Donald Hamilton - The Betrayers

I could have misunderstood the warning. He could have been trying to warn me against the lighter, instead of against the person who carried it.

In any case, I'd made my choice. I was putting my money on the woman on the ground. I was gambling that she was exactly what she'd said: Isobel Marner, from Frisco, Cal, although they don't like that name up there.

I was betting on her screwball streak, and on the guts she'd displayed in the Pablo Channel.

I was also gambling, of course, that she wasn't so badly hurt she'd go and die on me after all. Actually, I told myself, the amount of blood I'd seen could be considered a good sign rather than a bad one. They don't generally bleed like that when they're shot through the lungs or heart. Most often, in such cases, the hemorrhage stays internal and all you see outside is a small, red-rimmed hole. Copious bleeding there indicated a flesh wound, a nasty, open bullet furrow along the ribs, perhaps, very painful and messy but seldom fatal. l was betting my life, and perhaps a lot of other people's lives-depending on what Monk had in mind- that she was not too badly injured to be listening now, and that she'd be strong enough and smart enough and brave enough to understand my instructions and follow them. It was a lot to ask of a sheltered woman, inexperienced in violence, and badly hurt. It was a lot to ask of anybody, but I bad to give it a try.

Of course, I would have preferred to rush over and bandage her tenderly and load her into the boat and get her to a doctor-but then, I'd also have preferred to be somewhere far away, taking the vacation that was coming to me. My preferences were strictly irrelevant. If Isobel could play possum well enough and listen hard enough, she could be useful; if not, I'd have to do my job without her help. In neither case was I here to make like Florence Nightingale: she'd have to patch up her own damn holes. I was leaving her my shirt to do it with. Our jungle idyll was over and it was time to go to work.

I said to Jill, "Okay, kid. Give it to me fast. What have you learned? First of all, where's K?"

"It's over there about five miles," she said, pointing. "Down the coast to the west. Not the next bay but the one after that. It would be easy enough in a boat, but it's kind of a rough trip overland, everything from gooey swamps and jungle to sharp lava rocks. Well, look at me! Matt, I-"

"You say Monk knows I'm here. What's he doing about it?"

"Nothing, at the moment. They're all busy working on the boat. He figures, with the woman to watch you, and her transmitter to show when you change position, you'll keep until he's got a couple of men free to go after you. Of course, once he learns I'm missing…"

"That's the next question," I said. "Just why the hell are you missing? I told you to get to K and stay put. I told you I'd find you."

"But I had to warn you!" she protested. "I had to let you know you were walking into a trap, with a traitor at your back. Didn't I? Mart..

I said, "Maybe I wanted to walk into a trap. Maybe that's why I sent you on ahead, so you'd be there to get me out of it. Next time, Jill, just follow instructions and don't worry so damn much about other people's safety. Little angels of mercy we can do very well without."

Her eyes flashed angrily, but her voice was humble. "Yes, Matt. I'm sorry if I made a mistake. I thought it was the thing to do."

So I knew she was a phony-a lovely, hypocritical phony-and not just an innocent girl being used as a patsy in some clever Monkish way. Well, she'd always been kind of a question mark; I'd even commented to Mac about the inconsistency of a girl who looked like a tall young goddess and acted like a small white mouse.

It remained to be seen whether she was a truly sinister and complex person, much more deeply involved in Monk's intrigues than anyone could have guessed, or whether she'd simply been caught, exposed, and frightened into changing sides. There are a good many threats that can be used against a pretty girl, particularly one with no great reputation for courage, and Monk would know them all.

"Well, we'll just have to refigure the program," I said easily. "Can you lead me there in such a way that we're not spotted? Or maybe you can just tell me how to find the place and get past the guards-I suppose he does have guards out."

Jill hesitated. "I'd better guide you. I can save you some time and a lot of nasty climbing and wading, and I know where Monk's men are posted. Mali-"

"And now for the big question," I said. "What's he up to? Have you been able to learn that?"

"Of course I have!" she said quickly. "That's what I've been trying to tell you. Matt, it's horrible. It's the General Hughes!"

"The what?"

"The Hughes. The General Herman Hughes. The transport, Matt. The troop transport!"

I looked at her for a moment, but I was thinking of the boys with the dog tags I'd seen on the beach. They hadn't impressed me too favorably. In my book, punks who lounge around making audible comments about strangers should have their tails kicked up between their ears, in the armed forces or out. Nevertheless, I didn't particularly want anything more drastic to happen to them. Hell, there might even be a nice, quiet, respectful young fellow in the lot, and we couldn't risk losing such a rare specimen.

"I see," I said softly. "I see. I presume he's going to sink it?" She nodded. I asked, "How? No, don't tell me. It's the Monk, so he'll blow it up dramatically. Lots of noise and smoke and flame. He likes big bangs. Particularly big bangs with people inside them."

Jill nodded again. "Yes, of course. The explosives have already been planted on the ship."

"Where? I mean, is he using limpet mines of some kind stuck to the outside of the hull, or did they smuggle the stuff aboard somehow?"

"I… I don't know where it is. I just know that end of the job has been taken care of to everybody's satisfaction."

"Okay," I said. "Now, how's he planning to detonate, with a timing device or something? No, it wouldn't be that, not with the Monk. He likes to push his own buttons and see them blow. How has he got it rigged?"

"I don't know the technical details, Mali, but it's a radio-type gadget in one of the boats. The bigger one, the inboard-outboard. They're fixing it up for the skis now. That's how I got to K. He needed somebody to ride them, somebody who… who'd look good in a bikini."

I looked at her sharply. "You're going a little too fast for me. Skis?"

"Yes. Water skis. Don't you see? Who'll suspect a speedboat towing a… a pretty girl with long blonde hair, on water skis? Why, the boys will line the rails and whistle and hoot and throw down the leis the girls gave them in town, as we come alongside. And then… and then, after we've swung off to a safe distance, Monk will push the button…" We didn't say anything for a little. I didn't look toward the coat-covered shape by the rock. Presently Jill went on dully, "They made it easy for him, docking in Honolulu instead of Pearl Harbor. They leave early tomorrow morning, and tomorrow's Saturday. That means the Lurline will be coming in. That means the whole ocean will be full of boats anyway, waiting to greet the liner. One more won't attract any attention at all. Even after the explosion, Monk figures, we won't be noticed particularly. Everybody'll be watching the Hughes."

"What happens then?"

"We just slip away in the confusion and rendezvous somewhere-I don't know where-with the other boat, the one with no incriminating gadgets on board. We'll switch boats and head out to meet a getaway ship. I haven't learned the details of that. Monk said leave it all to him. He… he thinks I'm in love with him. He thinks I'm doing it all, not only for my political beliefs, but because I want to go away with him. I… I had to let him think that." She was blushing a little. I wasn't as impressed as I might have been if I hadn't seen her instant blush before.