Read Online The Poisoners by Donald Hamilton - Free Book Online Page B

a suitcase full of dope being smuggled—by Warfel or anybody else—she’d have looked the other way, like any of us would, like the rules require. She would have remembered the standing orders not to risk her effectiveness as an agent, by attracting attention either as the good Samaritan or the public-spirited citizen. To that extent, sir, I say she was a pro.”
    “Perhaps you’re right. But there’s still the possibility I suggested earlier, that she was a pro selling out.”
    “There wasn’t time. I’ll admit she might have been capable of it under the right circumstances, meaning if she was mad enough, but I think you’ll agree that she wasn’t a coldblooded traitor with her plans laid in advance. That means she came to L.A. without any prearranged contacts. It takes time to sell out, sir. You’ve got to find the right people. You’ve got to convince them of your sincerity. You’ve got to convince them you’ve got something worth buying—and then you’ve got to deliver your information, all of it. If somebody did get one of our people talking about our setup, even a novice agent, would they finish with her and dispose of her in less than a day? You know they wouldn’t. They’d want to spend at least a week on thorough debriefing, going over every detail of our training and operations arrangements again and again until they were absolutely sure they’d pumped her dry.”
    Mac said, a little impatiently, “Very well. Assuming that she wasn’t killed because she’d stumbled on some syndicate secrets, or because she’d got involved in a treason scheme that backfired, what do you suggest as a cause of her death?”
    “I suggest she was trying to help us. I think what she saw, either on the plane or in the airport, was somebody in whom we’re highly interested, somebody on the high-priority list perhaps…”
    “Then why didn’t she get on the phone and report it before taking action, as the normal procedure requires, particularly of inexperienced young agents in her category?”
    “Because, as you point out, she wasn’t quite professional enough, sir. Because she had a temper like dynamite and you’d just lit the fuse. Because she was mad at you and was going to show you up, by dealing with the situation herself in her own way. She was going to prove to you that initiative and daring were better than conformity and discipline, and to hell with normal procedure.”
    Mac said, rather reluctantly, “It’s plausible. So your theory is that she spotted somebody important and tried to follow but was detected and killed.”
    “Yes, sir. Her attitude was professional enough, but her experience was still pretty limited. I think the guy she was tailing set a trap for her, caught her, and took care of her with his overgrown cannon, after first knocking her around just enough to learn that she was operating alone. And then, because his presence in Los Angeles—maybe even in the U.S.—was supposed to be a very hush subject indeed, he got hold of some local underworld talent and arranged for them to make it look as if she’d been killed by mistake, so we’d have no reason to investigate her motives and movements.” There was a thoughtful silence. Presently I said, “That’s the way I figure it, sir. She was pro enough not to get sidetracked on something that was none of our business, but she was amateur enough to try to handle it alone. There’s also a third factor that might be important.”
    “What’s that, Eric?”
    “She’d recently been mixed up in a communist operation in this very area, remember? It could be that she ran into somebody she was in a special position to recognize, better than anybody else in our outfit. Remember the assignment on which I met her, sir. Remember the circumstances. Her husband had been killed in Vietnam. She’d blamed this country for sending him to his death, if you recall, and a fast-talking enemy agent—I never learned exactly who—had taken advantage of