Red Dragon

by Jerry Pournelle

  He screamed, dropped the knife and held his hands to his face. "Carl!" he shouted.

  As he did, I dived for the Luger, grabbed it from his belt and ducked down behind the bed. There was a satisfying click as I thumbed off the safety. Frank was stumbling around, but he wasn't as hurt as he thought he was. That stuff didn't make too hot a flame, and he'd closed his eyes before I got aimed at them. He was reaching for his own gun, and I thought it was about time to get the hell out of there.

  The open glass doors to the balcony were behind me, and I turned and used one hand to vault over the iron railing, landing heavily on the gravel roof but still on my feet. I ran along the roof, getting a couple of startled looks from people in their rooms, until I reached the edge. I got the Luger into my belt and lay on the roof, put both hands on it, and dropped over the side, hanging by my fingers for a moment before I let go. It wasn't more than about a seven-foot drop from my feet to the concrete below and I took it lightly, going all the way down with the fall before bounding up. Some character was standing there watching me when I stood.

  "That looks like fun," he said. "I think I'll try it." He tried to focus his eyes on me, but it wasn't easy. "Don't that look like fun, Mary Lee?" I saw a wide-eyed girl behind him.

  "It's not what it's cracked up to be," I told him. "You ought to try it from the fourth-floor fire escape. Man, that's really fun." I left them standing there and walked quickly off toward the beach, certain that Carl and Frank were watching me from the room and hoping they wouldn't risk a shot. My back felt better when I turned a corner and got out of their sight. Just as I did, someone moved next to me.

  "Mr. Crane," he said.

  I jerked the Luger from my belt and damn near shot Sam de la Torres dead.

  A couple of minutes later he had been filled in on the events in my room, but he had to ask a lot of questions to get the story. I was still shaking, and fished around in my pockets but there wasn't anything to smoke. My pipe was lying on the bureau in the Royal Inn. De la Torres offered me a cigarette.

  "Thanks," I said. "Pall Malls. Isn't that disloyal to the chief? I thought everybody had to smoke Camels."

  "That is better. Make some more jokes, so that you can be ready to help plan what we must do now."

  I hadn't thought I was that obvious about being scared, and I got hold of myself. So I'd had a close one, you don't go around shaking until somebody tells you how good for you it is to make a joke. I mean, I'm not all hung up on masculine pride or anything, but still . . . . "Sure, let's plan. How in hell did they find me?"

  "They must have followed the Vallery boy. They did not follow you, I am certain of that, not until you had the meeting. After that they may have followed you, you went very fast and not too cleverly so that I lost you as soon as you left that park. Remember, you were warned that I would not be very close, I could not tell if Vallery had someone else watching besides the girl."

  "So that's how they were able to follow me."

  "Yes. They simply took a risk that I did not take and moved in close to you. You saw nothing going back?"

  "I might have." I remembered the feeling I'd had, that somebody might be back there. "I thought it was you."

  "You were not very careful. Still, it is as well for us that this happened."

  "Well for us? What good comes of all this?" I demanded.

  "I know who they are. From your description, from the technique. They can only be Carl Heider, an East German, and a man who calls himself Frank Sobel although that is certainly not his real name. Sobel is a Russian, and they work for the security unit of the Communist Party of Southern California."

  "CP? The real thing? Moscow people?"

  "Yes. Interesting, isn't it? Moscow does not want Peking to have any secrets of missile interception. Our intelligence people give long odds that Russia and China will be at war in ten years. Both here and in Seattle, then, they were instructed to take Dr. Hoorne alive if possible, but failing that to kill him or use any means to keep him from the Chinese."

  "OK. We know who they are, now what do we do?"

  "We must report to our superiors, as they are undoubtedly doing now. I have a plan, but I must have approval from Mr. Shearing. Then, we will remove your things, take you to a safe place, and have a conference about what we must do. We must work very quickly, however. Did you set a new meeting with Vallery?"

  "Yeah, I meet him at that park tomorrow at three. He won't have to find either Janie or me again. But if they were working in closer than you, they might have overheard us. Vallery was so sure we were alone in that park he wasn't very careful. I didn't hear anything, but who knows?"

  "Yes. Quien sabe! Besides, with modern electronics they could have heard you from a long distance if they had the equipment. Sobel is very good with electronics. It is because of that possibility as much as anything else that I want to discuss this with Mr. Shearing. This has gone far enough, we cannot let those people interfere now that we are so close to what we want." He led the way back toward the lighted streets, to a little bar with a telephone booth. We paused outside for a moment.

  "What do you mean, we can't let them interfere again? I'm for it, but what do you have in mind?"

  "I mean that it is time that we closed the books on Sobel and his people," Sam answered slowly. "They have interfered far too often as it is."

  "Close the books? How do you do that? We can't go to the police, the FBI would be interested in why I was down here, at the least they'd have me watched and get in our way."

  "I know." There was no emotion in his peasant face. In the half light it reminded me unpleasantly of Frank Sobel. They'd both had round flat faces, and both had that intense look in their eyes, the total professional absorption in their work whatever it required. "We take the only way we have, is that not obvious?"

