The Devastators (8 page)

It wasn’t exactly what I’d expected. To give myself time to think about it, I said, “Some friendship! I’ve still got the scars where you and your partner played tic-tac-toe on my chest with a hot soldering iron.”

She said, quite undisturbed, “It was a misunderstanding. Poor Max.”

“Poor Max, hell,” I said. “After that little branding session, what made him think I wouldn’t shoot when he tried to pull a gun on me next day? Well, I guess you could call that a misunderstanding, too.” I grimaced. “Are you serious? Do you really expect me to believe you were sent here officially to renew our old acquaintance?”

She said, “Don’t be so clever and suspicious, my friend. Remember that sometimes the direct approach is the best. Anyway, it is the one I have been instructed to use. You see, we know why you are here in England.”

I said, poker-faced, “And why am I here?”

“You are here because there is a crazy man at large, an American scientist named McRow. This man is working on a fantastic biological weapon with which he apparently intends to blackmail the world, my country included. At least that is the intelligence we have received. Well, there are many crazy men with big ideas about getting rich, and this one would not worry us, were it not for the fact that he has acquired strong backing somewhere. McRow’s motives seem to be simple and financial, but we are not sure of the motives of his backers. They could be military, and there are certain countries eastward that, while they boast of their ancient civilizations, are not, we feel, advanced enough politically to be trusted with a weapon such as this.”

“You mean they don’t have quite the right Communist slant on things?”

“Don’t be sarcastic, Matthew. They don’t have quite the right democratic slant on things, either. There is also a certain racial factor. I do not believe many would weep, out there in the East, if all white men were to get very sick and die. There are even some irresponsible leaders out there, we feel, who would willingly sacrifice large parts of their own populations to achieve this purpose—as long as a loyal elite was assured of survival. That could be achieved by a serum or vaccine; and we think that is what McRow is now working to perfect, since he has already shown that he can produce super-virulent forms of several common diseases. He will presumably select the one for which he can most easily produce an effective antidote.” She drew a long breath. “You see, I am being absolutely frank; I am describing the problem to you exactly as it was described to me. Naturally, we would like this development for our own, but although they have tried hard, our people have failed to get it. So have yours.”

“What makes you think so?”

“The fact that you are here makes us think so, for one thing,” said Vadya. She laughed softly. “We are specialists, darling, you and I. We are not called upon to capture men alive, or bring home their nasty little secrets. When we are summoned everyone knows what it means. It means that all other methods have failed, and time is getting short, and there is only one thing left to do.” She looked at me earnestly across the table. “I am instructed to cooperate with you in any reasonable way, Matthew, until this international threat is removed. Until this man is killed and his laboratory destroyed.”

There was a little silence. Presently I said in a tentative way, “You know, the funny thing is, I really am on my honeymoon.” She didn’t say anything to this, and after a moment I went on: “Of course, that doesn’t mean I’m out of the business entirely.”

She smiled faintly. “I thought not.”

“I’ll have to know a little more before I get in touch with Washington. Suppose we have dinner together and you tell me exactly what you have in mind.”

“Yes, of course. Do you want to eat here?”

I threw a look toward the impressively formal dining room opening off the lounge, and said, “These Claridge waiters give a poor country boy from New Mexico a raging inferiority complex. I seem to remember a little place off Piccadilly Circus where we can relax and talk.”

“Whatever you say.”

She drew her furs around her, and waited for me to rise and attend to her chair like a gentleman. Then she pulled on her gloves, picked up her purse, and smiled at me over her shoulder to indicate that she was ready.

We walked out of the lounge together, and through the lobby to the street. Les was right on the ball. The doorman didn’t even have time to offer his services before the gleaming silvery sedan was gliding to the curb in front of the hotel. Vadya stopped and glanced at me with sudden suspicion.

“So I’ve got friends in London,” I said. “Hop in.”

She frowned at the chauffeur-driven Rolls, and looked back at me. “It is not that I do not trust you, darling, but I think I would prefer a taxicab.”

