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."I'll be back in a few days, Mildred," Smith told his new employer the nextmorning."Personal matter.""Will we be all right, Harry?" she asked."I feel Earth Goodness can't livewithout you now.""I'll be back, Mildred," he said.He noticed how brown her eyes were.Howwhite her -neck.How elegant her smile.The woman in France had been beautiful too, but she had been responsible forfifteen of her countrymen being tortured to death.She would have, if shecould have, gotten Smith and his whole OSS group killed that day.Dr.Mildred Pensoitte gave Smith a polite kiss on the cheek and clenched hishand in friendship."1 hope everything works out well for you, Harry," she said."I'm sure it will," he answered, reminding himself that he was married toIrma, loved Irma, and was not about to alter a lifetime of rectitude for abeautiful smile.St.Martin's was hot under the Caribbean sun.Tourists divested themselves oftheir northern clothes and opened their collars and sighed while waiting online at the airport.Harold W.Smith wore a gray three-piece suit and kept his tie perfectlyknotted.He did not perspire, and when he reached customs, he showed them hisinternational clearance to be carrying a pistol.He did not perspire in theback seat of the taxi, which drove him past the beach at120Bay Rouge.At least two persons a year died in the apparently harmless surfthere, that beautiful long white sand beach with its softly rolling,apparently gentle surf.But the beach dropped off at a strong enough angle that if someone got caughtin the strong Caribbean undertow, with the surf coming in atop them, theycould be rolled around senseless, knocked off their feet by the surf rollingback along the angle of of the beach, and made weak and helpless in sight ofpeople on the beach, people who had been known to look at others crying forhelp and go back to looking for seashells because to walk out into that surfthemselves might get them killed.Smith had long ago stopped wondering what sort of person could live withhimself, watching another person drown.St.Martin's, of course, did not advertise the fact of its dangerous beachbecause one did not want to frighten tourists.After all, the Bay Rouge beachclaimed only two lives a year, and besides, there was an even more dangerousbeach on the island.Neither of them had warnings posted.Like the beach, St.Martin's was deceptive, and it was no accident that theauxiliary computers of CURE had been planted there on the French side of thehalf-French, half-Dutch island.The computer site could be defended easily, not only by Remo and Chiun, but bySmith himself.And the local gendarmerie was not concerned at all about whatwent on along the road to the cul de sac near Mark's Place, the restaurant setoff the main road on the way to a gentle little harbor from which tourists setout to Pine Island to snorkel in the Lucite-clear waters.Page 52 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlOff the road in what appeared to be a gravel works was CURE'S duplicate set ofcomputers.Every day trucks hauled gravel in and another crew hauled the samegravel.121out, and everyone kept quiet about this madness lest the crazy white man whopaid for this get wise to the fruitless-ness of the project.From time to time, bodies had appeared nearby, and the gendarmerie had notbeen concerned.They were not concerned because of a French government policythat dictated that gendarmes be moved around from island to islandperiodically so that they would not become native and become relaxed.But the policy failed to realize that the police regarded the Caribbean aspre-retirement duty, and had as little interest in getting involved or inpreventing crime as the average New York City subway rider.If one was going to be transferred shortly to another island, these gendarmesthought, the one thing not wanted was to get involved in a lengthy police caseor court trial on a previous island.St.Martin's was perfect for the computers, which were deceptively vulnerable.All a person had to do to find them was to look for the extra electrical linesbecause in the Caribbean computers needed to be constantly air-conditioned toprevent malfunctions.The electrical lines were as easy to follow as aroadmap.From the gravel works, the lines went over the road past the smallsecondary airport of the island, running above a salt flat now gone to marsh,directly into the side of the mountain.Also stored nearby were drums of oil to run the backup generators, should theoverhead power fail.And what it all said to anyone who was looking for such a direction was: "Hereit is."Even more convenient was the unlocked gate that looked like a small storagearea in the side of the mountain.There weren't even guards at night.So three men found it easily and waited for night, then took a few pounds ofcordite to eliminate whatever looked122like the most vulnerable parts of a computer.They entered through theunlocked gate, almost whistling with the casualness of it all.All three saw the flash of the gun because light traveled faster than sound.But one of them did not hear the sound because a bullet reached his brainbefore his eardrums could send the message there.Harold W.Smith had fired his gun again.He shot again at the first fast movement of the two remaining.The slug hitone chest-center, dropping him.The last man threw up his hands in surrender.The unlocked gate had led to a perfect blind ambush.One man lay dead on the floor, the other dying, his heart pumping up a littlefountain of blood, and Smith pointed his gun at the last one."You speak English?""Shit, yes.Don't shoot.For God's sakes, don't shoot.""Who are you? What are you doing here?""I'm just following orders.""Whose orders?" Smith asked."Theirs.""Who ordered them?""1 don't know.""Think," Smith suggested."I don't know."Smith heard the terror in the voice.He did not like this dirty work.He didnot like to see men afraid of him or dying, but he had spent much of his lifedoing things that he did not like, things that he knew he had to do.He made an obvious motion of cocking the old pistol."With me," he said, "You're dead now.With your bosses back in the States,maybe you'll get lucky and live."Page 53 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html"We just get orders.""From whom?"123"Our leader.That's all.She phones.""Dr.Pensoitte?" Smith asked [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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."I'll be back in a few days, Mildred," Smith told his new employer the nextmorning."Personal matter.""Will we be all right, Harry?" she asked."I feel Earth Goodness can't livewithout you now.""I'll be back, Mildred," he said.He noticed how brown her eyes were.Howwhite her -neck.How elegant her smile.The woman in France had been beautiful too, but she had been responsible forfifteen of her countrymen being tortured to death.She would have, if shecould have, gotten Smith and his whole OSS group killed that day.Dr.Mildred Pensoitte gave Smith a polite kiss on the cheek and clenched hishand in friendship."1 hope everything works out well for you, Harry," she said."I'm sure it will," he answered, reminding himself that he was married toIrma, loved Irma, and was not about to alter a lifetime of rectitude for abeautiful smile.St.Martin's was hot under the Caribbean sun.Tourists divested themselves oftheir northern clothes and opened their collars and sighed while waiting online at the airport.Harold W.Smith wore a gray three-piece suit and kept his tie perfectlyknotted.He did not perspire, and when he reached customs, he showed them hisinternational clearance to be carrying a pistol.He did not perspire in theback seat of the taxi, which drove him past the beach at120Bay Rouge.At least two persons a year died in the apparently harmless surfthere, that beautiful long white sand beach with its softly rolling,apparently gentle surf.But the beach dropped off at a strong enough angle that if someone got caughtin the strong Caribbean undertow, with the surf coming in atop them, theycould be rolled around senseless, knocked off their feet by the surf rollingback along the angle of of the beach, and made weak and helpless in sight ofpeople on the beach, people who had been known to look at others crying forhelp and go back to looking for seashells because to walk out into that surfthemselves might get them killed.Smith had long ago stopped wondering what sort of person could live withhimself, watching another person drown.St.Martin's, of course, did not advertise the fact of its dangerous beachbecause one did not want to frighten tourists.After all, the Bay Rouge beachclaimed only two lives a year, and besides, there was an even more dangerousbeach on the island.Neither of them had warnings posted.Like the beach, St.Martin's was deceptive, and it was no accident that theauxiliary computers of CURE had been planted there on the French side of thehalf-French, half-Dutch island.The computer site could be defended easily, not only by Remo and Chiun, but bySmith himself.And the local gendarmerie was not concerned at all about whatwent on along the road to the cul de sac near Mark's Place, the restaurant setoff the main road on the way to a gentle little harbor from which tourists setout to Pine Island to snorkel in the Lucite-clear waters.Page 52 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlOff the road in what appeared to be a gravel works was CURE'S duplicate set ofcomputers.Every day trucks hauled gravel in and another crew hauled the samegravel.121out, and everyone kept quiet about this madness lest the crazy white man whopaid for this get wise to the fruitless-ness of the project.From time to time, bodies had appeared nearby, and the gendarmerie had notbeen concerned.They were not concerned because of a French government policythat dictated that gendarmes be moved around from island to islandperiodically so that they would not become native and become relaxed.But the policy failed to realize that the police regarded the Caribbean aspre-retirement duty, and had as little interest in getting involved or inpreventing crime as the average New York City subway rider.If one was going to be transferred shortly to another island, these gendarmesthought, the one thing not wanted was to get involved in a lengthy police caseor court trial on a previous island.St.Martin's was perfect for the computers, which were deceptively vulnerable.All a person had to do to find them was to look for the extra electrical linesbecause in the Caribbean computers needed to be constantly air-conditioned toprevent malfunctions.The electrical lines were as easy to follow as aroadmap.From the gravel works, the lines went over the road past the smallsecondary airport of the island, running above a salt flat now gone to marsh,directly into the side of the mountain.Also stored nearby were drums of oil to run the backup generators, should theoverhead power fail.And what it all said to anyone who was looking for such a direction was: "Hereit is."Even more convenient was the unlocked gate that looked like a small storagearea in the side of the mountain.There weren't even guards at night.So three men found it easily and waited for night, then took a few pounds ofcordite to eliminate whatever looked122like the most vulnerable parts of a computer.They entered through theunlocked gate, almost whistling with the casualness of it all.All three saw the flash of the gun because light traveled faster than sound.But one of them did not hear the sound because a bullet reached his brainbefore his eardrums could send the message there.Harold W.Smith had fired his gun again.He shot again at the first fast movement of the two remaining.The slug hitone chest-center, dropping him.The last man threw up his hands in surrender.The unlocked gate had led to a perfect blind ambush.One man lay dead on the floor, the other dying, his heart pumping up a littlefountain of blood, and Smith pointed his gun at the last one."You speak English?""Shit, yes.Don't shoot.For God's sakes, don't shoot.""Who are you? What are you doing here?""I'm just following orders.""Whose orders?" Smith asked."Theirs.""Who ordered them?""1 don't know.""Think," Smith suggested."I don't know."Smith heard the terror in the voice.He did not like this dirty work.He didnot like to see men afraid of him or dying, but he had spent much of his lifedoing things that he did not like, things that he knew he had to do.He made an obvious motion of cocking the old pistol."With me," he said, "You're dead now.With your bosses back in the States,maybe you'll get lucky and live."Page 53 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html"We just get orders.""From whom?"123"Our leader.That's all.She phones.""Dr.Pensoitte?" Smith asked [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]