The Betrayers

Chapter Twenty-four

THEY WERE HIDING in the rocks: Monk and two dark-faced men in nondescript Hawaiian-type clothes, each carrying an old M-l carbine, that bastard cross between a pistol and a rifle that I've never had any use for. However, there's no denying that under suitable conditions it will kill a man very dead.

Monk was wearing a natty khaki outfit with a short-sleeved, open-necked shirt. It looked like the latest summer uniform adopted by the armed forces, the one that makes even a four-star general look like a Boy Scout. It occurred to me that there had always been something faintly resembling an offbeat scoutmaster about the Monk. Well, the handicraft projects were different, but the burning enthusiasm was the same.

Now his blue eyes looked bright and idealistic in his sunburned, ascetic face, as he climbed down to cover me with another one of those rustless belly-guns he seemed to have got a bushel of somewhere. His helpers took my little knife and my belt, and searched me for other weapons, and found none because there were none to find.

"The same old Eric," Monk said, relaxing. "Fast with the hands, fast with the weapons, fast with the women, and very slow with the brains."

"The same old Monk," I said. "Always trying to talk people to death. If words could kill, amigo, you'd be the greatest in the business."

That got to him, because of course he did think he was the greatest in the business. Well, who doesn't? Nobody'd stay in it if he didn't feel he was, in his own peculiar way, the greatest, or would be with a little more practice. We're all the greatest. The difference was that Monk could never take any kidding about it.

His eyes narrowed and he started to answer sharply, but changed his mind. Instead he just jerked his head for the two men to take me on down the path, such as it was. Jill stepped forward.

"Just a minute," she said. "I have a score to settle with this man."

Monk said irritably, "To hell with your scores, Irma. Feed your damn pride on your own damn time."

"You would not have captured him so easily without me," the girl said. "You can indulge me a little, darling. It will only take a moment." She had deliberately allowed her voice to change and become slightly foreign, and her face had changed. She was no longer the pretty, leggy, lighthearted American miss I'd been allowed to admire on the beach at Waikiki a few mornings before. She wanted me to know it. She wanted me to appreciate the skill with which she'd deceived me. Temperament we've got lots of in the trade.

She stood in front of me. "Mr. Helm."

I said, "So you're Irma, from Moscow."

She moved her shoulders briefly. "From there and elsewhere."

"I don't suppose Francis and the rest of the boys knew that."

"Those pacifist fools! They were sheep and easy to lead."

"Right into Mister Monk's slaughterhouse."

"Of course. Regularly enlisted as American agents, Mr. Helm. Don't forget that. Their records of protest will be remembered after tomorrow, as well as their official status. So will yours. You undoubtedly thought you were being clever, pretending to be of somewhat the same persuasion; you thought it might lead them to confide in you, did you not? And maybe it did, but nevertheless you played right into our hands. It is also on the record. And after you are found dead on the boat-the curiously equipped boat that will soon attract a great deal of attention-what do you think people will say about you, a man known to have been disciplined for speaking out against the war in Asia?"

I said, "So that's the gambit. Pretty tricky, Irina."

"Very tricky, Mr. Helm. Can you guess whose mad political ideas will be blamed for the horrible deaths of all those brave young American soldiers? We were going to use Naguki, of course, but then we heard that you were coming, and that you had been good enough to frame yourself much better than we could have framed Naguki. So we disposed of Naguki and concentrated on you. You thought you were being very clever, sneaking up on K by roundabout ways, but who told you about K, Mr. Helm? Who told you where to come? I did. We've been expecting you here. We've been watching your childish attempts to delude us. We've been waiting patiently for your arrival." She smiled with youthful condescension. "I'll admit that you showed admirable ruthlessness and daring in slipping away from our people on Maui last night, but the end result is the same. You are here, in our hands."

Monk said, "To hell with this, kid. If you've got something to say to him, say it."

I said to the girl, "But you're the one who tipped off Washington to the operation in the first place."

