Matt Helm 12 - The Interlopers by Donald Hamilton

Author:Donald Hamilton [Hamilton, Donald]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Helm 12
Published: 2012-07-14T18:29:15+00:00

"Well," said Junior Smith, a little embarrassed, "well, the way you've been acting, we didn't know . . . I mean, we weren't quite sure how you'd take. . . anyway, I was supposed to take no chances with you."

I nodded. "I see. Pointing a loaded firearm at a guy in my line of work comes under the heading of taking no chances. It would be interesting to know just what you folks consider really risky." I reached for the oil can once more. The knife was loosening a bit, but it still had a long way to go before I could count on getting it into action in a hurry. "And just how have I been acting, Junior?"

"Well. . . well, you know," he said. "You know what you've done!"

I said, "Frankly, I thought I'd done pretty well. I was told to get through, come hell or high water, and I'm through, this far, anyway. I was given a schedule to keep and I'm right on time.

There were a few obstructions to overcome, but I dealt with them without letting them delay me significantly. So what's the gripe?"

"A few obstructions!" he said sharply. "You've killed five people getting here, Helm! The Canadians are complaining bitterly about the one-man crime wave we've turned loose on them.

You've left a trail of blood across the whole Northwest! Did you really expect us to sit by and approve what you've been doing in our name?"

I regarded him with a certain amazement. The idea that anybody would draft an experienced agent-a specialist in homicide, no less-for a dangerous mission, tell him that the fate of humanity depended on his carrying it out, and then complain about the breakage, was so childish that for a moment I couldn't believe he was serious.

I said, "I see. You people want the lawn mowed, but you don't want to hurt a single dear little blade of grass doing it, is that it?"

"Well," he said defensively, "well, I suppose there are times when an agent has to kill in self-defense, but . . .

"And what am I supposed to have been doing, shooting and knifing people for the pure sadistic fun of it?"

"The man in Pasco was shot in the back, Helm. In the back! And so was the one at the campground just east of here. How can you possibly call that self-defense?"

I studied him carefully. He was human, all right. At least he had a nose, a mouth, and two eyes. There was presumably a brain somewhere behind the eyes, but it had never been given a chance. It had early been washed clean of all practical and sensible and logical thought processes and supplied with a bunch of automatic TV cliché reactions to take their place.

It occurred to me that if I'd 'had any matchmaking ambitions, I would have made a great effort to get this specimen together with Pat Bellman. They were obviously made for each other. She, too, had been firmly convinced that, homicide-wise, there was a great moral distinction to be made between an eastbound victim and one heading west.

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