  "Not to me," I said, but it was.

  He sighed. "We kill them, Señor Crane. What else should we do with them?"

  Chapter Eleven

  Shearing paced nervously in the narrow room, not watching where he was going but instinctively avoiding the ragged holes in the carpet that might trip him. We were in the wooden frame building that Steen was hidden in, with its peeling wallpaper and antique bathroom fixtures. De la Torres assured us that this was an absolutely safe house, everyone in it was reliable and no one in the community paid any attention to anyone else. Minding your own business was a strong ethic down here, as it is in most slums.

  "You're sure you got Crane out without anyone being curious about him?" Shearing asked.

  "Yes, sir. I watched very carefully. They had gone, taking with them only sufficient objects to be sure of fingerprints."

  "They'll have Janie's too," I told him. "There was some of her stuff there and they took a bottle of pancake makeup I know of."

  "That is another reason for approving my plan," de la Torres reminded him. "What other way have we?"

  "Goddam it, I can't order murders just like that," Shearing protested. "It takes the Director himself to approve a termination with extreme prejudice, and he only goes for it when the subject's in our own organization."

  "That is not always strictly true," de la Torres observed. "I know this is serious, señor, but if we do not remove these people they will jeopardize the whole plan. Must the Director know everything we do here?"

  "If we act on our own and anything happens, you get disowned. You know that. I can't even be close to it, and you take the rap, right up to the big one, in the courts."

  Sam nodded. "I know. It is a very important mission, and this is our only chance to carry it out. I repeat, what other way have we?"

  Shearing stopped pacing and looked significantly at me, probably wishing I was somewhere else. "Run through what you have in mind." He sat in a dirty overstuffed chair, picking idly at the loose white junk popped out of a hole in the right arm.

  It was Sam's turn to get up and pace, and he did. "What would be more natural than that Paul should call his girl and tell her of his narrow
escape?" he asked. "And she will, of course, report this to her colleagues in Information Associates. She will also tell them where she is to meet Crane tonight. He will want to have her comfort, and she will go to him. They will choose a dark and lonely place, and we will do the rest."

  "And you're counting on somebody in IA to pass it on to the Russians," Shearing said. "It might work. If they don't, we haven't lost anything."

  "We can throw Dr. Hoorne in for bait," the fourth man in the room said. He was a big guy, about six three, with a big intelligent head and a lot of gray hair although he wasn't much over forty. He'd been introduced as Nick, a man who worked for de la Torres, and you didn't have to ask what his specialty was. He looked the type to go into a bar and challenge all comers, gray hair or not.

  "No he can't," Shearing answered. "IA might send somebody themselves."

  "Why should they?" Nick asked. "They didn't try anything in Seattle, did they? Anyway, we don't have to have Hoorne go, just say they'll meet him. Make the CP think they can find him. Damn it, chief, that outfit has killed off three of our men, not to mention two doubles we turned in their organization. It's time we took William Jordan and his boys out for good."

  "He won't be at any kidnapping," Shearing said.

  "He won't have to be." Nick laughed, a hard single syllable. "We know where to find him all right. And they won't be able to move without his approval. We set this up, Sobel and the goon troops show up, and while Sam takes them out I go find Jordan. He'll have to send his bodyguard after Hoorne and Crane and he'll be waiting for the report. I can catch him alone, might even take him alive, think what that'd be worth."

  "Jordan?" I said. "You mean that professor guy who's always making speeches?"

  "Yeah. You know him?" Shearing asked. He stopped picking at the holes in the chair.

  "He's been at the University of Washington sometimes. I saw him in a debate with somebody, one of the conservative people. You say Jordan's in charge of security for the CP?"

  "Yeah," Nick answered. "As tough and mean as they come. Fools you with that shortsighted apologetic look he puts on in public."

  "He fooled me." I thought about this. Planning murders was a bit out of my line, but then it didn't seem real. "Do you have to kill him too? Once you remove Carl and Frank, isn't that enough? I mean, they've got it coming, but . . . ."

  "But hell!" Nick pounded his fist on the rickety table, knocking over Shearing's coffee cup. "People like that Sobel aren't too common, I grant you, but Jordon's up so high he can give orders to Russians like Sobel. You think about that one for a while, Crane. Here's an American giving orders to a captain in the Russian security organization. If we got him, it'll take a week to put somebody out here who can approve liquidations. By that time you'll be finished with your job. We need him out to protect you, Crane. Sobel they can replace tomorrow, but not Jordan."

  "But—what proof do you have that he's . . . ?" I let it trail off. They were all looking at me, and they didn't like what they saw.

  "What kind of proof do you want?" Shearing asked very carefully. "Something to take to court? I'll never have the kind of proof. I'd have to expose all my agents; then they declare a mistrial because somebody threw rocks at the judge. My people get themselves killed in 'accidents.' Finally we get a conviction, only the Russians pick up an American tourist, ram him through their courts, convict him, and offer to trade for whoever we finally put away. If we can get a conviction at all. Meanwhile he's been out on bail the whole time. We just aren't geared to fight these people by our rules."

