She sipped her drink, studying me over the glass. “Well, I declare,” she said slowly. It was the first time she’d really put out with the drawl. “I do declare, it don’t seem possible that one man could be so aggravatin’ all by himself.”
“It’s a knack,” I said. “I’ve worked hard at developing it. I’m glad it’s appreciated.” I hoped she couldn’t guess how close this was to the truth.
“I don’t understand,” she said, dropping the Texas act as suddenly as she’d picked it up. “I don’t understand, why are you so anxious to get rid of me all of a sudden? Not that I mind, heaven forbid, but I thought you had some idea you needed me. You certainly went to enough trouble to get me here.”
I said, “That was when I thought you might lead me somewhere interesting and profitable. But we’ve spent a day on it, and nothing’s come of it. I haven’t any more time to waste.” I grinned at her. “Or maybe I’m just turning you loose to see what you do when you think you’re not being watched. Take your choice.” I let my grin widen in what I hoped was an infuriating way. “Goodbye. It’s been real nice, glamor girl. Parts of it, anyway.”
She got to her feet, set her glass down very gently, took her coat from a nearby hook and walked out without looking back. Now, I thought, if she had any resources we didn’t know about, she’d have to trot them out quick before she lost touch with me altogether. I had another drink and wondered why I was suddenly kind of lonely. I should be satisfied with my own company, shouldn’t I, a diabolically clever guy like me?
16
I phoned Mac from a booth by a filling station—the same filling station, as a matter of fact, that we’d patronized when we first arrived. It was the only public phone I knew of in Carrizozo. The same man was sitting at the desk beyond the big window of the building, having a sandwich and a cup of coffee for dinner.
I had no trouble reaching Mac in Washington. “Eric here,” I said when he came on the line. “Alexander Naldi. Seismologist, if that’s the proper term. Medium height, large head, black hair. Glasses situation confused. He was wearing them today, bifocals yet, but he didn’t have them on in Juarez. Maybe he was in disguise, or thought he was.”
“I see,” Mac said, two thousand miles away. “This is the man from whom Sarah got the films?”
“I wouldn’t swear to it in court, but he was in the place at the time, and he’s the only person she actually touched while on stage.”
“A seismologist, you say?”
“Don’t ask me to spell it, sir. A man who studies earth tremors.”
“I am aware of the definition of the word.”
“Yes, sir. He’s all set up to study earth tremors around here. There should be some good ones in a day or two. He seems to be in charge of the earth-tremor department He’s also doing his best to stall the project in question. He’s responsible for one postponement, and he tried to promote another today, but Rennenkamp wasn’t buying.”
“I see.”
“He has also recommended that the caverns at Carlsbad be evacuated during the test. This conflicts with official reassurances, quoted in the newspapers, to the effect that there isn’t the slightest danger to a single precious underground formation.”
“You seem to have acquired some fascinating data,” Mac said. His voice was cool. “None of it, however, seems to have much bearing on our problem.”
“Perhaps not, sir, but—”
“Your job is Gunther. Espionage and sabotage, on whatever scale, are not our concern, Eric. I am sure that in those fields the national interest is being quite adequately safeguarded by the agency or agencies established for the purpose. Never mind Alexander Naldi or the Carlsbad Caverns. You were sent after one man, a man known as Cowboy—”
“Just a minute, sir,” I said. If he could split hairs, so could I. “Let’s clarify this a bit. Am I looking for Gunther, or am I looking for this Cowboy character?”
“They are one and the same.”
“Says who? Everything I learn about Gunther sounds pretty small-caliber to me. Oh, he’s involved, sure, up to his neck, but if the Cowboy is their top man locally, it doesn’t look to me as if this gigolo is a very likely suspect.”
Mac said coldly, “Our assignment, your assignment, Eric, is Gunther. That is the way the orders came through, and that is the way we will execute them.” After a moment, he added, “After all, we owe him for LeBaron; he’s due for murder anyway. And if they want us to do the detective work, they can so state. In this case they claim positive identification. Do I make myself clear?”
