Free Hamilton, Donald - Matt Helm 14 by The Intriguers (v1.1) Page B

I figure that means he's up to something pretty nefarious of which Mac
would disapprove. He wants to make certain that, when the chips are down, Mac
doesn't have the power-meaning the live, armed agents-to implement his
disapproval in a practical way." I made a wry face. "Hell, the
farther we go, the wilder it gets. Well, maybe Lorna has some answers we
don't."
                I sent the big station wagon through Tucson , easing westward cautiously, watching the
mirrors. Nothing significant showed. I risked stopping at a drive-in for
hamburgers, stalling, waiting for total darkness. Then I drove the rig out into
the desert again, on the other side of town this time, gradually working my way
on small back roads farther and farther out from civilization.
                "Where are we going now?"
Martha asked at last.
                "To the ranch, of course,"
I said. "Hell, a lady's waiting for us there, isn't she?"
                "But-"
                I said, "Don't worry. We won't
try the front door this time. Did you ever hear of a hideout that didn't have a
secret escape hatch somewhere? . . . That's our turnoff, right there, but I'd
better leave the boat around the bend, up the arroyo. As I remember, it gets
rough from here. Be prepared to do some digging if we bog down."
                We didn't. The sand of the arroyo
was nice and firm, and I got the boat backed out of sight.
                I got out, unfastened the hitch, the
safety chains, and the electrical connection, and cranked down the jack to take
the weight of the trailer tongue. Then I gave the fiberglass flank of the boat
an affectionate pat, to tell the little vessel that I wasn't deserting it in
this desolate spot: I'd be back. I mean, hell, I knew it was only metal and
plastic, but did it know? Some day my life might again depend on an extra,
willing, loyal knot or two of speed.
                We got back into the car, found the
side road I'd glimpsed in the headlights, and started down a track that had
seen no traffic since the last rain, whenever that night have been.
                Presently I switched off the lights.
It was a long, slow, rough ride in the dark, with brush squealing and scraping
along the sides of the big station wagon in the tighter spots and the trailer
hitch smacking bottom as we crossed the deeper gullies. I passed the right
landmarks, but they seemed much farther apart than when I'd been shown this
trail in daylight, years ago. At last the odometer showed the right mileage. I
stopped, got the wagon turned around, and cut the engine. Getting out, I gave
the oversized vehicle a reassuring slap on the hood, telling it not to get lonely.
                "Come on, Borden," I
whispered. "There's a flashlight in the glove compartment. Bring it along.
Don't slam the door. Leave it open."
                She came around the car to me.
"You're weird," she whispered, as we moved off together.
                "You're really weird, Helm! You
kill people, and then you pat a hunk of machinery on the nose as if.. . as if
it was a horse or a dog or something. As if you really liked it!"
                "Like it?" I said.
"Hell, I think it's a miserable, sluggish, overstyled gas hog, but I wouldn't dream of hurting its feelings by telling it so. And I
don't want it to worry while I'm gone, either. I mean, it might get mad and
refuse to start when we get back." I saw her glance at me sharply in the
darkness, to see if I was serious. I grinned and stopped grinning. "That's
enough talking. Watch where you're putting your feet. We're getting
close."
                Suddenly the fence was right in
front of us. It was an impressive thing, all right, even in the dark, topped
with barbed wire and equipped with enough warning devices- I knew, although
they weren't readily visible-to protect those inside against anything but an
open tank attack