The Removers mh-3

by Donald Hamilton

  I got the driver all right, leading him nicely, so that he lunged right into the path of the bullet. Then I swung for Fredericks, and something hit me a hard and paralyzing blow in the right side of the chest.

  I tried for the gun with my left hand. There's a stunt known as the Border Shift whereby you transfer a weapon from one hand to the other-a kind of juggling trick. The only trouble is, it doesn't work too damn well when your right arm's out of commission, and when else do you need it? The last time it was actually tried in action, on the record, as far as I know, was when Luke Short, an old-time gambler and a tough one, clipped the hand of some wild-shooting drunk, who then tried the Shift, too, but he didn't make it, either. Luke shot him dead.

  I felt the revolver drop, and I threw myself on top of it, still trying to find it left-handed. I didn't have much time. I could feel the gun trained on me and I wondered where this one would hi;..

  There was a shot all right, and another, but no bullets came near me. I picked up the.38 and looked up. Fredericks was standing there with an odd, slack look on his face, doing nothing whatever. He dropped the gun he was holding. Then he started to fall.

  I looked towards the cabin. Well, he had to be good for something, the reputation he had around that place.

  It was the shoulder-holster man, the great white hunter, old Bwana Simba himself coming out of retirement, a beautiful sight. How he'd made it to the door on a shattered leg, even with Beth to help him, I didn't know. I didn't intend to ask. He'd just give me some of that stiff-upper-lip, British guff.

  He was shooting very carefully, making target practice of it, body as relaxed as his wound allowed, arm extended but not locked. He put two more into The Man as he fell, with deliberate accuracy, making quite sure. He'd been in the business once, himself.

  I got up. My chest didn't seem to hurt much. That would come later. I went over and checked the Duke's work, and my own. I made my way to where he still leaned in the doorway. Beth was beside him, steadying him. I looked at the two of them, and spoke to him.

  "That was pretty fair country shooting, old chap," I said. "While we still have some privacy, you might let me know how much of this you want credit for, on the books."

  He looked me straight in the eye. "None, if it can be arranged," he said.

  I thought of various things, and said, "We could probably get you a small medal or some nice words from Uncle or something."

  He glanced at Beth. "We would rather not figure in it at all, if it's possible," he said, and she nodded. He smiled faintly. "I would certainly prefer not to be remembered as the man who smuggled a certain number of pounds of heroin, not to mention that other material, across the Mexican border. If it's all the same to you, old man."

  It wasn't the same to me, not quite, but the guy had saved my life-at least I thought so at the time. There were occasions during the next couple of weeks when I wasn't quite so sure.

  Chapter Twenty-Jive

  THE YOUNG MAN from the AEC said, "Of course, Mr. Helm, you understand all this is highly confidential."

  "Oh, sure," I said. "What was in those cans, anyway? Their new pocket model atomic bomb?"

  "Well," he said reluctantly, "not quite. It was… a very ingenious sabotage device consisting of radioactive wastes enclosed in a shielded container with a small bursting charge. The explosive wasn't sufficient to do much damage, but it would distribute the radioactive material over a fairly wide area, with unfortunate results to anyone who happened to be standing nearby, particularly if he didn't realize the danger and undergo decontamination immediately. We've had a few cases…"

  "I know," I said. "1 read the papers."

  "There have been others, less fatal, that didn't reach the papers," he said. "In many cases, with prompt action, the injury was relatively slight-the physical injury that is. But the injury to morale has been serious." He frowned. "You must understand, Mr. Helm, that people who work around nuclear reactions tend to be, well, let's say, a bit sensitive about anything pertaining to radioactivity. Just like people working around high explosives tend to jump unnecessarily at loud noises. When things start to burst that shouldn't, if you know what I mean, and when people find themselves receiving heavy contamination in places that are supposed to be relatively safe… Well, it cuts down the efficiency, to say the least. One installation, just the other day, couldn't even get the trash removed until the workers were permitted to don full protective clothing. Things like that. It was a fiendishly clever device, psychologically speaking. If they'd got enough of them.