He did. Somebody had reamed him out for interpreting orders loosely or concerning himself with matters outside his jurisdiction, so now we were going to do it by the book. Somebody wanted Gunther. Somebody would get Gunther.
“Yes, sir,” I said. “As far as Naldi and the Carlsbad Caverns are concerned, I just mentioned it because I thought you’d want to pass it along.”
“That,” said Mac sarcastically, “is a strange thought. I will have to pass it along, of course, now that you have presented me with it, but the desire is conspicuously lacking.”
I frowned at the glass wall of the booth. He was certainly in a state about something. I said, “I had the impression that everything was sweetness and light and official cooperation, sir.”
“What would give you that odd impression?”
I said, “You haven’t given our description to any related agencies and asked that we be let alone if encountered?”
“I am not in the habit of circulating the descriptions of our people, Eric, particularly not when they are on secret and potentially dangerous duty.”
“Then,” I said, “something damn funny is going on around here.” I told him what had happened that morning.
“A security officer?” Mac said. “And he’d been told what to look for?”
“Yes, sir. He didn’t place me at once, he was too busy acting the Grand Inquisitor the way they do, but when he got around to noticing the lady and the truck and the license plate, he suddenly remembered something and became very gracious indeed.”
“I see,” Mac said. “I’ll investigate. You were careless. That involvement wasn’t necessary.”
“No, sir. I was scouring the town for wigwams. I didn’t expect to run into an official parade like that.”
“Considering the date, which I hope you are doing, it’s hardly an earthshaking coincidence.”
“Earthshaking?” I said. “I think that’s a very appropriate word in this connection, sir. Incidentally, there were no wigwams.”
“I see.” His voice was suddenly soft and sad and far away. “Well, we anticipated that possibility, didn’t we? Do your best, Eric. I didn’t mean to be... The political situation is a little trying at the moment.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “It always is.”
“It is hard to explain to people who know nothing about it that political reliability is not the only qualification necessary for undercover work, or even the primary one.”
“They are raising hell about Sarah?”
“Naturally. It always raises hell when an agent defects. I think you had better get me Gunther, Eric. Nobody else has turned up any leads; yours is the only one we have, thin as it is. It should be a smooth, impressive, confidence-inspiring job, preferably one that looks like an accident and embarrasses nobody. Did you receive my little gift?”
“Yes, sir. I am wearing it.”
“It is supposed to be an improved model. I would like your comments, later. Just peel off the foil as usual. Do you feel that you are making progress?”
“The preparations are well in hand, sir. I would say she’s willing to try anything that’ll make life tough for me. All she needs is the chance.”
“Let us hope she gets it,” Mac said. “I hate to ask a man to offer himself as bait, but—”
“Sure,” I said. “Good-bye, sir.”
I hung up and stood there for a moment, frowning thoughtfully. A car drove up and a bell rang somewhe
re on the premises as it crossed a rubber hose lying across the driveway. The filling-station man, in the lighted office, drained his coffee cup and came out. His name was lettered over the door: A.H. (Hank) Wegmann. I assumed it was his name. No one but the owner or manager of the place would put in such long hours.
I opened the door of the booth, paused to let him go by and headed across the lot in the direction of the tourist court a couple of blocks away. He went out to the car by the pumps. It was an Army jeep from some nearby missile outfit, I noticed, with a young enlisted man at the wheel. The idea must have been taking shape in my mind as I walked, but I was almost out of range of the lights before it suddenly graduated from a kind of subconscious nagging to a conscious brain-wave.
It hit me so hard that I almost stopped and looked back to check what I’d seen, but that would have been strictly amateur procedure, and I’d done enough blundering already that day—as Mac had not been slow to point out. I kept walking until the place was out of sight behind me. Then I stopped under a street light and searched myself for something I vaguely remembered shoving into a pocket.
