I felt the revolver drop, and I threw myself on top of it, still trying to find it left-handed. I didn't have much time. I could feel the gun trained on me and I wondered where this one would hi;..
There was a shot all right, and another, but no bullets came near me. I picked up the.38 and looked up. Fredericks was standing there with an odd, slack look on his face, doing nothing whatever. He dropped the gun he was holding. Then he started to fall.
I looked towards the cabin. Well, he had to be good for something, the reputation he had around that place.
It was the shoulder-holster man, the great white hunter, old Bwana Simba himself coming out of retirement, a beautiful sight. How he'd made it to the door on a shattered leg, even with Beth to help him, I didn't know. I didn't intend to ask. He'd just give me some of that stiff-upper-lip, British guff.
He was shooting very carefully, making target practice of it, body as relaxed as his wound allowed, arm extended but not locked. He put two more into The Man as he fell, with deliberate accuracy, making quite sure. He'd been in the business once, himself.
I got up. My chest didn't seem to hurt much. That would come later. I went over and checked the Duke's work, and my own. I made my way to where he still leaned in the doorway. Beth was beside him, steadying him. I looked at the two of them, and spoke to him.
"That was pretty fair country shooting, old chap," I said. "While we still have some privacy, you might let me know how much of this you want credit for, on the books."
He looked me straight in the eye. "None, if it can be arranged," he said.
I thought of various things, and said, "We could probably get you a small medal or some nice words from Uncle or something."
He glanced at Beth. "We would rather not figure in it at all, if it's possible," he said, and she nodded. He smiled faintly. "I would certainly prefer not to be remembered as the man who smuggled a certain number of pounds of heroin, not to mention that other material, across the Mexican border. If it's all the same to you, old man."
It wasn't the same to me, not quite, but the guy had saved my life-at least I thought so at the time. There were occasions during the next couple of weeks when I wasn't quite so sure.
Chapter Twenty-Jive
THE YOUNG MAN from the AEC said, "Of course, Mr. Helm, you understand all this is highly confidential."
"Oh, sure," I said. "What was in those cans, anyway? Their new pocket model atomic bomb?"
"Well," he said reluctantly, "not quite. It was… a very ingenious sabotage device consisting of radioactive wastes enclosed in a shielded container with a small bursting charge. The explosive wasn't sufficient to do much damage, but it would distribute the radioactive material over a fairly wide area, with unfortunate results to anyone who happened to be standing nearby, particularly if he didn't realize the danger and undergo decontamination immediately. We've had a few cases…"
"I know," I said. "1 read the papers."
"There have been others, less fatal, that didn't reach the papers," he said. "In many cases, with prompt action, the injury was relatively slight-the physical injury that is. But the injury to morale has been serious." He frowned. "You must understand, Mr. Helm, that people who work around nuclear reactions tend to be, well, let's say, a bit sensitive about anything pertaining to radioactivity. Just like people working around high explosives tend to jump unnecessarily at loud noises. When things start to burst that shouldn't, if you know what I mean, and when people find themselves receiving heavy contamination in places that are supposed to be relatively safe… Well, it cuts down the efficiency, to say the least. One installation, just the other day, couldn't even get the trash removed until the workers were permitted to don full protective clothing. Things like that. It was a fiendishly clever device, psychologically speaking. If they'd got enough of them.
I looked at the bright window, through which, since I was on the second floor of the hospital, I could see only the blue and cloudless Nevada sky.
"Shielded, you say," I said. "How much shielding do you get from that little bit of lead?"
He laughed. "You don't have to worry, Mr. Helm. You've been checked, very thoroughly. Although you handled one of the bombs, you apparently didn't get enough exposure to do any damage. It was only when the contents were actually splashed on someone that the situation was urgent and dangerous. However, if some gentleman down in Mexico slept with the entire supply under his bed, he might be feeling a little unwell by now. And I don't know as I'd care to shoot that heroin into my veins, even if I was addicted to the stuff. Of course, that was their difficulty. Any normally sensitive instrument would have detected the hot material through the relatively inadequate lead shield, which is why they brought it in by such roundabout channels."
I said, "Silly question, but why didn't they just make up the nasty little things right here in the country?"
"Where would they get the critical ingredient? We don't sell it over the counter, you know. It would have had to be imported, anyway; and the device is not one anybody could put together in a cellar from a gas pipe and a few sticks of dynamite." He rose. "Their experiment was a success; let's say the first shipment, with which we're still dealing, went over big. If they'd got hold of the second shipment and got it planted before we understood what we were up against, we'd have been in real trouble. As it is, of course, we can take precautions against further sabotage of this nature-although I think it's probably the first time we've had to worry about anybody bringing radioactive materials onto an atomic installation. Coals to Newcastle, eh? Well, goodbye, Mr. Helm. Your chief wanted me to let you know the background, as soon as you were well enough. I hope I haven't tired you too much."
I watched the door close behind him. It was interesting information, to be sure, but I didn't really know what good it was to me. I went to sleep. In the morning, Beth came to see me.
She entered the room a little uncertainly, as if not quite sure she'd be welcome. She was wearing one of those artificially faded denim skirt-and-shirt outfits and her big white Stetson hat. I was glad when she took the hat off and didn't look quite so much like a rodeo girl.
"The nurse said it was all right for me to look in, if I didn't stay too long," she said. "How are you feeling, Matt?"
"Fine," I said. "Well, more or less. How about you?"
She looked surprised that I'd ask. "Why, I'm fine," she said, and then she realized what I was driving at, and flushed slightly. "I'm fine," she said again. "I… I'm all right. Really." She laughed quickly. "I suppose you know the Logan family has been in a bad auto accident."
"Is that the way they handled it?"
"You didn't know?"
"I just passed the word before they started digging lead out of me," I said. "I didn't know just how they'd work it out."
"We smashed up the Jaguar in Buckman Canyon," she said, "with the three of us crowded aboard. Anyway, that's the story. Fortunately there happened to be some law-enforcement officers around. We never did learn just what they were doing there, of course, but they were very kind and considerate and got Peter and Larry to the hospital right away. One of the officers even contributed his uniform blouse." She was silent for a moment; then she went on: "Your boss seems to be a man of influence. The doctors haven't said a word about bullet wounds. The papers just reported the 'accident' in a few lines. I… we're very grateful, Malt If there had been any publicity, it would never have been… well, right, again. You know what I mean. He's been trying to live it all down. He doesn't want to be a hero, any more than a villain. He just wants to be a… a peaceful, law-abiding citizen, an ordinary person. I thought he'd be sad because he'd had to sacrifice the Jaguar, but he says it's just as well, he's got no business driving a car like that.