The Annihilators (35 page)

“What do you mean?”

“Are you too proud to take advice? I don’t know a damn thing about this kind of an operation; but we’ve got a resident expert up in those rocks, if you’re willing to ask him for help.” When he nodded without hesitation, I raised my voice: “Hey, Jim, tell them peace has been declared. And haul your ass down here, please, we need you.”

A few minutes later, certain orders had been given and men had hurried off to execute them. I left Ricardo and Jim Putnam in earnest consultation about further tactical matters outside my experience—I remembered that Ricardo’s father had, after all, been a very competent army officer before he became a less competent president; some military knowledge had apparently rubbed off on the son.

I turned to the unidentified gringo who was still sitting in the rear of the Jeep. He was a handsome man in his thirties with a sensitive intellectual face made more sensitive and intellectual by big horn-rimmed glasses. His dark hair was cut too long and wavy for my taste, and he was wearing one of those expensive poplin safari suits, all loops and straps and bellows-type pockets, that make them look like ersatz Great White Hunters—but then I’d known before I saw him that there was no way I was ever going to like this man. His left earlobe was missing, but the injury was healing well.

“Dr. Archibald Dillman, I presume,” I said.

I awoke in sunshine to see Frances Dillman standing over me. “It must be nice to be able to sleep anywhere,” she said.

“All it takes is years of practice,” I said. I sat up and yawned and brushed myself off a little. “Is the war over? Can we go home now?”

She smiled. “Great military maneuvers seem to be taking place out there. We’ve heard a little shooting, but none in the last half hour.” She looked down at me curiously. “I’m surprised you’re not out there with them.”

“Whatever the hell for?” I asked. “They don’t need my help. A soldier I’m not.”

There was a little silence. I was sitting on a small shelf or bench about halfway up the side of the pyramid we’d chosen for our gallant last stand. Originally it had probably been a paved ceremonial terrace of some kind. I’d had a patch of shade when I first started to nap, but since then, the sun had moved westward around my chosen bush to get a clear shot at me. Some members of our party were chatting on a larger terrace above us; and above them Ricardo, or Jim Putnam, had stationed half a dozen armed men in the temple ruins we’d vacated. From my lower viewpoint I couldn’t see the road clearly, but I could make out through the trees the silhouettes of a couple of parked vehicles and catch occasional glimpses of moving men with guns. It was all very warlike, and very peaceful, at the same time.

I looked up at Frances standing there, still faintly elegant-looking despite the dust on her expensive jeans and the rather wilted condition of her red silk shirt—the same clothes, I remembered, in which she’d once watched a human sacrifice with me. It seemed a long time ago, so long ago that the memory was losing reality. (I didn’t
really
believe in ancient blood rites and telepathic communication, did I?)

Frances crouched down beside me. “Don’t tell me what you’re not, Matt,” she said softly. “Tell me what you are. Even after all this, I still don’t know.”

“It’s none of your damned business what I am, married lady,” I said. “How was the sentimental reunion?”

But I didn’t have to ask; I could see how it had been. She was a tall and dignified and handsome adult woman; but at the moment she had a young-girl glow about her that was a dead giveaway, very much like. Gloria Jean Putnam. Her interest in me was obviously only a momentary female curiosity about a man with whom she’d shared some mildly intriguing experiences, now ended.

“It was… sentimental,” she said cautiously. Then she went on in a breathless way: “Oh, God, Matt, I’d given him up! After last night I was sure Montano was going to kill him and I’d never see him again. I was trying to understand how I could possibly endure a whole lifetime without him. And then I saw him in that Jeep!” She swallowed hard.

I told myself that it wasn’t that I had anything against undying marital devotion; but why did they have to keep waving it under my nose? The loving young Putnams, Mrs. Henderson and her old-soldier husband, and now this woman with whom I’d slept more than once and her intellectual spouse in his safari suit with his intellectual eyeglasses and his soulful eyes—why the hell didn’t they just save it for the bedroom and keep it decently concealed in public?

“Sure,” I said. “It’s great, but did he get my message? He didn’t seem to be paying a great deal of attention when I laid it out for him. If he doesn’t play this right, you can still be in considerable trouble.”

