The Wrecking Crew by Donald Hamilton

Author:Donald Hamilton [Hamilton, Donald]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781781162316
Publisher: Titan
Published: 2012-12-03T16:50:00+00:00

18

He was lying on the floor of the car, in the narrow space between front and rear seats, with his arms locked tightly across his stomach. I’ll admit I didn’t recognize him instantly. Curled up like that, he wasn’t showing much of his face, and it had been a long time since I’d known him well. He was dressed in rougher clothes than those he’d worn to visit my Stockholm hotel room, the night Sara Lundgren had been killed. It it was Vance, all right. I’d have thought him dead when I removed the blanket and saw him there, except that blood doesn’t usually run with any enthusiasm out of a dead body—once the heart stops pumping, there’s nothing to make it run except gravity.

I tried to reach a wrist to check the pulse, but he wouldn’t let himself go. I guess he had the usual gut-shot man’s conviction that those arms were all that was holding him together. Maybe he was right. Whoever had done the job had certainly got him there more than once.

“Vance,” I said. “Vance, this is Eric.”

I thought he didn’t hear me; then his eyelids fluttered. “Excuse... the hemorrhage,” he whispered. “Very embarrassing…”

“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s get you to a hospital. You can crack wise there.”

He shook his head minutely. “No time... drive me where… talk…”

I said, “The hell with talk. Just hang on while I find out where to take you in this town.”

“Eric,” he said in a stronger voice, “I want to report. I’ve been waiting several hours, hoping you’d come before… before…”

“All right,” I said. “Report, damn you, but make it fast.”

“The fiancé,” he whispered. “Named Carlsson. Much business on Continent. Raoul Carlsson. Little man—”

I said quickly, to save his strength: “Pass the description. I’ve met the gentleman. What did you find out about Wellington?”

If he had to tell it, the stubborn dope, I could at least hurry him through it. But he didn’t seem to hear me. He was off on another tack.

“Under no circumstances take action,” he breathed. “This is an order. This is an order. The soft, peaceful sheep in Washington! How can a man defend himself, if he is forbidden to kill? He was as slow as molasses in January. Fine old American expression, eh? Did you know I’ve never been back to the States since the war? Always some new job, some new place. Slow as... I shot him in the shoulder. All I could do, with those orders. Bah! He laughed and gave me this. Under no circumstances… Why not simply order us to commit suicide?”

“Who was it?” I asked. “Who got you, Vance?”

He shook his head. “Nobody. Just a nobody with a gun. Waste no effort on him. Just put another one into Caselius for me, when the time comes.” He frowned painfully. “Forgetting something. Oh, Wellington. You wanted to know about Wellington…”

“Never mind Wellington,” I said. “We’ve got to get you to a doctor now.”

“No,” he breathed. “No. Important. Must tell you about Wellington. Watch out for.

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