She started to speak angrily, but checked herself. She licked her lips, and moved off ahead of me. Even in pants, from behind, she was a very good-looking girl, which is something many attempt and few achieve. At the moment, however, I found it hard to appreciate my fine rear view of her glorious young figure. This was the girl I'd come a long way to find, but it was hardly the reunion I'd expected.
I guess what really bugged me-aside from the simple, incomprehensible fact of her being here at all-was that I was entirely in the wrong, blaming her for what had happened. Isobel had picked up my gun. She had been about to shoot. Jill's strategy in sneaking up on us without warning might be criticized, but her reaction to the threat could not, considering how she'd been trained.
It seemed to be just one of those sickening damn-fool things that happen when you leave guns around carelessly-and I was the guy whose gun it was, who'd left it there. If I'd taken care of my weapon as I should, the thing would never have happened.
The figure by the pool did not move as we approached. The faded, incongruous silk dress no longer seemed like a good joke on stuffy old civilization. It was just a small indignity added to the greater indignity of death. I was reasonably sure, anyway, but I knelt beside the body and lifted it gently. There was no need to turn it over completely to see the great, shiny spill of blood below the left breast. I let her down again slowly.
I knelt there for a little, holding her, telling myself I was getting too old for this work, or something. Hell, people died all the time, even attractive women. They got smashed up in cars, they got shot by jealous boyfriends, they caught diseases antibiotics couldn't cure, and if nothing else worked they took sleeping pills by the fistful in the spirit of do-it-yourself. I had a job to do, even if I still didn't quite know what it was. I shouldn't be wasting time or emotion on one lousy society dame dead on a crummy Pacific island, even if she had died kind of by mistake.
I heard Jill's young voice: "Aren't you taking this awfully big, Eric?"
She was right, of course, but I looked up at her and said, "Children should be seen and not heard. Comb your damn hair and shut your damn mouth."
She said stubbornly, "I mean, if you want me to say I'm sorry, I'll say it. But really, if you're going to make a career of this business, you can't have a spastic over every enemy agent you kill. Can you?"
I stared at her for a long moment. "Come again?"
She frowned, surprised. "You mean you didn't know? I heard them talking. I heard all about her. Her code name is-was-Irma, and she was one of Moscow's best in the Asiatic division. Maybe that's why you never came across her dossier; you never worked against that bunch, did you? She disappeared for a while and now she turns up here, calling herself first Isobel McLain and then, I gather, Isobel Marner, your loving sister-in-law. Just how they worked that I didn't hear. It may have been kind of tough on the real Isobel Marner, if any. Of course, they may simply have gambled on your being in no position to check on whether or not such a person actually exists." Jill looked down at me in a speculative, adult way. "I see you don't believe me, Eric. The woman must have been very good. Very convincing. But maybe you'll believe this. Where's her purse?"
I hesitated briefly, and jerked my head toward the battered-looking white kid purse that lay beside a pair of battered-looking white kid pumps on the nearby rock. Jill got it and opened it.
"How do you think I knew where to come?" she said. "I came here to warn you. Monk knows you're here. He's been tracking you ever since you turned Halawa Point at the end of the island early this morning. Look."
She had a familiar cigarette lighter in her hand. She slid the cover off to show me the interior mechanism. Half was what you'd expect to find inside an ordinary butane lighter, slimmed down in one dimension. The other half looked like a mass of dirty spaghetti with bugs in it, which is the way most of that fancy electronic equipment looks to the uninitiated.
"A beeper," I said softly. "By God, she was carrying a beeper all the time!"
As I spoke, I felt the woman I held stir minutely in my arms.
Chapter Twenty-three
I WASN'T QUITE aware of making the decision. The mental computer just ran the tape through on its own, and came up with an answer. Without really thinking it over consciously I found myself closing my fingers hard on Isobel's arm, warning her to lie perfectly still.
To mask the signal, I lowered her to the ground at last, making it look, I hoped, like an act of rejection.
