The Poisoners mh-13

by Donald Hamilton

  "Sorry. It's a kid's game we play in this country."

  "Ah, yes, I remember now." He sighed. "Yes, you are very warm, Mr. Helm. It is unfortunate. It will involve a drastic change of plan-"

  "He's lying!" It was Bobbie Prince. She was on her feet glaring at me. "He's just guessing. He is bluffing, Mr. Soo!"

  "What makes you think so?"

  Bobbie licked her lips. "He says he figured out where to look after he learned about the Sorenson generator. He claims he was told about it several days ago, in plenty of time for him to snoop around this T or C place, but he's lying! He didn't know anything about the generator until last night!"

  Mr. Soo was frowning. "Are you sure of that, Miss Prince?"

  "Of course I'm sure! I was lying right beside him when they brought it ashore. He had no idea what it was until I told him. Even then he didn't know what it did, not until I explained it to him hours later. He'd never heard of such a thing before. in fact, he laughed at the idea at first. He wasn't acting, I know he wasn't!"

  Well, it had been a good try; arid after all, while I'll make a stab at it if I have the chance, keeping the atmosphere of our cities pure isn't really my job. At least I'd learned where I stood with respect to Miss Roberta Prince.

  At the moment, needing her help as badly as I did, I couldn't feel it was a very healthy place to be standing – particularly since Willy was coming back this way briskly, presumably to report that the truck was ready to roll.

  XXVI

  I was loaded into the rear seat of the station wagon with my hands re-tied in front of me so that I could sit naturally and in reasonable comfort. I appreciated this; but actually I was happy just to reach the vehicle alive. Willy was becoming very impatient. Since there was apparently no useful, or truthful, information to be obtained from me, he couldn't see why he couldn't have me. Objectively speaking, I couldn't see why, either.

  While Mr. Soo came from a country with different traditions and customs than mine, he was in more or less the same line of work; and I couldn't really believe that he'd be greatly influenced by an obligation that was several years old by this time. After all, he undoubtedly knew that I hadn't saved his life to be nice; it had just worked out more conveniently for me that way.

  Nevertheless, he told Willy sharply that he could perpetrate private vengeance on his own time, please. Right now, said the Chinaman, since Willy was the man who had laid out the route from here, he'd better get into his Jeepster and lead the way. Speed should be lawful, so as not to attract attention, said Mr. Soo; spacing between vehicles should be generous, so they would not seem like a caravan, but merely like a jeep, a butane truck, and an out-of-state station wagon that just happened to be using the same road.

  Bobbie Prince got in beside me. A lean, dark-faced individual in jeans and a gaudy cowboy shirt took the wheel, after pausing to strip off the paint-smeared coveralls he was wearing, which he tossed into the rear of the wagon. Mr. Soo took the seat beside him, and watched Willy, alone in the jeep, drive off. When he was well down the road, the Chinaman signaled to the white truck, which had two men aboard. When they had gone almost out of sight, he spoke to our driver, and we set off in pursuit.

  Well, the odds were diminishing, I reflected. I now had only five men and one woman to deal with, instead of the young army of the night before. Apparently the reinforcements supplied by Frank Warfel, having completed their part of the operation, had pulled out while I was asleep.

  Mr. Soo turned to look back at us, and frowned at my appearance. "I suggest you clean up prisoner, Miss Prince," he said. "We do not wish to be conspicuous when we reach more traveled roads. Mr. Helm seems to be foresighted man with water jug in car. Here."

  He passed a gallon thermos jug over the back of the seat. He seemed to be under the impression that the station wagon was mine. I could see no particular benefit to be gained from this, but I didn't take the trouble to set him straight.

  The blond girl beside me leaned over to wash my face with a handkerchief that looked familiar; she must have acquired it when she cleaned out my pockets. A hint of a bulge in her loosely worn shirt at the waist, and a ridge in the pocket area of her snug jeans, indicated that she was also the custodian of my gun and knife. Having made my face presentable, except for the swollen lip she could do nothing about, she attacked the spots on my shirt-doing it all without any more visible emotion than if she'd been cleaning the upholstery of the car. Finally, she dropped the handkerchief to the floor and settled back beside me, looking straight ahead.