She actually blushed a little. “I’m afraid we didn’t get around to discussing any practical matters like that. He just mentioned that you’d been trying to tell him something, but he’d been too eager to see me to listen closely. That’s why I climbed down here to find you.”

I said, “Okay, it goes like this. He was never kidnaped—make sure he understands that. He was never kidnaped, because if he was kidnaped, people will start wondering what you were supposed to do to get him back—did to get him back—and that’s the one question you don’t want anybody asking.”

“But—”

I said, “It will work, if you play it right. If he plays it right. Ricardo already has too many abductions credited to his Costa Verde liberation movement to make him happy. He’ll be delighted to do without this one; he’ll see that it’s kept quiet at his end. I’ll talk to him. Nobody’s going to be too damn interested in your husband, as long as he keeps a low profile. We’re the real story—big semiscientific expedition held for ransom—particularly the Putnams, since they’re the beautiful people who were being taken for a million bucks. Nobody’s going to give a hoot about Professor Archibald Dillman, who was just kind of looking around for his wife after coming to Copalque to give her a nice surprise by joining the tour unexpectedly. Only, when he got to the site, no wife. So he poked around and questioned his contacts among the local population and learned who was responsible for the disappearance. He had a native guide lead him to Montano’s camp, where he almost got into trouble, since Lupe didn’t appreciate his snooping. But fortunately there was a fight among the revolutionary leaders, and the survivor, Ricardo Jimenez, didn’t believe in kidnaping and extortion as part of his national liberation program. Once he had control, he hurried off to Labal to set us free, bringing your husband with him. Okay? Do you think you can sell that to your Archie?”

She didn’t answer my question immediately. Instead she said, “You don’t like him, do you?”

I looked at her and said, “If you were to think very hard, use all those trained brains you’re supposed to have, you might be able to come up with a reason why I wouldn’t be too fond of any guy you were married to.”

She put her hand on mine lightly. “Matt, I’m sorry.”

I said dryly, “This is the place where you say you never meant to hurt me—even when you were emptying a .38 Special at my back.”

Stung, she took her hand away; then I heard her laugh. “Chalk up a point for the tall man with the overnight whiskers. And in answer to your question, yes, I’m sure Archie will agree it’s the sensible thing to do. And we both thank you.” She looked at a piece of paper I held out, a sheet torn out of my little photo-notebook. “What’s that?”

“Memorize and destroy,” I said. “If there should be any repercussions after we get out of here, and you think I can help, that number will reach me, although perhaps not right away. Or…” I hesitated. “Or if you should ever get into any other trouble where my special talents might prove useful.”

She shook her head quickly. “Matt, I couldn’t ask you for any more help, ever, you must know that. Not after what you’ve already…”

I said, “Hell, you might misplace that guy again and want him retrieved. Would you jeopardize his precious life because of some silly qualms about asking favors of the one man you know who might be able to get him back for you?”

She laughed once more. “You really are prickly today, aren’t you? All right, I’ll memorize your number gratefully, my dear, and thank you again.”

I said, “You probably don’t want advice, nobody wants advice, but I’ll give it to you anyway. Don’t tell your Archie anything he doesn’t have to know if you haven’t already.” Her slightly guilty look told me that she hadn’t yet found the right moment for the great confession-session and she wasn’t looking forward to it. I went on, “Sure, he should know the general outlines of what happened, so he can help protect you from damaging publicity. But certain demands were made of you that nobody needs to know about, particularly not your husband, if you know what I mean. Confession may be good for the soul, but it can play hell with a marriage.”

“Says that old married man, Matthew Helm!” Her voice was suddenly sharp.

“Precisely,” I said. “As it happens, that’s just the reason I’m no longer married. My wife had learned something I’d have kept from her, for her sake, but she did go looking where I’d asked her not to. One of our children was involved, and I’d had to do some rather unpleasant things to save the little monster. The knowledge that her husband was capable of such acts—even with the best motive in the world—was more than my tender bride could bear. Once our baby was safe she started brooding about it. End of marriage.”

There was a long silence. At last Frances licked her lips and said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. You never told me you’d been… I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago,” I said. “And you’re sorry, but you’re still going to babble like a brook in spite of all my brotherly advice, aren’t you?”

