Donald Hamilton - The Menacers

I glanced towards the other side of the cavernous hold. "What's over there?"

"Those are the fire bombs. And here are the maps that show where in Mazatlбn each bomb was to be planted, and where each scrap of flying saucer debris was to be found. The day after tomorrow, after the city had gone up in flames, these remnants would have been, clear evidence of American… Yes, what is it?" A man had come up. He spoke to Solana, who said impatiently: "Yes, yes, of course she is to be admitted. Yes, with her cameras. I gave the orders, did I not? She is to be given every assistance."

We waited, and in a moment Carol came in. She'd changed into a crisp, light, slacks-and-shirt outfit, and she was hung about with photographic equipment until she looked like a joke, but then, most pros do when they're working. It's only the occasional sensitive lone-wolf camera artist who can get by with interpreting the world about him, to his own satisfaction, with one camera and one lens. The guy who works for an editor's satisfaction generally needs all the gear he can drag around.

She said to Solana: "I certainly appreciate your having my stuff flown down, Rainуn. Is it really all right if I take pictures in here?"

"In here, out there, everywhere," He said. "We want full coverage and as much publicity as we can get. When you are through here, you will be transported back to the island, if you wish, to get pictures there. But please be certain you first get some fine, sharp pictures of this UFO factory. For the sake of both our countries, the world must be convinced that this was all an elaborate fraud."

"Yes, of course." She made a little face. "That island isn't my favorite vacation spot, by any means, but you're right, we should have some shots of it. Can I get some of the people, too?"

"All you want, dead and alive, dear lady."

"Thank you." She was silent for a moment, and we all stood awkwardly in the middle of the iron room. Carol glanced at me and said, "Matt, I'm sorry if I said anything… I'm just not used to being involved in anything like that."

"Sure"

"I… I'll see you around."

I looked at her. She was telling me that it had been nice, this summer, but that was before she'd known what kind of man she was associating with: a cold-blooded, ruthless,. callous murderous type of guy dealing in guns and blood. Somehow, I found, it didn't quite break my heart. I'd got a bit disenchanted with her, too, during the course of our adventures. She was a nice girl-well, woman-and I hoped she'd find a nice boy-well, man-and in the meantime she had her cameras and her ideals and her notion of what the world ought to be like, even if it wasn't.

"Sure," I said. "Somewhere around."

Solana cleared his throat. "And me, seсora? Will you see me around, too? I still owe you a promised dinner, if you recall."

Something odd and frightened showed in Carol's blue eyes for a moment. I realized she was trying very hard to act as if she were talking to two ordinary men, while the truth was that to her we weren't really men at all, now that she'd seen us in action. We were a different breed of animal, savage and vicious beasts of the dark jungle of espionage and intrigue that she didn't want to admit existed.

She licked her lips. "I… I'm sorry, Ramуn."

"May one ask why?"

She hesitated. "I… I don't really know if I should… Well, all right. You remember the motel room in Puerto Pefiasco, the one we watched from out on the beach that night? You let that poor man stay in that room, even though you knew he was going to be killed. All you cared about was learning which one of two people was going to shoot him. The fact that he was to die didn't concern you at all!"

After the silence had gone on for a while, I said, "I remember that poor man. That was the poor man who fed his wife a Mickey and burned her like a torch, wasn't it?"

Carol turned on me angrily and started to speak, but checked herself. There was still another awkward silence. Solana tapped me on the arm and jerked his head towards the door or hatch. I followed him out.

"Tell me one thing, friend," he said, outside. "You knew the little girl with the tight trousers was the one. How did you know?"

I grinned, trying to dismiss Carol's white face from my mind. Perhaps my heart had been broken a little, after all, just enough to make me want to hurt her slightly.

"How did you?" I asked.

Solana shrugged. "A man of experience learns to distinguish between passion and what is only a pale imitation of passion, amigo. That young lady was only an imitation sexpot, to use your ' Yankee term. She was not really interested in men. Her true interests obviously lay elsewhere. And perversion is a subject upon which your government is very sensitive. If the security of her department was so lax as to overlook her homosexual tendencies, what else had been overlooked?" He smiled faintly. "Besides, I was not impressed by her chief, when I met him. I do not trust stupid people, or people who work for stupid people. And then you did not shoot that murderer; she did. That confirmed it for me. Now tell me how you spotted her."

I said slowly, "There was a woman named Vadya, a communist agent, who walked into a room knowing that death was waiting inside. She was not a woman to give up easily. If the trap had been set by me, she'd have done her best to elude it or fight it. But there's a funny fatalistic streak in those people. Remember all those strange confessions in court many years ago? When I'd had time to think it over, I knew there could be only one reason why Vadya had walked into that room deliberately: because she knew her own side had pronounced the death sentence on her, and right or wrong she couldn't fight it. Which meant that the people who killed her had to be something other than the fine upstanding U.S. agents they seemed to be."

Solana nodded. "Well, it was a far-fetched plot, but it might have worked. I am not too fond of americanos, to be quite honest, but I do not want to waste my country's time and effort fighting them unnecessarily. Particularly if they are all as unpleasantly competent as you." He smiled. "But you really should learn how to fly an airplane, my friend. Watching you trying to bring that machine down was the most harrowing part of the whole assignment: I could not be sure you were not going to drop it right on my head. Now, is there anything I can do for you by way of showing gratitude."

I said, "Well, you could save my life, but you've already done that. Do I still have some credit on the books?"

"Anything you like. What is mine is yours, as we say here in Mexico."

I said, "There was a girl with red hair who disappeared."

"We have her. She was in hiding aboard this ship, with several others. Or a prisoner. Apparently she was, herself, not quite sure which. She is guilty of the murders of three U.S. tourists and two Mexican nationals- the captain and the mate-who died when a fishing boat burned and sank, fired by a device planted by her. Afterwards she told a rather elaborate and convincing flying saucer story to explain the disaster. Do you want her?"

"Yes. I'll have to call Washington first, but I think we want her."

He shrugged. "I will not ask why. She is yours. As far as we are concerned, she will cease to exist. We have enough awkward cases to deal with, without hers."

I called Mac from the docks on a phone that Solana made available to me, and brought him up to date, I thought, only to find that he'd already got most of the information from other sources. He had some interesting news from the home front: the shining new agency that had been going to revolutionize the nation's intelligence systems was in the throes of a security shakeup it was not expected to survive, and Herbert Leonard had been kicked upstairs to a fancy-sounding position with "coordinator" in the title. In Washington, whenever they start coordinating, they're pretty well through.