Priscilla's eyes were narrow. "Are you threatening me?"
I grinned without humor. "You're goddamn right I'm threatening you! Just take your choice. Either we're working on this job together, or I'm working on it alone and you're working against me. Just so I know. There isn't really room for any stupid interdepartmental feuds, but if you want one, I'll give it to you in spades. If so, just tell me: would you rather have the remains shipped to Leonard in Washington, or is the local cemetery satisfactory?"
She looked at me hard for a moment, with anger burning brightly in her eyes. Then she picked up her glass and drank. When she looked at me again, the anger was gone-well, gone or skillfully concealed.
"Okay, Matt," she said quietly. "Okay, you've made your point. And of course you're right. We've been instructed not to like you, and to conduct ourselves accordingly."
I said, "Jesus Christ, are you working for your country or just helping some jerk in Washington play musical chairs?"
"I know," she said. "I know how you feel, and I feel the same way. But after all, he is my boss." She shrugged and held out her hand. "But let's call it a truce, just between you and me, Matt."
"Sure."
I took her hand, which was small and firm, and looked into her eyes which were warm and friendly now. They almost made me ashamed of my boorish outburst-which was, of course, exactly what they were supposed to do.
I grinned, and flipped my fingertips lightly across the front of her skimpy jersey. "You can help me decide a bet with myself," I said. "Is it Kleenex or compressed air?"
She laughed. "What makes you think they aren't genuine, sir? Oh, of course, you saw me without them, didn't you? I was really a rather naпve and underdeveloped little girl in Mazatlбn, wasn't I?"
"What's the theory behind this getup?"
"Don't be obtuse. We'd like the inside track with Seсor Solana, naturally. And Mexican gentlemen, even very respectable Mexican gentlemen, make a kind of cult of virility, and seldom turn down an obvious challenge."
I grinned. "Well, you're obvious enough. Is it working?"
"Don't rush me. After all, I just got out of jail, changed my clothes and hairdo, and came racing up to the border to meet Solana and thank him for interceding in my behalf. That was when the news of the latest incident came through. He wasn't really planning to bring along a U.S. observer on this trip, but he did. So I guess you can say it's working pretty well, even though I haven't had time to get myself seduced yet."
"Have you been out to the scene of the interplanetary crime?"
"Of course not. We just drove in a few minutes ahead of you, remember? But Solana's promised to take me as soon as he's gone through some formalities with the local authorities."
I said, "It would be nice if you got me and my camera girl included in the invitation."
"Is that what she is?" Priscilla made a face. "Well, I don't know why I should do your snooty blonde any favors. And I'm not nice, particularly not to large bullying gents who threaten to kill me." She laughed at my expression. "Au right, Matt. I'll see what I can do." She hesitated, and went on: "Don't tell Mr. Leonard, but I'm really kind of glad you're here. This job could get too big for one girl to handle alone. Solana seems to think things are coming to a head fast. Whatever we do, it had better get done in the next day or two."
"Sure," I said. "Well, I'm probably supposed to try to beat you to whatever it is and grab all the credit for my team, but under the circumstances I think we can work out a compromise if you're willing. Let's first take care of the heavies from heaven, and worry about the characters in Washington later."
"It's a deal," she said. "And I will talk to Solana, I promise."
15
SHE WAS AS good as her word. I'd barely had time to get back to the room and wash my face and dig a windbreaker out of my suitcase and tell Carol as much as was good for her to know when there was a knock on the door. I opened it, and there was Seсor Ramуn Solana-Ruiz, dressed pretty much as I'd first seen him, in his business suit, white shirt, and tie.
His shoes were polished to a luster that was quite commendable, considering the dusty surroundings. As a concession to the desert, however, he'd added a pair of sunglasses to his outfit-or perhaps he just liked the slightly sinister look the big, dark, curving lenses gave to his handsome Latin face. He bowed ceremoniously when I introduced him to Carol.
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Lujan."
"You're very kind to let us come along," Carol said. "Will I be allowed to take some pictures, Mr. Solana?"
