Donald Hamilton - The Menacers

Solana watched her move away across the room. In spite of the impenetrable glasses that masked his face, it was clear that he was favorably impressed-and she did look kind of nice in her crisp safari suit, with a high-necked white sweater replacing, for warmth, the thin blouse she'd worn earlier. When she straightened up, loaded with gear, he hurried forward to help her carry the stuff out to the station wagon.

I followed behind them, and spotted Priscilla Decker waiting by the cars. "Maybe you should have stuck to your nice-girl routine," I said to her with a grin. "Maybe obvious challenges aren't what turn Mr. Solana on."

Priscilla laughed. "That's all right. He can carry her cameras all he wants, just so it's my fanny he pinches." She shivered slightly, and started to put her arms into the sleeves of the quilted jacket she'd been wearing over her shoulders like a cape. "My God, that wind is like ice! And here I thought I was coming to another tropical paradise like Mazatlбn!"

I helped her on with the jacket, which looked like a stray from the ski slopes. It was the same lavender, or orchid, color as her skintight pants.

"And I was congratulating myself on finally having promoted a car with air-conditioning," I said wryly. "Incidentally, thanks."

"You see, I keep my promises," Priscilla said. "I hope you do, too… partner."

Puerto Peсasco proper turned out to be a much smaller and more primitive community than Mazatlбn, with narrow, twisting, unpaved streets fighting their way through cracks between the mud houses. The adults didn't look very prosperous; and dirty, barefoot kids were everywhere. I reminded myself that shoes and baths are not really essential to a child's happiness; as a boy, I'd avoided them myself whenever possible.

The hotel, in the center of town, was a rather impressive stone building. Even the interior walls were stone, so that the hallway down which we were led resembled a tunnel through a mountain of masonry. A man in khakis was waiting for us. He had a holstered automatic pistol at his hip. He ushered us into Gregory Henderson's room, and left us there, returning to his post outside.

The small room, with its heavy stone walls, had the atmosphere of a cave, or a monastic cell, but the occupant was obviously no hermit or monk. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing cheap, gaudy pajamas that had presumably been obtained for him locally. His hands were bandaged, and his face had an odd, pink, staring look: apparently he'd managed to scorch the skin a bit and burn off most of his eyebrows and lashes.

He was a young man in his middle twenties with an unfortunate resemblance to another young man I'd met recently: the streaky-blond beach-boy character calling himself Tony Hartford, who'd got himself shot by Harsek. The young man on the bed didn't really look much like Tony, being bigger and darker, but he did have something of the same self-conscious, hair-combing, mirror-watching good looks, only slightly marred by fire. I was surprised that he'd been brave enough to get himself burned at all, but then I'm prejudiced against the species. After all, Tony had apparently been brave enough to get himself shot. I don't suppose there's any real reason to think a man must lack courage because he fusses with his hair.

Henderson did it now, smoothing down his wavy dark locks automatically as he rose and reached for a cotton robe on a nearby chair, and stuck his feet into a pair of huaraches that looked very stiff and new.

"Maybe you can tell me when I'm going to get some clothes to wear," he said aggressively to Solana. "All my stuff was burned, you know. Your people here keep promising to scrounge me up something, but it's been a typical maсana operation so far. Always clothes tomorrow, never clothes today. I'm getting damn tired of lying around in pajamas, particularly these pajamas. My God, they're so loud they keep me awake when I try to take a nap!"

Solana said smoothly, "The haberdashery facilities of Puerto Peсasco are rather limited, Seсor, but I will see what I can do. I hope you are feeling better."

"I'm all right. What do you want, and who are all those characters? I'm beginning to feel like a monkey in a zoo."

"I apologize for the intrusion. Mrs. Lujan, Miss Decker, Mr. Helm, Mr. Henderson. Mrs. Lujan is a magazine photographer, Seсor. She would like some pictures, if you don't mind, but first I would like you to tell us what happened last night."

"I've already told your boys "I have read the report of the local authorities, Seсor. However, there were certain language difficulties, were there not? I would prefer to hear it from you, so I can be sure there are no errors of translation. The incident took place in the evening, just after dark, did it not?"

"That's right. We'd been out fishing-we'd trailered our boat down here from L.A.-and we came in late. Edie warmed us up something for dinner…

"That is your wife, Mrs. Edith Henderson?"

"That's right. Except you're using the wrong tense, aren't you?" Henderson's voice was bitter. "Whatever kind of things you've got flying around down here, they fixed Edie, damn them! They almost fixed me, too."

"They? You saw more than one flying object?"

Henderson drew a long breath. "No. I guess I was well, hamming it up a bit. There was only the one. That was enough. That was plenty!"

"Please tell us what happened."

"Sure. Edie was doing the dishes. She told me the garbage can was full, would I empty it so we wouldn't have to smell it all night. I said sure, and took it out to where we'd dug a pit, out behind the camper. I dumped the can and was kicking some sand over the stuff when I… well, I just kind of felt this thing up there. I mean, it wasn't making any noise or anything, but I looked up and there It was, coming in from the east, inland. The sun was down by now, but the sky was still light, and I could see it plainly, kind of in silhouette, if you know what I mean."

Solana said, "Can you give us a description?"

Henderson shrugged. "Like I say, it was just a silhouette, kind of flat and round with a dome thing on top, say like half a marble sitting on a fifty-cent piece. Well, the main hull, if that's what you call it, was thicker than that and kind of tapering towards the edges, but that's the general idea."

"Were there any markings you could see, Seсor?"

"No." Henderson shook his head positively. "It just looked black to me, against the sky. I couldn't tell you the color, or markings, or anything like that."

"And it made no sound?"

"That's right. I started back towards the camper to call Edie out so she could see it, and then I realized it was coming straight at me, getting bigger by the second. It was fast as hell; it was on top of me before I knew it. I thought it was going to hit me, and I threw myself face down in a little wash or arroyo. I don't mind telling you I was scared. Then there was a kind of whooshing noise, and all the heat in the world, and I scrambled up to see the camper burning. All I could think of was Edie, and I tried to get in to her, but I couldn't make it." He looked down at his bandaged hands. After a moment, he went on: "There was a little explosion inside and it set my clothes on fire. I had to throw myself down again and roll around to put it out, and while I was doing that, the whole thing blew like a bomb. Maybe it was the butane tanks letting go, or something. I don't know. I… I don't remember much else."

"Then you did not see the actual attack," Solana said after a little pause. "You cannot say what kind of weapon was used."

"No, I told you. I was flat on my face in the arroyo. If I'd thought Edie was in danger… But it came at me so fast, all I could think of was to duck."

Solana frowned. "Mr. Henderson, can you explain why this object picked your camp to attack?"