The Retaliators

by Donald Hamilton

  "Sure. Great work. Did he tell you anything interesting about his associates on the job?"

  "Oh, yes. He told us about you—the backup man, he called you—and the girl he was working with; only she escaped into Mexico before we could pick her up. Not very reticent, your friend Salter."

  "We're permitted to use any information we have any way we think may earn us a break, except in special cases, when we're given a death capsule with orders to take it if capture is imminent. Don't sneer at a dead man when you don't know the rules he was playing under."

  Kotis swallowed. "Sorry."

  "What about the girl? You say she got away from you?"

  "Yes, she made it over the border before we could arrest her. Code name Norma, Salter told us. Real name Virginia Dominguez. Miss Dominguez has twenty thousand dollars to explain. Of course, Groening had already told us about her; we just asked Salter as a check on the information we had."

  I said, "Norma had better get in touch with Women's Lib. Here we male chauvinist pigs wind up with forty grand apiece and she's stuck with a lousy twenty. I suppose that, just like Roger and me, she was stupid enough to put it into the bank under her own name."

  "The description of the depositor—"

  "How many pretty, dark-haired, dark-eyed little girls are there in this part of the world who'd run an errand like that for a twenty-dollar bill and ask no questions afterwards?" I shook my head. "Hell, if you close your eyes and throw three rocks across the Plaza in Santa Fe, at least one is bound to hit a sexy brunette named Salazar or Montoya or Martinez or Dominguez. Just like you can hardly pitch a pebble across a California surfing beach without bruising a tanned and handsome fellow who looks pretty much like Roger—well, like Roger did."

  "Helm, you're being ridiculous!" Kotis said. "You can't really expect to convince us that somebody not only spent a total of a hundred thousand dollars just to frame you and your two associates, but also went to the trouble of finding two men and a woman to impersonate you."

  Well, it was the reaction I'd expected, wasn't it? I said patiently: "Have you read a description of our friend Ernemann? Six feet three, blue eyes. Does that put you in mind of anybody you've encountered recently, Mr. Kotis?" I shook my head again. "Never mind. Just stick it on the back burner and let it simmer. In the meantime, I'm going off to one side to hold a consultation with the lady. Subject: the future, if any, of Mr. Gregory Kotis." I reached down to pick up the empty revolver he'd dropped. "Do you keep any refills around for this toy?"

  He hesitated. "There's a box in the glove compartment of my car."

  I reached in and got it. He made no effort to take advantage of the distraction. Straightening up, I said, "You've got a choice. You can stand right here or you can run like hell. I'll just point out that I'm a top-notch tracker and a red-hot pistolero. Also, I know this country like the palm of my hand; I used to live out here. But if you think you can beat those odds, you're welcome to try.... This way, ma'am."

  As we walked away, I reloaded the two firearms from Kotis's supply. His weapon was a Colt .38 Special, the same caliber as the Smith and Wesson I carried, but with the cylinder drilled for six holes instead of five. Clarissa, walking beside me, was brushing the last traces of dust from her yellow hat and putting it back on. I realized that the floppy hat, like the rest of her stylish pants outfit, was actually constructed of corduroy. Back when I was a kid, this was considered very low-class material, on a par with poor-folks' denim; but any day now I expect to see them making glamorous evening gowns of burlap and canvas—maybe they already have. Kotis, I noted, was standing motionless where he'd been left.

  Clarissa looked that way, and back to me. "You seem to have impressed him. But I wouldn't say modesty was your greatest virtue, Mr. Helm."

  I grinned. "Hell, I've only been up in these particular hills once before in my life, I'm a pretty fair rifle shot but I'm only mediocre with a pistol, and any Apache off the reservation can track rings around me. But I didn't have to tell him that, did I?" I stopped grinning. "Here."

  She drew back from Kotis's freshly loaded revolver as I held it out. "What... what's that for?"

  "If you want him, he's yours. I owe you that much for being careless and leading him to you. Anyway, Roger was just kind of an associate of mine; he was your brother."

  "You mean... you mean you want me to kill that man?"