"By all means. Do you have much equipment? Perhaps you would prefer to follow in your car so you will be less crowded. We will go first to the hotel in town, if you do not mind. I want to question the surviving victim, a Mr. Gregory Henderson, from Los Angeles, California. He came down here to fish over the weekend, I understand."
"Was he badly hurt?"
"No, apparently he just received some minor burns when he tried to rescue his wife, who died in the fire, but of course the experience was a great shock to him. We will talk with him first, and then we will drive out to examine what is left of his vehicle and camper-that is the name given to those housekeeping units designed for mounting on trucks, is it not? Then, if you wish, you may accompany us to view the body, although I am told it is not a pleasant sight."
Carol winced, but said bravely, "I'd better cover everything while I have the chance. You never know what shots those crazy people in New York are going to want. Let me get some things together. I won't be a moment."
Solana watched her move away across the room. In spite of the impenetrable glasses that masked his face, it was clear that he was favorably impressed-and she did look kind of nice in her crisp safari suit, with a high-necked white sweater replacing, for warmth, the thin blouse she'd worn earlier. When she straightened up, loaded with gear, he hurried forward to help her carry the stuff out to the station wagon.
I followed behind them, and spotted Priscilla Decker waiting by the cars. "Maybe you should have stuck to your nice-girl routine," I said to her with a grin. "Maybe obvious challenges aren't what turn Mr. Solana on."
Priscilla laughed. "That's all right. He can carry her cameras all he wants, just so it's my fanny he pinches." She shivered slightly, and started to put her arms into the sleeves of the quilted jacket she'd been wearing over her shoulders like a cape. "My God, that wind is like ice! And here I thought I was coming to another tropical paradise like Mazatlбn!"
I helped her on with the jacket, which looked like a stray from the ski slopes. It was the same lavender, or orchid, color as her skintight pants.
"And I was congratulating myself on finally having promoted a car with air-conditioning," I said wryly. "Incidentally, thanks."
"You see, I keep my promises," Priscilla said. "I hope you do, too… partner."
Puerto Peсasco proper turned out to be a much smaller and more primitive community than Mazatlбn, with narrow, twisting, unpaved streets fighting their way through cracks between the mud houses. The adults didn't look very prosperous; and dirty, barefoot kids were everywhere. I reminded myself that shoes and baths are not really essential to a child's happiness; as a boy, I'd avoided them myself whenever possible.
The hotel, in the center of town, was a rather impressive stone building. Even the interior walls were stone, so that the hallway down which we were led resembled a tunnel through a mountain of masonry. A man in khakis was waiting for us. He had a holstered automatic pistol at his hip. He ushered us into Gregory Henderson's room, and left us there, returning to his post outside.
The small room, with its heavy stone walls, had the atmosphere of a cave, or a monastic cell, but the occupant was obviously no hermit or monk. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing cheap, gaudy pajamas that had presumably been obtained for him locally. His hands were bandaged, and his face had an odd, pink, staring look: apparently he'd managed to scorch the skin a bit and burn off most of his eyebrows and lashes.
&
nbsp; He was a young man in his middle twenties with an unfortunate resemblance to another young man I'd met recently: the streaky-blond beach-boy character calling himself Tony Hartford, who'd got himself shot by Harsek. The young man on the bed didn't really look much like Tony, being bigger and darker, but he did have something of the same self-conscious, hair-combing, mirror-watching good looks, only slightly marred by fire. I was surprised that he'd been brave enough to get himself burned at all, but then I'm prejudiced against the species. After all, Tony had apparently been brave enough to get himself shot. I don't suppose there's any real reason to think a man must lack courage because he fusses with his hair.
Henderson did it now, smoothing down his wavy dark locks automatically as he rose and reached for a cotton robe on a nearby chair, and stuck his feet into a pair of huaraches that looked very stiff and new.
