"Or what, Eric?"
"Or they're not delusions. He's got reason to think he'll have support higher up, even in murder. Of course, he wouldn't call it murder, would he? He'd figure out some good disciplinary reason. What excuse is he using in my case, sir?"
The voice on the phone sounded distant and very tired. "I don't know," it said softly. "I just don't know. Of course, we've never been a very popular agency. Probably he's afraid of us after the way we upset his plans a couple of years ago; he's making certain it doesn't happen again. We've already lost several good agents for bureaucratic or security reasons. He has scrutinized the files very carefully and taken advantage of every slight irregularity. I didn't realize what was happening in the field. I was aware that some of our people were failing to report on schedule, but this often happens. I didn't realize. . ." His voice trailed off.
I said, "Well, you'd better pass the word for the boys and girls to take cover until the storm blows over."
"I wish I could be optimistic enough to think it will," he said wearily. "But the political situation here in Washington is very tense. All kinds of people are recommending all kinds of violent and repressive measures to deal with people and movements they don't like. Leonard is apparently just taking advantage of the general climate of opinion to move himself into a position of real power. Since he sees us as an obstacle, I'm afraid his intention is to decimate us to the last man on one excuse or another. What the original reason was in your case, I have no idea, but now that three government employees have died at your hands. . . ." He stopped and was silent for several seconds. I waited. At last he went on, rather uncertainly, "I-I just don't know, Eric. Maybe . . . I think you'd better come in and we'll see what can be done to clear up the situation. In fact, that's an order. I still have a few resources
I said, "The hell with that, sir. With all due respect, I doubt that I'd live ten minutes if these characters caught me inside four walls. But obviously Leonard doesn't want publicity for what he's doing. That gives me a slight edge. You go ahead and see what you can accomplish at your end, sir, but I'll keep on here as originally planned." I waited, but he didn't speak. 1 drew a long breath, and put some crude arrogance into my voice. "Oh, and tell our white-haired Herbie-boy that he'd better call up his first team if he's got one. The stuff he's been sending at me so far has been kind of pitiful, like swatting a bunch of sick flies."
Hanging up without waiting for a response, I expected the girl to jump me at once and tell me again what a horrible man I was, but she was silent all the way back to the car and until we got going on the highway once more. Even then, she wasn't her usual critical self at first.
What she said, as the car gathered speed, was, "He-he sounded so old. So old and tired, Mr. Helm."
"He's in a bad spot," I said.
With some of her former spirit, she said sharply, "And you didn't make it any better, demanding that he forward your crude message of defiance."
"Wake up, doll," I said. "Nobody needs to forward anything. Mac and I were both talking for public consumption. There's not a chance in the world that line wasn't bugged." 1 shook my head irritably. "I was just trying to take the heat off him, Borden. The tape will show that I was instructed to come in and refused, in my usual high-handed and arrogant manner. Mac can't be held responsible if an agent deliberately disobeys an order, can he? That's presumably why he gave it, and that's certainly why I said what I did. Okay?"
She glanced at me and looked away. "Maybe I was wrong. If so, I'm sorry. But if you knew you'd be overheard, why did you call at all?"
"So they'd know where their boys were and get out there and rake them up before the police found them. One complication nobody wants is cops."
"I can't believe all this is really happening! The head of a government agency ordering men out to kill his own people!"
"It's not the first time," I said. "The spook shops have always been dangerous to cross.
They've got a tremendous amount of power and, since their operations are secret, very few real restraints. But you're missing the point. The point is that we're not Herbert Leonard's people, and he knows we'll never be, from Mac right on down to the lowest filing clerk in the outer office. He can gain control of the big, sprawling organizations by the usual bureaucratic procedures, because there's seldom much personal loyalty involved there, but he knows he'll never really take over a small, specialized, one-man agency like ours. We'll always be Mac's people, not his; and apparently he doesn't trust Mac to go along with his grandiose political plans-I, don't know what they are, yet, but if they're Leonard's they're bound to be grandiose."