After a little, I found it—the flimsy receipt for the gasoline I had charged that morning. I smoothed out the paper, and there it was again, what had struck me back there: WEGMANN’S ONE-STOP SERVICE, CARRIZOZO, NEW MEXICO. I stood there looking at it, while cataclysmic changes occurred in what I like—though it seems without much justification—to refer to as my brain.
Wegmann, I thought, Wegmann. All day we’d been looking for an Indian tent, and here was Mr. Wegmann. Wigwam—Wegmann. It could have been a coincidence. It could also have been a coincidence that of all the filling stations in town, Gail Hendricks had carefully guided us to this one. She had said, it looked cleaner than the others, and she wanted a nice, clean rest room.
It could be, but I didn’t believe it for a minute.
17
Reaching the motel, I paused outside the door briefly, wondering what kind of a scene she’d prepared for me inside. I’d taunted her and sent her away, remember, claiming to have no further use for her. I didn’t think she was about to let herself be dismissed in such a cavalier fashion, so it was her move.
I had no more doubts. The only question was whether I was merely dealing with a mortally offended lady pursuing a private revenge, or whether she had other, darker motives. I didn’t really think she had, but of course I couldn’t rule it out entirely. In any case, it was obvious that I had misjudged her in that El Paso hotel room. Forced to surrender the film capsule under threat of being stripped naked, she’d still managed to hold out on me. She hadn’t been nearly as scared as she’d seemed. Questioned about her sister’s dying words, she’d come up with the perfect answer. Wigwam, she’d said, the Wigwam in Carrizozo.
It left her protected. If I already knew about Mr. Wegmann’s service station and confronted her with the knowledge, she could claim to have made an honest mistake—the names were that close. If I didn’t... well, at least she’d given no more help to the disgusting bully who’d wrecked her dress and threatened to smash her face in. And she could have the satisfaction of imagining me combing Carrizozo for days, searching for a native shelter that didn’t exist.
She couldn’t have anticipated that she’d be present to watch, although maybe she’d even hoped for that. In any case, given the opportunity to come along—forced to come along, even—she’d made the most of it. I couldn’t help grinning wryly as I recalled the way we’d marched around slushy streets for endless hours this afternoon, while she, outwardly cooperative and sympathetic, undoubtedly laughed herself quite sick inside... I turned the knob and went in to see what she’d figured out for me next.
She’d left one small light on, so I’d get the full impact as I came in. That was a flaw, objectively speaking— darkness would have been more suitable to the tragic impression she was trying to convey—and I thought the pathetic, moist, crumpled handkerchief in her trailing hand was overdoing it a little, but on the whole it was a very creditable stage setting. It established the proper mood instantly.
Her fur-lined coat lay on the floor where she’d discarded it, supposedly, as she stumbled forward and flung herself face down on the big bed in tears—too upset by my cruelty, it would appear, to even remove the little plastic boots she’d been wearing over her shoes. A nice touch of verisimilitude was that the boots were muddy.
She gave me plenty of time to appreciate the scene. Then there was an audible gasp as she realized, officially, that she was no longer alone in the room. A moment later she was sitting up, prettily startled and embarrassed.
“Oh! I didn’t hear... I must have fallen asleep.”
I looked at her for a moment, feeling rather sorry for her. She was pretty good, but she was still an amateur. Sooner or later, she’d get into things she couldn’t handle. It wasn’t a game, but she didn’t know it yet.
I said, “Why, you’ve been crying! What’s the matter, glamor girl. Can’t you bear to part from me?”
She stared at me, wide-eyed, and jumped to her feet. “Why, you arrogant, insufferable beast—”
She choked and turned away, putting the damp handkerchief to her face. I produced a larger one of my own, fortunately clean. I stepped up and reached around to give it to her from behind.
“Here,” I said. “Try a dry one. Wipe and blow.”