“Sure,” I said, close behind her. “But get in anyway. If I have to shoot from this angle, we’ll get blood and guts all over that lovely vehicle, and that would be a pity, wouldn’t it?”

Riding away from there, nobody spoke for a little. Vadya shifted position beside me, and reached up as if to rearrange her furs. I brought the snub-nosed revolver out where she could see it.

“Hands off the pelts,” I said. “I once knew a girl—a colleague of yours, as a matter of fact—who had a real tricky fur that looked just like that. She’s dead now, poor kid.”

Vadya let her gloved hands sink back into her lap. “You’re making a mistake, Matthew,” she said quietly.

She might well be right; but I couldn’t afford to show any doubts. “It happens to us all,” I said. “You make one, I make one. You wouldn’t want me to be perfect and show you up.”

“I don’t know what you mean—”

Our aristocratic chauffeur spoke without turning his head. “There’s a Mini following us, sir.”

It took me a moment to remember that this was the British way of referring affectionately to those boxy little Morrises and Austins—they’re identical except for the nameplate—that have the engine mounted crosswise to operate a tricky frontwheel drive, and tires borrowed from a small motorscooter. I didn’t look back. Instead I looked at Vadya. Her face was expressionless. Well, it would be.

I said, “That’s okay, driver. Let’s keep him on ice. The more the merrier. If I don’t get the information I want out of the woman, I’ll just work on down the line. You can keep him from interfering, can’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Vadya stirred uneasily beside me. “Matthew—”

I said, “Not now. You’ll get your chance to talk, later.”

We finished the drive without further conversation. The car stopped in a rather shabby, dark street of row houses several stories high. I had no real idea where we were. London is a big city and few foreigners learn it all. Les came around to open the door. I backed out cautiously, keeping Vadya covered as she emerged in her turn.

“It is the first door on the right on the first floor, sir,” Les said. “Ah, I believe you Americans call that the second floor, sir. One flight up, sir.”

“Very good.”

“I will be waiting, sir. There will be no interference.”

“Thanks. Come on, Mrs. Dumaire.”

Vadya started to speak and thought better of it. She started to yank her furs straight, but saw my gun steady, and thought better of that, too. She turned sharply and marched into the house ahead of me. The downstairs doors were unlocked. There was dim but adequate light in the dusty stairway, which looked somewhat like another London stairway I had reason to remember. The woman ahead of me turned right at the top, and stopped at the proper door.

“Open it,” I said.

Unlike most hall doors, it opened outward. It had to, since there was another door right behind it, opening the other way. I saw Vadya take stock of this soundproof arrangement. She glanced at me, shrugged, pushed the second door open, and went into the room beyond. I followed her, closing both doors behind us, locking the inner one, and pocketing the key.

Aside from the double door, it seemed like a room that matched the run-down neighborhood. It had a threadbare rug, a battered dresser, a tired old bed, and a single heavy armchair that seemed in better repair than the rest of the furnishings. There was an enameled tin basin, and a water pitcher, on the dresser. The cracked handle of a china thunder mug peeked out from under the bed. The illumination came from an ancient fixture suspended from the ceiling that had once burned gas. It gave surprisingly good light considering its apparent age.

Vadya had turned to face me. Her glamorous hairdo and glossy furs looked completely out of place in the dismal room. I felt a momentary qualm, but what the hell, she wasn’t really the pretty, plump, fashionable Madame Dumaire. She was just a cheap hired actress masquerading in a fancy-dress outfit paid for, no doubt, with state funds.

She said, “Matthew, really, I—”

The nice white kid gloves were a handicap, from her point of view. They not only made her fingers a little less nimble than they might have been, they made it very easy for me to see what her hands were doing. When one disappeared inside the furs, I socked her hard, right in the middle of her expensive suit. She doubled up, gasping. I clipped her judiciously across the neck and she fell to the floor. I mean, you can ask questions all night and get nowhere and prove nothing. If you’re going the interrogation route anyway, you might as well save everybody a lot of time by showing right at the start that you don’t mind bruising your knuckles.

