Donald Hamilton: The Devastators

"Bare your left arm, if you please," said the young technician politely, in good English.

I pulled up the loose pajama sleeve and offered him the arm. Helm, the human pincushion. He went through the cotton-and-alcohol routine. I didn't watch the final operation.. if he wanted to think I simply couldn't bear to look at needles going into my flesh-after all, strong men have fainted at the sight-that was fine.

Actually, I was trying not to watch the muddy, swaying apparition that had materialized in the hall doorway behind the guard. It had a dirty chiffon scarf in its hands, twisted to form the old thuggee noose.

When Vadya moved, I struck. I am not a karate genius, and I can't break two-by-fours or shatter bricks with the edge of my hand-a hand good for that often isn't good for much else-but there are ways of doing it. I hit the Chinese youth with everything I had and knew, and he was dead before he started to fall. The guard came alert, looking my way, as I'd meant him to; the submachine gun steadied; and I was going to be dead, too, in another instant. Then the twisted scarf went around his neck from behind and drew up tight, and the gun clattered to the stone floor, sliding toward me.

I went for it, out the open cell door, and I was barely in time. The guard broke free and came for the weapon in a headlong dive, just as I snatched it and rose. That put him in precisely the right position for me to bring the butt down hard on his neck. I smashed it down once more to make quite sure.

It was very quiet in the ward. There was no sound in the hall, either. I looked at my left arm, where a hypodermic was sticking out of the biceps, strangely unbroken. I noticed that the medical kid had managed to ram the plunger home before he died. Vadya had been just a little late in that respect, but you can't have everything. The odds in favor of survival, disease-wise, were still sixty-forty. It seemed likely I'd be bucking greater odds long before those came into operation. I yanked out the hypo and threw it away and went over to Vadya, who was kneeling inside the door.

I stood looking down at her for a moment. I guess I was feeling kind of embarrassed. I mean, what the hell do you say to a girl you've shot-regardless of the provocation-who comes back anyway to give you a chance for your life.

She raised her head. "I'm sorry, darling," she said. "I should have used a gun, but I was afraid of the noise. I thought I could hold him."

"Sure."

"Help me up." When I had helped her to her feet, and steadied her, she made some feminine gestures toward brushing off the dirt that was smeared on her black pants and jersey. She'd discarded the leather jacket somewhere, probably because it was too bulky. She looked as if she'd been crawling down a rabbit-burrow, and that was probably just about what she had been doing. She looked up at me with a wry smile. "I am very dirty, am I not? And and very tired. But you are a terrible shot, Matthew."

"Yeah, lousy," I said.

"I do not think you really wanted to kill me."

I led her toward the open cell. "Let's analyze my motives later, huh? Right now you'd better lie down in here. How… how bad is it?"

She grinned at me maliciously. "Bad enough. I will probably die of it eventually, darling, slowly and painfully, screaming in agony, and you will remember it always. That you shot me, very clumsily, and that in return I saved your life."

I said, "Let's not count any premature chickens, doll. Not that I don't appreciate your contribution." I set the dead technician's little tray aside, and helped her get comfortable on the cot. "How'd you get away from all those men who were looking for you, up above?"

She gave a little laugh. "That great hairy yellow beast with the horns, remember? I decided that I could not be much worse off if he gored me or stepped on me, but he was really very friendly, although he smelled terrible. And they were afraid to come close to him. I saw you disappear into the ground with the Ling and her associate. I decided they would probably have a sentry at that entrance, but I found another way, a crack in the ground that led in the right direction. I almost stuck, several times. Ugh. I came into a room full of cages containing all the nasty little rats in the world. I was sneaking down the hall outside when I saw you carried in here. Then it was only a matter of waiting to catch the guard with his back turned. I hid in a passage across the way. It was a very long wait… Matthew."

"Yes."

"I wonder if it is that you are very clever, or just very lucky. Always you win, somehow. This time, by shooting me, you have forced me to help you escape, just as you planned in the first place."

I grinned. "I see. It wasn't just affection that sent you wiggling down a mole-hole to rescue me."

"Does that make your bourgeois conscience feel better?" She smiled up at me, and stopped smiling. "I cannot… cannot finish what I was sent here to do, darling. You must do it for me. You owe me that, now."

I said, "Sure. I'll get McRow for you."

"McRow!" She made a face. "What do I want with McRow?"

"But-"

"Oh, I am sure Dr. McRow is a terrible fellow and a menace to the world, and we probably do have people working on it-maybe some right in here-but it is not my business. Besides, you will take care of McRow anyway, won't you, darling?"

I said, "I intend to try. But-"

She smiled faintly, lying there. "I am afraid I lied to you, a little. You see, I was not sent to Britain to save the world. I was sent to perform an execution that was, shall we say, a little overdue."

"Basil?" I said.

"That is right, Matthew. Basil. I was going to trade you for him; that was my agreement with the Ling. I would deliver you to her, and she would deliver Basil to me."

"From what I've heard, she was going to double-cross you on the payoff," I said. "You might have expected that."

"Why? When she is finished here, she will have no more use for him, and he is not a man one keeps around for pleasure. I thought there was a reasonable chance the bitch might keep her word. But now you will get him for me, won't you?"

I hesitated. "I can't promise-"

"I would not believe your promise. What are promises to people like us? But you will get him for me without promises, to soothe your bourgeois conscience when it feels badly about the girl you shot."

"Yeah," I said sourly, "the girl who fed me a Mickey so she could throw my unconscious body to the wolves. The girl who thought she was so damn irresistible I couldn't bear to hurt her."

Vadya laughed softly. "I would know better, next time, if there was to be a next time, would I not? You had better go now. Here is your gun; I took it. It has four chambers still loaded. Goodbye, Matthew."

I couldn't think of a farewell phrase that wouldn't sound sloppy, so I just took my revolver from her hand, got up, fetched the keys from the dead guard, and unlocked Crowe-Barham's cell. I looked down at the Russian-type weapon under my arm: the PPSh41, which stands for, approximately, Pistolet Pulemet Shpagin Type 41, Shpagin being the guy who designed the ugly little beast.

I said, "You know this Shpagin monstrosity, amigo?"

"I know it," Les said.

"Well, I'm not much good with these squirters. You take it, I'll use my old S. and W. Come, let's go What is it?"

Les was frowning. "But aren't you going to turn them loose?"

He gestured toward the cages, or maybe toward the waiting people in them. I regarded him grimly, remembering that he'd always been handicapped, for this profession, by a lot of childish attitudes. I'd hoped he'd outgrown them, but apparently not.

I said, "Be your age. We've got work to do; we don't want the place all stirred up by hordes of… oh, hell." I stepped back and dropped the keys on Vadya's chest. "She'll turn them loose in a little while, when she gets her strength back."