  It was a long, hot, dusty ride. On the coast, we'd found a rather chilly spring; but here, inland, it was summer, or what would pass for summer in most regions of the country. The real summer, down there along the border, is strictly for lizards and Gila monsters and rattlesnakes; even the jackrabbits lie panting in the shade, if they can find some shade.

  I didn't recognize the road or the countryside, but then, most of those desert roads look alike. I did spot a lonely highway marker indicating that we were definitely in Arizona. At last, heading eastwards along one small road after another, mostly unpaved, we reached some scenery that looked more familiar to me. It was the kind of endless, wide-open, yellowish landscape, interrupted here and there by small, dark mountain ranges that I associate with southwestern New Mexico.

  Sure enough, the next road marker indicated that we'd crossed the state line, making me feel pretty clever until I remembered that I was still tied hand and foot, regardless of what state of the Union I was in. Well, there were things that could be done about that-we're issued a few tricks to help us cope with such situations-but they'd have to wait until I wasn't under quite such close surveillance. The girl beside me might not condescend to look at me directly, or talk with me, but I didn't think she'd continue to remain motionless and silent if she saw me trying to cut my bonds with, say, a gimmicked belt buckle.

  The opportunity was slow in coming. We continued to drive eastwards interminably, bouncing over washboards and breathing dust that found its way into the car even after Mr. Soo ordered the windows closed and the air-conditioning turned on. At last we turned onto a paved road heading north which, eventually, dumped us into civilization in the form of a four-lane freeway crowded with high-speed traffic. The change from the lonely silence of the desert was kind of shocking; and you couldn't see where, in that empty country, all the trucks and cars were coming from, or going to.

  A police car went by as we pulled off the ramp. It was cruising quite slowly; and after a mile or so we repassed it. I was aware of the Chinaman glancing my way warningly and of Bobbie slipping her hand inside her shirt to grasp my gun, but I made no move. Frankly, even if I could catch his attention, I didn't really know what I could do with a cop except get him killed.

  Of course, a policeman might help me break up Mr. Soo's scientific experiment, to the benefit of Albuquerque and any other cities whose skies the Chinaman might decide to seed with catalyst if the first two tests turned out successfully. It seemed unlikely, however, that a single cop, unaware of what he was getting into, could handle the job; and anyway, Mr. Soo and his project was not really my responsibility. Nobody'd ordered me to do anything about him, or it. Perhaps somebody might have if the facts had been known; but for a field man like me to try to guess what instructions an individual in Washington might have issued if he'd known something he didn't is almost always unprofitable, and often dangerous.

  I'd made my gesture towards public service when I tried to bluff the Chinaman away from his supplies. We're not employed to wander around doing good, knight-errant fashion. We're hired to follow orders, and my orders actually concerned one man only. Nicholas might no longer exist, officially speaking, but the man who'd built up a sizeable dossier under that code name was still around and still keeping busy at the same trade. I foresee much employment for him, Mr. Soo had said.

  Although somebody else had pulled the trigger, Willy was the man really responsible for the murder I'd been ordered to investigate and a
venge. He was also on the high-priority list, and his change of employer wouldn't change that. You know the standing orders, Mac had said, and I did. And those orders didn't include turning Willy over to any cops, at least not alive.

  "Mr. Helm!"

  I looked up to see a small automatic pistol aimed at me over the back of the front seat. Bobbie also had her gun out-I mean, my gun. I looked at Mr. Soo, bewildered.

  "What's the matter?"

  "Just what signal did you make to police cruiser, sir? No, do not look back… Jason, take first turn you see. We must lead this policeman away from others, if he will follow. Shine your headlights briefly as you turn to signal vehicles ahead. Mr. Helm, sit perfectly still, please. I will not hesitate to shoot."

  I said, "I didn't signal anybody. Why should I? I'm perfectly happy right here with all you nice people."

  The man at the wheel, whom the Chinaman had addressed as Jason, said: "The cop's gaining. He's after us, all right."

  "Us, or truck up ahead?"

  "Well, I can't tell that, sir," said Jason. "Here's an exit coming up. If I remember rightly, it's a long way to the next one. Do I turn?"

  "Yes, turn." Mr. Soo sounded quite calm. He was studying the overpass ahead. "Let us see if he follows us, or goes on. Be ready to return to highway very quickly if he does not come after-"

  "He's switching on his turn signal. He's coming after us, all right," Jason said tightly as we hit the off-ramp leading up to the crossroad and the bridge. "Which way do I turn?"