"Of course. We wanted the sheep to be rounded up, at the right time. Or found dead in the right places. We wanted a man to be sent to investigate, a man we could use. A man like Naguld, or better still, a man like you. And of course, Monk had certain private reasons for preferring you, once it was known you were coming."

Monk said, "Okay, okay, Irma. Gloating time is over."

"Just one thing more." She took a step closer to me. "Mr. Helm, do you recall a hotel room in Honolulu and a man who laughed?"

I grinned. "Sure, and you did look funny with all your clothes off, honey, asking to be laid."

She drew back her hand and slugged me hard on the side of the head with my own gun. She was a strong girl, and it was a healthy blow, almost knocking me down.

For a moment I saw nothing but flashes of light and dark. When my eyes could focus again, she was still standing there. Then she puckered up her pretty young lips and spat. Turning, she tossed the gun to Monk and marched away, her dignified exit a little spoiled-but only a little-by the mud on the seat of her jeans.

I touched the welt above my ear and felt some blood. I couldn't help wishing she'd taken it all out in spit. To the best of my knowledge, no man has been seriously damaged by saliva yet.

Monk laughed. "A woman scorned," he said.

"That's a great line," I said sourly. "I'll make a note of it, if you don't mind. You don't come across originality like that very often."

Having again made myself unpopular in that direction, too, I moved off obediently along the path the girl had taken. My head ached and I couldn't help thinking I was getting a little tired of thawing attention-sometimes misguidedly, as it turned out-away from other people at my own expense. However, I'd been afraid that if I didn't make myself so obnoxious here as to keep everybody busy hating me, they might think of sending somebody back to destroy or remove the sailboat, and perhaps even bury the body.

I wondered briefly how Isobel was making out back there, wounded and alone-if she wasn't dead-and then I dismissed her from my mind completely. While I'm not sold on extrasensory perception, I have found that if you think of something hard enough, other people often do seem to think of it, too. I didn't want anybody to think of her. Besides, I had plenty of problems of my own without worrying about hers.

I've called it a path because it was the logical route along the shore, but it wasn't the kind of manicured trail you'd find in a national park. The rough going didn't encourage conversation, but presently I asked over my shoulder, "Just what is this K bit, anyway?"

Monk had apparently decided to stop being insulted; his voice came readily enough: "Hell, you know these Hawaiian names. That's Kakananuka Bay out there. How would you like to say that twenty times a day? Besides, K sounds more mysterious and can't be located on a chart. Sweeter honey to trap the bear, Eric. And you'll have to admit you walked right into it."

"Sure." After a moment I said with careful flattery, "You must be a pretty slick diplomat, Monk. Getting Peking's Pride and the Moscow Maiden to work together must have taken some doing, considering official policies over there these days."

I heard him chuckle. "What makes you so sure they're working together, friend? Some of them may think they are, but-" He was interrupted by two sharp, echoing gunshots from the jungle ahead. I heard him swear. "Hell, that's a.38! Damn the trigger-happy young bitch! If she's… Stand right there, Eric! Put your hands behind you."

I did as I was told. Monk snapped an order at the two men accompanying us, and one of them produced a piece of cord, which Monk tested and then used to tie my wrists firmly together in back.

"These men will bring you in," he said. "Dead or alive. I'd prefer to keep you alive until tomorrow morning, but the condition of the body isn't tremendously important. It doesn't have to be absolutely fresh, if you know what I mean, Eric. If you want to die now, just make one bad move, and the men will be happy to oblige. I'll see you in camp. Whether you see me or not is up to you."

He pushed past me and disappeared into the leafy wilderness ahead at a run. After a moment, one of the men gave me a shove, and we followed more slowly. It was harder making progress with my hands tied, and I was too busy trying not to trip over things to watch my surroundings carefully. Anyway, Jill-or Irma, as I preferred to think of her now-had said K was over the next ridge. Like most of her information, it left a little to be desired, accuracy-wise.

