The black man grinned. "Now, Miss Marty, who'd waste time poaching water moccasins?"
"Where does Uncle Hank want us, Jarrel?"
"On the back porch, Miss Marty. That door over there. Well, you know. You can sit on the old sofa in the corner. There's a window open to the living room and you can hear all you want." He opened the door for us, and looked at me. "I'll be talking with you after all those folks are gone, Mr. Helm," he said softly.
"Sure."
The kitchen door closed noiselessly. Martha and I stood for a moment in the darkness, that seemed darker for the pattern of light thrown by an open window halfway down the porch, from which came the sound of men's voices. I heard Priest's quarterdeck tones greeting somebody and offering a drink.
"Doesn't sound as if they've got down to business yet," I whispered to the girl beside me. "Whatever the business of the evening may be. Doesn't your Uncle Hank believe in air-conditioning?"
"Oh, he's got it, but it's a pleasant spring evening, and he doesn't turn it on unless he has to. Deep down, I think he feels that if God had meant us to be cool in Florida, He wouldn't have made it hot in the first place." She hesitated, and touched my shoulder lightly. "Matt."
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry."
The needle went into my biceps. It was a healthy jab that must have rammed home the plunger of the hypodermic syringe she'd stolen from my suitcase, with the same motion. The trouble with carrying weapons of any kind is that somebody may get hold of them and use them against you, but this is also something you can turn to your advantage if you work it right.
I had plenty of performances on which to pattern my own: Hollingshead's and Sheriff Rullington's to mention only two. I'd even had the stuff used against me before, on an assignment not too long ago. I knew exactly how it was supposed to feel and how fast it was supposed to act. I gave a little start, reached instinctively for the instrument that had punctured my skin, now being withdrawn; but I never finished the movement. Instead, I let myself slump helplessly, hoping she'd catch me, which she did, easing me gently to the floor.
"I'm sorry," I heard her breathe. "I'm so sorry, darling, but I have to do it. You understand that I have to do it, don't you9.
For a neat ending, that should have been all, but she didn't leave. She stood beside my presumably unconscious body for interminable minutes. I realized she was listening to the laughter and chatter drifting through the open window, probably waiting for a clue to the purpose of the meeting, but like most meetings it was slow in starting. At last she made a small, irritated, breathy sound indicating that her time or her patience had run out. I heard the sound of her sandals receding, very soft and stealthy, along the porch. There was a faint, metallic rattling that after a moment I identified as the noise of a screen door hook being released. A door creaked, and she was gone.
I lay quite still. I didn't think she'd slip back to check on me, but there was no sense in taking chances. After several minutes, there was a sputtering sound from the direction of the dock: a good-sized outboard motor starting up, and moving off along the Waterway…
xxv.
I'd been listening to the argument for over an hour, and the admiral was getting nowhere. They'd come with their minds made up and it looked as if they were going to leave the same way. I just wish they'd get on with it.
"It's all very well for you to talk like a brave Boy Scout, Hank." The voice had a hint of a Southern accent and belonged to a distinguished gent whose name I'd recognized when it was mentioned, who'd emerged as spokesman for the opposition. "The lady doesn't seem to have anything on you. Well, she has something on me. You don't stay in politics thirty years without cutting a few corners. Somehow she knows them all. It's different with you. Politically speaking, you're new and clean, if you'll pardon the description."
"You're wrong there, Senator." Priest's voice was crisp. "How do you think I learned what was going on? I have exactly the same problem as everyone else."
"Such as?"
"I haven't asked you to dump your garbage in public, have I, Senator? But very well, if it will make a difference… It involves this damned real estate development next door. All I knew when I sold to them was that I needed campaign money and had some land, and the company needed land and had some money. I'd just retired from the Navy, I was busy running for office, and I didn't take time to investigate as closely as I might have. Now it turns out that a few political palms were greased here and there; there's even a possibility that my name was used without my permission. If they fire that at me, come election time, I'll have a choice between looking stupid, which I was, or crooked, which I wasn't. So we're all in the same boat; she's got something on all of us. But if we refuse to yield to extortion…"
The senator said dryly, "Then there'll just be a lot of new faces in Washington next year."
"But one of them won't be a harpy named Love, damn it! Not if we all stick together and work to see that she doesn't succeed in blackmailing her way into the highest office in the nation."
"I still say you talk like a Boy Scout, Hank. Maybe you think that's worth your political career. I don't think it's worth mine."
Another voice broke in: "How the devil does she do it, anyway? She's dug up dirt so old I'd even forgotten it myself. She must have an intelligence system that puts the CIA to shame, not that that's so hard to do…
It took him another half-hour to get rid of them. I glanced at my watch, but stayed on the porch sofa where I was. At last, the door to the kitchen opened and the admiral emerged with a glass in each hand.
"I figured you could use a drink about now, son," he said, passing one over.
"Thank you, sir."
"You heard?"
"Yes, sir."
"She must have an intelligence system that puts the CIA to shame!" he mimicked savagely. "Hell, if she hasn't got the CIA, it's about the only intelligence, security, and investigating agency in the country she hasn't got. At least she's got access to their files-and it looks as if just about all of them have been spending less time and money defending the country from danger than snooping into the private affairs of a lot of private, and public, citizens. All the damned woman has to do is call up her tame chief of national security, or whatever he calls himself, Leonard, and tell him to get her something quick on Senator Snodgrass or Congressman Cartwheel-"
"Or Congressman Priest," I said.
He grimaced. "That's right. I was a damned fool, a preoccupied damned fool; and all she had to do was turn Leonard and his computers loose on me and there it was, all neatly stored in one of his agencies' memory banks or whatever you call them! And if you want to know some thing ironical, son, I voted for the damned reorganization bill that put him into power. I thought it was time for a little efficiency. Efficiency!" He shrugged grimly. "Of course I should have checked with Arthur, but it seemed like an innocuous and straightforward proposal, just a little streamlining of a lot of overlapping undercover empires wasting the taxpayers' money by doing the same thing twice…
When he stopped, I asked, "What does Mrs. Love want you to do?"
"Support her nomination at the convention next week, naturally. After she's got that-and the way she's going, she'll get it, all right-she'll undoubtedly think of other little political chores for us to do, if she isn't stopped and stopped soon." He drew a long breath, remembered something, and looked around. "Jarrel said you brought Marty along to listen. I don't know as that was such a good idea, considering that there are some doubts as to the young lady's reliability."
"No, sir," I said.