  I said, "Frankly, I'd rather keep him alive, Mrs. O. I have a use for him alive; that's why I went to all this trouble to capture him. But alive he can talk. That doesn't bother me. He knows nothing about me the rest of his gang doesn't know or can't find out. It's different with you. Unless they've done some fast investigating of Roger's family, they don't even know you exist. Certainly they don't know you're anywhere in this neighborhood, and they can't prove you've had anything to do with me. This boy does and can. He can put the finger on you. Give it some thought, Mrs. O. I may be able to keep you clear if Kotis is silenced. If he remains alive he'll eventually blow the whistle on you. There's a way of stopping that. Right here."

  She was staring at me in the incredulous way they do when you start applying logic to life and death, and it comes up death. She licked her lips.

  "You must know I can't possibly... I can't even believe we're standing here talking like this. Why, it would be murder. No!"

  I said, "I got you into this. Well, all the way in. Now I'm showing you a way out. Don't blame me, later, because you didn't take it."

  She studied me for a moment. A faint smile touched her lips. "Mr. Helm, I think you're pulling my leg: the ruthless secret agent shocking the innocent little girl, and you certainly did shock me. But it was a put-on, wasn't it, Mr. Helm?"

  After a little, I grinned. "Well, kind of. But the main idea was to show you that the only reasonably foolproof way out of this for you is a way you can't take. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is. If you're ready to accept that, let's go."

  She hesitated. "Go where?"

  "Ernemann was heading for Mexico; he has a date with a Mexican general, Kotis tells us, even if the general may not know it yet. Roger was about to cross the border when they picked him up. Norma is known to have slipped into Mexico. Obviously, that's where the action is, so that's where I'm going. And since your tender heart condemns us to turning Kotis loose eventually to shoot off his mouth about you, just about your only way of working your way clear of this now is to stick with me and help me find out just who's doing what to whom. Okay?"

  She drew a long breath. "Okay, Mr. Helm."

  We walked back to the neatly dressed young man waiting by the cars. Eight hours later we were closing in on Douglas, Arizona.

  seven

  You can't miss Douglas. Nobody can miss Douglas. They mine copper down there along the border, and the high, white smoke plumes from the smelters are visible long before you come through the last mountain range, which doesn't amount to much, and see the town ahead.

  We'd left the Lincoln and the Volkswagen standing where they'd stopped back in the New Mexico hills, much to Clarissa's distress. There would have been certain advantages to taking her car—mainly that it wasn't known and my truck was, or would be as soon as Euler's boys did their homework—but I didn't think it would make a great deal of difference. Even before Andrew Euler took it over, the Bureau of Internal Security hadn't been noted for cooperating with local authorities. Jealous as Euler was of his prerogatives, I didn't think I had to worry much about state policemen or all-points bulletins. He'd want to catch me himself; he'd inform the local law only when he was ready to try me for treason, or bury me.

  As for the carryall, Mexico is a country where a rugged vehicle often comes in handy. Anyway, I'd just paid big money for the beast; I wasn't going to leave it behind to be impounded as evidence or whatever. My experience has been that whenever the government, God bless it, gets hold of your property, for any reason, you play hell getting it back.

  The border-crossing closest to Santa Fe is the big El Paso-Juarez installation
due south, with the little one at nearby Columbus, New Mexico, not much if any farther. The trouble with these two escape hatches, from my point of view, was very simple: you can't get there from there. They both put you on Mexican highways leading south or east. To get west, without first driving halfway down to Mexico City, you've got to pick up their Highway #2, which originates in Agua Prieta, just opposite Douglas. I had to keep in mind that Roger had been apprehended in Yuma, in the far southwestern corner of Arizona. Even farther west, Norma had crossed from California into Mexico by way of Tijuana—about as far as you can go in that direction without getting your feet wet. Everything indicated that they'd planned a rendezvous out in Baja California, and if I was going to make contact with the girl, I'd better make a large try at getting out there and figuring out where.

  In the meantime, with the town of Douglas visible ahead, I turned off onto an unpaved side road, stopped the carryall, and got out and walked around it. I yanked open the rear door on Clarissa's side, pulled a handsome fringed blanket—we'd swiped it from the Lincoln—off the shapeless object lying there, and hauled Kotis out to where he could sit up with a little help. He was taped like a mummy.

