The Annihilators by Donald Hamilton Read Free Book Online Page B

Definite orders are safer… I looked up as somebody tapped on the glass of the booth. I said into the phone: “Just a minute. Somebody wants me.”
    It was Dr. Frances Dillman, holding out a boarding pass. When I opened the door to take it, she said, “I wonder if you’d give me a hand with something, Mr. Felton. After you’ve finished your call, of course.”
    “I’ll be along in a minute,” I said. When she’d gone, I spoke to Mac: “My judgment. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
    Mac said, “Research has asked me to tell you that they’ll try to have a full report on your fellow travelers ready for you in Mexico City. You know how to make contact. A weapon will be passed to you in Santa Rosalia; let’s hope you’ll have no need for one earlier. Unfortunately, we have no resident personnel there, but arrangements are being made.” He hesitated, and went on: “Be careful, Eric. The Costa Verde situation is not good, your traveling companions may not all be as innocuous as they seem, and with two feet or one, Herr Bultman is not to be taken lightly.”
    “Yes, sir,” I said. “Careful.”
    He always tells us that, but he never tells us how. I hung up, picked up my camera case, and went over to where Dr. Dillman was chatting politely with an older couple named Henderson, Austin and Emily. The woman was a formidable dowager type with blue gray hair. The man, tall and gray and rather stooped, had been introduced as a retired contractor; but in spite of the bowed posture I sensed military experience beyond the average. They stopped talking when I came up.
    “Private Felton reporting for duty, ma’am,” I said, saluting smartly.
    Dr. Dillman’s unamused glance said that she would have liked to have me for a student. Here I was a paying customer toward whom she had to behave tolerantly; but she knew how to deal with smart alecks in her class.
    “This way, please… No, you’d better leave that big camera bag. Austin will keep an eye on it for you.”
    The fact that I might not like leaving my cameras out of my sight in a big busy airport was, of course, irrelevant. I followed in her wake. She had a long explorer’s stride in spite of the fact that she was wearing moderately high heels that brought her almost up to my level. Her traveling suit, worn with a white silk blouse, was not a comfortable old friend like the tweed number of yesterday. She was rushing the season a bit in view of the southern latitudes toward which we were heading; and this was a light, tailored costume in businesslike khaki poplin—well, I guess beige is the proper word for that particular shade of tan when the garment in question is very high-class indeed.
    The well-fitting skirt was somewhat too narrow for her impatient manner of walking, snapping sharply at her legs; but a little pleat in front prevented the situation from becoming critical. I decided that the neatly nyloned legs weren’t quite as thin as I’d thought them at first glance; and that the figure wasn’t skinny enough to constitute a real deformity, either. But she certainly was a tall and masterful lady. Mistressful?
    “I am going to ask a favor of you, Mr. Felton,” she said as we marched briskly through the airport crowds, two long-legged people covering a lot of ground with each stride. “One that I have no right to ask. We have a… a slight problem, and, well, you seem to be reasonably able-bodied and not too ancient unlike, for instance, Austin Henderson. I’m fairly strong, myself, and I’ll do what I can, but the red tape of the tour will keep me pretty busy and I’ll need a little assistance from time to time. I’d like to be able to count on you, Mr. Felton.”
    I drew a long breath. I kicked myself hard, mentally, for jumping to conclusions; for judging by first impressions. I would have bet a considerable sum that this was a woman who’d be too proud to ask for help; and that if she were forced to do so by circumstances, she wouldn’t know how to