"Maybe you can tell me when I'm going to get some clothes to wear," he said aggressively to Solana. "All my stuff was burned, you know. Your people here keep promising to scrounge me up something, but it's been a typical maсana operation so far. Always clothes tomorrow, never clothes today. I'm getting damn tired of lying around in pajamas, particularly these pajamas. My God, they're so loud they keep me awake when I try to take a nap!"
Solana said smoothly, "The haberdashery facilities of Puerto Peсasco are rather limited, Seсor, but I will see what I can do. I hope you are feeling better."
"I'm all right. What do you want, and who are all those characters? I'm beginning to feel like a monkey in a zoo."
"I apologize for the intrusion. Mrs. Lujan, Miss Decker, Mr. Helm, Mr. Henderson. Mrs. Lujan is a magazine photographer, Seсor. She would like some pictures, if you don't mind, but first I would like you to tell us what happened last night."
"I've already told your boys "I have read the report of the local authorities, Seсor. However, there were certain language difficulties, were there not? I would prefer to hear it from you, so I can be sure there are no errors of translation. The incident took place in the evening, just after dark, did it not?"
"That's right. We'd been out fishing-we'd trailered our boat down here from L.A.-and we came in late. Edie warmed us up something for dinner…
"That is your wife, Mrs. Edith Henderson?"
"That's right. Except you're using the wrong tense, aren't you?" Henderson's voice was bitter. "Whatever kind of things you've got flying around down here, they fixed Edie, damn them! They almost fixed me, too."
"They? You saw more than one flying object?"
Henderson drew a long breath. "No. I guess I was well, hamming it up a bit. There was only the one. That was enough. That was plenty!"
"Please tell us what happened."
"Sure. Edie was doing the dishes. She told me the garbage can was full, would I empty it so we wouldn't have to smell it all night. I said sure, and took it out to where we'd dug a pit, out behind the camper. I dumped the can and was kicking some sand over the stuff when I… well, I just kind of felt this thing up there. I mean, it wasn't making any noise or anything, but I looked up and there It was, coming in from the east, inland. The sun was down by now, but the sky was still light, and I could see it plainly, kind of in silhouette, if you know what I mean."
Solana said, "Can you give us a description?"
Henderson shrugged. "Like I say, it was just a silhouette, kind of flat and round with a dome thing on top, say like half a marble sitting on a fifty-cent piece. Well, the main hull, if that's what you call it, was thicker than that and kind of tapering towards the edges, but that's the general idea."
"Were there any markings you could see, Seсor?"
"No." Henderson shook his head positively. "It just looked black to me, against the sky. I couldn't tell you the color, or markings, or anything like that."
"And it made no sound?"
"That's right. I started back towards the camper to call Edie out so she could see it, and then I realized it was coming straight at me, getting bigger by the second. It was fast as hell; it was on top of me before I knew it. I thought it was going to hit me, and I threw myself face down in a little wash or arroyo. I don't mind telling you I was scared. Then there was a kind of whooshing noise, and all the heat in the world, and I scrambled up to see the camper burning. All I could think of was Edie, and I tried to get in to her, but I couldn't make it." He looked down at his bandaged hands. After a moment, he went on: "There was a little explosion inside and it set my clothes on fire. I had to throw myself down again and roll around to put it out, and while I was doing that, the whole thing blew like a bomb. Maybe it was the butane tanks letting go, or something. I don't know. I… I don't remember much else."
"Then you did not see the actual attack," Solana said after a little pause. "You cannot say what kind of weapon was used."
"No, I told you. I was flat on my face in the arroyo. If I'd thought Edie was in danger… But it came at me so fast, all I could think of was to duck."
Solana frowned. "Mr. Henderson, can you explain why this object picked your camp to attack?"
"Hell, no!" Henderson said. "Don't you think I haven't been wondering about that, myself? Of course, we were parked some distance from the rest of the camp. Like Edie used to say, you don't go camping to live in somebody else's pocket. At least we don't… well, didn't." His face was angry. "And now maybe you can tell me just what the hell is going on around here. And just what the hell are you doing to stop it? If innocent American tourists can't come to Sonora for a weekend of fishing without being attacked by mysterious gizmos from the sky-"
"Mr. Henderson, we are doing our best to deal with the problem," Solana said smoothly. "And in the meantime I will make sure that you are supplied with suitable clothes as soon as possible. Now, if you are willing, Mrs. Lujan would like to get a few photographs."
