While Mr. Soo came from a country with different traditions and customs than mine, he was in more or less the same line of work; and I couldn't really believe that he'd be greatly influenced by an obligation that was several years old by this time. After all, he undoubtedly knew that I hadn't saved his life to be nice; it had just worked out more conveniently for me that way.
Nevertheless, he told Willy sharply that he could perpetrate private vengeance on his own time, please. Right now, said the Chinaman, since Willy was the man who had laid out the route from here, he'd better get into his Jeepster and lead the way. Speed should be lawful, so as not to attract attention, said Mr. Soo; spacing between vehicles should be generous, so they would not seem like a caravan, but merely like a jeep, a butane truck, and an out-of-state station wagon that just happened to be using the same road.
Bobbie Prince got in beside me. A lean, dark-faced individual in jeans and a gaudy cowboy shirt took the wheel, after pausing to strip off the paint-smeared coveralls he was wearing, which he tossed into the rear of the wagon. Mr. Soo took the seat beside him, and watched Willy, alone in the jeep, drive off. When he was well down the road, the Chinaman signaled to the white truck, which had two men aboard. When they had gone almost out of sight, he spoke to our driver, and we set off in pursuit.
Well, the odds were diminishing, I reflected. I now had only five men and one woman to deal with, instead of the young army of the night before. Apparently the reinforcements supplied by Frank Warfel, having completed their part of the operation, had pulled out while I was asleep.
Mr. Soo turned to look back at us, and frowned at my appearance. "I suggest you clean up prisoner, Miss Prince," he said. "We do not wish to be conspicuous when we reach more traveled roads. Mr. Helm seems to be foresighted man with water jug in car. Here."
He passed a gallon thermos jug over the back of the seat. He seemed to be under the impression that the station wagon was mine. I could see no particular benefit to be gained from this, but I didn't take the trouble to set him straight.
The blond girl beside me leaned over to wash my face with a handkerchief that looked familiar; she must have acquired it when she cleaned out my pockets. A hint of a bulge in her loosely worn shirt at the waist, and a ridge in the pocket area of her snug jeans, indicated that she was also the custodian of my gun and knife. Having made my face presentable, except for the swollen lip she could do nothing about, she attacked the spots on my shirt-doing it all without any more visible emotion than if she'd been cleaning the upholstery of the car. Finally, she dropped the handkerchief to the floor and settled back beside me, looking straight ahead.
It was a long, hot, dusty ride. On the coast, we'd found a rather chilly spring; but here, inland, it was summer, or what would pass for summer in most regions of the country. The real summer, down there along the border, is strictly for lizards and Gila monsters and rattlesnakes; even the jackrabbits lie panting in the shade, if they can find some shade.
I didn't recognize the road or the countryside, but then, most of those desert roads look alike. I did spot a lonely highway marker indicating that we were definitely in Arizona. At last, heading eastwards along one small road after another, mostly unpaved, we reached some scenery that looked more familiar to me. It was the kind of endless, wide-open, yellowish landscape, interrupted here and there by small, dark mountain ranges that I associate with southwestern New Mexico.
Sure enough, the next road marker indicated that we'd crossed the state line, making me feel pretty clever until I remembered that I was still tied hand and foot, regardless of what state of the Union I was in. Well, there were things that could be done about that-we're issued a few tricks to help us cope with such situations-but they'd have to wait until I wasn't under quite such close surveillance. The girl beside me might not condescend to look at me directly, or talk with me, but I didn't think she'd continue to remain motionless and silent if she saw me trying to cut my bonds with, say, a gimmicked belt buckle.
The opportunity was slow in coming. We continued to drive eastwards interminably, bouncing over washboards and breathing dust that found its way into the car even after Mr. Soo ordered the windows closed and the air-conditioning turned on. At last we turned onto a paved road heading north which, eventually, dumped us into civilization in the form of a four-lane freeway crowded with high-speed traffic. The change from the lonely silence of the desert was kind of shocking; and you couldn't see where, in that empty country, all the trucks and cars were coming from, or going to.
A police car went by as we pulled off the ramp. It was cruising quite slowly; and after a mile or so we repassed it. I was aware of the Chinaman glancing my way warningly and of Bobbie slipping her hand inside her shirt to grasp my gun, but I made no move. Frankly, even if I could catch his attention, I didn't really know what I could do with a cop except get him killed.
Of course, a policeman might help me break up Mr. Soo's scientific experiment, to the benefit of Albuquerque and any other cities whose skies the Chinaman might decide to seed with catalyst if the first two tests turned out successfully. It seemed unlikely, however, that a single cop, unaware of what he was getting into, could handle the job; and anyway, Mr. Soo and his project was not really my responsibility. Nobody'd ordered me to do anything about him, or it. Perhaps somebody might have if the facts had been known; but for a field man like me to try to guess what instructions an individual in Washington might have issued if he'd known something he didn't is almost always unprofitable, and often dangerous.
I'd made my gesture towards public service when I tried to bluff the Chinaman away from his supplies. We're not employed to wander around doing good, knight-errant fashion. We're hired to follow orders, and my orders actually concerned one man only. Nicholas might no longer exist, officially speaking, but the man who'd built up a sizeable dossier under that code name was still around and still keeping busy at the same trade. I foresee much employment for him, Mr. Soo had said.
Although somebody else had pulled the trigger, Willy was the man really responsible for the murder I'd been ordered to investigate and avenge. He was also on the high-priority list, and his change of employer wouldn't change that. You know the standing orders, Mac had said, and I did. And those orders didn't include turning Willy over to any cops, at least not alive.
"Mr. Helm!"
I looked up to see a small automatic pistol aimed at me over the back of the front seat. Bobbie also had her gun out-I mean, my gun. I looked at Mr. Soo, bewildered.
"What's the matter?"
"Just what signal did you make to police cruiser, sir? No, do not look back… Jason, take first turn you see. We must lead this policeman away from others, if he will follow. Shine your headlights briefly as you turn to signal vehicles ahead. Mr. Helm, sit perfectly still, please. I will not hesitate to shoot."
I said, "I didn't signal anybody. Why should I? I'm perfectly happy right here with all you nice people."
The man at the wheel, whom the Chinaman had addressed as Jason, said: "The cop's gaining. He's after us, all right."
"Us, or truck up ahead?"
"Well, I can't tell that, sir," said Jason. "Here's an exit coming up. If I remember rightly, it's a long way to the next one. Do I turn?"
"Yes, turn." Mr. Soo sounded quite calm. He was studying the overpass ahead. "Let us see if he follows us, or goes on. Be ready to return to highway very quickly if he does not come after-"