"A rather violent man called Nicholas," I said.
"So you know."
"I guessed. He's been playing the humble, stupid chauffeur and errand boy for years, and he's got the face for it, but he's the real Nicholas, isn't he? He just carefully sets up somebody else, male or female, as the current big shot-somebody like Beverly Blame, if anything goes wrong, the figurehead takes the rap and swallows the cyanide, and Willy's just the dumb assistant who was lucky enough to get away."
"You've got it all figured out, haven't you, Helm?"
That was not Bobbie talking. It was a man's voice from the darkness beyond the intense light source: the harsh voice of Willi Keim, alias Willy Hansen, alias Nicholas-Santa Claus to us. I didn't answer him because he didn't wait for an answer. He went on, now speaking to the girl beside me:
"Did he do a good job for us, Liebchen?"
"I'm not your Liebchen," Bobbie said, "and he did a very good job. There are two of them back where the road crosses that dry riverbed, and two more under those bushes to your left. The last one, Jake, the trigger-man, is down the ridge a little ways. All sound asleep, you don't have to worry about-"
Without turning my head to look, I was kind of aware that Willy had turned away. There was a sudden spurt of flame at the edge of my vision, and a painfully loud crash of sound: obviously Willy-Nicholas was still hooked on his heavy Magnum hardware. Only a.44 could make that much noise. A moment later the fireworks were repeated. Bobbie kind of flinched, beside me. She started to speak angrily, but checked herself, as Willy turned back to us.
"Now, I don't have to worry about those two," he said. "I've already settled the two in the wash. I'll take care of the last one in a minute. I never did like Jake; he was always throwing his weight around when we were working together. I had to take it then; I don't have to take it now. I'm just sorry he's doped so he can't see it coming… But first I want a word with Mr. Helm, here."
"Not with that oversized revolver!" There was a snap to Bobbie's voice. "The Chinaman wants him alive and talking."
"I won't hurt his singing voice a bit." A heavy boot caught me in the hip. "I've just been wanting to meet Mr. Helm very badly, ever since the last time he stuck his long nose into my business."
He kicked me in the ribs. There was nothing to do but lie there; I knew he was hoping for a sudden move on my part that would give him an excuse to blow my brains out. Then Bobbie snatched the Thompson and aimed it upwards.
"Get out of here!" she snapped. "Go shoot somebody, or something!"
"All right, but he's mine when the Chinaman gets through with him!"
I heard Willy turn and stamp away down the ridge. Bobbie drew a long breath and lowered the submachine gun.
"How do you work this thing, anyway?" she asked of nobody in particular. "Are you all right, Matt?"
"Sure, I'm great," I said. "What's eating him?"
"Don't you know? You spoiled a big assignment for him-something right here in Mexico, I understand-and he didn't dare go home and neither did the girl you knew as Beverly. They weren't exactly going to be made heroes of the Soviet Union on their return to Moscow, if you know what I mean. So they took employment elsewhere, but our friend has a low opinion of Orientals and feels humiliated, working for one. He can't forget that he was a big shot called Nicholas until you came along."
I said, "You don't seem to share his opinion of Orientals."
She laughed. "Darling, I was born over there. I understand the Chinese a lot better than I understand you. Now, please roll up your sleeve…"
I rolled it up, and felt the sting of the needle. It was the first time I'd had the stuff used on me. It wasn't bad. As I started drifting off, I heard the big revolver crash once more, farther down the rim. It seemed as if Willy had gone and spoiled my funny joke about five tough syndicate soldiers peacefully sleeping on the job. Well, maybe it hadn't been so funny, after all.
XXIV
I awoke in a noisy, unsteady place that, after a little, I identified as the rear of a big van going down a paved highway at a good clip. There was a kind of erratic booming sound, the source of which I couldn't determine until I opened my eyes.
Then I saw that the tanklike mystery object I'd seen brought ashore was now looming above me, almost filling the cavernous space that was dimly lighted by a weak yellow bulb up forward. The jolting of the truck was causing the great metal cylinder to reverberate hollowly. I hoped they had it properly lashed and wedged into place so it wouldn't shift my way. It didn't leave too much room as it was.
I tried to sit up and discovered that my hands and feet were tied. My gun and knife were missing, of course; in fact, my pockets seemed to be quite empty. My hip was sore; and breathing now hurt me, not only in front where I'd been socked earlier in the day, but also at the side where I'd been kicked more recently, but I didn't feel too badly about that. I mean, I had my orders. Mac had indicated that we'd lost too many good men and women to Nicholas, and that something permanent ought to be done about him, by me. That being the case, it would have been awkward if he'd turned out to be a sweet, gentle, lovable sort of guy I couldn't bear to harm.
"How are you feeling, darling?"
I turned my head and there she was, my blonde betrayer, looking even more like a lady hippie with her long hair mussed and her white jeans smudged by the night's adventures. Not that it mattered. If I'd wanted an immaculate vision of radiant loveliness I could have turned on the TV, if I'd had a TV. At the moment, I much preferred a tousle-headed human being in grubby pants. As a matter of fact, a great deal-including my life-might depend at least in part on just how human this girl would turn out to be.
"Are you all right?" Bobbie helped me to a sitting position. "That's a potent injection you carry. You've been asleep for six hours."
"It works better, I guess, when the victim hasn't been to bed for a couple of days."
She made a face at me. "That wasn't a very nice thing to say! Whose bed haven't you been in for a couple of days? I seem to remember your indulging in a nice little nap in mine, quite recently, after… after some preliminary exercise. Well, if you're going to be so rude and forgetful, I'll just put you right back to sleep." She took my little case from her shirt pocket and opened it. "I'm supposed to keep you under. The Chinaman seems to have a lot of respect for you. He doesn't trust you awake, even tied and guarded."
I said, "The Chinaman. They don't call him that back in China, surely."
"No, and they don't call him Mr. Soo, either, and it's none of your business, anyway."
"Where is he? Where is everybody? He had a small army working for him at Bahia San Agustin."
"If what you're trying to find out is whether or not we're alone in here," Bobbie said dryly, "the answer is that we aren't. There are three men over on the other side of the generator; and three more up in the cab, so even if you overpower me, you've got your work cut out for you. The rest are riding in the jeep and your station wagon. They left Tillery's Chrysler behind because the tires were too soft-anyway, it was too closely associated with a lot of dead bodies that might be found, prematurely, by the Mexican authorities."
"And where are we?"
Bobbie hesitated, and shrugged. "I don't suppose it matters if I tell you. I think we crossed the border back into the U.S. a little while ago, using some kind of a cross-country smuggling route known to Warfel's men. At least the going was slow and rough for a couple of hours. You were lucky to be asleep. Now that's enough questions. Just lie down again like a good boy and let me squirt you with some more of this nice sleepy-stuff."