"But," she protested, "but he's in charge! He could just -just fire you all, couldn't he? He doesn't have to shoot you!"
I grinned. "Sweetheart, you're forgetting a little thing called civil service. There's also the question of publicity; if he just up and cans us all, somebody may ask why. But you have spotted the really interesting angle: the fact that he feels he has to do it this way. I figure that means he's up to something pretty nefarious of which Mac would disapprove. He wants to make certain that, when the chips are down, Mac doesn't have the power-meaning the live, armed agents-to implement his disapproval in a practical way." I made a wry face. "Hell, the farther we go, the wilder it gets. Well, maybe Lorna has some answers we don't."
I sent the big station wagon through Tucson, easing westward cautiously, watching the mirrors. Nothing significant showed. I risked stopping at a drive-in for hamburgers, stalling, waiting for total darkness. Then I drove the rig out into the desert again, on the other side of town this time, gradually working my way on small back roads farther and farther out from civilization.
"Where are we going now?" Martha asked at last.
"To the ranch, of course," I said. "Hell, a lady's waiting for us there, isn't she?"
"But-"
I said, "Don't worry. We won't try the front door this time. Did you ever hear of a hideout that didn't have a secret escape hatch somewhere? . . . That's our turnoff, right there, but I'd better leave the boat around the bend, up the arroyo. As I remember, it gets rough from here. Be prepared to do some digging if we bog down."
We didn't. The sand of the arroyo was nice and firm, and I got the boat backed out of sight.
I got out, unfastened the hitch, the safety chains, and the electrical connection, and cranked down the jack to take the weight of the trailer tongue. Then I gave the fiberglass flank of the boat an affectionate pat, to tell the little vessel that I wasn't deserting it in this desolate spot: I'd be back. I mean, hell, I knew it was only metal and plastic, but did it know? Some day my life might again depend on an extra, willing, loyal knot or two of speed.
We got back into the car, found the side road I'd glimpsed in the headlights, and started down a track that had seen no traffic since the last rain, whenever that night have been.
Presently I switched off the lights. It was a long, slow, rough ride in the dark, with brush squealing and scraping along the sides of the big station wagon in the tighter spots and the trailer hitch smacking bottom as we crossed the deeper gullies. I passed the right landmarks, but they seemed much farther apart than when I'd been shown this trail in daylight, years ago. At last the odometer showed the right mileage. I stopped, got the wagon turned around, and cut the engine. Getting out, I gave the oversized vehicle a reassuring slap on the hood, telling it not to get lonely.
"Come on, Borden," I whispered. "There's a flashlight in the glove compartment. Bring it along. Don't slam the door. Leave it open."
She came around the car to me. "You're weird," she whispered, as we moved off together.
"You're really weird, Helm! You kill people, and then you pat a hunk of machinery on the nose as if.. . as if it was a horse or a dog or something. As if you really liked it!"
"Like it?" I said. "Hell, I think it's a miserable, sluggish, overstyled gas hog, but I wouldn't dream of hurting its feelings by telling it so. And I don't want it to worry while I'm gone,
either. I mean, it might get mad and refuse to start when we get back." I saw her glance at me sharply in the darkness, to see if I was serious. I grinned and stopped grinning. "That's enough talking. Watch where you're putting your feet. We're getting close."
Suddenly the fence was right in front of us. It was an impressive thing, all right, even in the dark, topped with barbed wire and equipped with enough warning devices- I knew, although they weren't readily visible-to protect those inside against anything but an open tank attack or inside treachery. But in our line of business we try to think of all contingencies, and no experienced agent is going to put himself into a place, even a forty-thousand-acre place, that he can't slip out of secretly if necessary.
