Shadow of the Condor (26 page)

"What we've got, as Chou would say, is it puzzle."

"And you're going to unravel it?"

"As much as I can," Malcolm replied, smiling, "as much as I can."

It was easy to find the announcement of both the Robinsons' and the Kincaids' arrival in the area by checking through the back records of
Shelby
's weekly newspaper. In a county where almost nothing newsworthy happens, the arrival of a family calls for a feature story.

According to the newspaper's yellowing sheets, the Robinsons-Neil, wife, Fran, and mother-in-law, Clare Stowe -came from
Pennsylvania
to settle on their new farm in the Whitlash area. Malcolm noticed that the interviewer had not been too skillful either in writing or in asking questions: The story never told exactly where in
Pennsylvania
the Robinsons came from, although there was an allusion to "their farm in the center of the state." The article also quoted Neil as saying he could not have purchased the farm if he hadn't received help from his family back East. The faded photograph showed a much younger, more somber Robinson family.

The newspaper's story on the Kincaids was even less explicit, since the article had to compete for covering with a large story on the biggest fire in the town's history. The article briefly noted that the Kincaids'came from
Illinois
. "What now?" asked Sheila as they walked back to the motel.

"I'm not really sure," replied Malcolm. "We actually have nothing to go on but a very small He. I suppose we could find out more about the Robinsons and Kincaids if we asked the local authorities but that would blow our ... my cover."

"Their being close to the missile bothers you, right?’'

"Along with the lie, along with the lie."

"Can your superiors be of any help?"

"Some. They did routine checks on the two queer brothers. I don't know what they'll turn up here."

"There is only one way to find out," Sheila quipped.

The phone stopped ringing just as Malcolm succeeded in opening the motel-room door. He dropped his knapsack as he dived across the room to pick up the receiver and was rewarded with a dull tone signal for his efforts. Sheila entered behind him, closing and locking the door.

"I knew as soon as I heard it ringing when we came down the hall that I would be too late. Why did.1 bother to run for it?"

Sheila smiled at him. "Optimistic, I guess."

"And stupid. I think this merits a call now instead of waiting until the regular checkin time, don't you?"

Sheila shrugged her shoulders. "I should wait until I clear your calling in with Chou, but I'm sure he would say to let you go ahead."

Malcolm meant his sarcasm, but his voice held no malice. "Thank you for letting me, make my call."

Sheila's shrug bore no malice either, and her smile showed genuine humor. As always, she stood next to Malcolm and he held the receiver far enough away from his ear so she could hear.

Malcolm barely identified himself before he was put on hold. He shrugged his shoulders when Sheila glanced at him questioningly. "Perhaps it's a busy day in D.C.," Malcolm joked lightly.

"Condor? Do you know who this is?"

Malcolm had no trouble identifying Carl's voice. "Yes."

"Things have been happening rather rapidly. I tried to reach you earlier, on the hope that you were not in the field. Might I ask why you are calling in early?"

Malcolm looked at Sheila. He knew he had something the old man should know, but Malcolm didn't like Carl. "It's raining here. I came back early, and I thought I might go to a movie and miss checkin time."

"Indeed. I suggest you do nothing of the kind. I suggest, in fa6t, you stay by your phone or at the very least go out only for emergencies and then only after checking in with us."

"Rose has gone to ground. We lost track of him in central
North Dakota
. That means he is within a day's travel time of 'you. Things may begin to happen in your area. We want you on the alert."

"How did you lose him? I thought you had him covered so well he couldn't fart without your knowing it."

"So did I, Condor, so did I. The orders," Carl said, using one of his euphemisms for the old man (he never referred directly to the old man), "are for you to stay ready. We've made arrangements to protect the missile site where Parkins died. Powell and other team are flooding the area. If the situation warrants it, you will be given further information and instructions."

"Do you know what this is all about?"

"Malcolm," said Carl softly, "don't you think we will tell you all you need to know?"

Malcolm hated Carl even more when Carl addressed him by his real name. "No, I don't. But I don't suppose that makes any difference."

