Hamilton, Donald - Matt Helm 14 (27 page)

           
"What do you mean?" my
guard asked.

           
"How did you decide who'd get
stuck with the dull chore of shooting me, when the time came, and who'd get all
the fun of putting a lot of holes in the pretty lady-"

           
"Pretty lady, hell!" said
Martha's specimen. "Just because she's put a dress on doesn't make her a
lady in my book, even when she isn't all plastered with mud! We saw the greasy specimens
she was associating with down in
Mexico
. This country would be a damn sight better
off if all the filthy hippie types, male and female, were lined up against a
wall and used for target practice, leaving the country to clean, decent people;
real Americans!"

           
That scared me, a little. It was the
first hint I'd had of the motivation behind Senator Love's secret crusade, as
abetted by Herbert Leonard and his handsome young followers. There's nothing
more frightening to me than a character who thinks he knows what a real
American is-mainly because it generally turns out he's convinced it's somebody
just like him. It seems an odd notion to me. I certainly don't want to live in
a country populated with people just like me, God forbid! Anyway, I figure
there's room for a little variety in a nation as big as ours.

           
I said, "You know, that's not
half a bad idea. At least a little practice sure wouldn't hurt you boys any,
judging by the gent who tried to plug me down in
Guaymas
-it's
too bad he couldn't swim any better than he could shoot. And how many rounds
did those characters let off this morning without hurting anybody but a poor
old black man; and that was an accident, a ricochet off the water. Yes, I think
a little target practice would do wonders for you lads; and you might try a few
driving lessons, too, while you're at it. Those two jerks near
Tucson
were kind of pitiful, really. I just hated
to shut the door on them like that and send them out into the rocks to die. 1
mean, it was kind of like going around knocking little kids off their Christmas
tricycles-"

           
"Shut up!" After a moment,
my specimen said sharply; "Talking about target practice, you didn't do so
well yourself back there at Cutlass Key this morning. Sure, you managed to
shoot a lot of good agents, but you didn't get the man you'd come all that way
to-"

           
"Man?" I said, thinking
fast. "Who says I was there after a man? I came for her." 1 jerked my
head towards Martha. "And I got her, didn't I? I was told she'd guide us
out of there. It's not my fault the fool bitch doesn't know her right hand from
her left. There was not a damn thing wrong with my part of the job, not a
thing!”

           
I was aware of Martha restraining
herself from casting a startled-maybe even reproachful-glance in my direction;
but it was the only way to handle it. I could never convince them, any more
than she'd been able to, that she'd been perfectly honest and idealistic when
she led them to her father's supposed hideout on Cutlass Key. It was better to
use what they already believed, and build on that.

           
My guard said sharply, "Are you
trying to tell us-"

           
"Why the hell should I want to
hurt your precious Mr. Leonard, if that's who you mean?" I asked.

           
The man shook his head. "That
won't wash, Helm! Just now in your cabin, when she was trying to bring you
around, your female accomplice said in so many words that you'd been planning
to shoot-"

           
"Eavesdropping?" I said.
"
Tsk
.
Tsk
. Tell me, in
your outfit do you always tell every junior member of every operational team
everything about the team's mission. It must be nice to have so much faith. The
fact is, Miss Borden was never informed of the exact purpose of her assignment.
Maybe she thought she was setting somebody up for a touch. Maybe it made her feel
better, more important, to believe she was part of a desperate assassination
squad, instead of just getting a man out of the way for a few hours. If she'd
known that, she might have started asking herself-maybe even aloud-why this
particular man had to be distracted at this particular time; and that's a
question we didn't want being asked by anybody, until our business was all
taken care of."

           
"Then what were you doing up
that tree with that big rifle?"

           
I glanced sourly at the girl beside
me, and grimaced. "Under normal circumstances," I said, "using a
trained female agent, we'd have let her make her own way clear, or not, however
it worked out. Our operatives are supposed to be able to take care of
themselves. If they can't, well, we're sorry about that. But in this case we
had to use a girl who wasn't an agent, simply because she was the best bait
available, the person most likely to be able to sell your Mr. Leonard a bill of
goods. But she'd had no training, and she happened to be the boss's daughter.