I took the flashlight from the girl and, after some careful consideration, aimed it at a bush that was out of range of the TV monitor I'd seen on my long-ago tour of inspection. Hoping the installation hadn't been changed in the years that had passed-I should have been told, but that didn't necessarily mean I would have been-I pressed the button for three long flashes. I paused, gave two short squirts of light, and stuck the torch, as our British friends call it, into my pocket.
Then I waited. I guess I was expecting something to go wrong: alarms to ring, searchlights to glare, savage hounds to come baying along the wire. Nothing of the sort happened. There was merely a soft rustle in the brush off to the right.
A woman's voice whispered, "Give me a word, whoever you are."
"Would Ragnarok do?" I asked.
"No, but you're close. Try some other Armageddon."
"How about Gotterdämmerung?"
A slim figure in pants stood up, brushed the dust off her clothes, and came forward. "I hope you've got some water," the low voice said. "Or ice-cold beer for a preference. God, this is a miserable dry country to hide out hi!"
Chapter IX
There was a water jug in the car-in that part of the country, it's standard 'auto equipment, along with a shovel-but we had to wait until we got back to the boat and its built-in icebox, which I had replenished in San Carlos, before we could supply the beer. While the fugitive was quenching the remainder of her thirst with Carta Blanca, I hitched up the rig. Then I came forward once more, reached behind the front seat of the wagon, and produced a paper bag which I handed him.
"There's a hamburger," I said. "Cold, but better than nothing. I figured you might be hungry. But you'd better eat while we drive; I'd like to get as far from here as possible as fast as possible."
"Yes, of course. You didn't think to bring me any clothes?"
I'd thought it pretty damn considerate of me to buy an extra hamburger.
I said, "We've been a little too busy to go shopping, lady. We practically had to fight our way in here tooth and nail. Two men died that you might live. I considered it a pretty good trade at the time, but I could change my mind."
The woman laughed softly in the darkness. "I'm very sorry; I apologize. It was sweet of you to think of the hamburger. I'll take the back seat; I'm too dirty to associate with civilized people. Before we start, is there any more of that wonderful Mexican beer?" As I was getting the station wagon rolling, starting up very cautiously so the rear wheels wouldn't dig down into the sand of the arroyo, her voice came from behind me: "Oh, I almost forgot. I know we should get out of here, but there's something. .. . What are our chances of sneaking up to the front gate; and have you got any night glasses?"
"I've got a pretty good pair of seven-by-fifties," I said. "But as for the front gate, if the guards are doing any kind of a job, we haven't got a chance in the world of getting through-"
"I didn't say through, I said to. Just close enough for you to get a good look with your binoculars. There's been a sort of conference at the ranch. It should be breaking up about now, judging by what I overheard, and I think you might be interested in identifying one or two of the participants as they drive out."
I glanced at her over my shoulder. Even in the gloom of the car, she didn't look much like the well-groomed lady agent with whom I'd expected to make contact. She looked more like a great white huntress after a tough safari; the general impression was one of soiled khakis, sunburned skin, and stringy hair.
"How long have you been hiding out back there?" I asked.
"Two days. I didn't really expect you for another day or two; and I wouldn't have taken off so early with just a two-quart canteen and a couple of candy bars if I hadn't been warned. . . . You remember Jake Lister?"
"The orthopedic man at the ranch?" The rig was picking up speed now on a solid gravel road. "Sure, I remember Dr. Jake. Always thinking up fancy new exercises to inflict on his victims-excuse me, patients. Aside from that, he's a good man. What about him?"
"Well," said Lorna dryly, "apparently Dr. Stern has been happily playing director in his usual trusting and democratic fashion, calling all the help by their first names and insisting they call him Tom. However, Dr. Jake's had a few reservations about some of the people hired lately, in spite of their glowing recommendations and iron-clad security clearances. Maybe being black tends to shake a man's innocent faith in all humanity. Anyway, Dr. Jake got word somehow that things were about to blow, and he tipped me off, since I was the only senior agent in residence at the moment. I just had time to change into something durable and grab a few basic supplies and get away. The enemy was closing in with inside help as I sneaked out. There was some shooting. I waited to see if Lister or Stern or somebody would make it clear, but nobody came."