Carl made no reply for several seconds, then icily asked, "Is there anything else you wish to say?"

"I have another request."

"More farmers you want tracked down?"

"Yes." Malcolm read Carl all the information he had on the Robinsons and the Kincaids, omitting the story of the, lie.

"And you want-a general background check run on these people?" Carl asked., "Is there any particular reason?"

Malcolm knew Carl would suspect something if he received an unsatisfactory reply. Malcolm hadn't counted on dealing with Carl directly, but he used the same story he would have told the communications liaison who normally answered the checkin phone. "Nothing in particular. They're the next closest farms to the missile site besides the brothers. I want to do a routine check on everybody who lives within ten miles of the site to correlate what you get with what I already have."

"I certainly can't promise you anything. Such matters will obviously received a fairly low priority rating unless the situation warrants a reexamination of their merit."

Simply translated, Malcolm knew this meant Carl would not push for the information unless directly ordered to by the old man. The old man would not directly order Carl to do that unless Malcolm asked him, and Malcolm knew that if he asked to speak to the old man, he would raise a large number of questions he didn't want asked.

It took Malcolm a moment to come up with a solution to his dilemma. Finally he 6aid, "Look, Carl, tell you what. Just run checks on those two families, then I'll correlate the data you get me with what I have, figure out what specifics I have to know, and with the next set of people I have you check I'll have specific questions so you don't waste any time. Okay?"

"And you can't do that this time?" Carl's condescending tone came through loud and clear.

"No, I can't."

"Very well. I'll. see what we can do, although I can't promise you anything. I will bring this matter to the proper attention."

"You do that, Carl," said Malcolm, "you do that."

Sheila smiled at Malcolm as he hung up. "Carl really is a shit, isn't he?"

Malcolm frowned. "Who told you that?"

"You did," she replied, smiling. "Some of your comments and descriptions under interrogation were slightly unorthodox. But appropriate."

Malcolm paid little attention to what Sheila said. His conscience bothered him. If the old man knew what he knew . . . but then that was impossible. Malcolm frowned. Sheila noticed his mood. She moved away from the phone table to the bed. She reached in the closet and brought out the overnight case.

"I think I better let Chou know about this too."

Malcolm made no reply.

"First," Sheila said, deliberately carrying on a conversation, "I think I'll get out of these wet clothes."

Sheila hoped her body might distract Malcolm from his deep and therefore dangerous thoughts. She took off the nylon windbreaker and hung it from the bathroom doorknob. She set the overnight case on the luggage rack at the edge of the bed, then she unfastened her shoulder holster. She looked to where Malcolm stood on the other side of the bed as she threw the gun and holster on the bed with one hand and unbuttoned her blouse with the other. She concentrated on her words as she said, "I have no idea what Chou's orders will be, but I'm sure. . .

That was as far as she got. Cocktail party Freudians claim accidents do not happen, they are caused. Suffice it to say that Sheila consciously did not intend the sequence of actions which followed after she threw the gun on the bed. True, her interpretation of the moment helped define the events, but Malcolm played a major role too.

The gun didn't stay where Sheila threw it. In her divided attention she exerted more effort-than necessary. The gun landed on the edge of the mattress, right next to the frame at the bottom edge of the bed. The firm mattress bounced the gun back into the air, then the gun slid from sight between the bed's baseboard and mattress.

Malcolm saw the whole scene as part of a dream. As the gun vanished from view, he knew he had to take the chance. He had a good reason to try to break her control. He hated himself the whole time, but he knew he had to chance it. Sheila was unarmed now, and he was not drugged. When his eyes met hers, he knew she knew his thoughts.

Sheila moved first. Her reactions were quicker, she was more experienced and her choices were simpler. She had to reestablish control over Malcolm. To do that, she needed the gun. She quickly bent and shot her hand toward the narrow crack between the baseboard and the mattress.

Malcolm's reactions were slower, he was less experienced and he had more options to choose from. He didn't know precisely what he wanted other than to control the situation. At what price he wasn't sure. When he made his lunge for the bed, Sheila's hand was already going down between the mattress and the baseboard.