  I looked at the bright window, through which, since I was on the second floor of the hospital, I could see only the blue and cloudless Nevada sky.

  "Shielded, you say," I said. "How much shielding do you get from that little bit of lead?"

  He laughed. "You don't have to worry, Mr. Helm. You've been checked, very thoroughly. Although you handled one of the bombs, you apparently didn't get enough exposure to do any damage. It was only when the contents were actually splashed on someone that the situation was urgent and dangerous. However, if some gentleman down in Mexico slept with the entire supply under his bed, he might be feeling a little unwell by now. And I don't know as I'd care to shoot that heroin into my veins, even if I was addicted to the stuff. Of course, that was their difficulty. Any normally sensitive instrument would have detected the hot material through the relatively inadequate lead shield, which is why they brought it in by such roundabout channels."

  I said, "Silly question, but why didn't they just make up the nasty little things right here in the country?"

  "Where would they get the critical ingredient? We don't sell it over the counter, you know. It would have had to be imported, anyway; and the device is not one anybody could put together in a cellar from a gas pipe and a few sticks of dynamite." He rose. "Their experiment was a success; let's say the first shipment, with which we're still dealing, went over big. If they'd got hold of the second shipment and got it planted before we understood what we were up against, we'd have been in real trouble. As it is, of course, we can take precautions against further sabotage of this nature-although I think it's probably the first time we've had to worry about anybody bringing radioactive materials onto an atomic installation. Coals to Newcastle, eh? Well, goodbye, Mr. Helm. Your chief wanted me to let you know the background, as soon as you were well enough. I hope I haven't tired you too much."

  I watched the door close behind him. It was interesting information, to be sure, but I didn't really know what good it was to me. I went to sleep. In the morning, Beth came to see me.

  She entered the room a little uncertainly, as if not quite sure she'd be welcome. She was wearing one of those artificially faded denim skirt-and-shirt outfits and her big white Stetson hat. I was glad when she took the hat off and didn't look quite so much like a rodeo girl.

  "The nurse said it was all right for me to look in, if I didn't stay too long," she said. "How are you feeling, Matt?"

  "Fine," I said. "Well, more or less. How about you?"

  She looked surprised that I'd ask. "Why, I'm fine," she said, and then she realized what I was driving at, and flushed slightly. "I'm fine," she said again. "I… I'm all right. Really." She laughed quickly. "I suppose you know the Logan family has been in a bad auto accident."

  "Is that the way they handled it?"

  "You didn't know?"

  "I just passed the word before they started digging lead out of me," I said. "I didn't know just how they'd work it out."

  "We smashed up the Jaguar in Buckman Canyon," she said, "with the three of us crowded aboard. Anyway, that's the story. Fortunately there happened to be some law-enforcement officers around. We never did learn just what they were doing there, of course, but they were very kind and considerate and got Peter and Larry to the hospital right away. One of the officers even contributed his uniform blouse." She was silent for a moment; then she went on: "Your boss seems to be a man of influence. The doctors haven't said a word about bullet wounds.
The papers just reported the 'accident' in a few lines. I… we're very grateful, Malt If there had been any publicity, it would never have been… well, right, again. You know what I mean. He's been trying to live it all down. He doesn't want to be a hero, any more than a villain. He just wants to be a… a peaceful, law-abiding citizen, an ordinary person. I thought he'd be sad because he'd had to sacrifice the Jaguar, but he says it's just as well, he's got no business driving a car like that.

  He's going to be strictly the family-sedan type from now on.,,

  "I know," I said. I'd been the pickup-truck type for years, with the same motives, but it hadn't taken. But I didn't say that. "Tell him I wish him luck," I said.

  "And me?" she asked.

  "You too," I said. "Naturally."

  She smiled. "You were pretty disgusted with me there for a while, weren't you? I don't really blame you. I didn't behave very well, by your standards. Fortunately, Larry's more interested in a wife and companion than in a hunting partner, if that's the right word. And I'm a pretty good wife and companion, Matt, even if I'd make a terrible secret agent."