  "Left, towards those mountains. Accelerate over highway and maintain high speed until we are beyond the first rise of ground, that will hide us from highway. As for you, Mr. Helm-" The Chinaman frowned at me thoughtfully. I knew what was on his mind. He had a decision to make. On the one hand, if we were stopped by the policeman following us, a tightly bound prisoner would be hard to explain. On the other hand, if he cut me loose, I might cause trouble.

  "As for you, Mr. Helm, you will remain tied," he said. I should have been flattered. It showed that he thought highly of me. He went on, "If you place any value upon human life, you will do nothing further to arouse suspicion. You understand. If we cannot satisfy this policeman somehow, we will be forced to kill him."

  Bobbie Prince gasped. "But you can't… I mean, if you shoot a cop, you'll have them all-" She stopped, jolted into silence as Jason made his left turn onto the overpass, accelerating hard. The sound of the engine and the exhaust hammered back at us from the concrete railings. A quick descent followed; and we had the highway behind us and were heading up the gentle slope away from it, still picking up speed. Jason was having his hands full keeping the wagon headed straight in the soft gravel of the little ranch road.

  "The fuzz is off the bridge, sir. He's coming right after us.,,

  "Get us over the hill; then slow down and let him overtake us."

  "Yes, sir."

  Mr. Soo looked at the girl beside me. When he spoke again, his voice was dangerously gentle: "Your concern for the life of a bourgeois constable speaks well for your humanitarianism, Miss Prince, but not so well for your training and loyalty."

  "No, you don't understand!" Bobbie licked her lips. "I just meant that for practical reasons… I mean, we can't very well finish our job if every pig in the state is hunting for us."

  "I promise to consider all practical aspects carefully, Miss Prince." The Chinaman's voice was still soft. "You will concern yourself with prisoner. He is your responsibility. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, sir."

  Jason spoke without turning his head. "Do I slow down as soon as we're out of sight?"

  "Yes."

  The station wagon was almost airborne as it topped the rise, the road dropping away unexpectedly beyond. For a moment I thought Jason was going to lose it in a wild skid; then he had it under control once more, coasting, letting the speed drop without touching the brake.

  "Here comes Fuzzy. He's turned on his flasher," Jason said. "Do we stop?"

  "Of course we stop. Would we resist officer of the law in performance of duty? Jason."

  "Yes, sir."

  "I will speak with him. If I make signal, you know what to do."

  "Yes, sir."

  We rolled to a halt at the side of the gravel road. At once, Mr. Soo got out and walked back towards the patrol car as it parked behind us. When I started to turn my head to watch, Bobbie gestured with my gun.

  "Don't move!" she breathed. "Sit perfectly still, darling!"

  Jason had got out more slowly than the Chinaman. He walked back there deliberately, leaving the station wagon door open. Now I could hear them talking back there.

  "… stolen car?" Mr. Soo was saying. "My dear officer, you must be mistaken."

  "No, sir. This station wagon was reported stolen just a few hours ago. The word came from California. They said for us to watch for you, you might be heading east. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to-"

  "No!"

  That was Bobbie Prince, beside me. Her small sound of protest was drowned by the reverberating noise of a single shot. I heard something fall to the ground behind me. Bobbie was staring out the back window. Slowly she turned to look at me. Her face was white and her blue eyes were wide and shocked.

  "Hell, it's just a pig," I said.

  "Damn you!" she hissed. "Damn you, be quiet!"

  "You'd better get out there and take a look," I said. "You don't want to miss the chance of seeing a freshly dead pig, do you? Anyway, you might as well start getting used to stiffs. Practice up. You'll see a lot more of them shortly, including mine-" She made a funny little sound in her throat; then she was scrambling into the front seat, hampered by her long legs and the headrests. Finally she got all of herself over and behind the wheel. The jerk, as she sent the car forward, slammed the open door and set me back against the vinyl-upholstered cushions. I looked back to see the lean man called Jason aiming a big revolver at us, but before he could shoot, Mr. Soo had pulled his arm down.

  The last I saw, as we dipped into an arroyo, was the two of them dragging the uniformed body towards the police car parked at the side of the road, its red light still flashing steadily.

