The Ambushers

"We are not murderers, Mr. Evans."

I touched my chest gingerly. "You don't seem to have many other scruples. Unfortunately we seem to be operating under contradictory orders. My solution to the von Sachs problem is supposed to be immediate and permanent. Are there any circumstances under which we might, say, compromise?"

She hesitated, and said with obvious reluctance, "Well, if it proves absolutely impossible to take the man prisoner She stopped. After a moment she said, "Perhaps we could waive the question of jurisdiction temporarily. We both want von Sachs. It will be difficult enough to get him without fighting each other. If we were to combine our resources

"Resources," I said. "Your soldering iron and my chest?"

"I am sorry. It was a mistake."

I said, "I wouldn't join forces with you, you sadistic slut, if you had the map of von Sachs' hideout tucked in your brassiere along with that toy pistol!"

She smiled. "Now you feel better, having called me names, don't you?"

I grinned. "Lots better. What do you know that's of any use to me."

"What do you know, Mr. Evans?"

I sighed. "All right. Gentlemen first. I know the only road down into the area. I've been down it myself once, a long time ago. I have the latest reports on its condition."

"I understand it is not a very good road."

I said, "Easy does it, honey. I'll tell you all about it, but first you give a little."

She shrugged. "Very well. I have a cover story that will get me in to General von Sachs once I know where to find him. There have been overtures made to him by people in Argentina. I think I can make him accept me as one of them, long enough to serve our purpose. I also know somebody who knows where to find him. It was for this person I was playing the music when you blundered in and very cleverly made me think you were a more promising candidate."

I watched her face closely and asked, "Ernest Head?"

She nodded quickly. "Yes. Of course. Ernst Schwarzkopf. The question is how to approach him."

"Approach," I said. "You put it so delicately, doll. You mean catch him and sweat him, don't you? Like you did me."

She shook her head. "No, that is a last resource. If we try to make him talk and fail, we have lost everything. I think we should try to make him run. That is what I have been trying to accomplish." She made an impatient gesture. "If it were just a matter of capture and torture, do you think I would have been wasting my time playing the phonograph? But I was hoping I could make him run so that Max and I could follow. Where else would he go? I still think he can be made to do it. A little more pressure should suffice. And with three to take turns watching- you two and Max-there should be no chance of his eluding us. We will let him lead us to von Sachs. Now what about that road? Can it be traveled in an ordinary car or will we need a jeep?"

"When I went down, years ago, we used a pickup truck,"

I said. "But my information is that the road's in good shape this year, and a passenger car should make it all right. Of course that applies only to the dirt road south from Antelope Wells. What kind of a track turns off it into the

Nacimiento Mountains is anybody's guess. However, von Sachs isn't likely to pack his stuff in by mountain goat.

If he's got any kind of big operation going back in there, in the guise of an. archaeological expedition, the access trail can't be too difficult."

Catherine Smith frowned. "I don't think much of your contribution, Mr. Evans. A few questions at Antelope Wells would have given me as much. It seems to me this is going to be a very one-sided partnership, in which Max and I supply most of the information and run most of the risks."

"Sure," I said. "How well do you and your friend know this part of the North American continent, Miss Smith?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I was brought up in these parts. I know these mountains and deserts, honey. Give me half a lead and I can tell you where von Sachs has got to be. (live me four wheels and an engine and I can take you there. How much back-country driving have you done, either of you? You look like city operators to me. When I say that road's in good shape, 1 don't mean it's a six-lane turnpike. It's still a Mexican desert road. You're going to need me. Don't kid yourself you aren't."

"I see." She smiled cynically. "So now that road is suddenly so terrible it takes an expert to drive it." She shrugged.

"Oh, very well. Max will keep an eye on Ernest Head tonight. You two will cover him tomorrow. I will see that he hears the record often enough to keep old memories fresh in his mind until he can stand it no longer."

I grinned. "You're such a sweet girl; you have such kind thoughts. AU right, it's a deal. We find von Sachs; after that we flip a coin, or something, to see who gets him."

I regarded her for a moment. "Of course, if anybody tries a doublecross, all bets are off."

She smiled. "Of course."

"Okay. We'll take over from Max in the morning. Now, where are we and how do we get out of here?"

Presently I was driving the station wagon away from there with Sheila beside me. It took me a little while to get oriented, until I realized that we were only a few blocks from Catherine's house, in an area of new construction.

"Where's your car, Skinny?" I asked without turning my head. Under the circumstances, I wasn't moving anything that wasn't absolutely necessary.

"Turn right at the next corner… Eric."

"What?"

"You don't really trust that… that blonde praying mantis, do you?"

I made the effort to glance at her. "Trust her? A pretty, sweet, gentle little girl like that? Why shouldn't I trust her?"

I grimaced. "I trust her to doublecross us at the first glimmer of an opportunity. Do you think I'd have made a deal with her if I didn't?"

XIV

WHEN I REACHED the motel, I saw that the blue Volkswagen had beat me home. I hadn't felt up to any fancy driving. Besides, I'd had to stop at a pay phone and put in a long-distance call to Washington asking for full reports on •a woman who called herself Catherine Smith, a man who called himself Max, and a couple of married people locally known as Mr. And Mrs. Ernest Head, who'd in the past gone by other names, specified. I'd paid for all those names.

I figured I might as well go through the motions of feeding them into the machinery, although I had doubts whether the information would get out to me in time to be of much use.

I saw Sheila get out of her little car as I turned in off the street. She came up beside me as I parked the station wagon.

"Are you all right?" she whispered. "When you didn't arrive right behind me, I got worried. Come on. I'd better look after those burns."

She opened the car door and started to help me out, but she remembered her neurosis about heterosexual contacts and checked herself short of touching me. Or perhaps she just realized that a two-hundred-pound man has to be in pretty bad shape before he takes kindly to being helped out of a car by a hundred-pound girl. She did take the motel key out of my hand and open that door for me and close it behind me.

I said, "What the hell are you bucking for, Skinny? The title of little mother of the year? Hell, I've singed myself worse than this lighting a cigarette."

She looked startled and injured; then she laughed. "All right. Be brave. Be heroic. Do you want a drink?"

"Sure."

"Ice?"

"If there's any left."

"It's all melted," she said, investigating. "I'll get some snore. I'll be right back."

I started to register a gentlemanly protest, but she'd already taken the cardboard bucket and slipped out of the room. I sat down on the bed and took off my shirt. After examining the battlefield, I came to the conclusion that regardless of how it felt, it wasn't really the scene of a major catastrophe.