  I grinned. "Terrible is right. Well, anyway, it's nice we both know for sure, isn't it? There was a moment when I first saw you, a few weeks back…

  "Yes," she said, "if the boys hadn't interrupted…" She shivered slightly. "Thank God they did!"

  I said, "You don't have to be so emphatic about it. You might hurt my feelings."

  She laughed. She wasn't worried about my feelings. After watching me shoot Martell through the head, she probably wasn't too sure I really had any. She picked up her big hat. "Well, I'd better…

  I said, "Just one thing, Beth."

  She turned at the door. "What's that?" she asked.

  "Those two men," I said, "the ones who tried to perform a kidnapping and got eaten by a dog, remember?" I wouldn't have brought it up, if she hadn't laughed like that.

  She licked her lips. "How could I forget? Why. why did you mention it?"

  "Because you sent them," I said. I waited, but she didn't speak. I said, "I've been thinking about the times and mileages involved, and there's no other answer. Larry was already well on his way to the Mexican border, he had to be, when those men came for Moira Fredericks; and Larry isn't the kind to run off and leave his wife to supervise a kidnapping alone. He wouldn't have let you have any part in it, assuming that he'd pull a stunt like that in the first place. It's my feeling that, unlike some people we know, Larry's really too much of a gentleman to use a young girl he knows and likes as a weapon against her father."

  She said, "You're calling him Larry now. You used to insist on calling him Duke."

  "He's earned the right to be called what he wants by me," I said. "And you're changing the subject. My guess is that your quarrel with Larry was much earlier in the day than you let me think, maybe right after he'd sent the kids up into the mountains that morning. You got into an argument about how safe they'd be there, probably; and that's when he stalked to the phone and called up Fredericks and drove off mad. Then you started feeling guilty about being the cause of his giving in like that. He'd left a couple of tough boys to look after you, telling them to take orders from you. And you had this bright idea, only it didn't quite work out."

  She licked her lips again. "I was only trying to… to help. To make it unnecessary for him to go through with… I thought, if we had the girl, we could make some kind of deal when he got back…" She drew a long breath. "You're right, of course. It was a crazy, terrible thing to do. I still wake up at night, seeing.

  What are you going to do about it, Matt?"

  "Does Larry know?"

  "Of course he knows."

  I said, "Don't worry about me. I just thought I'd set the record straight, between us. May I ask a question?"

  "Yes," she said. "Of course."

  "Think hard now. Would you ever have dreamed of sending some men to kidnap anybody for my sake?"

  She hesitated. Then she said in a small voice, "I don't think so, Matt."

  "Then everything is fine the way it is, isn't it?"

  She nodded. "Everything is fine."

  "Well," I said, "give my love to the kids. I'll try to remember their birthdays from time to time."

  "Larry says… he says his objections are withdrawn, of course, and you're welcome at the ranch any time."

  "Sure."

  She hesitated, but we'd said just about everything necessary, and she turned and walked out of the room. I lay back and thought about the kids I wouldn't be seeing much of. Well, I'd never been very active in the papa department, anyway. Logan would probably work much harder at it. I guess I must have gone to sleep, because suddenly the kid was standing at the foot of the bed, looking at me.

  She was wearing a black linen suit and black shoes and gloves and she looked smart but rather subdued, for her. Her red-gold hair was just as smooth and bright as it could be, not a tendril out of place. Maybe she'd stopped outside to fix it, and maybe she was just growing up. Maybe she really had it licked at last. Her sea-green eyes said she'd done some growing since I'd seen her last.

  "Hello, Moira," I said.

  "Hello, baby."

  "I thought you were mad at me."

  "That was a couple of weeks ago," she said. "I don't stay mad that long." After a moment, she said, "You certainly look helpless in that bed." Then she said: "My mother died the other day."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Cut it out," she said. "Why should you be sorry? She was just waiting, I guess. She was going to outlast him. When she heard about him, there wasn't anything else to keep her, and she just went, I guess." She made a gesture towards her somber clothes. "Mourning. Corny, huh?"

