Donald Hamilton - The Devastators

She let her playful smile fade, and said, "Strangely enough, I am telling you the truth, Matthew."

I let that pass. "How am I supposed to introduce you, if anyone should ask?"

She said, in an accented voice, "Ah, you may call me Madame Dumaire, chйri. Madame Evelyn Dumaire. Monsieur Dumaire, unfortunately, is no longer among the living, but fortunately he left his widow well provided for."

"I can see that," I said, with a glance at the expensive furs. "Okay, Evelyn. And God help the French. I hope they have the 'Mona Lisa' nailed down tight or it will be in Moscow by morning."

She shook her head. "No. It wasn't the 'Mona Lisa,' of course-who would waste a good agent's time on that smirking canvas female?-and I have been taken off the

Paris assignment, anyway. They called me at lunch. They said, 'There is a man in London with whom you are acquainted, Vadya. He spared your life once, the record shows. This would seem to indicate that you are the best person we have to negotiate with him. There is no time to construct a new cover. You will go over there- immediately, by jet airplane-as plump Madame Dumaire.'" She smiled. "You see, I am being devastatingly frank. I am letting you know from the start that I was sent here because you were here. Because my employers think I am conscienceless enough to try to capitalize on our old friendship. As of course I am."

It wasn't exactly what I'd expected. To give myself time to think about it, I said, "Some friendship! I've still got the scars where you and your partner played tic-the-toe on my chest with a hot soldering iron."

She said, quite undisturbed, "It was a misunderstanding. Poor Max."

"Poor Max, hell," I said. "After that little branding session, what made him think I wouldn't shoot when he tried to pull a gun on me next day? Well, I guess you could call that a misunderstanding, too." I grimaced. "Are you serious? Do you really expect me to believe you were sent here officially to renew our old acquaintance?"

She said, "Don't be so clever and suspicious, my friend. Remember that sometimes the direct approach is the best. Anyway, it is the one I have been instructed to use. You see, we know why you are here in England."

I said, poker-faced, "And why am I here?"

"You are here because there is a crazy man at large, an American scientist named McRow.. This man is working on a fantastic biological weapon with which he apparently intends to blackmail the world, my country included. At least that is the intelligence we have received. Well, there are many crazy men with big ideas about getting rich, and this one would not worry us, were it not for the fact that he has acquired strong backing somewhere. McRow's motives seem to be simple and financial, but we are not sure of the motives of his backers. They could be military, and there are certain countries eastward that, while they boast of their ancient civilizations, are not, we feel, advanced enough politically to be trusted with a weapon such as this."

"You mean they don't have quite the right Communist slant on things?"

"Don't be sarcastic, Matthew. They don't have quite the right democratic slant on things, either. There is also a certain racial factor. I do not believe many would weep, out there in the East, if all white men were to get very sick and die. There are even some irresponsible leaders out there, we feel, who would willingly sacrifice large parts of their own populations to achieve this purpose-as long as a loyal elite was assured of survival. That could be achieved by a serum or vaccine; and we think that is what McRow is now working to perfect, since he has already shown that he can produce super-virulent forms of several common diseases. He will presumably select the one for which he can most easily produce an effective antidote." She drew a long breath. "You see, I am being absolutely frank; I am describing the problem to you exactly as it was described to me. Naturally, we would like this development for our own, but although they have tried hard, our people have failed to get it. So have yours."

"What makes you think so?"

"The fact that you are here makes us think so, for one thing," said Vadya. She laughed softly. "We are specialists, darling, you and I. We are not called upon to capture men alive, or bring home their nasty little secrets. When we are summoned everyone knows what it means. It means that all other methods have failed, and time is getting short, and there is only one thing left to do." She looked at me earnestly across the table. "I am instructed to cooperate with you in any reasonable way, Matthew, until this international threat is removed. Until this man is killed and his laboratory destroyed."

There was a little silence. Presently I said in a tentative way, "You know, the funny thing is, I really am on my honeymoon." She didn't say anything to this, and after a moment I went on: "Of course, that doesn't mean I'm out of the business entirely."

She smiled faintly. "I thought not."

"I'll have to know a little more before I get in touch with Washington. Suppose we have dinner together and you tell me exactly what you have in mind."

"Yes, of course. Do you want to eat here?"

I threw a look toward the impressively formal dining room opening off the lounge, and said, "These Claridge waiters give a poor country boy from New Mexico a raging inferiority complex. I seem to remember a little place off Piccadilly Circus where we can relax and talk."

"Whatever you say.?'

She drew her furs around her, and waited for me to rise and attend to her chair like a gentleman. Then she pulled on her gloves, picked up her purse, and smiled at me over her shoulder to indicate that she was ready.

We walked out of the lounge together, and through the lobby to the street. Les was right on the ball. The doorman didn't even have time to offer his services before the gleaming silvery sedan was gliding to the curb in front of the hotel. Vadya stopped and glanced at me with sudden suspicion.

"So I've got friends in London," I said. "Hop in."

She frowned at the chauffeur-driven Rolls, and looked back at me. "It is not that I do not trust you, darling, but I think I would prefer a taxicab."

"Sure," I said, close behind her. "But get in anyway. If I have to shoot from this angle, we'll get blood and guts all: over that lovely vehicle, and that would be a pity, wouldn't it?"

Riding away from there, nobody spoke for a little. Vadya shifted position beside me, and reached up as if to rearrange her furs. I brought the snub-nosed revolver out where she could see it.

"Hands off the pelts," I said. "I once knew a girl-a colleague of yours, as a matter of fact-who had a real tricky fur that looked just like that. She's dead now, poor kid."

Vadya let her gloved hands sink back into her lap. "You're making a mistake, Matthew," she said quietly.

She might well be right; but I couldn't afford to show any doubts. "It happens to us all," I said. "You make one, 1 make one. You wouldn't want me to be perfect and show you up."

"I don't know what you mean-"

Our aristocratic chauffeur spoke without turning his head. "There's a Mini following us, sir."

It took me a moment to remember that this was the British way of referring affectionately to those boxy little Morrises and Austins-they're identical except for the nameplate-that have the engine mounted crosswise to operate a tricky frontwheel drive, and tires borrowed from a small motorscooter. I didn't look back. Instead I looked at Vadya. Her face was expressionless. Well, it would be.

I said, "That's okay, driver. Let's keep him on ice. The more the merrier. If I don't get the information I want out of the woman, I'll just work on down the line. You can keep him from interfering, can't you?"