Without warning, I stumbled out of the jungle into a pleasant grove of the big mesquite-kiawes, under which were pitched several well-camouflaged tents, carefully placed where natural growth would shield them from both air and sea observation. The flap of the nearest tent was tied back and I could see radio equipment inside. The trees ended at a placid inlet. Beyond was an open area of muck and grass and sandy hummocks.

I looked for the boats and couldn't see them at first. Then I spotted them back in the jungle to the left, where the inlet kind of disappeared into a dense tangle of vegetation. Part of this had been carefully undercut to make room along the bank-a kind of natural boathouse – for the two white speedsters.

Down at the edge of the brush, Monk was standing with Irma. There were also a couple of dark-faced, armed, Hawaiian-looking characters like the ones who formed my escort, and a chunky man in a dirty white suit. Another man, also in grubby whites, lay on the riverbank, apparently dead.

"I tell you, darling," Irma was saying angrily when we came up, "I tell you, they were trying to force their way past the guards. When I came running, that one pulled a gun. He was going to shoot; naturally I shot first."

The chunky man had a round, impassive, Oriental face and slanting dark eyes, very narrow now. His voice was soft and his English was chosen with care.

"I think I am entitled to explanation, Mr. Rath. We go to make final inspection of equipment-our equipment. We are seized by ruffians. My colleague is murdered by impetuous young lady. He was most valuable. My superiors will be displeased. How shall I report this unfortunate incident?"

He was a good man. He knew he was in a tight spot, a very tight spot, but his face was calm and he wasted no time on anger. He might have been discussing a defective circuit instead of a dead colleague.

"Well, Mr. Rath?" he said to Monk.

Monk's eyes were wide and grave. "I'm sorry as hell, Mr. Soo," he said-at least that's the way the name sounded to me. "I'm sorry as hell. It's a stupid misunderstanding, that's all it is. Just a misunderstanding.

You said your work was finished, so I put the boats out of bounds so no one would monkey with them until tomorrow morning. These men just take orders. They're not supposed to think; you know how it is. They didn't understand that of course you are free to come and go as you wish. And Miss Darnley, here, well, she's young, and nobody likes to be shot at… How does it happen that your friend had a gun, Mr. Soo? I told you we would take care of all the security arrangements."

Mr. Soo, or whatever his name was, hesitated for a second or two. Then he said smoothly, "I told him it was a breach of hospitality, but he would insist on bringing it." The only sign of strain he showed was that his English, surprisingly, got a little more fluent as he talked. "So there are faults on both sides, Mr. Rath. A terrible thing, but it is done. You will take care of him?"

"Yes, of course. If you still want to look aboard the boat…"

Mr. Soo smiled gently. "Not right now. I am hardly, as you say, in the mood. I will return to my tent, if you please."

He started to walk away. Monk nodded. The nearest man stepped forward and chopped him down with the butt of a carbine, using no more force than required. There was a little silence after he had fallen.

Monk looked at the man on the ground and at me. "There's your shipmate, Eric."

It was time for somebody to ask a stupid and obvious question, and I seemed to be the logical candidate. "So you and the lady from Moscow are double-crossing your Chinese associates," I said. "What the hell kind of complicated deal are you trying to pull here, Monk?"

"Not trying, friend." His eyes were bright and hot and intensely blue. "Pulling."

I glanced at the girl and looked back to Monk. "With her help. Did you sell out for rubles instead of yen, is that it?"

"Nobody sold out!" His voice was harsh. "We merely discovered, shall we say, that our interests were identical in certain areas. Large areas. When the fate o mankind is at stake, friend, one takes one's allies where one finds them! I tried to convince people in Washington, but I couldn't find anybody who'd face the facts and do what needed doing. We're governed by cowards and sentimentalists. I had to go elsewhere to find a realistic approach to international politics."

