The Shadowers (18 page)

“A man named Von Sachs. General Heinrich Von Sachs. Now do you understand? Now do you remember?”

It was beginning to add up at last. “I remember Von Sachs,” I said. “I don’t remember you. You weren’t down there in Mexico last summer when I went after him.”

“No. I was in Europe on business for the General. I had been with him a long time, Eric; a very long time. I came back to find him dead and his great plan in ruins, due to one man. You, Eric.”

“His great plan was a pipe dream,” I said. “He’d never have made a fascist empire on this continent. I merely prevented an international mess by killing him.”

“It is a matter of opinion,” Kroch said. “But you did kill him. You played on his pride and his sense of honor; you taunted and insulted him until he consented to fight you with machetes, and then you cut him to pieces and killed him. He was a great man, but he had that weakness about honor, and you found it. When I learned what had happened, I swore I would find you and kill you the same way, Eric.”

I said, “Any time. Bring on the machetes.”

He laughed. “I am not so great a fool as that. What I mean is, you tricked and taunted my General into fighting under conditions favorable to you; now I have turned the technique against you, Eric. I did not think you were vulnerable through honor—it is not a common failing in the profession—but I did think you might be reached through your women. You Americans are very sentimental about women. And in spite of misunderstandings, it worked, did it not? You are here because of what I did to your women.”

“Well, you might say that. What happens now?”

“What do you expect? I had hoped you would give me a better contest, but here we are. And now that you understand why you must die, I will kill you as you killed General Von Sachs. Slowly. Only, since I am not so good with edged weapons, I will not cut you to pieces, I will shoot you to pieces.”

The gun in his hand steadied. I tried to remember the exact penetration of the little cartridge, in terms of one-inch pine boards—the usual standard—or human flesh. Well, one bullet had gone clean through Mooney’s arm. It wasn’t really a toy. I didn’t think it would gain me anything to point out that I had not actually cut Von Sachs to pieces, I’d merely worn him down until I could drive my machete through his heart.

Taking aim, Kroch paused to glance at the gun in his hand. He chuckled, “It is a small-caliber weapon, Eric, shooting a very light cartridge. You will take a great many bullets before you die.”

“I’m counting on that,” I said.

He frowned quickly. I was ready when the pistol came steady again, and I knew I could make it. Now he wasn’t even aiming for the chest or head; he wanted to have his fun before he killed me. You don’t stop a man with that kind of peripheral marksmanship, not if you’re shooting a .22. And as I’d told Olivia, while an angry man is usually easier to handle, he may be harder to stop. I had all the adrenalin I needed in my bloodstream to get me from here to there.

The little .22 settled on a point of aim and his finger put pressure on the trigger. I was aware of the strangled breathing of Harold Mooney, watching fearfully and making no effort to intervene. That was all right. I didn’t want any help. I just wanted to get my hands on Karl Kroch. At that moment I was very happy he had no information anybody wanted. I didn’t have to treat him gently. I didn’t have to catch him and preserve him like a delicate scientific specimen. I could smash him like a cockroach, and I was looking forward to it; and I didn’t care how big he was or how many guns he had. He was dead.

I was ready, but suddenly I became aware of a new sound: the sharp, hasty rapping of high heels in the corridor outside.

“Paul!” It was Olivia’s voice, echoing throughout the hall. “Paul, where are you? Paul!”

Then she was in the doorway, and Kroch was distracted for an instant, and it was time to go and I went. He looked back to me. The little pistol started spitting as I threw myself forward. It sounded like a much larger weapon in the concrete room. Something nicked the side of my neck, something plucked at my shirt, something rapped at my thigh, and then all hell broke loose in that underground chamber.

It sounded as if the great coast guns that had once guarded this place had opened up, rapid-fire. Lead began bouncing from concrete to concrete in there. I saw Olivia in the doorway, following my instructions to the letter. Standing there in her good tunic dress and high heels, looking very lady-like and respectable, she was holding my sawed-off Smith and Wesson in both white-gloved hands and pulling the trigger smoothly and rapidly, wincing only a little at each crashing, reverberating discharge.

