Donald Hamilton: The Ambushers

"And how are you going to-"

"Never mind me, for the moment. After you've made the touch, after von Sachs is taken care of, you can use the rest of the ammo as the spirit moves you. Cover us as well as you can, but don't hang around too long. Get out before you're cut off up here. If we make it clear, we'll be waiting for you below, where we cached the suitcases. With a car if we can manage."

"And-" She paused. "And if you're not there?"

"Don't wait around for us," I said. "You've got most of a gallon of water and enough nourishment to keep you going. Walk due east until you hit the Antelope Wells road, but don't try to get back up to the border, it's much too far. Turn south when you reach the road. There are some little Mexican towns farther down. Or somebody'll come along and give you a lift. Just make sure they're okay before you let them see you. It'll be a long, hot, dusty hike, it may take several days even, but you can make it if you go easy on the water."

She gave a funny little laugh. "You're being awfully silly.

Do you really think I'd go off without you. I'm not Catherine, you know."

I said evenly, "The standing orders expressly forbid an agent's risking his life to rescue the captured, succor the wounded, or bury the dead, unless the success of the mission is involved. Here it won't be. We'll either get our work done in the first few minutes after the action starts, or we won't. You've got farther to go than we have, over rougher terrain. If we're not waiting at the cache by the time you reach it, we're just not coming, that's all. Being a heroine will get you nothing. Just keep on going." I rose and glanced at my watch. "Well, I'd better start back. I don't want to have to scramble down that cliff in the dark. This would be a hell of a time to break a leg."

"Eric."

"Yes?"

Sheila leaned the gun against the boulder and rose to face me. "Be careful," she said, looking up. "Please be careful, darling. And if you say 'sure' again, the way you did the last time we separated, up the road, I'll slap your face."

I looked down at her for a moment. Her short hair was tousled, her shirt and pants were dusty, and her small face was pink from the sun: she looked like a kid after an active summer picnic.

I grinned at her. "Sure," I said. "I'll be careful, Skinny. Sure."

She made a face and brought her hand up threateningly. I caught her by the wrist. It was a mistake, touching her. I'd been trying very hard to keep everything on a business basis, to think of her simply as one of the human resources with which I had to accomplish a certain task. That I'd once found her helpless in the jungle, that I'd carried her, cared for her, and later stuck my neck out for her officially, and made love to her unofficially, was strictly beside the point down here. Or so I tried to tell myself, but suddenly I found myself holding her and kissing her possessively, which was a hell of a way for an agent to behave within sight of the target.

"For God's sake!" I said at last, rather breathlessly.

"What a hell of a time for necking. We'd better cut it out before I forget all about important things like homicide and sabotage."

She held onto me as I tried to step back. "Would that be so bad?" She was smiling mischievously. "You wouldn't have to forget very long. Just a few minutes."

"You're a shameless wench," I mid.

"You told me that before."

"I don't go for women in pants. They don't do a thing for me," I said firmly. At least I hoped it was firmly. "And I've got to get down that damn cliff before dark. I've got a date with a blonde."

"I know." She grimaced. "You! Tearing a button off her blouse so you could admire her breasts. Who did you think you were fooling?"

I said, "Oh, is that what was eating you?"

"Yes, I'm jealous," she breathed. "She makes me feel plain and scrawny. I know it's stupid, but I can't help it. Eric."

"Yes?"

"You will be there, won't you? At the cache."

"I'm sure as hell going to try," I said.

"And afterward-"

"It's considered bad luck to make plans for afterward, Skinny."

"I know. Just so you're there. And just so you don't think-" She stopped, looking down.

"Think what?"

"That I'm just a silly little girl with a transference who's got to be humored because she's had a tough time. I'm in good health now, darling, my mind is perfectly clear, and I know what I want. What I want for us. You can be remembering that, down there with your predatory blonde. And-" She hesitated and looked up quickly. "And don't worry. I know what you've been thinking about me. Some day I'll tell you what really happened in Costa Verde. But it's all right now. I'm all right. Just get von Sachs within two hundred yards of me and I'll do the job so you'll have no complaints. You'll see."

EVERYTHING WENT ACCORDING to plan. They'd been warned by Catherine that I'd be along, they were waiting, and they caught me with the goods as they were supposed to. I had a sketch of the canyon showing the positions of the missile and control truck that wasn't half bad for the poor light in which I'd had to work. I had a list of the camouflaged vehicles parked under the trees, and an estimate of the number of men in the caves, and notes on everything else a bright intelligence type might want to bring home to his superiors to show he was on the ball. I was sorry I hadn't brought a camera and flashgun, but perhaps that would have been overdoing it.

They let me finish and closed in on me as I was trying to sneak away down the canyon. Making a run for it, I tripped and knocked my wind out, so it was easy for them- and for me, too; easier than taking a chance on a lot of excitable Latin marksmen in the dark. They might accidentally have hit me. Even worse, they might have missed me and let me get away.

They pushed me around a bit and got my notebook and the.38 revolver I'd worn for them to find. That made them happy. They'd captured a dangerous man, the man they'd been told to watch for. They marched me triumphantly back up the canyon past the vehicle park and across the little creek, a trickle now, that could be a torrent at times judging by the width of the wash and the height of the bank it had cut in places. I didn't look up at the cliff to the north. It had long since become too dark for accurate shooting, but Sheila was probably watching nevertheless. Out here in the open, I could see my half-dozen captors more clearly. They weren't the innocent-looking, dumb-looking, lazy-looking laborers who'd been loafing around the fire for show-and still were.

They were tough, dark-faced men like Jiminez' bunch in Costa Verde. Don't think I underestimated them because they'd fallen for my super-spy act. These were men, as Mexican history showed, who could march and fight forever on a handful of beans and a little chili.

They carried a variety of firearms, ranging from old Springfields and M-l's to the latest in machine pistols, one specimen, belonging to the sergeant in charge of the patrol, a small, wiry character. They were not strictly speaking in uniform; but each man had a swastika armband and a machete, although this wasn't country where a brush-knife was essential. I noticed that all the machetes were the same pattern, a little more elaborate than the usual crude, heavy blade with a couple of pieces of wood riveted on for a handle. A rudimentary brass guard had been added, like that of a saber, curving around to protect the fingers, making a fighting weapon of a wood-chopping tool.

Well, the Nazis had always believed in the psychological value of special cutlery, generally some kind of a sneaky dirk that wasn't much good for real fighting but was a hell of a fine weapon for stabbing a man in the back. Symbolically, you might say, the honest machete was a step upward, although one might be hard put to find a use for it in atomic warfare.