           
Therefore, I was instructed to take
whatever steps necessary to make sure she got out okay." I shrugged.
"Nepotism, I guess you'd call it. I'm not really in the bodyguard
business, but, hell, orders are orders. And we'd have made it, too, if she
hadn't got all loused up on port and starboard. Christ, what a time to get
nautical. If she'd just stuck to right and left, we'd be home free!"

           
"But if you didn't want to kill
Mr. Leonard-" This was Martha's escort, frowning thoughtfully. "If
you weren't really setting him up' for murder, why go to all the trouble-"

           
"He's here, isn't he?" I
said shortly. "He isn't up north tending to business like he should, is
he? He's chasing mirages through a lousy
Florida
swamp, or at least he was all last night.
And right now he's wasting time shuffling papers up forward instead of using
his brains and trying to find out why somebody wanted him out of circulation
early on the morning of June fifteenth. It must be hell working for a stupid
man. I feel for you boys, I really do. The gent I take my orders from may not
be so photogenic, but at least he's got something between the ears besides a
wad of crumpled newspaper clippings telling him what a wonderful guy he..

           
I'd figured Leonard had sent us back
here so he could sneak up and listen to us, and I was right. Now he appeared in
the cabin entrance, looking stern and accusing.

           
"Well!" he snapped.
"I hope you gentlemen are having a good time comparing employers."

           
Our two guards had jumped to their
feet. The nearest one, Martha's man, protested quickly, "Sir, we thought
it best to let him talk. He claims he wasn't really assigned to murder you, as
we assumed."

           
"I heard what he claims."
Leonard laughed scornfully. "What else could he say, having failed to
carry out his mission? I've met this beanpole agent before. All his mistakes
are always on purpose, to hear him tell it." He looked at me. "You'll
have to conic up with a better story than that, Helm. I think you're talking
just to keep yourself alive!"

           
He was perfectly right, but it
wasn't really an inspired guess. What else would I be doing under the
circumstances? Of course, I was also talking to throw him off guard so I could
do the job I'd been sent here for.

           
I shrugged in a resigned sort of
way. "Suit yourself, Mr. Leonard. I'm a hell of a liar. If fact doesn't
suit you, I can cook up some real fancy fiction."

           
He hesitated. Then he said carelessly,
"Oh, no let's not strain your imagination any further.

           
Let's stick with your current fairy
tale, at least for the present. But let's make it slightly more plausible. Give
us some motivation, Helm. Tell us just why you're supposed to have gone to a great
deal of trouble-you, and your murderous employer, and all his lackeys and
accomplices, not to mention that fine little actress, his daughter-to set an
elaborate trap for me, if all the time you were intending to magnanimously
spare my life?"

           
"I told you," I said,
mixing a little judicious falsehood with a lot of truth, or what I guessed to
be the truth. "Anyway, I told these characters. It wasn't a trap. For
various reasons it was essential to get you out of Washington for a day or two,
Mr. Leonard; out of Washington and out of easy contact with your key people. My
chief knew, of course, that when he went underground you'd keep a sharp eye on
his daughter, hoping she'd lead you to him. He simply had her take you on a
wild goose chase into darkest
Florida
, leaving him to carry on undisturbed up
north." Leonard tried to interrupt, but I went on without pausing.
"Why should we shoot you, Leonard? You're through, but even a discredited
Chief of Intelligence can cause a lot of awkward questions if he's found with a
bullet hole in him. I think my chief will be willing to settle for your
resignation and retirement from public life-that is, of course, if you turn
Miss Borden and me loose unharmed."

           
They were all grinning. As a comic,
I was a big success. "My, that's mighty big of Arthur Borden,"
Leonard said playfully. "You're sure that's all he wants, my resignation
and retirement? Oh, and the two of you unharmed, of Course."

