Free The Kiwi Target by John Ball Page B

go?”
    “Whenever you’re ready.”
    In response he gestured toward the front door. As always, he seemed a charming man because he never permitted business considerations to interfere with his personal life. In São Paulo he had made some very tough decisions from time to time and then had dismissed them almost at once from his mind. His insulation was so efficient, his overall mood was seldom influenced one way or another. He knew perfectly well that behind his back he was known as “the Smiling Assassin,” and didn’t mind a bit. In fact, it had helped to keep some of his people on their toes.
    He followed his guide as she led the way to a small car she had waiting. By the time she had fitted herself behind the wheel, he had fully evaluated her—a fact that his pleasant smile completely concealed. He found her quite attractive, twenty-eight to thirty years old, well educated, and sexually active.
    Before she had driven her car a hundred feet, he knew she could handle the machine well and had had it for some time. Her little business had to be a one- or two-person operation, Russell being a tiny community and the principal resort hotel they had just left boasted a total of only thirty-one guest rooms. Perhaps she had a reserve or two on call in the event of a sudden rush of clients.
    “Would you like a half-day tour, Mr. Kincaid,” Susie began, “or a comprehensive one?”
    “I’d like to see everything,” Kincaid answered.
    “Then you will, by car this morning and by boat this afternoon. Do you know our fees?”
    “It doesn’t matter.”
    Susie smiled. “I don’t hear that very often,” she admitted. “Here we go.”
    She turned expertly and took a very narrow road that climbed steeply up the back side of a commanding bluff until she reached a small level parking area at the top, where a flagpole stood.
    Kincaid got out and looked around at a breathtaking panorama. A magnificent blending of water and islands reached for miles in every direction, all the way to the horizon. His rich enjoyment of the scene did not interfere with his acute appraisal of the whole general area. The vista alone was worth millions.
    “Spectacular,” he said.
    Susie was pleased. “It is very beautiful, and peaceful, too. A lot of people come here for the fishing.”
    “Let me guess,” Kincaid said. “You’re about to tell me the history of the region.”
    Susie didn’t turn a hair. “This is the place to do it, because the flagpole right there is part of it.” It took her three minutes to deliver her prepared talk on the Bay of Islands and its colorful background. Kincaid listened, missing nothing, as he continued his visual survey.
    During the next hour he was one of the nicest guests Susie had ever had. He seemed to be very interested in everything. When she pulled up in front of the hotel just at noon, she knew she had done her job well and that almost everything she had said had registered. Mr. Kincaid was indeed a remarkable man.
    “I’ll be back for you at one-thirty,” she said. “I’ll have the boat ready then.” She thought it quite possible he would invite her to lunch, but he excused himself very nicely instead.
    Kincaid went to his room and spent several minutes making notes. Susie would have been quite surprised at his flattering comments about her if she had been allowed to read them. She had not given him any of the colorful history or anecdotes that guides all over the world make up as they go along. He planned to put her on the payroll.
    Kincaid did miss one point: Susie arranged for a somewhat larger and more comfortable boat than usual. It cost her more, but she had no qualms about adding a small amount to her bill; Mr. Kincaid was the kind of man who liked things to be nice.
    She also changed into a pair of pants and a blouse—an outfit suitable for boating that also displayed her figure to much better advantage. She knew that she had a particularly shapely rear and that her slacks fitted her