Donald Hamilton: The Wrecking Crew

She shrugged her shoulders again, under the gray ski sweater. "Nothing is free," she said. "If one wants powerful allies, one must pay a price. What we lose now we may be able to take back later, when they are weakened by war."

She was a real little old Machiavelli, in her fouled-up way. I couldn't tell how much of this she really believed, and how much was a rationalization of the fact that the world was going to hell in a basket and she simply had to do somet1ii~sg about it, even if what she did was the wrong thing. Some people just aren't built to sit around on their butts being carefully neutral.

She broke off the argument by turning away and starting off again fast. I set off after her. She was half running. I contented myself with following at a jog trot. Gradually, as she slowed after the first spurt, I gained on her. When she heard me coming, she increased her pace again, keeping well ahead of me. I'd catch glimpses of her through the trees, moving rapidly. I'd lose her for several minutes and then see her far ahead, waiting for me, and her laughter would come back to me, mocking me, as she set off again.

When she let me catch her at last, she was sitting on a log at the edge of a great open space that looked at first glance like a wilderness meadow. She looked at me as I slumped down beside her, gasping for breath; and she laughed.

"You do not keep up very well, Cousin Matthias."

"I'm here," I panted.

She waved her hand at the meadow before us. "It looks harmless, does it not, like a pasture for cows. It is a myr. The word is the same, I think, as the English 'moor', or maybe 'mire'. In spring it is a bottomless bog and quite impassable; reindeer that venture out upon it disappear from sight and are never seen again. Now in the autumn the ground is not quite so wet, and it can be crossed if one knows how. But one must be careful." She glanced at me again, and said, "Listen."

I frowned. "Listen to what?"

She shook her head sharply. "Be quiet. Just listen!"

I listened. After a moment, I got what she meant. There wasn't anything to hear. In all that flaming country, red and gold to the horizon, not an insect buzzed, not a bird sang. The sky was blue and clear. A breath of air rustled a few dry leaves nearby. Otherwise not a sound broke the great northern silence.

Elin glanced at me. "In our Swedish schools we have a course called 'orientation'. Every Swedish child must learn how to find his way across unknown country without getting lost. Do you have such classes in America?"

"No," I said.

She asked gently, "Do you know where we are, Cousin Matthias?"

"No," I said, honestly enough. I knew which direction the highway was, which is as much as you generally knew, hiking through the bush. But that wasn't the question she'd asked.

She rose and stood looking down at me for a moment. "Go back," she said. "Walk due south. You will strike the road after a while. Go that way." She pointed. It was the right direction. She said, "If you come with me, they will kill you. They are waiting for you, armed. I am supposed to lead you up to their guns. But I cannot do it. After all, we are related, even if very distantly. Go back."

I hesitated, and shook my head. She looked at me for a moment longer and started to say something else; then she laughed instead.

"You are stubborn," she said. "I will not argue with you. The myr has better arguments than I have. Just remember the direction to the highway. This is a nice country in which to be lost."

She turned and headed out across that innocent-looking meadow. I followed her. Soon we were jumping from one grassy hummock to the next. Between them the mud was soft and black. This was easy. Then we came to a small stream, bordered by a low but almost impassable tangle of what looked like mountain laurel. You couldn't break a path through the stuff, you had to do a kind of dance on top of it, putting your feet where the twisted roots and branches looked as if they would bear your weight. If you misjudged, you went through into the mud beneath and had to fight your way back up to the top again.

The stream itself was crystal clear, too wide for jumping and too deep for comfort, and icy cold. After that we had laurel again, and finally we struggled up on dry ground that didn't last very long. It was only a little piny island in the middle of the bog. Beyond it, after a few more grassy hummocks, was just plain mud, black and shiny.

The area was only some fifty yards wide, but it stretched a much greater distance in either direction. There was no way of getting around it that I could see. On the other side, invitingly near beyond a stretch of marsh grass, was the edge of the forest. But first there was the muck to get across.

I glanced at Elin. She wasn't a movie heroine; she hadn't come through the ordeal totally unscathed. But then, she hadn't even been a spit-and-polish girl. That lousy blue dress in which I'd first seen her had been less becoming than her present splashed and muddy outfit. At least now she'd licked and bitten off that nauseating lipstick she liked to wear. Flushed and bright-eyed with exercise, she looked kind of breathtaking, as a matter of fact.

I jerked my head toward the black stuff. "You're the guide," I said. "How do we get around that?"

"Get around?" she said, smiling. "What is the matter,Cousin Matthias, are you afraid?"

She walked directly out there. After two steps she was going in almost to her knees, and the whole great expanse was rippling and wobbling like a bowl of jello. She threw a glance over her shoulder.

"It is all right," she said. "It is all right, if you keep moving. Of course, if you stop, you will sink very quickly."

I said sharply, "Come back here!"

She kept on wading, clutching the packages of film. I suppose she should have looked ridiculous. A beautiful girl has no business performing acts of strength and courage; our civilization isn't geared for it. Women aren't supposed to do anything that'll muss their hair or endanger their nylons; and wading through knee-deep mud isn't exactly a glamorous occupation. Just the same, the kid had guts. I really didn't like the looks of that stuff at all.

"Come back, you crazy little fool!" I shouted.

I started after her, and retreated quickly. I heard her laugh, and she kept on going. On the other shore she paused to fix a muddy shoestring that apparently had come untied. Then, wiping her hands on the seat of her pants, she straightened up and looked at me across the lake of mud. She pointed to the south, the direction of the highway, the direction I was supposed to go. Then she picked up the packages of film and disappeared into the woods.

AFTER A LITTLE, I glanced at my watch to note the time. It seemed likely that she'd sneak back to see what I'd do next, to make sure she'd really lost me. I therefore made a show of trying to find a safe way around that overgrown muck hole. I circled far to the right, as far as the grasss and hummocks would take me, but there was no solid path across the stuff. I returned to the island, waded out once more the way she'd gone, and retreated with a display of panic after going in to my knees. I made a swing to the left and had no luck there, either. Finally I went back to the island again and stood looking glumly at the spot on the shoreline where she'd disappeared. I restrained myself from shaking my fist at it. You've got to use moderation in these things.

Having put on enough of a performance, I figured, to deceive several tall, beautiful, overconfident young ladies in plaid pants, I turned dejectedly and shuffled back the way we'd come. As soon as I was out of sight, I lay down under a pine tree, put my hat over my eyes, and concentrated on resting up for the next phase of the operation. I tried not to think of anything, not even Lou and the danger she was in. It wasn't something I could allow to affect my actions. There wasn't anything else to think about. The final hand had been dealt. All that was left was to play the cards.