The Betrayers (17 page)

“The Navy was not my suggestion, Eric. Of course, I have considered it, but as you say, persuading them to take appropriate action under adequate security would be very difficult since we really don’t know what we’re up against.” He paused. “You still have no idea what Monk’s intentions are?”

“No, sir. He seems to be going in all directions at once. On the one hand, we’ve got his tame peace-in-Asia front; and on the other, we have the two mysterious specialists from Peking with whatever they brought in their luggage. I can’t imagine what technical project it could be that would have Monk asking help of a bunch of Chinese. Explosives of some kind would be the logical answer, but he’s pretty competent along those lines himself. Of course if it’s something real big and nasty and nuclear, he might not have adequate facilities—”

“That’s mere guesswork,” Mac said. “And I can’t see the Chinese, with their limited nuclear capacity, turning any material of that nature over to an American agent, even a turncoat one.”

“I hope you’re right,” I said. “But what it amounts to is that we simply don’t know which way he’s going to jump. We just know he’ll jump soon. After all, he shut up the Honolulu place with a dead man on the floor, and he knows as well as anybody that there’s a limit to how long a body can lie around without getting itself discovered. Incidentally, I should have had you tell the boys to take care of that one, too, when they get a chance.”

“I did tell them,” Mac said.

“Yes, sir,” I said. “We can assume, therefore, that Monk intends to act within, say, the next forty-eight hours. Are you still in official contact?”

“The routine Pacific reports are still coming through on schedule.”

“Sure. He wouldn’t alert you by cutting them off. But I bet you can’t reach him personally.”

“I haven’t tried. It seemed best to leave him alone.” Mac hesitated. “You are counting heavily on this girl, Eric. You realize that, of course.”

“No, sir,” I said. “On the contrary, I am counting on her very lightly. That’s just the point.”

“What do you mean?”

I said, “Hell, I don’t like to stick my neck out any better than the next man. If I knew for sure she’d got there, and if I thought she could handle it alone, I’d
be strongly tempted to leave her to it. Putting myself in Monk’s hands isn’t something I really look forward to, sir. But the fact is, our Jill is a fairly weak reed. In spite of my final instructions, I’m willing to bet she won’t do the job without me, even if it’s right there to be done and she’s right there to do it. She’s a nice girl, and her intentions are swell, and she looks like a brave young goddess, but there’s something strangely lacking in the fortitude department, if you know what I mean. Look at the way she tried to pin you down with that no-risk agreement. Look at the way I had to shame her into cooperating at all. She’s just a college kid playing secret agent; she won’t act without somebody right there to hold her hand. Even then, all I’m really hoping for is that she’ll have guts enough to bring a knife when the time comes to cut the ropes.”

“I see.” Mac was silent, thousands of miles away. I could visualize him frowning. “That makes the odds still heavier against you.”

I said, “However, there’s one factor I neglected to mention.”

“What’s that?”

“I promised her I’d come if I could possibly make it.” He made some kind of sound. It sounded like a snort. Apparently he thought no more of my promises to Jill than he did of his own. Well, honor isn’t taken very seriously in our line of work. I said, “Yes, sir. I will give your regards to the Monk, sir, if the opportunity arises. Eric, signing off.”

Leaving the booth, I saw my skulking pirate lounging in the doorway of the saloon. He resolutely paid no attention to me as I went into the place and got the barman to steer me to a young fellow who, for a fairly substantial consideration, was willing to take a lady and a gentleman for a cozy midnight boat ride. Having made the arrangements, I walked back to the jeep, discreetly shadowed by the gent in the striped jersey, but he made no attempt to get a car and follow me further. Apparently his jurisdiction ended at the Lahaina city limits, and now all he wanted was a phone from which to report to Pressman that I’d run my errands and was on my way home.

I glanced at my watch when I reached the hotel and was surprised at how early it was. Men had died and plans had been laid upon which might depend the fate of nations, but it was only a little past nine o’clock. I looked myself over for dirt or bloodstains that would make me conspicuous inside. I made sure I’d got my belt back through all the loops. I took out my gun. I’d got it back from Rog, who’d never fired it, which was just as well, since it was still loaded with more-or-less blanks.