I started to shout at her. Hell, Kroch was mine. I tried to yell at her to leave him alone. I didn’t want him full of bullet-holes, I wanted to kill him with my bare hands. Then common sense returned, a little, and I realized this was no place to be standing up in. I threw myself down, but a ricochet beat me to it. I felt a heavy blow above the ear, and things went bright red, and the redness faded slowly into black, but not before I’d heard the .38 click empty and Kroch fall.

“Paul,” somebody said breathlessly. “Paul, wake up. Please wake up!”

I opened my eyes. Olivia was kneeling beside me.

“Kroch?” I whispered.

“He’s dead. Paul, I’m sorry.”

Well, she should be sorry, shooting down people other people had promised themselves the pleasure of killing... I pulled my thoughts together and realized she’d been apologizing for a different reason. She didn’t know we’d been working on the wrong man. She thought she’d spoiled everything by putting Kroch where he’d never talk.

I remembered belatedly that I was an agent of sorts, not an avenging angel wielding the sword of retribution. There was a man I was supposed to find, a wicked old man with white hair. I wasn’t any closer to finding him than I’d ever been. Or was I? I looked up at Olivia.

“What the hell are you doing here, anyway?” I asked.

“Well, you don’t act very grateful!” she protested. When I didn’t speak, she went on: “I couldn’t let you get killed. It was suicidal, going after an armed, trained man with nothing but a hypodermic. It was crazy! I made Jack Braithwaite bring me here.” She gave a strained little laugh. “I pointed your gun at him and made him drive me, just like in the movies. To hell with Emil Taussig! I don’t give a damn if they never find him!”

“Don’t swear, Doc,” I said. After a little, I asked, “What’s the damage?”

“You have a .22 bullet in your leg. It will have to come out later. I just stopped the bleeding temporarily.”

I said, “Hell, we just dug a slug out of there last year. I seem to stop everything with that one damn leg. And my head.”

“You may have a slight concussion.” She held out her hand and showed me a flattened bullet. “That’s what hit you. I didn’t know they would splash and bounce like that. I thought I’d killed you!”

“Where’s Jack Braithwaite?” I asked. I still didn’t feel energetic enough to sit up and look around.

“Here, sir.”

He came into my field of vision, and he wasn’t alone. He was supporting the little blonde nurse on one arm. She was still in her uniform and her silly, formal hairdo; but she didn’t look quite as fresh and glowing as she had in the Flamingo Lounge. She’d seen violence and death since then.

I said, “You seem to have misinterpreted my instructions, Mr. Braithwaite. That’s not the lady I instructed you to keep safe, if necessary at the cost of your life.”

He licked his lips. “Sir, she had a gun—”

“So? Where did she shoot you? You don’t seem to be bleeding very copiously. And what the hell are you doing here?” I asked Dottie Darden.

She looked indignant. “Why ask me? You sound as if I had a choice! When somebody has a little time, I’d appreciate being told what this is all about!” Anger made her strong enough to stand alone. She freed herself from Braithwaite’s supporting arm. “Stop pawing me you... you phony Romeo! Using my apartment and pretending... Keep your hands to yourself!”

Olivia said to me, “I couldn’t very well leave her by the telephone, Paul. I didn’t think you’d want police interference. I made her come along.”

I said, “I can’t recall asking for any interference before twelve thirty-three.” Her expression changed. I said wearily, “Ah hell. Pass that, Doc.” She was still looking at me resentfully. I wasn’t acting like a man whose life had been saved at the last desperate minute, I guess. Well, maybe I wouldn’t have made it to Kroch after all. Nobody’d ever know now, and it wasn’t worth arguing about. “And don’t worry about our friend Kroch, he wasn’t our man,” I said. “Where’s your tame Ben Casey, Doc? Where’s the Apollo of the medical profession? I have a question to ask him as soon as he’s recovered from his terrible ordeal, or maybe a little sooner.”

“Harold?” She was still frowning, but in a different way. “What do you want to ask Harold?”

“I want to ask him,” I said, “why he isn’t dead.” She was silent, and I went on. “I told you how it would be. I said Kroch would kill them both, and he should have. He killed Toni Vail.”

“I know. I... I’m sorry, Paul.”

I said, “What I want to know is, just what did Dr. Harold Mooney say that kept him alive? He must have talked very fast and he must have had some real good points to make. He must have been able to claim some friends in high places, for Kroch not to kill him, and I’m not talking about the Pensacola Chamber of Commerce or the American Medical Association. I want to know what he said. I want to know how a crumb like Mooney talked himself out of a bullet when Toni...” I checked myself. That was, after all, beside the point.

