Donald Hamilton: The Interlopers

"Of course there's always the possibility they did the killing," Mac pointed out. "Couriers have been eliminated by their own people before now, when they turned unreliable or somebody thought they had. What evidence is there that this did not happen here?"

I said, "I asked the same thing of Mr. Smith's young man."

"And the answer?"

"Well, there's the little amateur gun that was used." I grimaced. "And then there's some classified information, the source of which does not concern me, to the effect that our Communist friends are totally unaware that their courier is dead. I just love classified information the source of which does not concern me," I said sourly. "Particularly when my life depends on it."

Mac was frowning thoughtfully. "Then it would seem that you have two distinct adversaries, or groups of adversaries: the professional espionage ring and the amateurs – to judge by the rifle used-who killed Nystrom."

"If this inside dope from mysterious sources is correct," I said. "Well, it had better be. Otherwise I'm going to have a lot of fun trying to convince these Communist snoopers that I'm the ghost of their courier, the one they liquidated themselves."

"You are also, of course, taking a considerable risk of meeting someone who knew the real Nystrom. Has this been taken into consideration?"

"Yes, sir. I've been assured that I've got a good chance of pulling it off because Nystrom never ran this northwest route before. Well, that's what Mr. Smith thinks. Personally, I don't think I have much chance of getting away with this impersonation even with people who never saw the real guy."

"Just what is the problem, Eric?"

I said, "Well, aside from the normal risks and all the security crap I've got to put up with-hell, they won't even tell me the nature of the earthshaking information this spy ring's after-there's the dog they insist on my using. Look at him!"

The pup thumped his tail on the carpet as we both looked at him. Mac asked, "What's the matter with him?"

"Remember that poor beast we were shown with a bullet in his head? If you recall, that was a long-legged ridge-runner, sir, a tall, lean, rangy dog for a Lab. So what am I supposed to impersonate him with? Look at this low-slung little canine bulldozer-yes, I mean you!- built like a barrel, with only about half the road clearance of the dead dog. Oh, he's a good pup, bright and well-trained, but-"

"Maybe that's the point," Mac said. "The training is very important, perhaps more important than the appearance. Nystrom's retriever was known to have been professionally trained. If you appear with a dog that simply won't mind you, that will give you away instantly." He paused for a moment, and went on: "Besides, it is really Mr. Smith's problem, is it not?"

I looked at him sharply. "I thought it was mine, too, sir."

"Of course." His voice was bland. "But essentially you are dependent upon the briefing and equipment supplied by Mr. Smith. If they should be faulty in any way, you can hardly be blamed for it. Or for the resulting failure- if failure should result. Of course we sincerely hope it won't."

I studied him for a moment, but his lean, expressionless features didn't give me much help. However, it had already occurred to me to wonder just why he'd hung around here on the Coast for three days as if I required a chaperone, instead of just turning me over to our associates and heading back to Washington.

Well, I had my answer: we were going to be clever. It wasn't going to be a straightforward impersonation job after all; it wasn't just a friendly favor our outfit was doing for the brother-organization run by a nice man named Smith. We had, apparently, some problems of our own that could be solved by my making like a dead man named Nystrom, although of course we wouldn't admit it for the world. I grimaced wryly, but I must admit I felt relieved in a way. I hadn't really been comfortable in the role of the good guy in the white hat, riding to the rescue of my fellow government employees.

"Yes, sir," I said. "Sincerely."

"You have, of course, protested officially to Mr. Smith's representatives. You have informed them that, in your opinion, the dog they have supplied will not do."

"Yes, sir."

"Then, if they stubbornly insist on your working with this animal, you are not responsible if your mission is unsuccessful due to such an obvious defect in your cover."

"No, sir."

There was another little pause. He was waiting for me to ask the question, and I was waiting for him to tell me the answer without being asked. Rather to my surprise, I won.

"Do you remember Kingston?" he asked. "You worked with him on a couple of occasions, did you not? Well, he was killed-knifed to death-last week in Anchorage, Alaska. And that is one count too many against the man who killed him, Eric. I think it is time you took care of Hans Holtz. Permanently."

I looked at his expressionless face for a moment longer. "Holz, eh?"

"Holz."

"Okay," I said. I rose. "If you say so, sir. Come on, pooch. We've got to go kill a guy named Holz."

"Eric, sit down."

"Just a minute, mutt," I said. "Sit and listen. The gentleman has more to say to us."

"You don't approve, Eric?"

"No, sir," I said. "I don't like these damn vendettas. So Kingston went and got himself killed by Holz, and we're sorry about that, but so what? I've done jobs with quite a few guys who died later, without charging out heroically to settle accounts with the guys who killed them. If Holz is threatening the welfare of the universe, the world, the United States of America, or even the state of Alaska, fine, I'll be glad to look him up and dispose of him, if I can. But if all he's done is kill somebody, hell, I've done that myself. Besides, haven't you heard, sir? The man is dangerous. He's one of their big guns, perhaps the biggest they've got right now. He's been coming up steadily since we first heard of him back in the late fifties. I mean, going after him is apt to be, you know, kind of risky."

Mac eyed me coldly. "Are you afraid of Holz, Eric?"

Now he was being ridiculous. I said, "Sure, I'm afraid of Holz. I'm afraid of any experienced pro who knows how and when to kill. He's been around quite a while now, too long for it to be just dumb luck. He's survived a lot of guys who've gone against him. That means he could survive even me, outlandish as such a thought might seem."

"You've survived pretty well, too," Mac pointed out.

"Yes, sir. And I've done it by never seeing myself in the part of an avenging angel or of some movie dope trying to prove he's the fastest gun west of somewhere. Of course, I work for this outfit, and if you order me to go after the guy with the horns and the tail, I'll step right out and have myself fitted for an asbestos suit. If you order me to hunt down Hans Holz, that's that, and I'll be on my way to Alaska or wherever. But I'd kind of like a better reason than an agent named Kingston who was old enough to take care of himself."

"Well, I wasn't exactly thinking of having you hunt down Mr. Holz," Mac said deliberately. "I was rather thinking of having him hunt you down, if you know what I mean."

I sighed. For once I was, if not ahead of him, at least not too far behind. "Yes, sir. It's becoming clear to me, gradually. So that's why you encouraged this masquerade."

"Precisely. I am glad to hear that the dog is not all he should be. And I am happy to see that you do not really resemble the dead man very much, except in the basic dimensions. Do you understand, Eric?"

I said, "Let us say that outlines are appearing through the fog. But perhaps you would care to blow the mists aside a little farther, sir."

Mac nodded. "As far as our associates are concerned, you are impersonating the dead man to the best of your ability, as of course you are. You will endeavor to carry out the mission they have assigned you. You will do your best to keep your cover intact, such as it is. However, you know and I know that your best will probably not be good enough. This type of impersonation is inherently improbable anyway; it's a television gambit that's very unlikely to succeed in real life."