           
I said blandly, "Well, I
haven't had a chance to consult him about the details, sir, but I feel he
intends to be generous. Of course, you'll never hold another government
position as long as you live, but at least you will live." I congratulated
myself on getting the lie out with some conviction. I went on, "It's your
last chance, Mr. Leonard, assuming that I'm right and he's willing to give it
to you. We're getting kind of fed up with you. This is the second time you've
inconvenienced us. Most people don't manage it more than once." I pulled
my wrists around.

           
"So if you'll just cut us loose
now, and give us back our boat-"

           
Leonard nodded slightly. My guard
lashed out with his pet Smith & Wesson, catching me alongside the head and
knocking me against the end of the settee. It showed how much he really knew
about revolvers, using one as a club. Half dazed, I felt the blood running down
my cheek from a nick in the scalp. Leonard stepped forward to stand over me.

           
"The trouble with you,
Helm," he said coldly, "the big trouble with you is that you've been
allowed to get away with your arrogant bluffs so often you think they'll work
on anybody. I hate to disillusion you, my man, but you're not pulling it off
this time. .. . What is it,
Bostrom
?"

           
The man who had hit me said,
"Can't you hear it, sir? It's a powerboat. Probably
Jernegan
coming back."

           
"Oh."

           
Leonard stared at me for a moment
longer; but the motor sound was approaching rapidly.

           
He squeezed between me and my guard,
not the best technique in the world even if my hands were tied, and threw open
the glass door leading to the deck aft. The yellow runabout was in sight,
dropping off plane as it neared the houseboat. The youth with the yachting cap,
apparently named
Jernegan
, was at the wheel. A
gray-haired woman in a blue-flowered dress occupied the other forward seat. As
they coasted in to a landing, Leonard hurried forward to help the passenger
make the climb to the houseboat's deck while
Jernegan
secured the boat and climbed aboard under his own power.

           
"It's a pleasure to have you
here, of course, Mrs. Love," I heard Leonard say. "Naturally, when I
got your emergency message, I sent the boat right away, but I wish you'd
explain-"

           
"Explain?" the woman
snapped. "I want to hear you explain what you're doing way out here in
this godforsaken alligator park when I need you, Herbert! Oh, and did you know
that your man in
Denver
,
Colorado
, just died in a freeway accident? And the
fellow in Bangor, Maine, who was going to get me some leverage on that
reluctant congressman, keeled over with a fatal heart attack last night? What
is going on, Herbert? I thought you said you had everything under control, but
when key personnel start dying like that, even accidentally-"

           
"Mr. Leonard!" It was the
voice of the radio operator, calling from up forward. "Mr. Leonard, take a
call on the blue phone, please. New Orleans is on the line."

           
"Excuse me, Mrs. Love."

           
Leonard came back into the cabin. He
threw me an odd, wary glance, picked up one of the telephones on the dinette
table, and identified himself. I could hear a male voice speaking rapidly in
the receiver, but I couldn't make out the words. Leonard frowned.

           
"What?" he said. "A
crazy man with a couple of guns and a grudge against policemen . . .

           
What the hell do I care how many
Cajun cops got themselves killed by a kamikaze maniac? Oh, you say Jack
Westheimer
was caught in the crossfire, kind of
accidentally He hung up slowly, started to glance my way again, but changed his
mind, and called forward. "Martin, get me Bill Frank, in
Washington
."

           
We waited. Presently, the light on
the blue phone glowed once more. Leonard hesitated, picked it up, spoke, and
listened. I saw his face go flat and gray. "In the hospital? Botulism,
what the hell is that. . . . Oh. They couldn't save him? I see. Thanks."
He put the phone down once more, stood for a moment in thought, and called,
"Martin, get me Homer Dunn, in Los Angeles. .. . What?"

           
"I was just going to tell you,
sir. Mr. Dunn's office just called. Mr. Dunn went boating over the weekend and
didn't return. They were wondering whether to alert the Coast Guard."

           
Leonard turned slowly to look at me.
There was a kind of scared horror in his eyes, and a burning hate.