“I don’t know.” Bobbie’s voice was dull. “He was really kind of a sweet little man. I don’t want to know. All I know is that he was found dead last night in the flaming wreckage of the trailer laboratory—and of course, nobody’s going to be very concerned about the death of a scientist, already considered something of a radical crackpot, who blows himself up refining heroin for the Mafia. Anyway, that was the plan, and I gather it worked very well. Your lady agent and her Mexican allies were just moving in to seize the laboratory when it went up. Fortunately nobody was hurt, nobody outside the trailer, that is.”
“I see,” I said. “And Warfel and his ten kilos of horse? Ten kilos! My God, that’s about twenty-two pounds, worth a couple of million dollars!”
“More than that, on the current market,” Bobbie said. “If you’re asking whether Frankie-boy was caught with the drugs when he brought the Fleetwind into its Long Beach marina, the answer is that he hasn’t landed yet. That boat isn’t very fast and he had quite a ways to go. But he knows the fuzz will be waiting for him, and I think it’s very unlikely they’ll find a single crystal of junk anywhere on board.”
I sighed. “That’s going to make my girlfriend very mad; she took this pinch very seriously.” I hesitated, and went on: “So it was strictly a one-time operation? Frankie wasn’t really setting up to make a career of smuggling drugs like the syndicate boys feared; he just wanted to get this one big batch into the country without tipping anybody off that he’d had unpatriotic dealings with the Chinese communists?”
“That’s right. With so much heroin involved, he could afford to make elaborate preparations for a one-shot deal. And from the Chinaman’s point of view, well, American dollars are hard to come by on the other side of the Pacific, but poppies grow very well over there. His government probably confiscated the stuff in the first place, so it didn’t cost them anything. He could afford to offer a fancy price in drugs for Warfel’s assistance, much higher than he could have bid in real money.”
I asked, “Where’s the heroin now, if Warfel hasn’t got it on his boat? Could it be somewhere in this truck, perhaps?”
Bobbie laughed scornfully. “You’ve met Frank Warfel, darling. Can you imagine him trusting us with two million dollars belonging to him? Can you imagine him trusting anybody? No, he’s taking care of it all by himself. But he knows that if his men don’t get us safely across the border, the U.S. authorities will get an anonymous phone call that’ll make it impossible for him ever to cash in on that shipment he hopes will make him rich; he’ll be watched too closely.”
“Sure,” I said. “Well, according to you, we’re safely across the border now, so Frankie’s fortune is made.” I glanced at her slyly, and went on: “Figuring our elapsed time, and guessing at our probable speed and direction, I estimate we should be somewhere near your dear old home town of Yuma, Arizona. Maybe you should stop and visit some of your friends and relations.”
Bobbie grinned. “I told you I was born in China, darling. I don’t know anybody in Yuma. I’ve seen pictures of the town and memorized a lot of maps and information, but I’ve never been there in my life.”
I said, deliberately, “Well, that figures. A real Yuma girl, brought up that close to the border, would know that it was mescal, not pulque like you said, that’s got the maguey worm in the bottom of the bottle.” Bobbie looked at me sharply. I went on: “And a real Yuma girl, brought up in that dry, dry country, would know a little about desert driving. I mean, doll, when you try to blast your way through deep sand like you thought you could lick it with sheer horsepower, even a dumb guy like me starts to wonder where the hell you spent your formative years, since it certainly wasn’t Arizona. And you were so insistent on getting that Chrysler unstuck; you didn’t want it there, blocking the road for Willy and Mr. Soo. And, finally, no reasonably bright girl, dressing for dangerous adventures in the dark, would pick white pants and a light-yellow shirt—not unless-she was making sure her hidden friends didn’t open up on her by mistake.”
Again there was silence except for the rattling of the truck and the rumbling of the metal cylinder above us. Bobbie was staring at me with something close to horror.
“You knew?” she whispered. “You knew? And still you let me… You let yourself be…” She stopped.