"Realistic," I said, with another glance at Irma, who kept her young face expressionless. I looked at the man she'd shot, lying there on the bank, and I remembered a woman she'd also shot, and I said, "She's realistic, all right. Are you going to tell me about this realistic approach, amigo, or do you expect me to guess?"

Monk stepped up to Mr. Soo and with his foot contemptuously rolled the unconscious Chinese over and looked down at the broad yellow face.

"There's the true enemy, Eric!" he said grimly. "They're arrogant bastards. They think they can use and outsmart anybody. They thought they could use and outsmart me. They figure civilization started with them and will end with them. And unless something's done with them soon, they may be right."

The picture was beginning to come into focus, gradually.

"And you're just the boy to do it," I murmured.

"Let's say I'm the boy to see that it gets done," Monk said. "I've spent years studying them, out here in the Pacific. They're the most dangerous people in the world, and there are more of them than there are of anybody else. Once all four hundred million of them break loose, there'll be no stopping them. We've got to do it now, Eric! Now!"

I said, "And that's what you're really working for? You're not protesting against the war we've got; quite the contrary. You're trying to promote a bigger and better one. You figure on sinking a U.S. transport with Red Chinese equipment and having the body of a Chinese technician found on board the boat that set off the explosion. You figure that will force Washington's hand. We'll have to retaliate somehow, and there'll be counter-retaliation, and what you're really hoping is that it will build up-escalate, to use the jargon-to a nuclear payoff. Is that it?"

He smiled. "You underestimate me, Eric. I've made sure of forcing Washington's hand. There will be found on board the boat not only a Chinese technician, but a cowardly American peacemonger fairly high in government employment. Don't forget yourself, my friend. Why do you think we were so careful to lure a man out from Washington, hoping for a fairly senior agent who, unlike the kids we'd hired for show, couldn't possibly be called a dupe or a catspaw. As Irma said, you played right into our hands with your pacifist cover. Your body found on the boat along with the Chinaman's will discredit both the pacifist groups and the wishy-washy government that tolerates them. There'll have to be action, real action, to quiet the national uproar that will follow."

I glanced at Irma. "And supposing you get your war, what part will her people take?"

Monk said, "They will fight with us. They'll have to. They have just as much to lose as we have."

"That'll be the day," I said.

"We fought together to defeat the Germans, didn't we? This is a greater danger than Hitler."

I said, "Suppose they just stand by rubbing their hands gleefully while the two largest nations they share the world with kill each other off, after which they simply move in to pick up the pieces." I didn't look at Irma, but I was aware that she'd stirred minutely, as if I'd touched a sensitive nerve. I said, "You're dreaming, Monk. I won't argue with your premise; I don't know that much about Asiatic politics. But I don't trust your allies."

"They'll have to fight," Monk said stubbornly, his eyes hard and bright. "They know as well as we do that the fate of the white race is at stake."

It startled me. I mean, I'm not particularly tolerant, and I don't really believe that everybody's equal. Depending on what I need him for, I'll judge a man by his 10, or the score he makes on the target range, or the speed at which he can take a car around a track; and anybody who tries to tell me that some people aren't brighter than others, or better shots, or faster drivers, is wasting his time. But except for recognition purposes, I've never found the color of a man's skin to be of much significance in our line of work, and the idea of killing off a bunch of people just because of a slight chromatic difference seemed fairly irrational to me.

But what really startled me was hearing it from Monk. Not that he'd ever been particularly tolerant, either, back when I'd worked with him, but he'd subscribed to no special racial theories that I'd been aware of. But now it appeared that he'd bought the old yellow-peril package complete with paper and string, and I had a hunch I knew who'd sold it to him, although I was careful not to look toward the tall blonde girl in the muddy white jeans. I had certainly underestimated her, and by the looks of things I wasn't the only one.

Well, it was bound to happen. Somebody was bound, sooner or later, to take advantage of that strain of fanaticism that I'd always mistrusted in the Monk.