don't worry, I've got a way."

  "You will tell me what you intend to do. This is ridiculous, I can't take a chance on some hick cop picking you up hitchhiking." He thought for a second. "You fly, don't you? Have you got so
me crazy idea of renting an airplane and flying down?"

  "I'm not going to hitchhike, and I wouldn't trust the airports either. Look, I'll tell you if you tell no one else. Nobody, not a soul, not a person in your agency. Deal?"

  "Yes. You have a point, we don't really know where the leak is. Not that I agree it might be in my group, but if you have a good means of transportation, let's hear it."

  "Good. You just have Janie available at the Hollywood Roosevelt. I'm going to sail us down."

  "Sail? In that tiny little boat of yours? You're out of your mind."

  "That's your reaction, uh? Good. Then if anybody thinks to look for my boat, which I doubt, they won't look far enough south. Most people think it's impossible to sail that far, sailboats just aren't thought of as a means of transportation. The Bureau will never think of it. I'll have George drop me off a couple of miles from the yacht basin and we'll walk. You'll have to arrange for one of the neighbors to feed my cat while we're gone, there's nothing else to worry about at the house. Let's see, the boat's got a good supply of stores on board and I've got plenty of money, we can buy provisions and outfits on the way."