The Chinaman returned the hypo to Bobbie without taking his eyes from me. His mental processes didn't resemble mine very closely, so I didn't even try to guess what he was thinking. I just hoped my quick surrender had made him very suspicious indeed. To sell somebody a bill of goods, you should start behind a cloud of suspicion, and dispel it convincingly as you go along, making them feel guilty and apologetic for misjudging you.
"Mr. Helm," said Mr. Soo gently, "Mr. Helm, you would not be bluffing, would you? You would not be trying to keep me away from my supplies to prevent me from causing disaster to one of your cities?"
This was, of course, exactly what I was trying to do. I grinned and said, "Sure. That's exactly what I'm doing. So drive along to your hidden base and replenish your goddamn catalyst. Don't mind me, Mr. Soo. Like you say, I'm just bluffing." He stared at me coldly, unconvinced. It was time to pull one out of the magic hat, long ears, fuzzy tail, twitching nose, and all. I said, "Not that I give a damn what happens to Albuquerque, you understand. I never did like that city much; all they do is take in tourists. Now, if it was my little old home town of Santa Fe, that would be something else."
The Chinaman's bland poker face showed just the tiniest crack, the faintest hint of an expression, to tell me I'd guessed right. So far, so good.
"Of course," Mr. Soo murmured, "there are not many cities in New Mexico suitable for experiment. In fact, there is only one that has sufficient population, sufficient pollution, and is located in a suitable, smog-retaining valley… I think you are very good guesser, Mr. Helm."
I said, "Sure. So let me guess a little more. It was a tough job at first, since I wasn't told what I was looking for. You know how they are, in Washington as well as- I suppose-in Peking. They never tell you anything you need to know. They just gave me some snapshots and descriptions and said these characters are up to something nasty, unspecified, in California, Arizona, New Mexico, and/or Texas. We've got the other states covered, they said; you know New Mexico, start looking. Those were my instructions."
"A big order. But you filled it successfully?"
"Not at first," I said. "All I could do at first was move around at random, pretending to fish and keeping my eyes open, looking for a familiar face from the photographs, or some off-color activities. It wasn't until I got a little more information, like a description of your smog machine and its purpose, that I realized I was wasting my time in the northern half of New Mexico. As you say, Albuquerque is the only really likely target in the state, and it's just about in the middle. The prevailing winds are from the southwest. That means you'd probably want to work your gadget somewhere down south in the Rio Grande valley, to have your stuff blow the right way." Mr. Soo's face gave me no help now. I gambled on the fact that there was only one place down the river that I'd done any fishing during those weeks; only one place south of Albuquerque where I could have been recognized by somebody alert for snoopers. I said, "Well, that narrowed it down some, but it still took a lot of scurrying around before I managed to spot one of your people and tail him out into the Jornada del Muerte country."
"What country?" The Chinaman laughed. He looked relieved. "Oh, Mr. Helm, you are very good, very good indeed, you almost had me convinced, but you are still guessing and guessing wrong. I do not know what this Hornada is, but I can assure you it is not the place-"
"Spelled with a 'J', amigo," I said calmly. "You may not have heard the area called that. It's not a name strangers generally know, unless they've studied some history or examined the fine print on the map. It's the old trail east of the Rio Grande past what is now Elephant Butte Reservoir and a town with the silly name of Truth or Consequences-they took the name of a radio show for some reason-formerly Hot Springs, New Mexico."
Something changed in Mr. Soo's eyes. He said softly, "Truth or Consequences. That is indeed an odd name for a town. Go on, Mr. Helm."
"The present highway runs west of the river and is easy driving," I said, "but the old trail through the desert to the east was a real hot and thirsty man-killer, which is why they called it the Journey of Death. As for your boy, the one I tailed-" I paused. This was where I really had to stick my neck out with some wild guesses, but the Chinaman gave me no help.
"Yes, Mr. Helm?"
I said confidently, I hoped: "I tailed him from T or C, as we New Mexicans call the town, across the dam, and east to a village called Engle where the pavement ends. There are some dirt roads going back into the boondocks where the old trail used to be. Otherwise there's nothing much on that side of the river except a government installation of some kind and a lot of empty, arid real estate. And there's no good way out of there except the one paved road through Engle. I figured I'd learned enough. I didn't want to be spotted snooping around those empty back roads. With that much to go on, the search planes and helicopters could pinpoint the location cautiously-and when I reached Los Angeles, later, I got word that they had."
It was, as I've said, a gamble, based on my knowledge of the area and the fact that somebody must have seen me hanging around the town or fishing the reservoir- else why would Mr. Soo suspect me, erroneously, of knowing so much? Well, if a man had seen me there, I could presumably have seen him, and followed him.
Of course, my logic wasn't airtight by any means. Maybe they'd avoided using the obvious route into the area; maybe they'd gone in across country by jeep. And maybe I'd even picked the wrong side of the river. There was plenty of rough, uninhabited country to the west in which you could also hide a few men and supplies. But if you really wanted privacy, you'd be apt to choose the spectacularly desolate region I'd described, even though it might not always be directly upwind of the chosen target area.
"Engle, New Mexico," Mr. Soo murmured.
"That's the place. Just a couple of shacks and some railroad cars. Am I getting warm?"
"Warm?"
"Sorry. It's a kid's game we play in this country."
"Ah, yes, I remember now." He sighed. "Yes, you are very warm, Mr. Helm. It is unfortunate. It will involve a drastic change of plan-"
"He's lying!" It was Bobbie Prince. She was on her feet glaring at me. "He's just guessing. He is bluffing, Mr. Soo!"
"What makes you think so?"
Bobbie licked her lips. "He says he figured out where to look after he learned about the Sorenson generator. He claims he was told about it several days ago, in plenty of time for him to snoop around this T or C place, but he's lying! He didn't know anything about the generator until last night!"
Mr. Soo was frowning. "Are you sure of that, Miss Prince?"
"Of course I'm sure! I was lying right beside him when they brought it ashore. He had no idea what it was until I told him. Even then he didn't know what it did, not until I explained it to him hours later. He'd never heard of such a thing before. in fact, he laughed at the idea at first. He wasn't acting, I know he wasn't!"
Well, it had been a good try; arid after all, while I'll make a stab at it if I have the chance, keeping the atmosphere of our cities pure isn't really my job. At least I'd learned where I stood with respect to Miss Roberta Prince.
At the moment, needing her help as badly as I did, I couldn't feel it was a very healthy place to be standing – particularly since Willy was coming back this way briskly, presumably to report that the truck was ready to roll.
XXVI
I was loaded into the rear seat of the station wagon with my hands re-tied in front of me so that I could sit naturally and in reasonable comfort. I appreciated this; but actually I was happy just to reach the vehicle alive. Willy was becoming very impatient. Since there was apparently no useful, or truthful, information to be obtained from me, he couldn't see why he couldn't have me. Objectively speaking, I couldn't see why, either.