She hesitated then snatched the cloth without looking around. We stood like that for a little. Then, with a small, tired sigh, she turned and came quite naturally into my arms.
I heard her voice, muffled: “Why do you have to be such a monster? Why couldn’t... Why can’t I ever fall for a man who’s... nice. Just a little nice, just a little... kind and gentle. I declare, that don’t seem like too much to ask.”
“Gail,” I said. “Gail, I—”
Then, in the direct and clumsy way of the suddenly passionate male, I kissed her thoroughly and reached for the zipper of her skirt. She caught my wrist, but she was smiling now.
“All right,” she breathed. “All right, but let’s do it properly this time.”
“Properly,” I said, kissing her again. “It’s a hard thing to do, properly, but for you I’ll try. I’ll be proper as hell.”
“Please, darling!” she said, laughing and trying to escape. “I mean, I don’t care much for this impromptu sex. Let me take a shower and make myself pretty... I won’t be long.”
She wasn’t, and much later, with darkness in the room, I felt her move beside me in a tentative way. I made no response, breathing evenly. She barely disturbed the bed as she slipped out of it. Apparently the sweater and skirt she’d removed in the bathroom wouldn’t do for the next bit, or maybe simple fastidiousness wouldn’t let her put them back on after wearing them so long; anyway, she paid a visit to the closet and paused by her suitcase, before she went in there. I heard the muffled click as the door closed behind her. I waited.
For a woman of her looks and background, she was a fast dresser. She was out again in less than five minutes. I was prepared to keep up my impersonation of a man pounding his ear until she was safely gone, but I’d underestimated her again. Instead of sneaking out, she came straight to the bed.
“Matt,” she whispered. “Matt, darling.”
I grunted, snorted and sat up abruptly. “What—”
I reached for the light switch. The sudden illumination made her blink. She was wearing another sweater, this time a fuzzy tan job with a big loose collar—very dramatic but not much good for keeping the neck warm— and a pair of tapering tan pants. I suppose they’re still called pants. They ended short of the ankles and were very, very snug. I looked at them and pursed my lips in a soft whistle.
“Don’t be corny, darling,” she said. “I’ll have you know they’re very expensive and very chic. I’m sorry to wake you but I didn’t want you to think I... I’d run away, or anything.”
“Where are you going?”
She shook her head mysteriously. “I’m not going to tell you. It
’s just an idea—”
“Little Gail, girl detective,” I said sourly. “Look, glamor girl, don’t you realize that a couple of people have already been killed very dead? If you’ve got an idea, tell me about it, and we’ll figure out what to do about it together.”
She shook her head again. “No, I want to do this myself. You said some things that weren’t very nice this morning, remember? You acted as if you thought I... Anyway, I want to try. Maybe I can help.”
I hesitated, and said sulkily, “All right, be the expert. Get yourself killed. Why bother to wake me up to tell me?”
“Oh, Matt!” she said, in a hurt little-girl voice. I didn’t say anything. She started to speak again, changed her mind and turned towards the door.
I said, “Gail.” She looked back. I reached down into one of my boots lying by the bed and came up with my .38 Special revolver. “Here, damn it,” I said. “Do you know how to use it?”
“Well, I’ve shot them—”
“Okay,” I said. “It’s loaded. It kicks like a mule. Try not to blow your fool head off. Now get the hell out of here and let me sleep.”
I watched the door close behind her. A diligent detective type would, I suppose, have hauled on his pants and followed, but I just let her go. The risk of being caught tailing her was too great; besides, I didn’t figure she was going very far, just to the filling station a couple of blocks away, where Mr. Wegmann would, no doubt, be very glad to see her.
18
I don’t apologize for going to sleep; there wasn’t anything else to do, and it might have been a long time before I got another chance. When the knock came at the door, it took me a moment to realize what it was and where I was. It was a soft little knock, the kind of diffident knock a woman might use who’d forgotten to take the key and hoped she wasn’t going to have to wake anybody up to get herself let back in.
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