  "Yes, but—oh, hell, I suppose you're sure of him."

  Shearing nodded. "No question about Professor William Jordan. None at all. But I still have the problem of the trouble this could cause . . . ."

  "That's the guy that sent Sobel after you," Nick put in. "He could send somebody else tomorrow."

  "None of us have real choices," Sam murmured. "Only imaginary ones."

  I remembered Sobel's cold eyes and the way he handled the little knife. "What do you want me to do?"

  "You make that call," Nick growled. "Tell Janie you'll call her back, you want to see her but you're still afraid and you have to be sure you're loose. Sound plenty scared in case her phone's bugged. Tell her to stand by, you want to meet her tonight, and give her the code so she knows she's supposed to pass it on."

  "All right. Where's the phone?" Nick pointed to the adjoining room and I went in to make the call. We made it short, with me playing the part of a well-scared jerk. I got back to hear de la Torres and Shearing at it again.

  "What the hell, you really want those outsiders in on it?" Shearing was saying.

  "They are not outsiders. Sobel has kidnapped three of their people who were never seen again. They have lost their homes, their families to the communists. How can you call them outsiders, señor? Besides, if anything goes wrong, they will take the blame without speaking, and you will never have to make explanations to the Director."

  "This gets more complicated all the time." He took out cigarettes, made a production out of tamping one down before lighting it. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to have some help, they'll send everything they can get now that Crane's killed two of their troops in Seattle and scorched their Russian tough boy." He chuckled. "You're getting a hell of a reputation, Paul. You've probably got Sobel so mad he's run out of Marxist curses. OK, Sam, call your friends. I suppose you can get them this time of night?"

  "I am sure, señor. They are always available when there is serious work to be done." He went to the telephone while Shearing poured coffee for all of us. In a few minutes we heard rapid-fire Spanish from the other room, a long pause, more Spanish, and finally "Bueno," De la Torres came back grinning.

  "Commandante Rubiro is delighted to assist us, and he will have at least ten men. That is many more than we have, and allows us to send someone with Nick to find Professor Jordon."

  Shearing nodded, took a long pull on his cigarette. He leaned back, thoughtfully blew a smoke ring, and reached a decision. "OK. They're good auxiliaries. Let them handle the whole thing. You go coordinate and keep the rest of our troops out of there." He shook his head slowly, spoke more to himself than us. "I still wonder. If the Bureau's planted a man on them, we've bought the farm."

  "A Bureau spy in the midst of the militant Cubanos?" de la Torres asked. 'That is, pardon me, that is laughable. To do so he would have to have gone to Cuba before Fidel, gained their confidence at that time, gone to exile with them . . . not even the communists are that clever. Certainly not the Bureau. Major Rubiro is no fool, he will not allow anyone but his most trusted men on this mission."

  "God help us, anyway. Nick, have you got Jordon located?"

  "Yeah. I know where he'll wait for the reports." He stood heavily, nodding in satisfaction. "Sam and I have waited a long time for this chance. Don't worry about it chief, so L.A.P.D. has a disappearance or two, it won't hurt them none. Probably blame it all on some right-wing fascist outfit, and the Bureau'll get a new appropriation to infiltrate the Klan." He stomped out of the room muttering.

  Shearing laughed without much humor. "It always irritates him that the Bureau puts so much energy into getting the right wing that it hasn't enough time for the communists. Not to mention the Mafia. Well, we'll make the Bureau's work easier after tonight." He looked up at me and suddenly looked away as if he didn't want me to see his face.

  I sat in the passenger seat of Janie's VW watching the coast highway slip past. Off to our left was the beach, but you couldn't see the water because the highway was lined with beach houses all jammed together so there wasn't any yard between them. I wondered why they did it this way out at Malibu when Santa Monica with just as good a beach had some space between buildings. Out here the beach was private, and California has a law letting the public use any beach it can find; maybe they jammed the houses together to keep the peasants from getting down to the water.

  I'd never been part of a deliberate murder. I tried to think of it as so
mething else. A battle, an execution, elimination, even use the Cosa Nostra slang and call it a hit, but the word murder kept coming to mind. I couldn't give it my whole attention, though. We'd been followed from Janie's hotel.

  "Are they still back there?" she asked.

  "Yeah. One car, anyway. I hope they bought that story about us meeting Steen, I'd hate to have them try something too soon." It was easier to-think about the mechanics of the problem than the end result, although the mechanics were none of my business. I was in this purely and simply because I knew about it, I wasn't kidding myself. I could ruin Shearing by telling the story, but if I was a part of it he could be sure I wouldn't. "You sure this canyon we're going to makes sense as a meeting place?"

  "I think so," she answered. "I don't know much more about Los Angeles than you do, but the canyon areas are pretty wild, just where a man might hide out from the police. The Cubans have been hiding there for years."