Operation Fireball

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Hazel and I walked up the broad, shrub-lined walk of the Bethesda Medical Center Hospital. We took the elevator to the fourth floor and found Karl Erikson’s room.

The big man was propped up in a cranked-up hospital bed. His left arm was in a sling, but he had a portable typewriter on his lap. He looked the same except for a slight loss in his usual high color. “Bienvenidos, amigos,” he greeted us. He glanced at his typewriter. “Each report seems to breed two more.”

“I hope you’re impressing your bosses by letting them know you have your own personal destroyer caddying for you,” I needled him.

“That wasn’t in the script,” he said. “Someone was supposed to be there, of course, but I had no idea the assignment would go to the same destroyer that ferried us to Gitmo.” He smiled at Hazel. “Has he forgiven you yet for holding out on him on the subject of who his employer was on this little deal?”

“No, he hasn’t,” I said emphatically before Hazel could reply. “She’s got some lumps coming for letting me stick my head into the mouth of that alligator when she knew I couldn’t make a dime out of it.”

“He’ll get over it,” Hazel said calmly to Erikson.

“About the time your bruises start fading,” I told her. “I still don’t see why you let me go ahead when you knew this character here was—”

“I’ll tell you why,” she interrupted me. “You said it yourself when you came to see me at the ranch. You were losing your balls. You weren’t doing anything. I wanted you like you were in Florida. Sure, it was dangerous, but not as dangerous as anything you might have got into by yourself.”

“How was he in Florida?” Erikson interposed.

Hazel smiled. “Tigerish.” She glanced at me mischievously before returning her attention to Erikson. “How’s the convalescence?”

He shrugged. “The doctor tells me I’d have been better off with a drumload of nice clean incendiary bullets in me instead of that paint-soaked chunk of wood, but it’s coming.” He looked at me. “You could have let me drown before the boat from the destroyer reached us.”

“Like you could have left me alone with the soldier in the alley behind the whorehouse.”

“What’s this about a whorehouse?” Hazel wanted to know.

“It’s a Spanish word meaning cathedral,” Erikson said blandly. His eyes were still upon me. “Based on the million you were counting on for your end of the retrieval, your check is going to come up about nine hundred ninety-eight thousand short. The cash is Uncle Sammie’s, but I’ve had you on the department’s thirty-two-dollar per diem since the outset. Hazel’s fifty thousand advance to me will be handled separately.”

“Tell the department I hope they can spare it,” I said. “They didn’t risk a goddamn—”

“You can mail us our checks at the Rancho Dolorosa, Ely, Nevada,” Hazel cut in. “And why don’t you come out for a visit while you’re recuperating?”

Erikson nodded slowly. “I might do that. I just might.”

“Anytime,” Hazel said. She gave Erikson her big, Hazel smile. “Come on, horseman. Before you get into an argument with the government.”

“I’m not so sure about the ranch,” I demurred. “The White Pine county sheriff might still be taking an interest in me.”

“No, he won’t,” Erikson said. “Uncle Sammie may come up short on the cash, but his umbrella has no holes in it.”

“Now, isn’t that nice to know?” Hazel said to me sweetly. She tugged at my arm. “Come on. A girl has to have some privacy while she’s getting her lumps.”

Karl Erikson and I exchanged half-salutes, and Hazel and I walked back down the hospital corridor to the elevator.