Donald Hamilton: The Ambushers

Sheila stopped in front of us, flushed from the sun, with the Winchester slung over one shoulder. I reminded myself that whether she knew it or not I owed her an apology for the doubts I'd had about her. Whatever had happened in El Fuerte's hut in Costa Verde, she'd handled Ernest Head beautifully in Tucson, and she'd been right on the job here.

But this wasn't the time to set the record straight. I just grinned at her approvingly.

"Good show, Skinny, as the British say," I told her. "Sit down. I want you to hear this, too."

Catherine was drawing pictures in the dirt. "We've come about fifty miles already," she said. "We turn off about twenty miles ahead. The Landwehr woman wasn't too sure about the exact distances, but she gave me a landmark, a red butte. From there we climb some forty miles back into the Nacimientos. Copala Canyon runs east and west. It is deep and very narrow for a couple of miles from the entrance. Then it widens and there are many old cliff dwellings in the south wall. Von Sachs is pretending to investigate them scientifically: the Caves of Copala. Actually he is gathering a force of armed men there." Catherine looked up. "Now you can shoot me. I have told you all I know. You do not need me any longer."

I said, "We need you to get in there."

She was smiling. "Yes, there is that, is there not? I will get my things out of my car."

We watched her move away across the sand. Her white shorts were smudged behind. It didn't make her walk look any less provocative. I heard Sheila make an indignant little sound.

"Relax, Skinny," J said. "You did swell. Let's not get temperamental now, huh?"

"I was hoping you'd signal with your left hand," Sheila whispered fiercely. "I can't stand her. I'd just love to shoot her."

"Sure. Don't give up hope. The job isn't over yet."

We had a little trouble getting the Volkswagen across the wash, and we had more trouble further on, as the road left the open desert and started winding through great slanting fields of broken rock that sloped up to the west into the Nacimiento foothills. We didn't reach Gerda Landwehr's red butte until well past noon.

Ironically, after the trouble we'd had to find it, the frail into the mountains was unmistakable. Apparently somebody, either von Sachs or some Mexican mining or ranching outfit, had brought in some heavy equipment from the south, which was now the direction of the nearest real road going anywhere. You couldn't miss where the big truck tires had swung westward. The wind had erased the pattern of the treads, but the depressions remained, leading back into the hills.

From there it was uphill work, with the little Volkswagen engine screaming in the low gears hour after hour, steadily, except for an occasional stop to roll a boulder out of the way or find a passable route around an immovable obstacle. The afternoon was well along when we finally came within sight of the mouth of Copala Canyon. It was a narrow cleft in a cliff of funny-looking rock that seemed to be pockmarked with holes. I didn't know enough geology to tell whether they were the gas pockets of an old lava flow or the results of later erosion, and it didn't really matter. What counted was that there'd be plenty of caves in the stuff big enough for prehistoric Indians to have lived in, which seemed to confirm Catherine's story.

I stopped the car where the tracks started across an open valley towards the cliff. I got out and put my glasses on the entrance. No guards or sentries were visible but that didn't mean they weren't there. I pulled the car door wide and spoke to Sheila, in the cramped rear seat. Ostensibly she'd been put there because she was the smallest; actually I'd preferred not to have Catherine sitting behind me where I couldn't see her.

"Okay, doll," I said to Sheila. "We'll take the rifle and ammo, the canteen, and a couple of those big chocolate bars. Also, we've got to get all our personal belongings out of this heap. We'll cache them somewhere. Catherine doesn't want anything aboard to indicate that she didn't come alone."

Sheila's small face had a rebellious look, but she'd already made her argument against the plan and been overruled; she decided against further protests. Catherine came around to help, and shortly we had the gear in a pile by the roadside. I took the car keys from my pocket, regarded the blonde girl for a moment, and dropped them into her hand.

"It's all yours," I said.

"I appreciate your trust," she said, smiling faintly.

"Trust, hell," I said. "Sheila and I have enough food and water here to make civilization on foot without your help, but once you're in that rat-trap you'll never get out without us, car or no car. Who's trusting whom?"

She didn't answer. She looked hot and wilted and dusty like the rest of us: it had been a long, rough ride. I reached out and deliberately yanked off the topmost button of her blouse and threw it away.

"That improves the view," I said, eyeing her judiciously.

"A little brassiere show never hurts. As I recall his record, von Sachs isn't exactly a monk."

Catherine said dryly, "There's a saying: teach your grandmother to suck eggs. I never really understood it, but I believe it's appropriate here, Mr. Evans."

"Sure. You're a genius and you don't need any advice, but don't forget to muss up your hair some more before you get there. Smear a little dirt on your face, maybe. You're an Argentine Nazi and you've gone through terrible hardships to reach von Sachs and warn him of danger, remember?"

"I'll remember." Her voice was cool.

"I'll be along presently to play the supporting role," I said. "There's no use trying to write the dialogue in advance. We've covered the main points. The rest we'll have to improvise and hope for the best."

"Just so you come," she said, watching me closely.

"You'd be in kind of a spot if I didn't, wouldn't you?" I grinned. "Well, that's the chance you take, honey. Once I'm in, I'll be depending on you, so it comes out even."

I hesitated. There are times when deceit is necessary, but there are also times when a certain amount of honesty, judiciously applied, can create a valuable atmosphere of confidence in the midst of suspicion. I said, "Before you start, let's put all the cards on the table. You know damn well we can't get him out of that hole alive, don't you? Not if he's got as many men in there as Mrs. Head indicated. We're going to have trouble enough getting ourselves out afterward, so let's not kid around any more about taking von Sachs anywhere for trial. It just isn't practical."

Catherine was silent for a second or two. Then she sighed and said reluctantly, "You are right, of course. Just so I can report him dead, that will have to be enough. I will have to disregard my instructions to that extent. I am permitted a certain amount of discretion. Well, I had better go."

"Hasta la vista, as we say in this part of the country."

"And auf Widersehen to you, Mr. Evans."

She got into the car and drove off without looking back. I couldn't help thinking that she'd yielded her point of principle a little too easily. I didn't kid myself for a moment that I knew everything that went on in her mind. Standing there, watching the VW making its bouncy way across the valley towards the opening in the pockmarked cliff, I felt Sheila come up beside me. She'd been waiting a little distance off, obviously dissociating herself from the whole affair. I turned to look at her.

"You still no like, eh?"

She mid, "It's an absolutely crazy plan! You know you can't trust her!"

I didn't like doing it, but it was no time for personal differences. I said deliberately, "She's a pro. I can trust her to act like a pro, not like a sentimental kid full of likes and dislikes that have nothing to do with the job at hand. You're out of line, Skinny."