The Avenger 33 - The Blood Countess by Kenneth Robeson Read Free Book Online

“That leaves us, the unholy three, to do something.”
    “You think we ought to poke our noses into this mess?” asked Smitty. “Could be Dick’s got a good reason for lying low.”
    Mac rubbed his chest. “We’ll go,” he announced. “I make no claim to second sight, but I’ve a feeling something’s happened to Richard.”
    Smitty said slowly, “You don’t think he’s . . . dead?”
    MacMurdie did not answer.

CHAPTER XIII

Warm Welcome #2
    The airliner’s wheels squealed as it sat down on the field. It went bouncing, wobbling, toward the row of palm trees at the far end of the capital city airport.
    “Little Jerry is still probably sprawled out there in the snow,” said Smitty as the propellers began slowing.
    “Mon, we’ve other things on our minds.”
    “That’s what a soap opera is for,” remarked Cole from across the aisle. “It takes one’s mind off his real troubles.”
    “Hout,” said the Scot.
    “If they don’t find little Jerry soon,” said Cole, “he’ll probably get frostbite and lose his leg.”
    “He already lost a leg, when he and Mary Joyce, M.D., was snowbound last year,” the giant told him.
    Unfastening his seatbelt, Cole stood up. “I believe we can now disembark.”
    The plane’s other dozen passengers were already moving toward the exit door.
    Smitty, as he stretched his bulk out of the seat, chanced to look out into the hazy afternoon. “Huh,” he said.
    “What do ye see?” asked Mac.
    “Couple cars chasing each other all over the field,” replied Smitty. “Long black job and a big blue sedan.”
    The exit door was open now. One of the women passengers cried out, “They’re shooting!”
    “Tommy guns, no less.” Snatching a revolver from under his coat, Smitty went jogging down the aisle.
    “Hold on, mon!” Mac sprinted after him. “ ’Tis no concern of ours. Most likely the local police chasing some skurlies.”
    Cole had pushed his way through the frightened passengers and was looking out at the careening cars. “Chaps in the black vehicle are sporting an American embassy flag,” he said to his two teammates. “Makes one wonder if they’re not the fellows sent to meet us.”
    “Excuse me, lady. Pardon me, buddy. Oops, did I mangle your lid, lady? Those are really pretty cherries on top of it.” Smitty nudged his way to Cole’s side. “This ain’t my idea of a quiet unobtrusive arrival in Panazuela.”
    There was a long-drawn-out screech of brakes, then a thumping, rattling crash as the embassy car ran smack into a metal support pole of the field’s hurricane fence. The blue sedan swerved and came to a stop a few feet from it.
    “Note yon luggage truck, Smitty.” Cole nodded to his right. “From behind it we can get in a few apt shots at the blue-car crowd.”
    “Yeah, let’s go.” Suiting his actions to his words, the giant went barreling down the stairs that had been rolled up to the plane door a few moments earlier.
    Cole went after him.
    They got the cab of the yellow truck between them and the two cars, which were some fifteen feet away. “I think the embassy driver conked his noggin on the windshield when they hit.”
    “He does look somewhat slumped, but the two chaps in back are still among the conscious.”
    The front passenger door of the blue sedan swung open to let a thickset man with a submachine gun leap to the ground. He sent a spray of slugs at the wrecked embassy car.
    The men inside it ducked rapidly down.
    “That ain’t nice.” Smitty jammed a big hand in his coat pocket and brought out a small glass capsule. After a windup that would have done credit to Bob Feller, he tossed the capsule.
    It sailed through the humid afternoon, landed at the gunman’s feet, and smashed.
    The man started to turn his attention to the luggage truck. He got halfway turned before he dropped his gun to the ground and followed it.
    “Nice toss,” said Cole. “Pick out a Betty Boop doll for yourself.”
    “That knockout gas of