I’d debated taking Francis’ gun, too, but I’d decided that I was better off with just a single gun that could be fixed not to shoot. After all, I still had to deal with the lady who’d caused me to rig it that way in the first place—but first there were some details to take care of. I loaded the weapon with real ammo and went in to take care of them.

They made it very easy for me. Isobel was awaiting me on the cocktail terrace, just as I’d instructed. Pressman was keeping an eye on the situation from the higher side terrace, as before. He seemed to be taking no other precautions. I studied them both from various vantage points in the hotel, to make reasonably sure of this.

Well, there was no need for them to be careful, was there? They knew exactly what I intended to do, didn’t they? I mean, I’d given them my plan of action beforehand, and up to this point I’d followed it in every detail, just as I’d told it to Isobel.

I’d driven to Lahaina, getting rid of my shadow on the way, just as I’d said I would. There had been a little more to the journey than that, but the details didn’t really matter. And I’d chartered a boat in Lahaina, just as I’d promised Isobel, specifying two passengers, male and female. And now I’d be coming back unsuspectingly to pick up my lady and a change of seagoing clothes and to
put Pressman himself out of action just long enough for the two of us to make our nautical getaway.

He wouldn’t be looking forward to that, but Isobel would have assured him that I’d specifically mentioned the harmless sleepy-stuff I intended to use on him, so he was probably figuring to go along with the gag. In the meantime, of course, his piratical Lahaina errand boy would be making preparations to pick us up, one way or another, when we arrived at dockside…

It was too bad. Pressman was probably a competent enough guy, just as Hanohano had been a competent enough guy: they just hadn’t studied the dossier carefully enough. They kept expecting me to play by some kind of rules, in a game that had no rules. Monk wouldn’t have made that mistake, but Monk wasn’t here to warn them.

I watched for a little while. There was no great hurry. Besides Pressman’s, there was only one table occupied on the higher terrace. Presently the young couple who’d been sitting there rose and left, which was a break for me. Pressman didn’t even glance around when I stepped out through the open doors. His man in Lahaina had warned him I was on my way, of course, but he knew where I’d be coming, didn’t he?

He was looking for me to appear below, where, alone at a side table, a slender figure in a summery cocktail dress was applying the flame of a lighter to a cigarette with the bored, jerky, angry movements of a neglected woman who is reaching the end of her patience and maybe of her liquor capacity as well.

I said, “Over here, Pressman.”

He turned his head quickly, and started to rise, and sank back into his chair. He sat very still, looking at the snub-nosed revolver I held close to my side.

“Eric,” he said softly. “What do you want?”

“Your Hawaiian boy was good, Pressman,” I murmured. “But he wasn’t quite good enough. Would you care to give it a try?”

He was a pro; he just grinned at the challenge. “Hell, no,” he said. “Just take it that I’m scared, friend. Guns always scare me. So I’m shaking, see me? Now what do we do?”

“We get up very carefully,” I said. “We walk into the hotel. We go to our room—your room. And we keep our hands at our sides in plain sight, because we know that the instant one disappears, we die.”

He studied me for a moment, as if trying to guess whether what I had in store for him was still what I’d told Isobel it would be, now that I’d changed the program in other respects. Then he shrugged his narrow shoulders fatalistically and rose. It was a long walk to the room, or so it seemed to me. Maybe it seemed that way to him, too. At the door, he paused to give me a questioning look. I nodded. He reached into his pocket cautiously, produced a key, and unlocked the door. I held him back while I reached inside to turn on the light. Nothing happened. I herded him inside ahead of me and closed the door.

“On the bed,” I said. “Face down, if you please.”

He hesitated, standing there with his back to me. He
wanted, at least, to turn his head once more to look at me before he rendered himself completely helpless. But trying to read minds is for amateurs and mentalists. He was a professional agent.

He moved his shoulders again, and stepped forward, and arranged himself on the bed as instructed. I took three quick steps and pinned him down. I shoved his face into the pillow, slipped the needle into the nape of the neck where the hair would mask the puncture wound, and drove the plunger home.

He knew, then. He knew it was no harmless sleep he was being given, and he made a belated attempt to struggle, but I had him solid and it lasted only a few seconds. Then the stuff reached the brain, or heart, or wherever it goes to do its work.