I said, “I took out a little insurance. There wasn’t any cartridge in the chamber of that trick rifle of Jake’s your man was holding on me, and I had the chopper right under my hand. If things had looked bad, I could have sprayed both you and the guy behind me before he realized he was trying to shoot back with an empty gun. And then, with Mr. Thompson’s hundred-round squirter to help me, I’d have had a pretty good chance of shooting my way clear in the dark.”
“But you didn’t.” She licked her lips. “Why, Matt?”
“Because there were things I wanted to know—if there seemed to be a reasonable chance of learning them without getting killed. And because you came to my defense like a little heroine when Willy started kicking me around.”
She said, shocked: “Matt, you’re crazy if you think I’m going to help you further just because I—”
“I figured there were some other things working for me,” I said when she paused. “I figured Mr. Soo might feel a slight sense of gratitude; and in any case I knew he wouldn’t have me killed at once because he’s got some reason to think I know something dangerous to him. He’ll want to find out if I really do, and if so, if I’ve told anybody else about it. That’ll keep me alive for a little. But mostly,” I said, “I’m counting on you.”
“No!” she gasped. “No, you’re crazy! You’ve got no right to expect—”
I shrugged. “Okay, I’ve got no right. So don’t help. Just watch Willy kill me, slowly, when the Chinaman is through with me. Willy will make it worth watching, I’m sure. He’ll milk it for all the entertainment value possible.”
She licked her lips. “What makes you think I care what happens to you, damn you?”
“You cared what happened to Sorenson. Aren’t I a sweet little man, too?” I put the playful note out of my voice and demanded harshly: “How many people have to die before you’ve had enough, sweetheart?”
“Damn you!” she breathed “Just because I kept him from kicking you to death… I had my orders. The Chinaman wanted you alive. That’s absolutely the only reason I interfered!”
“Sure,” I said. “Sure.”
“You… you egotistical jerk! If you think yon can blackmail me just because I went to bed with you in the line of business… These people have been good to me! They took me out of… out of conditions you can’t even imagine. They educated and trained me—”
“Sure,” I said. “The Chinese are in a bad spot when it comes to agents. There are lots of Russian girls and boys, for instance, who with a little training can be planted over here to blend with the U.S. background until needed, but a Chinese boy or girl is always a bit conspicuous in our society. Sure, they could make good use of a pretty blond kid of European or American parents, who’d got lost or left behind during one of China’s numerous upheavals.”
Her expression told me I’d come close enough to guessing her story. She said quickly, “Their reasons don’t matter! The fact is, they saved my life and… and my sanity!”
“By running you through the brainwash machinery, and then training you to serve them as an agent in place? Well, I guess that’s one kind of salvation. But I don’t hear you holding forth about the great god Marx and our decadent capitalist society. Apparently the indoctrination didn’t take—or has it worn off during the pleasant years you’ve spent over here playing American and waiting for orders?”
“I wasn’t playing American, I am American!” When I didn’t say anything, she went on less fiercely: “Well, my parents were. I think. Anyway, what makes you think my years over here have been so damn pleasant?”
I said, “I’ve been studying you pretty closely, doll, and I think what you most want to be in this world is a typical U.S
. miss with love beads and long stringy hair throwing rocks at the pigs. You tried out a lot of roles on me, but that was the one that really carried conviction. Well, I don’t know about the rocks and the pigs, but the rest can probably be arranged, if your services warrant my going to the trouble. At least I can probably clean the slate for you somehow, if I’m alive to do it. Think about it.”
She said bitterly, “Now it’s a bribe!”
“Call it a deal. It sounds better.”
She had the hypodermic in her hand once more. “You’d better lie down, Matt. Otherwise you’ll fall over when this takes effect, and I won’t raise a finger to stop you!”
25
The next time I woke up, I was outdoors. Even before opening my eyes, I knew I was lying on the ground in broad daylight, breathing warm fresh air that was untainted with truck exhaust fumes but carried instead, strangely, a smell of fresh paint or lacquer. Somebody was hammering on metal not far away.