Sheila looked up in time to see Malcolm hurtling toward her. She jerked her hand to meet Malcolm's outstretched arm. She caught the sleeve of his jacket and pulled him toward her with all her might, her strength adding to his momentum. Malcolm inadvertently "aided her" when his' right foot tripped over the knapsack he had sloppily discarded on the floor. He sped past Sheila to land on his stomach by the door. McGiffert's training wasn't all wasted: Malcolm quickly rolled and came up in fighting stance, slightly off-balance, but at least fairly prepared. Had he tried for the door' Sheila would have been all over his back.

This is stupid, thought Malcolm, stupid. Sheila stood almost five feet from him. She had moved to the space between the foot of the bed and the dresser. She too stood in a fighting position, her left side to him, her left arm bent at the elbow and the edge of her open hand extending toward him. Her right fist guarded her solar plexus and the lower portion of her body. She bent both legs at the knees, with most of her weight on her right trailing leg. She slowly moved her left leg up and down in a bouncing motion, her toes never quite leaving the floor.

Malcolm wanted to say something, but no words came. He didn't want to hurt her. McGiffert had told him that once he lost the initiative, he should either close quickly for the kill or defend himself until his, opponent made a mistake. Malcolm couldn't even conceive of attacking her. He stood frozen in his position, vaguely planning to counter her attack, to neutralize her without harming her. How, he didn't know. He didn't have to wait long for his chance.

Sheila moved gracefully, almost effortlessly. Chou made her practice two hours each day. Her muscles were loose and limber, her moves were precise. She stepped forward with her right foot, easily changing her guard with a smooth unhurried motion. She sped into her attack while Malcolm was still reacting to her first move. She jumped high into the air, her left knee jerking up. Malcolm reacted for her left-foot kick just as she anticipated. She twisted in the air while her right foot snapped toward his head in a roundhouse kick.

Malcolm realized his mistake too late to avoid the full kick. He ducked and raised his blocking left forearm. His block absorbed much of the shock, but Sheila's kick knocked his arm against his head. For some reason, perhaps "accidental," her kick didn't carry the full force she possessed. The ball of her foot grazed the top of Malcolm , s head, but the blow stunned him only briefly.

In direct opposition to McGiffert's instructions, when Malcolm bounced off the wall, he jumped toward Sheila, his arms groping blindly in front of him. Her reverse punch caught him just below his ribs as his arms encircled her harmlessly. Instead of bringing a knee to the groin or a palm-heel uppercut to his chin, Sheila shifted her body, grabbed Malcolm's almost lifeless arm and used a shoulder throw to hurtle him over her head. Malcolm's feet grazed the ceiling as he passed through the air. He landed in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed.

Pain brought Malcolm back to consciousness. Pain and a terror it took him several minutes to place. As the fire burned through his brain, he realized he couldn't breathe,, he was suffocating. He heard his laboring body desperately trying to suck oxygen in great wheezing gasps. His diaphragm heaved convulsively. For several seconds he was sure he would pass out again, but gradually, slowly, his lungs recovered, sucking the air in and out, in and out.

The pain built as his instinctual terror of suffocation faded. His forearm throbbed, his back ached as if it had been hit with a baseball bat and his head still burned. He blinked his eyes, mildly surprised to find his contacts still on center. It took him several seconds to realize Sheila knelt above him working his arms up and down in resuscitation efforts.

"You fool!" he heard her whisper. "You stupid, stupid fool!"

She continued to pull up and push down on his arms even after she saw his eyes open. He tried to tell her to stop, but the words wouldn't leave his body. After a few more motions his breathing returned to normal. She stopped.

"Malcolm, are you ... are you all right?"

"Mmmmmnn." Malcolm licked his lips and tried again. His voice was very weak. "I I think so. My arm hurts, but I don't think it's broken. Head, my head is starting to feel better and I can breathe easier now. I don't think I hurt my back any. Didn't help it any either."

"Do you think you can sit up? Get to the bed?"