She hesitated; then she nodded. “I have to. Don’t you see that I have to? I can’t… can’t soil our marriage with that kind of a lie, that kind of concealment…”

She was interrupted by the snapping sound of gunfire not too far away out in the jungle. I pulled her quickly down beside me, listening. At last I sat up.

“Go get your husband and get behind a rock. Tell the others. It isn’t very close, but those little bullets travel a long way; it would be very dumb to get killed now by a wandering slug… Go on, run!”

On her feet, she hesitated. “Matt, I—”

“Beat it,” I said. “See you in a nice, dark sacrificial cave some time, Dillman.”

I got to my feet and watched her reach safety up there before I turned away. I was heading down the slope toward the road when a guerilla fighter, junior grade, came running up to me.

“Señor Helm?”

“
Si, yo soy Helm
.”

He informed me that
El Jefe Menor
desired my presence, and I indicated that I would be delighted to grant such a reasonable wish. I followed him at a brisk pace, noting that the shooting had stopped. We found Ricardo about a quarter of a mile down the road in the direction of Labal, sitting in his wheelchair in the dubious shade of a Jeep.

I raised my hand, movie-Indian-fashion, and said, “How, Minor Chief.”

He wasn’t amused at first; they tend to take themselves a little seriously down here. Then he grinned and said, “My father—the former president of this country, as you’ll recall—was
El Jefe Mayor
, or Big Chief. Clearly that makes me
El Jefe Menor
, or Little Chief.” He stopped grinning and looked at me narrowly. “Are you sure you have no idea who was following you, Matt?”

I shook my head. “None whatever. Why?”

“Jim has them pinned down out there, whoever they are,” he said. “There are only about a dozen of them, he thinks. They have sent a messenger; they are willing to parley; but they will speak only to Señor Matthias Helm.” He was still watching me closely. “That is your real name, is it not? Who would be out there in the jungle who would ask for you, Matt? Or Matthew/Matthias, as the case may be?”

“I have friends in strange places,” I said. “And enemies. But what one of them is doing out there I have no idea. Make up your mind, Ricardo.”

“The messenger was in civilian clothes, but he had carelessly forgotten to remove his Costa Verde army dog tags. And I do not forget that there could still be a matter between us of a lady who was murdered in Chicago, even though you so generously claim to have absolved me of the guilt incurred by other members of my family.”

I said, “You’re in a tough spot, Little Chief. You’re going to have to either trust me or shoot me. As I said, make up your cotton-picking mind.”

He smiled thinly. “Oh, I wouldn’t dare to shoot you, Señor Helm. Sanchez tried it and died with all his men—but now I am wondering if you accomplished that feat entirely without outside assistance.”

“And then called your attention to my invisible allies out in the jungle so you could make trouble for them?” I shook my head. “Well, it’s a natural doubt, I suppose, but you’ll have to resolve it for yourself.”

He looked at me for a moment longer and smiled slowly. “
Bueno, amigo.
It is resolved. I am foolish enough to think that you are an honest man in your way; such naivete will probably destroy me eventually. But go put an end to this stupid shooting before some of my men are killed.”

I looked at him sitting there; and for the first time I found myself wondering if perhaps his crazy revolution stood a chance. There was more to this wheelchair-bound young man than I’d thought.

“Any restrictions?”

He shook his head. “Use your judgment. Execute them or let them go, as you wish. It is up to you.”

Another young revolutionary in a sweaty uniform guided me along a hastily cleared trail through the dry forest to where Jim Putnam had set up a little field headquarters of sorts.

“Goddamn shoestring operation,” he grumbled when I came up. “Half the communications gear doesn’t work worth a shit. And the only English-speaking noncon I’ve got I had to send off to straighten out a mess… Well, never mind that. You got the message?”

I nodded. “Who do you think you’ve got in the bag?” I asked.

“Hell, there’s no telling in this stuff. Nobody’s had a good look at them.” He slapped an insect that landed on his neck. “They’re about three hundred yards off thataway, in another of those lousy ruins,” he said, pointing through the tangled brush in a southerly direction. “Instant pillboxes. We’ve got a good knot tied around them, and we could clean them out, but they know what they’re doing and we’d take some losses. These are good boys, but they’re awfully damn green. Does Bullet mean anything to you besides what comes out of a gun. Or Metal Pee?”