Donald Hamilton: The Shadowers

There was a doctor handy to make the examination and call it a coronary, carefully ignoring the tiny bullet hole at the base of the skull. Karl Kroch wasn't the only one who could use a.22, and the caliber does have certain advantages. You can use an efficient silencer with it, for one thing. Silencers don't work too well with the heavier calibers.

After that a lot of things happened all over the country, as the shadowers that had been identified by other agencies were picked up in a nationwide net which had been prepared and held in readiness pending Taussig's demise. Many that had not been identified escaped, no doubt; and a few struck back. It didn't go quite as smoothly and bloodlessly as Washington had hoped, even with the top man dead, but when did it ever? There were also, I was told, a few international adjustments made at this time which may or may not have been connected with the affair.

That part of it didn't really concern me. Anyway, I was in the hospital with a badly infected leg. Another characteristic of the.22 is the fact that the greasy little bullet carries a lot of dirt into a wound; and maybe I hadn't stayed as quiet as I should.

A gentleman from Washington visited me while I was still fiat on my back and told me I was a hero and had probably saved the world or some small part of it. They've got a department for the purpose, I think. They call it internal public relations, or something. I wanted to tell the guy to go to Florida and make his speech to a lady with a degree in astrophysics, but it wouldn't have been diplomatic. Neither did I succumb to the temptation to ask him just what the hell made him think any part of the world was saved. It was spring when I visited Pensacola again, on instructions from Mac.

"The lady wants you to sign some papers," he'd said, in Washington. "I told her you'd stop by when you could."

"Sure."

"Incidentally, you may run into young Braithwaite down there. He didn't work out for us. He's back with his ship." Mac threw me a glance across the desk. "You gave him a rather rugged introduction to the work, Eric. There was no need for him to witness the interrogation of the girl, for instance."

"He'd had a part in catching her," I said. "I thought he might as well get used to seeing a job through."

"After watching the I-team at work on Miss Darden- she died afterward, you know-Lieutenant Braithwaite apparently decided he didn't want any part of the glamorous life of an undercover agent." Mac was looking at me in a speculative way. "Perhaps that was what you had in mind, Eric?"

"Perhaps," I said. "Is my, er, wife still living at the same address?"

She was, Mac said, but when I wanted to call the house from the Pensacola Airport, I couldn't find the name Mariassy in the phone book. Then I realized what I was doing wrong and turned to another section and there it was: Corcoran, Paul, 137 Spruce, 332-1093. It gave me a funny feeling to see the name again. I hadn't used it since the previous autumn.

I called the number and got a maid who said Miz Corcoran was out but if I was Mr. Corcoran I was supposed to pick her up at the lab-Building 1000 at the Naval Air Station. She was expecting me.

A taxi took me through the gate and across the big base, past a drill field where some kind of a military ceremony was in progress. There was a reviewing stand that seemed to contain a lot of naval rank. Solid masses of lesser officers stood on the side lines. The colors were just coming onto the field, followed by a long column of naval aviation cadets or midshipmen or whatever the Navy calls them.

My driver managed to find a street that wasn't blocked and got me down to the waterfront, from where I could look out across the harbor at Santa Rosa Island, but I couldn't see anything that looked like a deserted fortification out there. I probably wouldn't recognize it in daylight, anyway. I could still hear the brassy sound of the Navy band as I went to the front door of the building. That was as far as I got, not having the particular clearance required to penetrate farther into the sacred mysteries of science.

"Mr. Corcoran?" said the elderly guard. "Yes, sir. Please have a seat. I'll call Dr. Corcoran. She's expecting you."

Then she was coming down the stairs. At least the approaching woman looked in a general way like the woman I remembered from last fall, but her hair was styled in a different and softer way, and the lipstick was obviously firmly established now, smoothly and expertly applied. She was wearing a brown sweater and a tailored brown skirt that made her look tall and slim. Only the legs hadn't changed. They were still very fine, nicely displayed by nylons and high heels.

I got to my feet, not knowing exactly what to expect. She came across the lobby and put her arms around my neck and kissed me hard, which surprised me in more ways than. one. We hadn't parted exactly friends.

I heard her voice in my ear. "Play up, damn you! The guard's a terrible old blabbermouth. Don't just stand there!" Presently she stepped back and said a little breathlessly, "I've missed you, darling."

"I tried to get back sooner, but they've been keeping me busy. You're looking great, Olivia."

"Am I?" She did something embarrassed and feminine with her hair. I remembered that she'd always been a great girl for fussing with her hair after a kiss. "Did you have a nice trip?" she asked.

"Moderate. It was a little rough over the mountains, but not too bad."

"I'm sorry I couldn't meet you at the airport but something came up. The car's right outside." She took my arm and led me out into the sunlight. "Thanks, Paul," she said in a different tone. "Some of them in there have been acting as if they didn't really believe I had a husband. The guard will put them straight, the old gossip." She laughed apologetically. "After all, I do have a career and a reputation to maintain, now that I'm no longer a desperate undercover agent."

"Sure."

"Do you want to look around? I can't show you our work, of course, but they've got some interesting equipment here that isn't too highly classified, like the human centrifuge and the rotating room in which they study problems of equilibrium… Well, it was just a suggestion. Paul?"

"Yes?"

"I wanted to apologize afterward, but you were gone."

"Apologize? What for?"

"For making it harder for you. That night. There was a reason why I just couldn't undress in front of everybody. I didn't mean all the nasty things I said." She hesitated and glanced at me with a hint of mischief in her eyes. "Would you really have stripped me naked?"

"Sure," I said.

She laughed softly. "I'm glad. I don't like people who talk tough and act mushy. I don't like people who mix sentiment with business or science. At least you're a consistent monster. I am glad to see you again, Paul. I mean, really."

"I like you, too, Doc," I said. "Shall we go sign those papers?" I mean, it was nice talking over old times, but somebody had to bring the meeting to order.

She stopped smiling. "Yes," she said. "Yes, of course."

She still had the same little black Renault; she hadn't even managed to put many miles on it, I noticed. I remembered to fasten my seatbelt without being told. She drove, but after a couple of blocks we were turned back by a base policeman: the ceremony was still going on. The next street wasn't any better. We were at the side of the field but they wouldn't let us drive along it. I heard commands being snapped out. The cadets, or whatever they were, were about to pass in review.

"Come on," I said. "Leave it here and let's look. I'm a sucker for parades."

She looked unenthusiastic, but I pulled her out of the car and dragged her over to the field and found a spot where we could get up close. They were coming along the edge of the field toward us, four abreast, in perfect step, with the colors out front. I remembered to take off my hat. The military spectators were saluting.