"Well, I guess she isn't playing possum this time," I said loudly. "She fooled a couple of Monk's men that way once, pretending to be unconscious when she wasn't. At least she said she did, but I guess it was just part of the act." I gave the bare arm another sharp little squeeze to call attention to my words, and went on harshly for Jill's benefit, "I should have realized she played too smart and cool all along for the simple society bitch she was supposed to be."
Jill just dropped the lighter back into the purse, snapped the purse closed, and tossed it back onto the rock. I got up, and glanced at my hands, and wiped them on my coat. Then, as an afterthought, I tossed the coat over the woman on the ground, ostensibly as a Christian gesture, and flung my shirt over her legs to finish the job of covering the body decently. I turned to face Jill.
"All right, little girl," I said. "So the old pro is just an impressionable sucker after all. Is that why you shot her?"
"Well, I knew she was dangerous. When she went for the gun…" Jill shrugged.
That reminded me that I'd forgotten the weapon once more. I just couldn't seem to keep my mind on it, any more than if it had been a toy pistol. I got it and tucked it into my pants, making room for it by taking out Jill's silvery weapon and giving it back to her apologetically.
"Sorry I was rough on you. I suppose you had to play it cagey, sneaking up on us. You couldn't know how she'd react."
"That's right, Matt. I knew she'd probably guess I'd picked up enough information to expose her. I had to take her by surprise. I'm sorry it worked out so badly. I… I'm not really very experienced at this sort of stuff, you know."
The little hesitation was very convincing. I regarded the girl thoughtfully, noting that her gaudy shirt had lost a strategic button and most of a sleeve, but that it looked just a little like the kind of phony-ragged garment, artfully tattered with scissors, that you'd wear to a masquerade. I was willing to bet, now, that she'd smeared the mud on her jeans with her own hands, to emphasize the hardships she'd endured to reach me. But she was still a lovely thing, with her fine tan and her striking blonde hair and her frank blue eyes. It was just too bad she was a goddamn liar.
Either that or she'd been deceived, although it was hard to see how it could have been done. Or I was the world's biggest sucker, because I didn't believe a word she'd said against Isobel. I mean, as I'd said earlier, there are times in this faithless business when you've simply got to haul off and have a little faith in somebody.
What it amounted to was that I had to choose. I had to choose between the tall blonde girl who sounded very convincing and had a trick cigarette lighter for evidence, and the slim dark-haired woman who'd said to me softly, "Matt, don't laugh, but I'm happy." I could believe that the woman who'd said that, in the way she'd said it, was exactly what she'd claimed to be, or I could believe that she was the world's most consummate actress.
I didn't think they came that good. And the cigarette lighter didn't really count. It could have been planted in her purse at any time, without her knowledge. They're made by the millions, they burn for months, and one looks just like another-at least, a duplicate wouldn't have been hard to find. For a choice, the switch had been made when Francis and his sidekick searched her room, mauling her in the process. There had never been a really good explanation for that whole clumsy performance until now; and Francis had been trying to warn me about something in this connection when he died.
I could have misunderstood the warning. He could have been trying to warn me against the lighter, instead o
f against the person who carried it.
In any case, I'd made my choice. I was putting my money on the woman on the ground. I was gambling that she was exactly what she'd said: Isobel Marner, from Frisco, Cal, although they don't like that name up there.
I was betting on her screwball streak, and on the guts she'd displayed in the Pablo Channel.
I was also gambling, of course, that she wasn't so badly hurt she'd go and die on me after all. Actually, I told myself, the amount of blood I'd seen could be considered a good sign rather than a bad one. They don't generally bleed like that when they're shot through the lungs or heart. Most often, in such cases, the hemorrhage stays internal and all you see outside is a small, red-rimmed hole. Copious bleeding there indicated a flesh wound, a nasty, open bullet furrow along the ribs, perhaps, very painful and messy but seldom fatal. l was betting my life, and perhaps a lot of other people's lives-depending on what Monk had in mind- that she was not too badly injured to be listening now, and that she'd be strong enough and smart enough and brave enough to understand my instructions and follow them. It was a lot to ask of a sheltered woman, inexperienced in violence, and badly hurt. It was a lot to ask of anybody, but I bad to give it a try.
