Saint40 - The Saint & The Fiction Makers by Leslie Charteris

Author:Leslie Charteris [Charteris, Leslie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-08-31T02:10:18+00:00

CHAPTER FIVE

HOW WARLOCK CONTRIBUTED SOME

SCIENCE, AND ALLOWED OTHERS TO

BECOME PHYSICAL

1

Simon's remark had the effect he intended. Frug glanced nervously into the rearview mirror as he steered the limousine away from Hermetico. His thin jockey's face was taut with worry.

'This is no safe-cracking job,' he said to the men behind him. 'It's like a war. We'd need an army to smash into that place.'

'And even then the losses would be pretty heavy,' said the Saint.

Warlock's cheeks were getting blotchy.

'Stop talking nonsense, both of you!' he barked. 'I give the orders, Frug, and you obey. Would I get us into this if I thought we'd fail? I've more to lose than anybody. Mr. Klein is perfectly capable of planning a sound way of getting into that place. He's just trying to scare you . . . which is obviously quite easy.'

'It's not planning a way to get you in that's so hard,' Simon said. 'It's figuring a way to get at least some of you out alive that's got me stumped.'

Warlock looked at the faint, mocking smile on Simon's lips and lost his temper.

'No more of that, Klein! You'll do your job just as the rest of us will, and you'll stop trying to demoralize my men! If you don't do as I tell you, you'll have the fun of watching Nero cut up your girl friend for several days before she's even put on the laser table!'

Simon had an almost overwhelming desire to put his hands around Warlock's fat sweaty neck and squeeze off not only his flow of words but his breath and finally his last croak of life. It would have been a notable pleasure to feel that gross body shuddering through its last spasm in the grip of his fingers—but the time had not come yet. Warlock felt the Saint's thoughts, though, and read them in the crystalline blue hardness of his eyes. The fat man shrank involuntarily against his own side of the car.

'Nero has orders to start on her immediately if we're not back safely,' he blurted. 'And that seat you're in ... all I have to do is push this button and it explodes with shotgun shells.'

Warlock's hand was on the ashtray by his window.

'I know,' Simon said with forced restraint. 'I wrote the book, remember? Sort of Damocles sword in reverse. But I don't think you can afford to give me a permanent hot seat. You need me too much.'

Warlock's hand remained on the ashtray then and for the rest of the twenty-minute drive to his estate.

'I need you,' he said, 'but I'd kill you if you attacked me.'

The Saint sat back with folded arms and admired the countryside.

'Don't worry,' he said absently. 'I don't need to attack you. You haven't originality enough to keep yourself alive when the going gets rough anyway.'

Warlock could only sputter, and the rest of the trip took place without conversation. As soon as they had returned to S.W.O.R.D. headquarters, Monk and Frug escorted the Saint through the house towards his room.

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