  I said, "I thought it was for-"

  "For him? I wouldn't change my socks for him." After a moment, she said, "Did you have to do it?" Then she glanced at the bulk of the bandages under my hospital gown. "I guess that's a silly question. But-" She drew a long breath. "You know what I mean."

  "Yes."

  "Well, it was pretty good for a little while," she said flatly. "Choice."

  "Yes," I said. "Choice."

  "I could bring you flowers or candy or something. Should I?"

  "I kind of thought that's what you'd say."

  I said, "They tell me young Logan is down the hail. He's still on the critical list. A little incentive might help."

  She looked at me without expression. "You may be a pretty good whatever you are," she said. "But you're a hell of a lousy matchmaker. Why don't you mind your own damn business?"

  "It was just a stray thought."

  "No wonder it strayed. Nobody'd bother to round up one like that." She drew a long breath. "What room?"

  "A hundred and thirty-four."

  "I'll see how he's getting along. Just to please you." She studied me for a moment longer. "You know, the old man never did anything right in his life, did he? He couldn't even shoot straight! If he'd killed you, I could grieve for you. It would be a damn sight easier than.

  Good-bye, baby."

  "Good-bye," I said, and watched her go out of the room quickly, noting that a little wisp of red-gold hair was coming down over her right ear. She hadn't grown up quite enough to lick it, after all. Well, she had lots of time.

  I could have told her that I hadn't actually killed her old man, of course, although I'd been working at it hard. I might have kept her around for a while, that way. It would have been nice; but it wasn't my secret, and there was nothing I could give her of much value, compared to what she had to give to somebody, now that she was free. I was being noble, I guess. As usual, it made me feel lousy, and I was glad when the telephone rang; but when I heard the voice at the other end, I was less glad than I had been.

  Mac's voice asked, "How are you, Eric?"

  I said, "For an accurate diagnosis, check with the attending physician."

  "I have. He says you'll live."

  "Well, I'm glad he's finally made up his mind," I said. "When you're well enough, I
'd like a full report," Mac said. "There seem to be a few matters requiring detailed explanation. In the past fortnight I've had to think up stories to account for two juvenile delinquents with damaged right arms, six dead human bodies, one dead canine body, one irate young woman held prisoner against her will, three badly wounded men, and a lady without a shirt on."

  I said, "Not to mention a few kilos of heroin, and some other stuff."

  "Yes," he said. "There's that, isn't there? Our associated agencies, although professing to be shocked by the methods used, are quite pleased with the results obtained."

  "And you, sir?"

  "What do you think, Eric? The information I have indicates that one of my men allowed himself to be a) knocked on the head, b) captured in his sleep, and c) shot by a man he already had covered."

  I said, "Your information seems to be quite complete, sir. What are you going to do, fire me in disgrace and send me off to Siberia, or its equivalent, to run a post office?"

  He was silent briefly; then he said, "That was it, wasn't it, Eric? That was what Martell was doing all those years, looking after the mail. No wonder he resented it, after the position he'd held previously. But the syndicate had its drug traffic thoroughly organized, until the recent crackdowns. All our friends had to do was put trusted agents at key points along the line, to insert the materials they wanted transmitted into the drug containers, and take them out again. The syndicate then did all the work, unknowingly, of getting the stuff secretly into the country. As Martell said, Rizzi was running his errands for him."

  I said, "It seems kind of like using a man-eating tiger for pony-rides at the fair."

  "They probably only used the route for critical and difficult transmissions like this one. But when they wanted it, it was there." I heard him clear his throat- warning me that we were returning to the subject I had so subtly shelved, I thought. "As I say, Eric, it doesn't seem as if you've been operating at top efficiency."

  "I could claim personal involvement and inadequate briefing," I said, "but I won't. Guilty on counts a) and b). As for c) I told them they were under arrest, as you more or less instructed me to do. They just didn't seem to believe me. Maybe I didn't speak with enough conviction. I haven't had much practice at arresting people, sir."