"Sure," I said. "Danger of what?"
"Why," she said, "of earthquakes, naturally! Worldwide earthquakes!"
I stared at her and started to laugh, but a hand on my shoulder swung me around abruptly. It was Gunther, of course; he was another one of those who can't keep his fingers to himself. Dr. Naldi was there, too, his face grim and angry-Wegmann had moved in a little with his gun.
"Where is it?" Gunther demanded.
"Where's what?" I asked innocently.
Dr. Naldi thrust the empty halves of the capsule under my nose. "Where are the films, Mr. Helm?"
I had a choice to make. I could tell them the films were in Washington, but they might believe me. If they did, having no further use for me, they might shoot me through the head or simply tie me up and leave me there. So I smiled mysteriously, shook my head stubbornly and got a slap from Gunther for my pains. After that he proceeded awkwardly to beat me, over Gail's protests.
"You promised!" she cried.
Dr. Naldi took her by the arm and pulled her back a ways, and Gunther went to work in earnest. He had the right instincts, but he'd had no training. Besides, he was afraid of damaging his hands. It wasn't so bad. Wegmann stood back all the while with his gun, covering the situation and watching tolerantly, like an adult observing children at play. Presently he made an impatient sound and stepped forward.
"We're wasting time," he said. "Let him get dressed. We can continue this- elsewhere if we must. Dr. Naldi, you've done a lot of driving in this country with all kinds of vehicles. Can we get his half-ton truck up the mountain? I don't want to leave it here."
Naldi looked at the empty capsule bitterly and flung it aside. "I would say yes, particularly if there's a set of tire chains to fit… What about it, Mrs. Hendricks?"
Gail said, "There are chains, you-all ought to know that."
Naldi frowned. "Why should we know that?"
"Well, after all, Wegmann took them off for us, down in Carrizozo, and besides, we had them on when one of your men tried to run us off the road in San Agustin Pass; that's why he failed."
"I have no knowledge of any such attempt," Naldi said. "Wegmann?"
The man with the gun shook his head. "I haven't been over that pass in months, nor sent anybody."
"Gunther?"
"Not me. I've been laying low since that trouble in Juarez; I've had no contact with anybody. Hell, I just crossed the border a few hours ago, and almost got caught in a dragnet at that!"
Naldi said, "Describe the incident, Mrs. Hendricks."
"Well, a man in a big gray car followed us from El Paso and… what's the matter?"
Wegmann had laughed. "A big gray car? An Oldsmobile, perhaps?"
"Why, yes. An Oldsmobile with Texas license plates." Wegmann was grinning. "It's all right," he said. "I know about that car. As a matter of fact, I buried it myself."
He stopped grinning and became businesslike. "Gunther, you drive our four-wheel-drive job and lead the way. Keep an eye on the mirror in case we need help. Dr. Naldi, you can handle the pickup better than a gun, I think. You drive the truck and I'll ride in back with the prisoners… What is it now, Mrs. Hendricks?"
I felt kind of sorry for her, standing there looking startled and indignant. For a sophisticated woman, she was very naive in some ways. She'd really expected they wouldn't hurt me, I guess. She'd even expected that they would let her go.
XXII
It was cold, lying in the back of the truck, face down, tied hand and foot. The fact that the piled-up duffel bags, suitcases, and supplies at the side of the narrow space barely left room for the two of us on the mattress didn't add to our comfort, although it did keep us from rolling around too much as the truck bounced and swayed.
Behind us, at the corner where the tailgate joined the side, Wegmann had made a blanket-padded nest for himself. He sat there, a dim shape in the darkness. My revolver, which he'd taken from Gail, rested on his knee. This made sense, professionally speaking. It was a nice, powerful little gun; and if you have to shoot a guy, it leaves less evidence if you can manage to do it with his own weapon.
I could feel Gail shivering beside me. She'd said nothing since we left the lodge. When you came right down to it, there wasn't a lot she could say-she'd pulled a double cross and it had backfired. The laugh, if any, was on her. For some reason I didn't feel very much like laughing. I managed to get a grip on the sleeping bag lying nearby, but when I tried to work it over us, for warmth, Wegmann reached forward and jerked it away.
"None of that," he said. "No covers. I want to see every knot clearly, Mr. Helm."
"Hell," I said, "you can't see anything in here, man."
This wasn't strictly true. The windows of the canopy, coated as they were with frost, were beginning to show a faint gray dawn as we jolted up the unknown road to an unknown destination-unknown, at least, to me. Dr. Naldi, I noted, was an artist with the gears. It seemed like a strange skill for a learned Ph.D. to have picked up. A chain link had broken and was clanking rhythmically against the right rear fender. Well, those chains had seen me through several winters already.
"I can see enough," Wegmann said. "I can see if you move."
I was glad to have him talking at last. There were a couple of theories about him I wanted to check.
I said, "You're a pro, aren't you? Your name isn't Wegmann. I've seen your face in the files somewhere. The name was something Slavic." That was a guess, from the shape of his features. I hadn't seen his face in any file, or I'd have recognized him, but it would be useful to know if it was there to be found. He didn't speak; he wasn't giving anything away. I went on: "That dumb, flat-faced, country-boy look must come in handy in your line of work. But what are you doing here with a bunch of dressed-up amateurs and save-the-world-from-destruction crackpots?"
He hesitated; then I guess he decided it wouldn't hurt to relax and be himself for a little. Any cover is a strain to keep up, no matter how long you've been at it.
"Somebody must mind the store," he said, "while the children play their happy, destructive little games. Come to that, what are you doing here, Mr. Helm? If what the lady says is true, why would anybody send a good man after a flunky like Gunther? I know you're a pretty good man. That's why I let him have a little fun with you back there, I wanted the chance to size you up."
"Thanks," I said, "for the compliment, if nothing else. As for the question, do you get to ask why in your outfit? That's not the way I heard it."
"It is a point," he said. "But it is not an answer."
"Maybe they don't know he's a flunky," I said, choosing my words carefully. "Maybe they think he's the big wheel, the head man for this area, the fellow known as Cowboy. I told my chief he didn't have the weight for it. My chief said it wasn't our job to put him on the scales. Heavy or light, the word from Washington was Gunther."
"That is very interesting," Wegmann said. "That's very reassuring. That's what I hoped you would say, Mr. Helm. So they think he is this Cowboy they have hunted so long? Well, I worked hard enough to create that impression. I selected Mr. Gunther and trained him carefully, just for this purpose-of course, I did get some useful work out of him down in Juarez, but just between us, he doesn't make a very efficient operative. He has a tendency to lose his head. I allowed him to attract official attention gradually. Fortunately, he is a very stupid and conceited man who can't conceive of anybody being more clever than he is. Also, he is very hungry for money. And of course he does wear very conspicuous clothes."
"And Naldi?"