  "Hang on tight," I said. "This won't be fun." I freed a corner of the tape and removed his gag with a quick jerk. "Okay?"

  He worked his mouth around in his face until his lips regained some function. "Where are we?" he asked at last.

  "The metropolis under the smoke is Douglas, Arizona."

  "Arizona? That means we've crossed a state line. You know what the penalty for kidnaping is, Helm!"

  I grinned. "Sure. It's roughly the same as that for homicide, so I've got nothing to lose by shooting you dead, right?" I shook my head sadly. "Anyway, what's this nonsense about kidnaping? You're a prisoner in Federal custody.... Aw, shucks, I forgot to arrest you, didn't I? Gregory Kotis, by the powers vested in me by the United States of America, I hereby place you under arrest as accessory to the murder of a U.S. officer, one John Salter, engaged in the performance of his official duties."

  "But you can't do that!" Kotis said, aghast. "I mean, you people aren't empowered... our authority supersedes..."

  I gave him my mean grin again. "If we don't watch out, we'll sound like a couple of kids saying my dad can lick your dad. Empowered or not, I've seen very few authorities superseding a .38 Special. Don't make any mistakes, Kotis. Your authority means absolutely nothing to me. The same goes for Mr. Euler's authority. As far as I'm concerned, you Security people are nothing but dangerous nuisances. My job at the moment is to take over a certain assignment from the man you arrested and shot down. In other words, I have work to do and I'm going to do it. And if you die in the process, or even Euler himself, it's just too goddamned bad. You boys should have been smart and stayed out of my hair. It's not my fault if people commit suicide, is it?"

  Kotis said angrily, "Now, listen, you arrogant—"

  "Easy!" I snapped. "Take it just a little easy, friend. Don't make it too hard for me to keep you alive. I'm trying to make allowances, remembering that I have information you don't have if you're a sincere and honest man. That, of course, remains to be proved."

  "What information?" he demanded.

  I said, "I'm reasonably certain that neither Roger nor Norma took money under the table to sell out their country. I know damned well I didn't. That makes you, Mr. Kotis, part of a gang of government thugs employing your special powers, and phony evidence, to railroad three innocent people, one of whom you've already killed. Of course, you may simply be misguided, letting yourselves be used by somebody wanting us out of the way who's rigged a fancy scheme based on your chief's well-known hatred for my chief. On the other hand, I'm not overlooking the possibility that you folks just got tired of waiting for us to make a security slip that would let you clobber us, and set up the frame yourselves—"

  "You can't believe that!" Kotis gasped. "I didn't... Mr. Euler wouldn't...!"

  "Maybe," I said. "But let me make a little bet with you, Kotis. I'll bet ten bucks, cash, that the guard in the hospital with a bullet in his skull was not shot with his own gun."

  Kotis frowned. "I... I don't understand. What are you driving at, Helm?"

  "Think about it," I said. "Sneak a look at the ballistics report some time. And after you've worked things out, I think you'll understand why I'm not about to let myself be arrested on the basis of your idiotic evidence. Roger submitted trustingly, as the rules require, knowing he was innocent and figuring he'd be able to prove it; now he's dead. Anybody who thinks I'm going to forget that little object lesson has got his head screwed on backwards. If you boys want me, you're going to have to take me. Roger cost you three or four men. I'm better than he was, if I do say so myself. I'm older, uglier, smarter, tougher, and meaner. The price is high, friend Kotis. How much blood are you willing to spill to get me? How much is your boss willing to spill?"

  Kotis started to speak and stopped, obviously convinced that he was dealing with a homicidal madman with delusions of grandeur. Fine. I had him in the proper mood. He wouldn't pull any grandstand plays under the impression that I was a normal human being who'd be normally reluctant to blow out a fellow-agent's brains.

  I said, "Now that we've got that clear, let's get the stickum off your wrists and ankles, after which you can flip up that back seat for me and get up front beside the lady.... Okay, Mrs. O'Hearn, you drive. It's an automatic shift. Works just like a Lincoln. Stop at the first filling station inside town. As I recall, there used to be a public phone..."

