The Interlopers mh-12
Page 24
Mac's dry laugh reached me across thousands of miles of wire. "I am merely giving you the answer that was given to me when I asked the question. I should also inform you that our late associates, while they approved of your results, felt obliged to inform me that they considered your methods deplorable. Somehow I got the impression that they will not require your services again."
"Golly," I said, "that makes me feel just terrible, sir."
"I thought it would. Well, take it easy. And if you, like the late Holz, ever start brooding about the lonely, desperate life of a secret agent, please let me know at once. You cut this one quite fine enough without that handicap."
"Yes, sir."
I made a face at the phone as I put it down. Then I told Hank to be good and took my hat and topcoat, feeling kind of strange and sawed-off in my civilized clothes and low-heeled shoes. Those cowboy boots are habit-forming. I had a taxi run me to the hospital on the edge of town-the camper rig had been returned intact, but it was being serviced after the long journey.
The nurse at the desk directed me to the room. Heading that way, I met Mr. Smith, Senior-I mean Mr. Ryerson. He was accompanied by Lester Davis.
Ryerson gave me a bleak, unhappy nod and kept on going. At the moment, he looked like a man who might have trouble handling one set of agents, let alone two at the same time. Davis stopped and said, "I'm sorry, Ronnie can't have any more visitors today, but he'll appreciate your coming."
I said, "I'm not here to see Ronnie, and I doubt that he'd appreciate a visit from me. Tell me, how was the old man, stern and understanding or stern and unforgiving?"
Davis said angrily, "Damn you-" I said, "So Ronnie spilled his guts under pressure; why make a federal case of it? Everybody talks, given adequate persuasion. Some people can take a little more than others, that's all. There's only one way to deal with the problem: if the guy is carrying information that's truly important, you give him a death pill to take if captured. And if the information isn't all that valuable-and this wasn't-you just damn well leave him free to sing like a bird. This business of requiring everybody to be great close-mouthed heroes all the time is pure TV, and you can tell Ronnie so from me. Tell his pop, too, if you like, but he won't thank you for it." I hesitated. "Davis."
"Yes, sir."
"If you ever get tired of playing Rover Boy with these clichй-bound jokers, there's a number in Washington you might call." I gave it to him.
He looked at me for a moment. "I suppose I should be flattered," he said slowly, "but I'm not. If this world is to be saved, Mr. Helm, it's going to be saved by people who still retain a few illusions, not by people like you. I'll stay a Rover Boy and a boyscout, if you don't mind."
Well, I'd asked for it. I grinned. "Sure. Your choice, amigo. But watch those illusions. The last one you had killed a girl very dead, remember?"
It was unfair and I shouldn't have said it. I walked away quickly from the stricken look on his face. The room I wanted was down the corridor. I knocked on the door. A feminine voice answered. I went in. It wasn't as bad as I'd expected. Mac had said she'd had a real rough time.
"Hi, Justellen," I said. "A guy in Washington asked me to bring you some flowers, but I forgot them. What the hell happened to you after you left the ferry at Petersburg, anyway?"
The small, brown-eyed, blonde girl whom I'd known briefly as Ellen Blish sat up painfully in her bed as if to prove she could. She said, "We were right. They did suspect me; that's why they sent me to make contact with you on the ship. Apparently something we did there proved something to them about me. Afterwards, they damn near killed me."
"So I see."
She had a tremendous black eye, puffed almost shut. The whole side of her small face was swollen and discolored. One arm and shoulder was covered with bulky bandages. If there was other damage, it was under the covers where I couldn't see it.
We faced each other for a moment in silence, sorting out the questions that could be asked and answered from the ones that couldn't. There was, of course, no eager comparing of professional notes on the job just past. I. didn't inquire as to precisely what her mission had been, or even whether or not it had been successfully completed. My hunch was that, in spite of having her cover blown, she must have managed to pull it off somehow, whatever it was, or Mac wouldn't have sent me here to cheer her up. He wasn't much fonder of failures than Moscow or Peking.
Ellen gave me a lopsided grin. "It's all right. I'll get over it, they tell me."
I said, "In about two weeks, I hope."
"Why two weeks?"
"I'm going hunting," I said. "But I'll be back."
"Hunting!" She sounded shocked and at the same time amused. "Talk about your busman's holiday! Or do you mean you've got another job " I said firmly, "Hunting, like with a shotgun. I have a friend, a black, four-legged friend, who's earned a reward for services rendered. I-" I stopped and cleared my throat. "I'm going to have to give him back pretty soon. I'm hardly in a position to keep a pet. But in the meantime… well, he's a damn nice pup, and he's had a long, dull trip. And while you may turn on with beautiful music, or LSD, he turns on with ducks. I've got nothing against birds, these days, but if ducks are what he wants, ducks are what he gets. Okay?"
She gave me her crooked smile again. "Okay. Two weeks. I'll try to be presentable by that time… Oh, Matt."
"Yes."
"I shouldn't ask, but I did work on it, and I feel I deserve… I mean, after all, it almost got me killed. Just what is the Northwest Coastal System, anyway?"
I put a stern look on my face. "Do you have a need to know, Miss Bush?" I asked and grinned as she stuck out her tongue at me.
Then I stopped grinning and her face grew serious and we studied each other for a long moment, knowing exactly why we'd been brought together like this: two agents, male and female, after a tough assignment. It was Mac's idea of safe rest and rehabilitation for both of us- simpler, cheaper, and less obvious than turning the wigpickers loose on us; and more effective if it worked.
It worked.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-b50406-35e0-2344-c7a2-3d7c-e2a6-947d9e
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 25.01.2011
Created using: Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6 software
Document authors :
About
This file was generated by Lord KiRon's FB2EPUB converter version 1.1.5.0.
(This book might contain copyrighted material, author of the converter bears no responsibility for it's usage)
Этот файл создан при помощи конвертера FB2EPUB версии 1.1.5.0 написанного Lord KiRon.
(Эта книга может содержать материал который защищен авторским правом, автор конвертера не несет ответственности за его использование)
http://www.fb2epub.net
https://code.google.com/p/fb2epub/