Donald Hamilton: The Devastators

I winked at Vadya, and she winked back at me, and I knew we were in no danger of being embarrassed by prisoners released prematurely. I mean, what the hell, we were supposed to be secret agents, God help us, not the International Red Cross.

Les was at the hall door with the burp gun poised. He gave me a nod to let me know the coast was clear, and stepped out into the passage. I followed. We headed down the slanting corridor, and stopped abruptly, as Les signaled me back against the wall. Somebody was coming out of Madame Ling's office, at the lighted landing below. Les poked me with his elbow. I leaned out far enough to see the man stop under the light: Basil.

He was carrying something that looked like a thin gray metal file box. I raised my revolver and lowered it again. A shot now would alert the place. Promises to the dying were all very well, but the interests of the living came first-and technically speaking I had made no promises. Basil tucked the box under his arm and disappeared down the stairs that led to, among other things, the cove where a boat could be landed at low tide, or so I'd been told.

After he had gone, we moved cautiously down to the landing. Voices, and the sounds of bustling activity, reached us from the foot of the stairs. I sneaked forward far enough to look down. Cages and cages of rats were being carried from somewhere inside the rock toward the water's edge. I slipped back to join Les.

"Did you happen to learn where McRow normally hangs out?" I whispered.

"His laboratory and quarters are supposed to be down there somewhere. The caves just above high-water level are supposed to be quite extensive. But the only way into them leads past the landing area, which seems to be fairly well occupied at the moment. I say, old chap."

"Yes?"

"Which of us gets him?"

I glanced at the man beside me. "After I'm through with him, you're welcome to him."

"Unfortunately, my orders are to take him alive, if possible."

I grinned. "Maybe I should have left you locked in that cell. My orders happen to read otherwise."

He laughed. "Under the circumstances, I can probably convince the establishment that abduction was not possible. One more question, if you don't mind."

"Yes?"

"Did you really shoot her, old fellow? The lady upstairs?"

"Yeah, I shot her," I said. "I'm known far and wide as the lady-killer from New Mexico… What's that?"

The sound of a cry had leaked through the heavy door of Madame Ling's office. I put my ear to the panels and beard, of all things, McRow's pleading voice inside. Caruso in his finest moment had never sounded better, to my prejudiced ear.

"No, no, I had no intention of betraying… Of course I approve of your… Yes, yes, of course I will do everything I can to help."

I looked at Les, who whispered. "What Vadya said about your luck does not seem to be exaggerated. There's our pigeon. Shall we step inside and pluck it?"

I nodded. "In case you haven't been in there, there's a pair of switches behind the desk. If anybody reaches the black switch, we'll all be knee-deep in bubonic rats. The red one just blows up the joint. I'll take the left flank, if you don't mind. I think that thing of yours ejects to the right, and I shoot better when I'm not being showered with hot empties… Cross your fingers. I hope this door's unlocked."

It was. It burst open under our combined weight, showing us Madame Ling seated at the desk, while McRow sat in the chair I'd occupied earlier in the day. He was being worked on by the dark-faced man. There was no one else in the room.

It was a fairly simple business. I mean, the conventions are quite clear on who shoots what in a situation like that, just as when two men hunt together: the one on the left takes the birds flushing left, and vice versa. The dark-faced man was going for his gun, showing a commendable turn of speed. I shot him first, since he was the more dangerous of my two birds. That gave McRow time to rise and bolt for the bedroom door, an easy straightaway mark, and I dropped him in the doorway and swung back to make sure of the dark-faced man, who was still trying to get the gun out. He might have made it and then again he might not, but I saw no reason to wait and find out.

Only then did I realize that I hadn't heard the Shpagin fire. I swung right and saw, incredibly, Madame Ling still very much alive, standing by the desk with her hand in the air. I mean, the woman should have been dead all of five seconds by now. She looked me straight in the eye, and gave her silvery laugh, and hit the black switch behind her without a backward glance, before I could get my revolver clear around. Then the burp gun went off at last.

Sudden bloodstains blossomed on the silk tunic, and the woman slid to the floor, still smiling faintly. I jumped forward, over her body, and yanked at the switch, but it was a one-throw proposition; having done its work, it no longer functioned. I thought I could hear, far above, the whirring of the motors turning the gears that turned the long metal rods that wound up the chains that opened the cage doors. There was, obviously, only one thing left to do, before the rats got out and disappeared among the tunnels and cracks that honeycombed this rock. I'm no braver than the next man, but I seemed to hear Vadya's voice in my ear, scornfully: He did not have the courage to die in a situation that required his death.

Perhaps I was a little braver than Basil, at that. Anyway, I grabbed the red switch and pulled hard. Nothing happened.

chapter TWENTY-THREE

When it became quite apparent that nothing was going to happen, at least not right away, I turned from the wall to look at Les, who stood there with the muzzle of the burp gun pointed at the floor, looking sick. I looked at the gun in my own hand. There was one live cartridge left, I knew, and I had an impulse to use it. He knew what I was thinking.

"I… I just couldn't, old chap," he whispered. "I mean, she'd put her hands up, don't you know? I simply couldn't do it, in cold blood. Go ahead and shoot."

"Cold blood, hot blood!" I said. "Oh, Jesus Christ! What's temperature got to do with it?"

There was a little silence between us, during which I became aware of a faint ticking sound behind me. I went back and touched the box of the red switch. It was trembling faintly, as if alive: somewhere inside, clockwork was functioning. Well, that figured.

"I should have guessed," I said. "She wouldn't have a switch that would blow her to hell instantly. There'd be a time-delay, anything from five minutes to half an hour, enough to let her get clear once she'd pulled the handle. Enough to let the rats get well dispersed before the place went boom… You'd better go watch the hall. I'll be with you in a minute. Now you've pulled that trigger once, maybe it will come easier next time."

He looked at me without resentment, and moved dully to the door, which made me feel lousy. I mean, the thing was done; there wasn't any sense in rubbing his nose in it. I grimaced, and looked down at the slim woman on the floor, still smiling faintly in death. I went over and checked McRow. He was dead, too. At least that much had been accomplished, for what it was worth now. The dark-faced man was dead. It occurred to me that I never had learned his name or nationality, not that it really mattered. I got the gun from his shoulder holster.

The stuff on the desk caught my eye. I went over and looked for some papers of significance, secret formulas, instructions telling how to destroy the world, or save it. There was nothing that looked significant. There was still, however, a little pile of my belongings. I took time to slip my watch on my wrist and clip my folding knife to the neck of my pajama jacket. It had been given me by a woman of whom I'd been quite fond, and I didn't want to lose it if I could help it. Without pockets, I had no place to transport the rest of the stuff, so I just left it there.