  The phone was still there. It was Ma Bell's newfangled equipment, the kind that just protects the instrument and to hell with the customer—I couldn't help wondering again what had happened to the old-fashioned notion that you're supposed to be nice to the folks who purchase your goods or services. I stood in front of it with Clarissa close on one side. Kotis was on the other, covered by my Smith and Wesson, hidden between our bodies. I wanted them both to hear what was said, as much as possible, to save me from having to go over it again.

  A familiar male voice spoke in the phone: "Yes, operator, I'll accept the charges."

  "Eric here, sir," I said.

  "Where are you, Matt?" So the emergency line was still bugged. Good.

  It was time for me to do my rabid-dog routine once more, this time for a larger audience. I made my voice sharp and nasty. "What's with this everlasting concern for geography, sir?" I demanded. "Never mind where the hell I am. Have you got your red pencil handy?"

  There was a little silence. "Report," said Mac's voice softly at last.

  "Scratch Agent Roger, the Adonis of the undercover services," I said harshly. "After arresting him in Yuma, our nonviolent colleague Euler's gentle disciples apparently took him somewhere and worked him over until he got mad enough to grab a gun; then they mowed him down. Nice, friendly, peace-loving chaps. I am happy to report that Roger did some mowing of his own. Three for-sures and one probable. Do you still advise me to surrender like a good boy, sir?"

  There was another silence, broken at last: "It is a... very regrettable incident. You may be sure it will be investigated very thoroughly. However, I am unable to change your instructions. You are still under orders to turn yourself in."

  I said, "Some orders! Hell, if you were any kind of chief for this monkey circus, you'd be out there finding out who rigged phony evidence against three of your people, instead of washing your hands of them and telling them to surrender to a BIS murder squad."

  "Matt, I'll hear no more such talk from an employee of this agency!" he said sharply. "I'm sure you must be misinformed. Mr. Euler undoubtedly has a good explanation of the unfortunate occurrence. Let's be honest, we both know that Roger, while a good agent, was sometimes... well, a bit impulsive and headstrong."

  I said, "Sure. And we both know that I'm a bit headstrong and impulsive, too, sometimes. Like right now. I've heard your instructions, sir. Now I'm giving you mine, for a switch. Can you reach Euler?"

  For all I knew, the hea
d of the Bureau of Internal Security was listening as we talked; certainly he'd be hearing tapes of the conversation shortly. However, I was not supposed to be aware of this, and Mac went along with the gag.

  "I can try, although he tends to be rather elusive. But—"

  "You'd better try hard, sir. Because if you don't, there's going to be one hell of a big, bloody, smoking mess on the Mexican border for you and Mr. Euler to explain to all the nice folks in Washington, D.C., and Mexido, D.F., I figure that, after missing me in Santa Fe, he had the border closed up tight. Well, I'm going through anyway."

  "Matt, be reasonable. You can't—"

  "Roger was reasonable, at least to start with, and he's dead," I said. "I'm not about to be reasonable, sir; it's too goddamned fatal. I'm going through. I'm putting that big new heap of mine in gear and I'm crossing the line. They can't miss it. It's shiny blue and white, it stands almost six feet high, and the gross vehicle weight is a bit over three tons. They'll see me coming. I've got one of Euler's boys with me, named Gregory Kotis. He's right beside me now with a gun in his navel, which will soon be somewhat enlarged if he doesn't... Ah, that's better."

  "Matt, do you really think you can blackmail Mr. Euler into letting you—"

  "Kotis is one of the people who helped shoot down Roger. I'd as soon blast him to hell as not," I said. "Roger was a good man. And I've also got another hostage, sir. A Mrs. O'Hearn who happened to be handy. I picked her because she was driving a big, important-looking car, and I lucked out. It turns out that her husband, Mr. Oscar O'Hearn, owns all of Arizona that doesn't belong to the jackrabbits and the Pima Indians. You can have lots and lots of fun, you and Euler, explaining to this influential gent how his wife got killed because of an intramural squabble between two government agencies. I'm sure he'll be fascinated."