Donald Hamilton - The Menacers

I said, "Some people have put a lot of work and thought and time-months of time-into this flying-saucer buildup. Judging by the number of deaths they're already responsible for, what they're working up to must be pretty spectacular. And they've got hold of a good idea. As Priscilla pointed out, people aren't going to be rational about the evidence. Some, as she said, are going to believe in visitors from Alpha Centauri come hell or high water-but there are also lots of folks who are already convinced that the U.S. is covering up some big secret because of the bumbling way the Air Force has handled the whole UFO bit. Given a really gory Mexican saucer incident, presumably caused by secret American machines, piloted by conscienceless American flyers, and God knows what the international repercussions may be. We're already in trouble in Latin America; an incident like that could make it all go the way of Cuba. Certainly we won't come out of it smelling of roses, no matter how vigorously we deny everything. Hell, we've been denying everything connected with UFO's for years. Who's going to believe more of the same?" I shrugged. "But that's all kind of irrelevant, as far as I'm concerned."

"What do you mean?"

I said, "Deciding what's important and what isn't is not my job. The man said stop it, so I stop it. Or I do what I can to make sure it gets stopped by somebody, in this case Solana."

I took her by the arm and led her towards the wider part of the island. The cruiser was standing in through the entrance now. I could see the three men on deck looking towards us, and the fourth man inside the deckhouse looking ahead to make sure he didn't hit anything.

One of the three men in the open looked familiar: a young man with streaky blonde hair. That figured. I'd never really bought the idea that Priscilla's pretty-boy sidekick, Tony Hartford, had died heroically trying to save me from Harsek in Mazatlбn. The idea had seemed even less plausible when I'd learned they were all on the same team. Now it appeared that Tony hadn't died at all. Well, he wasn't the first agent to have a phony demise staged for him so he could drop out of sight.

I recalled that some questions had been raised about his sexual attitudes, too. Administratively speaking, I suppose it made sense: if you had a number of them on the payroll, you might be better off working them together, hoping they'd understand and tolerate each other. Not that Tony's love life made much difference here. I wasn't planning to go to bed with the guy.

"Matt."

I glanced towards Carol. She wasn't looking at me; she was just watching where she put her feet as we plowed through the sand and brush and beach grass.

"Yes?" I said.

"Maybe I owe you an apology." Her voice was low. "Maybe… maybe this work of yours isn't all just tricks and lies and… and shooting unarmed women in cold blood."

"What unarmed women?" I asked. "Priscilla still had that.22 derringer with one barrel loaded, and don't think she wouldn't have used it instantly when she saw her chance. And taking time out to disarm her wasn't exactly practical up there, if you recall the circumstances."

"Nevertheless, it was a pretty brutal thing you did, Matt. But… but if you're prepared to sacrifice your own life as readily as somebody else's, that does make you look a little better. Much better, in fact."

"Sure," I said sourly. "I'm a great patriot at heart, a silent soldier of the grim undercover war that never ends. Just pat me on the back and call me Horatius, Junior; the guy who holds the bright bridge of Freedom against the dark forces of Tyranny. Shit, if you'll pardon the expression."

She said stiffly, "I was trying to… to understand, darling."

"Well, you're not making much headway. How we look, to you or anybody else, is the least of our worries. But it occurs to me that while I'm pretty well constrained to be a patriotic hero right now, there's absolutely no reason for you to be a patriotic heroine. You've got no reputation to live up to. In fact, it might be better for everybody if you just break free right now-I'll hold on hard enough to make the struggle look good-and then run down there and wade out to meet them with your hands in the air. Tell them breathlessly that just because I'm a suicidal damn fool is no reason why you should-"

"Matt!"

"What's the matter now?" I asked.

Her expression was indignant. "You don't think much of me, do you? Just because I can't hold my lunch down after wrestling with a corpse, you think I'm a a decorative little lightweight, or something."

I said, "You spend more time worrying about what you think of people and they think of you! This is not the spot to brood about appearances, sweetheart! You can't help me a damn bit by remaining faithfully at my side, so you might as well be sitting on that boat under guard, listening to the gunfire."

She said angrily, "Stop being chivalrous! You're not going to send me off to safety like a helpless child-" I suppose it was very brave of her, but actually the idea of having her surrender independently had interesting possibilities. She might even carry Solana's automatic, and turn it over docilely, something Hartford would accept as natural from her but not from me. And however we worked the pistol deal, if I managed to get myself brought captive to the boat without being shot up too badly, it would be convenient to have an ally on board-an ally who wasn't quite as closely watched as I would be.

It was a promising gambit, but I could see that I wouldn't be able to use it, because she wouldn't buy it. Like most amateurs, she had a lot of screwball notions about courage and loyalty, as if anybody gives a damn how brave you are as long as your work gets done..

The boat was now passing the place where a wingtip and part of the tail assembly showed where the plane had settled to the bottom, in water that was shallower than I'd expected. Apparently I'd managed to drop us closer to shore than intended by Harsek, who'd have wanted to bury the debris deeply enough that it could not be seen.

Still holding Carol's arm, I started to run for the higher ground ahead. I picked a nice spot in the dunes overlooking the shore, and pulled out the big Luger, the one weapon in my armory that might have some effectiveness at long range "Lie down," I said to Carol. "Keep your head down. Stick your fingers in your ears if you like. These toys are kind of noisy."

I sat down on the edge of the hollow, dug my heels firmly into the sand, and rested my elbows on my knees, holding the Luger with both hands. It's a comfortable weapon to hold but, because of the skinny, light barrel, a hard one to hold steady. The boat slid past the plane wreckage without pausing, aiming straight for the head of the bay, and me. About thirty yards from shore, I saw the propellers go into reverse. Hartford and his two pals were up forward, preparing to jump. I counted two rifles and one squirt-gun-submachinegun to you.

I waited until they were in the water; then I started to peck at them with the Luger as they waded shorewards holding their weapons high. They must have seen movies of an amphibious operation somewhere, they had the assault style down pat.

My first shot was low. I saw the splash about halfway between the nearest man and shore. I let the front sight ride up in the rear sight notch and tried again, keeping my fire well away from Hartford. The fact that he was carrying the submachine gun kind of confirmed that he was in authority here, and I didn't want to lose him. He might be the only one of them who knew all I needed to find out.

My second shot either nicked the guy on the right, or came close enough that he changed his mind about going ashore. He turned, waving frantically for the boat, which was backing away. The man at the controls threw the engines ahead again. I put a bullet through his windshield but he was brave; he kept coming to the rescue of his embattled comrades. I threw a shot at the man on the left, missing by about three feet, but he didn't like the sound of it ricocheting off the water; he turned back, too.