Of course, I would have preferred to rush over and bandage her tenderly and load her into the boat and get her to a doctor-but then, I'd also have preferred to be somewhere far away, taking the vacation that was coming to me. My preferences were strictly irrelevant. If Isobel could play possum well enough and listen hard enough, she could be useful; if not, I'd have to do my job without her help. In neither case was I here to make like Florence Nightingale: she'd have to patch up her own damn holes. I was leaving her my shirt to do it with. Our jungle idyll was over and it was time to go to work.
I said to Jill, "Okay, kid. Give it to me fast. What have you learned? First of all, where's K?"
"It's over there about five miles," she said, pointing. "Down the coast to the west. Not the next bay but the one after that. It would be easy enough in a boat, but it's kind of a rough trip overland, everything from gooey swamps and jungle to sharp lava rocks. Well, look at me! Matt, I-"
"You say Monk knows I'm here. What's he doing about it?"
"Nothing, at the moment. They're all busy working on the boat. He figures, with the woman to watch you, and her transmitter to show when you change position, you'll keep until he's got a couple of men free to go after you. Of course, once he learns I'm missing…"
"That's the next question," I said. "Just why the hell are you missing? I told you to get to K and stay put. I told you I'd find you."
"But I had to warn you!" she protested. "I had to let you know you were walking into a trap, with a traitor at your back. Didn't I? Mart..
I said, "Maybe I wanted to walk into a trap. Maybe that's why I sent you on ahead, so you'd be there to get me out of it. Next time, Jill, just follow instructions and don't worry so damn much about other people's safety. Little angels of mercy we can do very well without."
Her eyes flashed angrily, but her voice was humble. "Yes, Matt. I'm sorry if I made a mistake. I thought it was the thing to do."
So I knew she was a phony-a lovely, hypocritical phony-and not just an innocent girl being used as a patsy in some clever Monkish way. Well, she'd always been kind of a question mark; I'd even commented to Mac about the inconsistency of a girl who looked like a tall young goddess and acted like a small white mouse.
It remained to be seen whether she was a truly sinister and complex person, much more deeply involved in Monk's intrigues than anyone could have guessed, or whether she'd simply been caught, exposed, and frightened into changing sides. There are a good many threats that can be used against a pretty girl, particularly one with no great reputation for courage, and Monk would know them all.
"Well, we'll just have to refigure the program," I said easily. "Can you lead me there in such a way that we're not spotted? Or maybe you can just tell me how to find the place and get past the guards-I suppose he does have guards out."
Jill hesitated. "I'd better guide you. I can save you some time and a lot of nasty climbing and wading, and I know where Monk's men are posted. Mali-"
"And now for the big question," I said. "What's he up to? Have you been able to learn that?"
"Of course I have!" she said quickly. "That's what I've been trying to tell you. Matt, it's horrible. It's the General Hughes!"
"The what?"
"The Hughes. The General Herman Hughes. The transport, Matt. The troop transport!"
I looked at her for a moment, but I was thinking of the boys with the dog tags I'd seen on the beach. They hadn't impressed me too favorably. In my book, punks who lounge around making audible comments about strangers should have their tails kicked up between their ears, in the armed forces or out. Nevertheless, I didn't particularly want anything more drastic to happen to them. Hell, there might even be a nice, quiet, respectful young fellow in the lot, and we couldn't risk losing such a rare specimen.
"I see," I said softly. "I see. I presume he's going to sink it?" She nodded. I asked, "How? No, don't tell me. It's the Monk, so he'll blow it up dramatically. Lots of noise and smoke and flame. He likes big bangs. Particularly big bangs with people inside them."
Jill nodded again. "Yes, of course. The explosives have already been planted on the ship."
"Where? I mean, is he using limpet mines of some kind stuck to the outside of the hull, or did they smuggle the stuff aboard somehow?"
"I… I don't know where it is. I just know that end of the job has been taken care of to everybody's satisfaction."
"Okay," I said. "Now, how's he planning to detonate, with a timing device or something? No, it wouldn't be that, not with the Monk. He likes to push his own buttons and see them blow. How has he got it rigged?"