There was a little silence. At last I asked, "What about this conference you mentioned?"
"That happened the next night, last night. Nobody seemed to be chasing me, or even to know I was missing, so I took a chance-I didn't figure you'd be that early, and if you were you could wait-and circled back after lying in the shade of a rock all day with a friendly Gila monster for company. I took up a position on the mesa south of the main ranch buildings and watched. Everything seemed quiet, but the guards weren't our guards any longer. Right after dark, a couple of cars came in. They got the VIP treatment from the help, so I figured it was worth risking a closer look. I made my way down there and crawled to where I could watch the long porch outside the living room, figuring somebody interesting might step out for a breath of fresh, unairconditioned oxygen-"
I said, "Around these parts, that porch is known as a portal, ma'am. Accent on the last syllable."
"All right, portal. Anyway, pretty soon, out came guess who?"
There was only one logical answer, considering everything. I said, "A smart political operator who considers himself an intelligence expert, named Herbert Leonard."
"How did you know?" The woman in back sounded disappointed.
"I called Washington today," I said. "I've been kind of out of touch down in Mexico. I was told Herbie'd taken over practically the whole intelligence community in some kind of a fancy power play backed by strong political influence, exact source unknown."
"Yes, of course. Well, Leonard must have learned of the existence of the ranch somehow, and decided that a secret, well-protected installation like that was just the headquarters he needed for his political intrigues. But 1 bet you can't guess the name of the person to whom he was talking."
"Since you put it like that, I won't even try."
"If I said the lady was an elected representative of the US people, with strange political notions and strong presidential ambitions, would that help?"
I whistled softly. "You mean the senatress, herself?"
"I mean the lady senator from Wyoming, the first state to give women the vote." The voice from the back seat was dry. "I mean the gray-haired, motherly old bag who's been giving all women's rights movements a bad name, after they helped elect her, by associating herself with various sinister groups she apparently thinks will help her become the first lady president of the United States. Senator Ellen Love, in her standard costume of dowdy print dress and gold-rimmed glasses, and whether she's a naïve little old lady victimized by a lot of sharp o
perators, or a pious fraud, doesn't really matter. The final result is the same. I want you to see her for yourself, holding hands with Herbert Leonard, so that if anything happens to me you won't start wondering if maybe I wasn't having hallucinations in the heat."
I didn't try to bring the car near the vantage point I selected, from my memories of the terrain, as the most suitable observation post. For one thing, no road ran close to the spot and I didn't figure the big station wagon was up to any cross-country jeep antics. For another, even if we could have made it, here at the front of the ranch there were more guards, and probably more alert guards, than at the rear, and one of them might hear the sound of the engine. I settled for a two-mile midnight hike.
My two companions made no complaints as we picked our way across the desert, climbing gradually. I just heard an occasional stifled gasp as one of them encountered a cactus in the dark. I met a few sharp thorns myself. Then we were on the ridge overlooking the broad, shallow valley, rising and narrowing to the left. A dirt road ran up the valley and entered the ranch through a gate below us.
There was no guard house or sentry box. Here, it was just an ordinary-looking, padlocked ranch gate in a ranch fence that was just a little higher and sturdier than usual- the kind of fence a rich sportsman might put up who'd stocked his place with exotic game-but if you approached and tried to open it in the wrong manner, or if somebody had passed the wrong word about you or neglected to pass the right one, you'd find yourself subjected to an accurate crossfire from two neighboring elevations. At least that was the way it had been before Leonard took over, and while he'd undoubtedly changed the personnel, it seemed unlikely that he'd made much change in the security procedures on such short notice.
Hamilton, Donald - Matt Helm 14 Page 6