  XXVII

  For a girl born in the land of the rickshaw, if her story was correct, she had internal combustion ambitions. She took the gravel road at a pace that had me bouncing around the rear seat while I tried to peel away the decorative foil that covered my sharp-edged belt buckle. Succeeding in this, I got to work on my bonds. They were tough, braided clothesline, which is difficult stuff to cut under the best conditions; and in spite of the jolting of the car, it seemed desirable to do the job without severing any essential veins or arteries..

  Abruptly, Bobbie swerved the big wagon to the side of the road, skidded it to a halt, cut the engine, and began to cry, burying her face in her arms, folded on the steering wheel. We were now quite high in the foothills of the mountain range towards which the road seemed to lead. Looking out the rear window, I could see the geometrically correct line the distant freeway made across the empty landscape. A little closer, I could see the police car where we'd left it. Somebody had turned off the flasher.

  It had company; a jeep and a truck mounting a big white cylinder. Mr. Soo was undoubtedly holding a council of war.

  If I could see them, they could see me; and I renewed my efforts with the trick buckle, but it was slow going.

  "Oh, stop wiggling!" Bobbie said abruptly, lifting her head. She ran her sleeve across her eyes, and did some wiggling of her own, digging into the pocket of her jeans, not designed for quick-draw work. There was a metallic click. "Here… Well, stick out your wrists, stupid!"

  She was holding my knife over the back of the seat, open, edge up. I held out my hands. A moment later I was free. She turned the knife around and presented it to me handle first. I reached down to cut the ropes about my ankles, and straightened up, closing and pocketing the knife.

  "Thanks," I said. "What about my gun?"

  She shook her head quickly.
"No. I can't give you that. I'm helping you get away, isn't that enough?"

  "Not really," I said. "It's not my job to get away."

  "Well, I don't want to be involved in any more killing!" I said deliberately, "What are you so uptight about, sweetheart? Like I said before, it was just a lousy cop. I thought you hated the pigs."

  "You're not very funny. You're not funny at all!" She drew a ragged breath. "I don't want anybody else to be killed, not even you! Don't you understand? I certainly can't help you kill them… Ouch, what are you doing?"

  I'd seized her left hand, which had been resting on the top of the seat as she sat twisted around to look at me. There are several ways of exerting pressure on a hand so that the owner thereof can't move without tearing a few ligaments in the fingers or wrist and causing himself-or herself-excruciating pain in the process. I picked the one that seemed most appropriate.

  When, having tested my grip and found it agonizingly effective, she was quiet once more, I looked over the seat. My revolver was lying where she'd dropped it when she started driving, on the seat beside her. I picked it up.

  "What about the Walther you had?" I asked.

  "Mr. Soo took that back. It was his. Didn't you recognize it just now?"

  "All right," I said, releasing her. "Sorry if it hurt." She rubbed her fingers and spoke without looking at me. "You're a lousy, treacherous bastard, aren't you? I saved you, and instead of being grateful-" I said wearily, "Bobbie, cut out the corn. Didn't they teach you anything about this business except how to imitate a movie-mad kid from Arizona?" She didn't speak, and I went on: "We're not playing kid games with grateful and ungrateful. I have a job to do. Mr. Soo has a job to do. The two assignments are, let us say, incompatible. Therefore you'd damn well better forget about converting the whole world to non-violence, at least for the moment, and make up your mind whose side you're on."

  She was silent for several seconds. "I don't know!" she breathed at last. "Can't you understand, Matt, I don't know any longer. Everything's changed. It all looks so different from when I came over here. Oh, God, I wish I were still the same stuffy, dedicated, brainwashed little creep who came over here so cocksure she knew exactly what was right and noble and Marxist-and what was wrong and decadent and capitalist!" She made a face. "I really don't know what's the matter with me, darling! It isn't as if this country of yours had been particularly good to me. You'd think I'd had a wonderful time over here and everybody'd treated me swell, the way I'm talking, but I haven't and they didn't. It's been a hell of a grind, even apart from knowing that sooner or later I'd get the word from somebody and have to start earning my keep…" She stopped, and drew a long breath. "I don't want to be a goddamn spy!" she said. "Not for them or for you. I just want to… All I want is to be left alone to live my own life, don't you understand?"