A shadow passed over my face. I opened my eyes and saw Mr. Soo leaning over me, whatever his real name might be. I probably couldn’t have spelled it, or pronounced it correctly, even if I’d known it. Behind him stood Bobbie Prince, whatever her real name might be.
“You wake up now, Mr. Helm,” said Mr. Soo, straightening up. As Jake had suggested, the unfamiliar mustache did make him look like Charlie Chan, or more accurately, like the movie actor—a non-Asiatic name as I recall—who used to play Charlie Chan. He said, “Very good. Now we talk.”
My hands and feet were still tied. Nobody’d given me back my knife and gun. I managed to sit up awkwardly, feeling kind of doped and vague, which was no way to feel if I was going to match wits with the Chinaman. Looking around, I saw that we were in a narrow canyon with sheer walls, the kind of abruptly eroded cleft that’s fairly common in the dry southwest.
If I’d been a geologist, I could probably have made a fairly good guess at my location, using the exposed, colorful strata as a guide. If I’d been a botanist, I could have figured the approximate area by the cacti and stuff growing around us. As it was, I just had a feeling that I was somewhere in southern Arizona or New Mexico. My watch said that it was still early in the day; we hadn’t had time enough to get to Texas. In any case, I was reasonably certain we weren’t heading there, or back to California, either.
Willy’s white Jeepster was parked nearby, along with Charlotte Devlin’s big blue station wagon. The vehicle, and its trailer hitch, reminded me of the tall, tailored girl with the clipped chestnut hair who’d said she liked horses and riding. She’d also warned me not to louse up her operation for her, but apparently it had got loused up anyway, if Bobbie’s information was correct Well, we were sorry about that.
There was no sign of the six-wheeled van that had brought me here—me, and the science-fiction gadget dreamed up by Dr. Osbert Sorenson, deceased. I wondered what had happened to the crazy catalytic generator. Then, glancing in the direction from which the hammering noise was coming, I realized that I was looking straight at it.
It was another truck, a gleaming white job. A couple of men were working under it. Another man was waiting for them to stop pounding so he could continue lettering a name on the door. He’d already got it on the cylindrical, white-painted, horizontal tank that formed the afterbody of the vehicle: ARDOX BUTANE. Somehow the cylinder looked smaller like that, in daylight, than it had looked being wrestled ashore in the dark.
“Clever,” I said.
Mr. Soo followed the direction of my glance. “You approve, Mr. Helm?”
I said, “Very slick. Anywhere it goes, out in the boondocks, it’ll just be another gas truck chasing out to fill some rancher’s tank. It’ll be practically invisible. Nobody’ll look at it twice.”
“That is my hope,” the Chinaman said. “I am glad you agree. Mobility is essential, you understand.”
“Sure,” I said. “Because of the wind. A ship was ideal, you could move it anywhere there was water, but on land you’ve got to have wheels, and hope there’s a lonely road somewhere upwind of the place you want to cover with your poison.”
“Catalyst, please, Mr. Helm. You supply your own poison, we merely activate it. You’ll be happy to know that the Los Angeles experiment was a great success, considering that this is merely a small pilot model of the generator.”
“Sure,” I said. “But just like a gas attack, you’re at the mercy of the weather.”
“That is true, of course. Even though we know generally prevailing wind direction, the most favorable location changes from day to day, so permanent installation is impossible. Of course, this also makes it less easy for your people to find us, even when they realize what they are looking for. But we do have permanent headquarters in general area to store necessary chemicals and fuels—but you know that, Mr. Helm.”
“Do I?”
Mr. Soo shook his head impatiently. “To pretend ignorance is stupid. Refuse to speak, if you wish, but do not pretend, please! That is an insult to my intelligence.”
I looked at him for a moment, and then I glanced at Bobbie Prince, now sitting on a nearby rock with her sneakered feet dangling. She’d combed the snarls out of her hair, but she still looked like a tall skinny blond kid after a dusty game of sandlot football. Well, it had been a rough night for everybody, and I fell somewhat short of sartorial perfection myself.
