“Durell, we have your girl!”
“You son of a bitch.”
“And we are detaining the President as hostage. You’d better throw down your gun.”
Durell fired at the moving shadow in the wildly waving brush. He knew he had missed. He fired again and the hammer clicked on an empty chamber. Frantically, he tried to delve into his pocket for more cartridges, but Wilderman did not give him much time. The man came toward him with a rush, paused on the lip of the hollow where he lay, and deliberately raised his gun in both hands and took aim.
“Goodbye, Durell,” he snarled.
Durell got one cartridge into the cylinder and had no time for more. He fired his last shot as Wilderman stalked closer to him. The sound of the Magnum was explosive, ripping and shredding the wild wind. There was a sudden whirring sound that followed as the dead spruce slanted down and fell between Durell and his wounded adversary, whose own shot had struck wide of its target.
Slowly Durell got to his feet. His left leg trembled but held his weight precariously. He limped toward the tangle of smashed tree limbs, but the huge bole blocked his passage.
Enoch Wilderman lay pinned under the crushing weight of the dead spruce with a bullet hole in his chest. Durell thought of the formula, but it was already too late. Wilderman had thought of it first, and with the flame from his cigarette lighter he had quickly reduced it to ashes before Durell could intervene. A slip of paper, outer edge charred unevenly, was clasped in blood-washed fingers.
The dying man’s face was upturned to the windy, rain-swept sky. Raindrops glittered like pearls on his broken glasses. He still held onto the lighter as Durell managed to reach his side and extinguish the small flame. The ashes of the formula were already scattered in the wind.
52
“THE FACT is, Sam, that the sight of you, alive and well, when the unicorns were all convinced they would die if not supplied with MacLeod’s drug, turned the tide of battle in our favor. That man who saw you in the radio shack passed the good word around. This produced a rebellion in the ranks, so to speak. When our troops started to arrive—thanks to your distress signal—they turned over the President and gave up without a fight.”
Meecham stopped talking and looked at the Presidential helicopter rising from the pad. His bulging eyes showed obvious relief. His wide mouth curled upward at the corners.
The rain had slackened, the wind had suddenly died. There was the other side of the storm yet to come, perhaps by nightfall, but for the moment it was calm.
“You’re sure you’re going to be okay, Sam?”
Meecham looked him over critically. “You seem to have lost a little blood.”
“I’m fine, sir.”
“You did very well. By the way, how is your girl?”
“I suspect she‘s safe and sound, sir.”
“And Wolfe?”
“Wolfe had the job of distracting Wilderman’s men by setting off explosives here and there that worried and baffled them. He did his job well, too."
Meecham nodded his head in agreement.
“I’ll see you later in the cottage.”
53
MEECHAM SAT before the big log fire in the cottage on the other side of East Hill and accepted a bourbon from Maggie, who wore one of Durell’s bathrobes as if it had been made for her. She seemed subdued, said little, and moved about the room quietly and efficiently. Now and then she looked at Durell with silvery eyes that told him nothing.
Meecham said, “Did you really want to kill him?”
“Yes,” he said. “I had to. A second later and he would have killed me. I caught him between fire.”
“And what about the falling tree?”
“It didn’t put the bullet in his chest.”
“But it gave him time to destroy the formula.”
“I don’t think we have to worry so long as we know it was destroyed. I doubt if the President would have cared to use it.”
At this Meecham chuckled. “The President didn’t think any of it amounted to a hill of beans. But wait until he reads about it in the press tomorrow morning.”
“It will make a good story, sir. Things have been awfully quiet lately.”
54
MAGGIE MADE love to him with a desperate ferocity she had never shown before, Meecham had gone back to the hotel for the night. Wolfe was asleep downstairs. The rain drummed on the roof over the dark bedroom with renewed ferocity, but Durell knew it would be over by morning, and perhaps the sun would be shining again. It was cozy under the blankets. Now and then the windows rattled.
Later Maggie lay on her back and stared at the beamed ceiling, their hips touching, their hands clasped between them.
“Sam?”
"I'm awake.”
“Does your leg hurt?”
“Not too badly.”
“I tried to be careful.”
“I know.”
“Sam?”
“I’m still awake.”
“Are you still angry with me?”
“No. Why should I be?”
“Because I didn’t hide on the boat and stay safe and sound while it all happened.”
“You surprised me,” he said.
“Did you think I was such a coward, such a—a ninny?—to hide in some cubbyhole while you did all the work?”
“No, not a coward.”
“I’ve changed.”
“Yes, I know.”
“I gave up that stupid, silly romantic dream I always had.”
“Stupid? Silly?"
“I decided to stand on my own two feet. Women’s lib, maybe. I’m a person in my own right. No waiting around for a knight in shining armor to rescue me from my own faults and keep me safe and happy forever after. Stupid, yes. Silly. I don’t want to just be taken care of now. Like a devoted slave. Or a faithful dog. That used to be my dream. It ended, all of a sudden. Just like that. Does that bother you, Sam?”
“I’m glad,” he said.
“But I still love you, Sam.”
“I’m glad for that, too.”
“So I’m going away,” Maggie said.
“Where?”
“I don’t know. I don’t care. Anywhere. Just to be myself. To fight my own battles.”
“I see."
“And then I’ll come back.”
“Good.”
“We’ll be equal then, right?”
“Maggie, are you sure you—”
“I’m sure, Sam.”
He kissed her.
“Good night, Maggie.”
“Good night, Sam.”
Assignment Unicorn Page 19