I picked up the purse she had dropped, and yanked her furs free. She was already beginning to stir. Waiting for her to recover, I looked the stuff over. There was nothing in the purse beyond the usual feminine accessories and some official items confirming her identity as the widowed, wealthy Madame Evelyn Dumaire, citizeness of France. I tossed it on the bed.

The furs, as I’d expected, proved more rewarding. A cunningly hidden pocket at one end yielded up a tiny automatic pistol. Another secret fold in the satin lining produced a slim little plastic case. Inside was an interesting assortment of pills and powders and the means with which to administer them. It was the other side’s counterpart of our special drug kit, a sample of which reposed in my suitcase at the hotel.

I remembered that, down in Mexico, Vadya had been a fast girl with a Mickey. At that time she’d happened to be working to our mutual advantage, but it was something to keep in mind. I tossed the things on the bed, and went over and nudged her with my toe.

“Wake up,” I said. “But do it slowly.” She didn’t move.

I said, “Cut it out, Vadya. Don’t play possum with me. This is your old friend Matt speaking. Remember Matt, the guy you once carved your initials on with a hot iron? Get up and get into that chair, and be very, very careful doing it.”

After a moment she moved, and pushed herself to a crouching position, and looked up at me through the hair that had fallen into her eyes. She started to speak, changed her mind, rose, and walked unsteadily to the big chair and sat down. I went to stand over her.

“I’ve got your gun,” I said. “I’ve got your cute little portable pharmacy. There’s one more thing I’m going to have from you before we commence the singing lesson. Will you give it to me now, or do I have to strip you to find it?”

“I… I don’t understand.”

I said, “Cut it out, Vadya. Save it for the peasants. We’re both pros here. You’ve got one somewhere. Hand it over. The kill-me capsule.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, perhaps with a hint of apprehension. My taking the trouble, before questioning her, to separate her from the death-pill most agents carry made it seem as if I really meant business. Well, it was supposed to.

After a moment she drew a long breath and pulled off her left-hand glove and tossed it to me. I caught it. “The button,” she said.

I examined the glove and found she’d told the truth. The small wrist button wasn’t a button at all. While I was looking at it, she stripped off the second glove and tossed it toward the bed, and at last made the customary feminine motions of patting her hair into place, pulling down her skirt, and making a rueful face at a nylon torn at the knee.

“You play very rough, darling,” she said. “Look at my poor stocking.”

I said, “To hell with your poor stocking. It’s your working costume, isn’t it? Like a blacksmith’s apron or a mechanic’s coverall. You expect it to take a beating; don’t give me that poor-stocking bit. You’ll put three pairs on the expense account when you turn in your report, if you live so long. Get your mind off your nylons and start worrying about your neck, doll. They can’t buy you a new one of those.”

She laughed in my face. “Are you really trying to frighten me, Matthew? Do you know me so little then?” I didn’t say anything. I just waited for the question she had to ask, unless she was going to admit she knew why we were here, and it came: “Why have you brought me here? What do you want?”

I looked at her sitting there, a little mussed and rumpled now, no longer quite in character, with her phony accent, her phony identity, and her voluptuous, phony figure. I thought of a smaller, browner, blonder girl whose life could very well depend on what happened here in the next few minutes. I reached into my pocket and took out the black leather belt.

“I want,” I said, “the answer to just one question. I want to know where Winnie is.”

She looked quickly at the belt. Again there was a hint of apprehension in her eyes. “Winnie? Who is Winnie?”

It was the first real break. I knew a great sense of relief; I wasn’t making a mistake after all. I wasn’t bullying an innocent woman—well, innocent in one respect, at least. Because even if Vadya wasn’t remotely involved in the kidnaping, she’d know who Winnie was. Hell, she’d given me a description while we were talking at Claridge’s. She’d said:
and now you have a pretty little blonde wife, I’m told
. She was bound to have been told the name, also, as part of her briefing.

Her instinctive pretense of ignorance was the kind of nervous reflex that betrays you when you’ve been waiting hours to put on a dumb act and had a few drinks, and taken a few blows in the process. If the name had had no guilty associations for her, she wouldn’t have been so quick to deny knowing it.