“Paul, please take it easy,” Olivia said. “It isn’t good for you to talk so much, or get so excited.”

I laughed at that. I looked up at her and said, “We had it figured that Mooney was Kroch’s accomplice at one point, remember? Well, we were wrong but we were only half wrong, as I see it now. He wasn’t working for Kroch, but he was somebody’s accomplice all right. And when it came to a showdown, with Kroch’s gun pointing at his head, he used that somebody’s name to save himself. He told Kroch something interesting enough so that instead of shooting him Kroch filed him for future reference, meaning to cash in on the information after taking care of me.”

“Couldn’t he—” Olivia hesitated. “Couldn’t Harold just have offered money?”

“Is that what he says? Don’t be naïve, Doc. You don’t buy off people like Kroch, not with the kind of money Harold could offer. But sometimes you can arouse their curiosity by showing them a big game they might want to take a hand in, on one side or the other. It’s the only deal Mooney could possibly have made, and he would have had to spill everything he knew, very plausibly, to make it stick. And if he could spill it to Kroch, he can spill it to me.”

“No,” Olivia said.

I couldn’t read her expression. I looked quickly up at the other two standing over me, and they were regarding me oddly. They looked uneasy, maybe even guilty.

“What do you mean, no?” I asked sharply. “Where is he? You didn’t let him get away?”

I tried to rise. Olivia held me down. She started to speak and changed her mind. There was a funny look about her eyes, as if she were close to crying. It was the blonde nurse who spoke at last.

“Dr. Mooney isn’t... I mean, he’s dead.”

I stared up at her, and at Olivia, who turned away, biting her lip. I looked back to Dottie.

“The hell he’s dead, Miss Darden! How come? He was thrashing around vigorously enough when I got here!”

She shook her head. “He was unconscious when we came in. Jack and I went right to him while Dr. Mariassy took care of you. Jack helped me cut him loose and get the gag off. He didn’t respond. His pulse was very weak. I called Dr. Mariassy and we tried artificial respiration but it didn’t help. We couldn’t bring him around.”

There was a little silence. I looked at Olivia. “I don’t like asking, Doc, but it wasn’t another of your ricochets?”

She shook her head. “No. There was no wound, Paul. He simply died. It may have been a heart condition, aggravated by fear and partial strangulation. The gag was very tight.”

“Heart condition?” I said slowly. I heard myself laugh. It wasn’t a very nice laugh. “Doc, you’re kidding. Do you expect me to believe that the one man I needed to talk to died of heart failure? You’re an optimist if you do.” I looked at the other two. “Or somebody is!”

It was suddenly very quiet in the concrete room. They were all watching me. Olivia started to protest as I pushed myself up, but she thought better of it. She helped me rise. I had a sore leg, but it carried my weight after a fashion. I looked around. The place was getting pretty crowded, I decided. A couple more bodies, dead or alive, and we’d have to start turning away applicants.

Olivia said quietly, “I think you’d better say exactly what you mean, Paul. What are you hinting at?”

I studied her face for a moment. I looked at the other two. Olivia looked as if she was considering being angry. Braithwaite looked bewildered. Dottie looked scared. I didn’t really blame her. It was quite a situation for an innocent young girl to find herself in, knee-deep in dead bodies—if she was an innocent young girl. At the moment I would have put no trust in a white-robed angel from heaven complete with security clearance for Final Secret.

I limped over to the corner where Mooney lay. It wasn’t really difficult. Getting down on my knees was the hard part. It had to be somewhere. I found it in the neck, at the edge of the hair.

“No wound, eh?” I said to Olivia, pointing to the tiny spot of blood.

She knelt beside me quickly, heedless of her nylons. Tending to the wounded had already given them enough of a beating on the concrete, I noticed, and another run wasn’t going to make a great deal of difference. It was easier to look at her ruined stockings than to watch her pale face and wonder what was going on behind it.

She said, “Why... why, it looks like a hypodermic juncture!”

“Not really!” I murmured. “Doc, you astonish me!”

She looked at me. “Paul, what—”

“I gave you a message to give to young Braithwaite. In that message I said I might use the needle and a certain injection. Did you pass the word to Jack when you got in the apartment?”