I said to Soo, “Just what makes your damn intelligence think I know anything about your headquarters?”
He laughed. “Please, Mr. Helm, give us credit. When you made sudden appearance in Los Angeles… Well, sir, you have given trouble in the past. I have respect for your capabilities; once they saved my life. Naturally, I made investigation to learn what activities had preceded your visit to the Coast. It seemed at first as if your presence was coincidental, caused merely by stupid and unnecessary killing of one of your people…”
“What was stupid and unnecessary about it?” That was Willy’s voice; the man seemed to make a habit of barging in on conversations. I heard his footsteps behind me. “That redheaded agent of his had us pegged, Beverly and me. She had to be silenced, didn’t she?”
He came forward into, my field of vision and stopped beside Bobbie. He was wearing the same gray work-shirt-and-pants outfit in which I’d first seen him; at least it was creased and grimy enough to be the same one. Except for Mr. Soo, who seemed to shed dust and wrinkles, we were not a prepossessing outfit. Willy needed a shave, and his small blue eyes were bloodshot in his lumpy, coarse-skinned face. He didn’t look like a man who was a top agent, but then top agents aren’t supposed to.
“Didn’t she?” he repeated angrily. “What were we supposed to do with her, keep her for a pet?”
“Something could have been worked out, with a little thought,” the Chinaman said smoothly. “When hunting the antelope, does one throw rocks at the tiger? We had simple scientific test to perform. Unfortunately, Mr. Warfel’s connections involved us in syndicate displeasure, and Mr. Warfel was essential to the operation, so that could not be helped. But it was not essential to attract attention of government bureau specializing in violence by shooting personnel thereof. That could have been avoided.”
“Tell me how. Anyway, I didn’t shoot the girl; Beverly did.”
“So you say, Mr. Hansen.” Apparently the Chinaman was willing to use the cover name under which Nicholas had established himself locally; but I had not heard him refer to the code name assigned to the man by an agency of another country. I had a hunch that we’d have no more trouble with Santa Claus, which didn’t mean that Willy wouldn’t be a menace under other aliases, with Mr. Soo to guide him. “So you say,” the Chinaman repeated, “But does Mr. Helm believe you?”
I said, “Oh, I believe him, all right. It took somebody two shots to put down Annette O’Leary—two shots at pointblank range with a .44 Magnum, for God’s sake! Even then our girl almost survived. Obviously, neither bullet went where it should have. I give Willy credit for being a better marksman than that. That’s the kin
d of nervous, flinchy shooting you’d expect of a little girl using a big pistol that scares hell out of her although she’d never admit it; a pistol she’s carrying only because it’s part of her cover as Nicholas. That’s why Beverly took poison, because she had committed the murder; and that’s why I let her. But I’m still under orders to find the man who set her up to take the rap, the man who gave her the murder orders so he could keep his own hands clean, technically speaking.”
“Well, you’ve found him,” Willy said harshly. “What are you going to do about it?”
Usually, there’s nothing sillier than, when you’re a prisoner, provoking your captors by telling them all the terrible things you’re going to do to them, by way of retaliation, at some future date. That’s the sort of gaudy rhetoric in which movie stars are made to indulge in order to show the audience what brave Hollywood heroes they are. In real life you generally try not to make your jailers any madder at you than they already are.
In this case, however, I had a reason for drawing Willy’s ire down upon me, and I said bombastically, “Why, you murdering bastard, I’m going to kill you according to instructions, sooner or later.”
Willy laughed and, stepping forward, swung an oversized hand at my face, knocking me flat. Then he kicked me hard in the hip and laughed again.
“Well, you’d better make it sooner, Helm, because you won’t be around much later!”
“That’s enough, Willy.” Mr. Soo stepped forward.
“All right, all right. I can wait. Just don’t make me wait too long.”
“You will wait as long as I say.” The Chinaman’s voice was quite soft. “You will wait forever if I say so.”
The Poisoners Page 20