I drew out the hypo and put it carefully back into my drug kit. I went into the bathroom and got a bit of toilet paper and wiped off the tiny drop of blood that might have called attention to the pinprick on the neck. The stuff itself is almost undetectable, and the symptoms are those of an ordinary coronary, or so I’ve been told by the guys who cook it up for us. They are very proud of it. Well, we’d soon see if their pride was justified. I went back and flushed the paper down the john, using my handkerchief to turn the handle. Mac’s cleanup squad would not be dealing with this one. He had to be found to show I meant business, so it had to look good enough to fool the authorities.

Returning, I looked down at him for a moment. I try to
make a point of this. I have no respect for these delicate characters who can commit endless massacres by remote control but can’t bear to face their dead at close range. It was a lousy, cold-blooded thing, of course, but I’d had no choice. The harmless drug we carry is good for only four hours at best, and according to Francis, the batch I had now wasn’t even up to full strength: he’d claimed to have awakened well ahead of schedule.

I needed more than four hours. Either that, or I needed to look as if I’d done everything humanly and inhumanly possible to buy myself the time, even if I’d failed. If I just walked—or sailed—carelessly into a waiting trap, Monk would guess that I was relying on inside help to save me.

It was tough on Mr. Pressman, but I had to leave enough dead men behind to make it look as if I were trying desperately to cover my tracks. Maybe I was. It depended on how things worked out when I got to K, if I got there.

I picked up my gun, which I had laid aside, and shook out the live rounds I’d loaded out of respect for Pressman. I put the powderless shells back into the chambers. Dealing with a strong man who may be armed is a little different from dealing with a weak—well, relatively weak—woman who probably isn’t armed: you shouldn’t need a loaded gun to handle her and you don’t want to provide her with one to use on you, but you may want to tempt her with a firearm to make her betray herself once and for all. I went to find Isobel.

She was just signing for another drink when I emerged
on the cocktail terrace. “Well, it’s about time you showed up,” she snapped as I sat down beside her. I remembered that I’d told her to pick a fight with me. She went on in convincingly angry tones: “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting? If you think I came all the way from Honolulu with you just to—”

“Pressman’s dead, Duchess,” I said softly.

Even the colored glasses couldn’t hide the sudden widening of her eyes. I also detected the betraying glance she threw toward the other terrace. She licked her lips. When she spoke, the assumed anger was gone from her voice.

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about, Matt. Who’s dead?”

“Cut it out,” I said. “Don’t try to fight it. He’s dead. I’ve just finished killing him. Let’s take a little walk down to the beach and I’ll tell you all about it.” She didn’t move at once until, standing up again, I made a sharp little upward gesture with my hand. I reached out to help her as she rose a bit uncertainly, and I put her white purse into her hands. “Easy now,” I said. “Maybe you’d better cut down on the sauce, Duchess. You don’t look well.”

It made her mad enough to pull herself together, as it was meant to do. She jerked her arm free and threw me a look that was a mixture of fear and fury. She moved off the terrace ahead of me, quite steadily now. I followed her to the head of the shadowed path, and down through the darkness, and moved up beside her as she came out on the sand. Again I took her arm to help her, since she was finding it heavy going in her high heels. This time she
didn’t pull away. Instead I heard her give an odd, sharp, little laugh.

“What’s funny?” I asked.

“Those advertisements,” she said. “About the glamour of the tropics. They always show a man and woman in evening dress strolling along a beach at night. I never did see anything glamorous about getting sand in my pumps. Or running around in my stocking feet, either.”

“No,” I said. “You wouldn’t.”

She glanced at me suspiciously. After a moment, she asked, “Are you going to kill me, too, Matt?”

“I’m considering it,” I said. “Let’s stop here and discuss the matter. You can sit down on that boat if you like.”

She drew her fingertips along the deck to make sure it was clean and sat down. I sat down beside her. She made a little ceremony of dumping the sand out of her shoes. There wasn’t much wind down here on the beach, just an occasional gust. The six little sailboats lay in a neat row; dark, masted shapes against the light sand. Up above were the lights of the hotel and of the illuminated terrace from which we had come. It seemed like another world. I heard Isobel give her sharp, nervous laugh again.