Donald Hamilton - The Intriguers

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.

He started by slapping me, which was childish. His smooth, handsome, politician's face was kind of white-pink with rage and fear; and his eyes actually seemed to bulge slightly from their sockets. He looked like a good candidate for a coronary, but I knew I'd never be so lucky. It was my job. I'd flubbed it once but I'd have to take care of it eventually.

The trick was staying alive long enough to do it. There was, at the moment, no possibility of help from Martha, bound and guarded. I saw the lady senator standing in the doorway aft, taking in the scene in the crowded cabin. I realized that she was my best bet. She hadn't got where she was by being stupid.

Leonard gave me another peevish whack across the cheek, like an irritable mother disciplining an infuriating child.

"How many?" he demanded in a choked voice. "How many cold-blooded assassinations-" I laughed in his face. "Says the man who sent an agent clear to Mexico to shoot me in the back with a scoped-up 7mm rifle! Don't talk to me about cold-blooded assassinations, Leonard! Who started it? How many of our people did you actually manage to have murdered, trying clumsily to wipe us out?" I laughed again. "What the hell made you think you could play the killing game with us, little man? We're pros, not political dilettantes. You never had a chance, any more than if you tried racing on the same track with the Unser brothers, or playing golf with Palmer and Trevino."

I couldn't tell whether or not my arrogant speech impressed the gray-haired woman in the doorway; but it stung Leonard to fury, which was almost as good. After all, who wants an ally who flips his lid in a crisis? He came at me with both hands, this time knocking me back against the cushions of the lounge.

"How many?"

I shook my head to clear it. "I don't know how many," I said. "It doesn't matter. You can be sure there were enough. Since last night, when you were playing hide-and-seek in this mangrove labyrinth, you haven't got an organization any more. All you've got is a bunch of scared civil servants waiting for lightning to strike them out of a blue sky. A runaway truck. A bullet out of nowhere. A little synthetic heart failure or plague in the morning milk. They know, little man, they know. They know that the one who takes your orders from now on, dies. Try it. Pick up your pretty blue phone. Have your radioman connect you. To anybody-of the ones still alive, I mean. See if the person you reach will snap to attention at the sound of your voice, or laugh at you. Or curse you for a bungling, ambitious incompetent who got a lot of his friends and associates killed. Go ahead. Try it!"

It was a bluff, of course. Actually, I suspected, Mac had been very careful not to let the night's operations take on the aspects of a nationwide bloodbath. The dead had, I figured, all been agency people, of one undercover agency or another in Leonard's shaky empire. Well, agents are always getting themselves killed, and the machinery stands forever ready to hush it up so as not to attract attention. It would take time before those in the know added up a freeway crash here and a drowning there and, realizing that they'd happened on the same night, came up with something resembling the right answer, which by that time would be ancient history.

Nevertheless, it sounded good, I thought; and a worried look on the face of the man guarding Martha confirmed my opinion. He looked like a man beginning to wonder if he'd bet more than he could afford on the wrong nag. I hoped Mrs. Love was having similar thoughts; but her face was harder to read.

"Well?" I said, when Leonard didn't move. "Aren't you going to call the roll of your trusty henchmen? Try the fellow running your show in Phoenix, Arizona, for instance. What was his name, now? Bainbridge, Joseph W. Bainbridge. Give him a ring. I doubt he'll answer, but don't take my word for it. Or the woman in Chicago-" He swung a fist at my head, and connected glancingly, and stepped back nursing his bruised hand. "Jernegan!" he gasped.

"Yes, Chief."

"Take him into the pilot house and work him over!"

"Yes, sir!"

It was the woman who stopped it last, as I'd hoped she would. By that time, they were all gathered in the pilothouse watching the show; and the young boatman, a tougher specimen than either of the two who'd been guarding Martha and me, was obliging with a performance that made up in enthusiasm for what it lacked in skill. I was playing right up to him, of course. If I do say so myself, I'm pretty good at letting myself be knocked down in the way that hurts the least.

I've had lots of practice in absorbing that kind of punishment. You'd be surprised at the faith people have in the power of fists. As far as I'm concerned, beating a man up is a good way to get yourself killed-for every dozen or so you manage to intimidate that way, there'll always be one who just gets mad and comes back with a gun. I started getting a little mad myself as the ordeal went on; and I was sustaining myself by thinking of all the fun I'd have carrying out my instructions regarding Herbert Leonard, when Mrs. Love finally stepped forward impatiently.