Donald Hamilton: The Menacers

She glanced at me warily. "Plato volante, I believe," she said. "Or disco volante. Why?"

I grinned at her. "All right, play it close to the chest if you like. But I must say I'm starting to wonder about those guys in Washington. I've had a lot of weirdies sprung on me in the way of assignments, but this is the first time they've put me to chasing imaginary spacecraft, or even the screwball who imagined them."

She permitted herself a small laugh. "Yes, it is rather lurid, is it not? I must say I had the same feeling when the mission was explained to me." She moved her bare shoulders ruefully. "Of course, one asks no questions. One has one's orders."

She wasn't giving much away, not even her true feelings on the subject-but at least the UFO gambit hadn't come as a total surprise to her. Whatever wild notions were going around, they apparently weren't confined to Washington.

"That's right," I said. "One does."

"Well, how are you going to obey yours, darling? Now that you know with whom you have to deal. Do you really think you can get your prisoner past Harsek and me, and across the border into the United States?" She glanced at me. "What is your plan, darling? It must be very good."

I laughed. "Now we come to it. A straight question at last. Well, in return for Harsek's name, I'll give you a straight answer. Pay close attention, doll, because this is important."

"I am listening. Tell me what you plan to do to outwit us, two of the best agents in the business if I may flatter myself as well as Harsek. Tell me. Then maybe I will tell you if it will work."

"Outwit you, hell," I said. "Why should I bother? My orders are simple and straightforward. I have explicit instructions to shoot this character with the vivid imagination-to shoot him stone dead-if you or Harsek so much as crook a finger or lift a voice in his direction. What did you think they sent a guy like me down here for, baby, to make sure he got his two A.M. feeding on schedule?"

There was a little silence. Vadya was looking down at her glass so that I could not see her eyes, but I knew her pretty well, and I had an uneasy hunch that I'd just said something that amused her-and something that she'd wanted to hear, as well, although this did not really make sense, in the light of what I knew about the situation. Of course, I didn't know everything, and some of what I did know could be wrong.

Vadya raised her glass, and drained it. "I see," she said. "I wondered. This explains things."

I said, "Of course, your names weren't specifically mentioned in the orders, but the principle laid down was clear. I intend to follow it. And then I'll go back to Santa Fe, New Mexico, where I left a drink waiting – a drink and a lady named Carol-when I rushed off to chase little green men in the sky. The drink's probably warm by now, but liquor and ice are plentiful up there. The lady's another matter. She's kind of special, you might say unique. She was quite warm when I left her. I hope she hasn't cooled."

Vadya smiled. "You are trying to make me jealous. That's childish."

"Maybe."

"And also you are giving me a warning, are you not, Matt? One might even call it an ultimatum, mightn't one?"

"One might," I said. I still had the nagging feeling that I was playing into her hands somehow, but I'd already started on this heavy-menace routine and it was too late to switch to another approach. I made my voice hard. "Pass the word, doll. I'm not here to fool around, and guarding the body is not my sport. I flunked my Red Cross lifesaving course, but I did real well in Practical Pistolry. I am taking this imaginative specimen north alive if you leave me alone. But if you make one move, one half a move, all we'll have is a corpse to share-and don't try calling my bluff, doll, because it's not a bluff. My instructions are to consider this crackpot strictly expendable, and rather than lose him to you, or Harsek, I'll expend him right now." I got to my feet abruptly. "How do you sign for the drinks around here?"

"Take that chit to the bar." Vadya's voice was expressionless. "They'll give you a slip to fill out. Incidentally, there's a space for propina, which means tip, and fifteen percent seems to be customary."

I looked down at her for a moment, feeling baffled and uncomfortable, the way a man always feels in the presence of a woman who knows more than he does and is smart enough to take full advantage of her knowledge.

"Thanks," I said sourly. "I've only lived along the Mexican border for about half my life, but thanks anyway. It's nice to know what propina means after all these years."

Vadya shrugged. "You were so stupid about disco volante. I am aware that you know some Spanish- it's in the dossier-but I thought if that is the way you want to play it, I would oblige you. Matthew?"

"I really bear no hard feelings for what you did to me. And I really expected no apologies. You know that, don't you?"

"Sure," I said.

"We do not have to play tough and make faces at each other, do we? Will you take me to dinner? Seven-thirty in the lobby. We will go to the Copa de Leche, which means glass of milk, and is the closest thing to a first-class restaurant to be found in this town. It is air-conditioned, too. Seven-thirty is early for dinner in Mexico, very early, but you will be tired from all your traveling." She smiled up at me. "I am not luring you away from the action, darling. Nothing is planned for tonight. However, if you are suspicious and want to eat right here instead, that is all right, too. The food is quite passable and the dining room is up on that balcony and reasonably cool. But do wear a coat and tie in either case. One gets so tired of seeing grown men in romper suits, like superannuated schoolboys."

I grinned. "Seven thirty. Coat and tie. Check."

I walked up the sand, leaving her there, and signed for the drinks in the bar that was a sort of half-open veranda adjoining the lobby. As I came past the desk afterwards, I caught a glimpse of Priscilla Decker watching me through the glass wall of the nearby souvenir shop. I went quickly in there and found her studying a rack of magazines, predominantly in English, and with a surprisingly large percentage of U.S. girlie publications, for a respectable hotel newsstand in a foreign land.

Well, the Mexican male really goes for this literature, I'm told; and if he doesn't he can't afford to admit it. It is part of his image, part of what is known as the cult of machismo, or rampant maleness. He's supposed to be so damn virile he comes on like a bull at the mere sight of a female photographed in a mildly suggestive pose with a minimum of clothing. Personally, I prefer to save myself for real live women. I can't seem to get much satisfaction from photographs, but I guess it's all a matter of taste.

I saw my contact holding one of the magazines vaguely, only pretending to examine it. She put it back hastily, flushing pink, when she got around to actually looking at the bosomy lingerie lady on the cover.

"Tsk, tsk," I said in her ear. "That's man-stuff. What you want is a health magazine featuring a muscle-bound weight lifter flexing his oiled biceps. Where can we talk?"

"Go away!" she whispered urgently. "Go away! We're not supposed to be seen together. We haven't been authorized to break cover-" I said, "For God's sake stop playing Sally Spy, girl agent. We've been made and you know it, so let's just skip the cute undercover stuff for the time being. Is that your key?" I took it from her fingers. "Room 116? Let's go."

IT WAS A motel-style room entered directly from outdoors, pretty much like mine and, I suppose, like all the others in the place with the exception of a few larger suites or apartments. Two beds were arranged sofa-fashion along the left-hand wall, facing a closet, bathroom, and built-in dresser. A couple of chairs, a low cocktail table, and a luggage stand with a green vinyl suitcase on it, completed the list of furnishings.