We didn't actually have to twist his arm. In fact, despite his shock and grief, we had a hard time getting out of there with some film left unexposed. He wasn't exactly camera-shy, is what I'm trying to say.
Outside again, we followed Solana's eyeless Oldsmobile out of town. It had a big, blunt rear end derived from current racing practice: the two-hundred-mph boys have discovered some aerodynamic reason for sawing their cars off short these days, and Detroit has climbed right on the bandwagon. Well, it beats the fins we had waving behind us a few years back.
The campground was a few miles north of Puerto Peсasco. It was reached by an unpaved road through the coastal dunes that gave us no real difficulties; but I had a hunch it was no place to stray from the beaten track without a jeep or beach buggy. The place was called Bahia Choya, and it turned out to be a crowded community of pickup campers and house trailers- excuse me, mobile homes-situated on a blue, sheltered bay diagonally across which, far to the north, could be seen the shimmering white sands of what I guessed to be the real desert, the gran desierto at the head of the Gulf of California.
The bay itself was pretty enough, for that barren coast. The campground was something else again, cluttered and trashy. I have the old-fashioned notion that camping is something you do to get away from the crowd, and I could sympathize with the late Edith Henderson for preferring a location away from this outdoor slum.
We spotted the remains of the burned-out rig a short distance back in the dunes, and left the cars at the edge of the solid road, and went in on foot. The fact that Henderson's truck had made it didn't guarantee that our low-clearance passenger vehicles wouldn't bog down in the soft stuff. It had been quite an outfit, I saw; not just one of those little metal cabs you slip onto the ranch pickup after you've finished hauling hay to the horses, but a real traveling cottage mounted permanently on a one-ton chassis.
The interior of the camper unit was pretty well gutted, and the explosion had blown out the roof, door, and windows, and bulged the walls, leaving the blackened bed, stove, and refrigerator, and the half-consumed plywood cabinets, staring at the sky. I walked up thoughtfully and ran my finger along the ribbed aluminum of the side, where it wa
s still bright and shiny. I was aware that Solana had come up beside me. His expression was masked by the large, dark glasses-shades, as we hippies call them.
"What is your opinion, Seсor Helm?"
"Where was the body found?" I asked.
"On the bed." I said, "Those little men from outer space are real ingenious, aren't they?"
"SI, Seсor. That is my thought. What conclusions do you draw?"
"I'm no detective, and if I were, I wouldn't admit it here." I threw a glance towards Carol, busy with her cameras. "To her, I'm just an innocent bystander, an old friend coming along for the ride. At least that's the idea I'm supposed to be selling her."
"I will keep it in mind. As an old friend, do you mind if I ask her to have dinner with me?"
I glanced at him quickly. "You're a fast worker, amigo."
"I haven't asked yet."
"Go ahead," I said. "I'll solace myself with the lady in lavender. If you don't mind."
"Of course not." He smiled. "Tastes differ, Seсor. Personally, I find American women in tight trousers rather unattractive. I merely gave her transportation as a matter of international courtesy."
It was a good joke on Priscilla, after the pains to which she'd gone to render herself seductive, but I kept my face straight, and switched the conversation back to business: "Do you have a medical report on the body?"
"Not yet," Solana said. "The medical facilities here are limited, but I had a specialist flown in. I had a feeling we might need him. He is working on it now. He has instructions to be very thorough. I'm afraid we have not been investigating certain aspects of these phenomena quite as carefully as we should have. Perhaps we have taken too much for granted." He glanced at his watch. "The doctor should be finished by the time we get back to town. I do not think there is anything else for us to learn here. I will see if Mrs. Lujan has all the pictures she wants."
The Menacers mh-11 Page 10