"I don't know the technical details, Mali, but it's a radio-type gadget in one of the boats. The bigger one, the inboard-outboard. They're fixing it up for the skis now. That's how I got to K. He needed somebody to ride them, somebody who… who'd look good in a bikini."
I looked at her sharply. "You're going a little too fast for me. Skis?"
"Yes. Water skis. Don't you see? Who'll suspect a speedboat towing a… a pretty girl with long blonde hair, on water skis? Why, the boys will line the rails and whistle and hoot and throw down the leis the girls gave them in town, as we come alongside. And then… and then, after we've swung off to a safe distance, Monk will push the button…" We didn't say anything for a little. I didn't look toward the coat-covered shape by the rock. Presently Jill went on dully, "They made it easy for him, docking in Honolulu instead of Pearl Harbor. They leave early tomorrow morning, and tomorrow's Saturday. That means the Lurline will be coming in. That means the whole ocean will be full of boats anyway, waiting to greet the liner. One more won't attract any attention at all. Even after the explosion, Monk figures, we won't be noticed particularly. Everybody'll be watching the Hughes."
"What happens then?"
"We just slip away in the confusion and rendezvous somewhere-I don't know where-with the other boat, the one with no incriminating gadgets on board. We'll switch boats and head out to meet a getaway ship. I haven't learned the details of that. Monk said leave it all to him. He… he thinks I'm in love with him. He thinks I'm doing it all, not only for my political beliefs, but because I want to go away with him. I… I had to let him think that." She was blushing a little. I wasn't as impressed as I might have been if I hadn't seen her instant blush before.
I said, "And what about his political beliefs? Just why is he doing all this?"
"Isn't it obvious? To protest against the war, of course. And to keep all those troops from getting there to fight."
I said, "It doesn't sound like the Monk to me. He never impressed me as the peaceful type. Of course he may have got soft in his old age, but what about this lady from Moscow? I can see how the Peking bunch got into the act, if he needed technical assistance, although the Monk I used to know wouldn't have n
eeded anybody's help with explosives and detonators. But what's a Russki agent doing here? You did say she was Moscow, didn't you?"
"Yes, of course, but I don't know what her function is. Does it matter? Those communists all work together, don't they?"
I laughed. "Don't bet your life on it. Well, if you don't know, you don't know." I frowned. "This changes things a bit. We've got to get word to Honolulu somehow. There's a boat hidden over there in the reeds; that's your baby. First give me directions to K. I'll do what I can there. But you take that boat and hide it somewhere close until dark, so it won't be found when Monk's men come prowling around. Then you put to sea and steer west towards Kalaupapa, the leper colony. It shouldn't be more than a two or three hours' run downwind, if the trades blow as hard as they did last night. There's a lighthouse at the end of the Kalaupapa peninsula, according to the chart. You can home in on that. Swing around it and land on the leeward side of the peninsula. That seems to be where most of the installations are. They'll have communications equipment available. Make sure the word gets to Honolulu right away. That ship mustn't sail tomorrow. Okay?"
I spoke as loudly and clearly as I could without arousing Jill's suspicion. I was careful not to look toward Isobel. There was no sign of life under my coat and shirt. I wondered if I'd misinterpreted the faint stirring I'd felt.
Well, either she was alive or she wasn't. Either she'd heard or she hadn't. Either she'd get word to Kalaupapa or she wouldn't. I couldn't do it. If I put to sea now, the lookouts would spot me from K, just down the coast, and the speedboats would run me down within a mile. If I tried to cross the mountains to the south on foot. I might take days trying to find my way through the jungles and up the spectacular precipices this volcanic geology seemed to favor. We didn't have that much time.
And if I just waited for darkness, the Monk would come after me long before I could slip away unseen. My best bet was to keep him away from this place by going to him. That gave Isobel an escape, if she was strong enough to use it; and it might put me in a position for some judicious sabotage, if I was smart enough to take advantage of it. Of course, I had to get Jill away from here, too, but I didn't think she was going to make it hard for me, and she didn't.
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